Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Fifteen-year-old Liu Qingge sliced through the evening sky atop Cheng Luan, adrenaline thrumming like a second heartbeat.

He’d finished his mission early. The return journey to Bai Zhan was quiet. Too quiet.

He needed a fight the way others needed dinner.

The air over Bai Lu Forest tasted sharp and cold—perfect training weather.

Then he saw it.

Movement beneath the canopy.

Gold.

A flicker of spirit light.

Huan Hua Palace guards— a group of them— blundering through the underbrush in a messy formation.

Liu Qingge narrowed his eyes.

A night hunt? 

But it’s too early.

Something dangerous then— a threat. 

They were shouting, tripping over roots, weapons drawn, chasing something fast enough to string them along.

Liu Qingge’s pulse quickened.

If it was a beast, he could kill it.

If it was a demon, even better.

If he did this cleanly and quietly, the Huan Hua peacocks would go home humiliated.

He smirked.

Adventure delivered itself to his feet.

He angled Cheng Luan downward and pressed two fingers to the blade — silencing his aura, masking his descent.

The forest swallowed him whole.

He leapt from his sword the moment branches were close enough, landing silently on a high limb. One breath. Two.

There— between the trees, something dark darted through the brush, bleeding blue-black.

Not a beast.

Not human.

And fast.

Very fast.

Liu Qingge’s blood sang.

“Interesting,” he whispered to himself.

He launched forward.

The moment Liu Qingge steadied himself on another branch, a shout split the night:

“Get that demon!”

Ah. So it was a demon.

He tensed in anticipation, muscles singing with the promise of a decent fight—

—and the forest exploded.

Not with fire.

Not with qi.

But with ice.

Shhhhk—shhhhk—SHHHHK.

Arrows of pure frost rained from every direction, slicing through branches, spearing into bark, glittering like shards of winter in the dying light.

Several aimed straight at him.

Liu Qingge reacted without thinking— Cheng Luan flashed in a tight arc, its blade ringing sharply as it parried arrow after arrow.

The impact numbed his fingers.

Cold qi tore through the branch beneath him, forcing him to leap aside.

Another volley came— closer, faster.

He launched himself upward, then sideways, bounding from limb to limb as the sky filled with frozen darts. It wasn’t precision fire— it was a storm, hitting everything indiscriminately.

“Who the hell—”

He cut down three more arrows, and in doing so, he accidentally— or maybe heroically— created a moving shield of deflections that blocked the barrage aimed at the figure below.

The black-cloaked demon sprinting through the underbrush didn’t take a single hit.

Not one.

Below him, the Huan Hua patrol fell into chaos.

Half their formation crumpled under the ice arrows— slipping, shouting, crying out in pain as frost bloomed across their sleeves. A few scattered, only to be struck. 

Others screamed for backup.

The bolder ones gritted their teeth and kept running.

Liu Qingge heard one of them yell:

“We can’t let the prisoner escape!”

Prisoner?

Liu Qingge blinked, stumbling a step.

A demon prisoner?

Since when did righteous sects bother taking demons alive?

You kill them.

You avoid the ones too troublesome.

You don’t… chase to drag them around in ropes.

Curiosity pricked at him like static.

He glanced down again.

The demon didn’t look like some beast-formed monster. even from this height— slender, tall, clean lines of movement, unmistakably humanoid, unmistakably male.

And he moved with a controlled brutality that reminded Liu Qingge of a cornered panther.

But where were the ice arrows coming—

His thought cut short.

Two sharp streaks of cold shot from somewhere deep within the canopy.

He saw them too late.

They speared the cloaked figure clean through the shoulder and the side of his ribs.

The demon staggered.

And for the first time since this chase began—

Liu Qingge felt something ugly twist in his gut.

This wasn’t a hunt.

This was an execution disguised as one.

And he was right in the middle of it.

Liu Qingge didn’t think.

He dropped.

Fell from the canopy in a sharp, controlled dive, Cheng Luan gleaming under him like a streak of lightning. His only thought was:

If anyone kills this demon, it will be me.

He landed hard enough to shake the soil, right between the fleeing cloaked figure and whatever was firing those damn arrows—

—and that was when the forest shifted.

Four shapes materialised out of the dark trunks.

Silent.

Tall.

Swathed head-to-toe in black cloth shot through with frost patterns.

Not human assassins.

Demon assassins.

Their presence chilled the air, their qi sharp and glittering like shrapnel.

Four ice demons? Hunting one of their own?

Liu Qingge’s eyes narrowed.

A Huan Hua prisoner being chased by his righteous captors and also hunted by demon assassins?

What a mess.

He flicked a look back at the earlier chaos.

The Huan Hua patrol was down—all of them.

Frozen, unmoving, some groaning, some simply collapsed.

“Tch.”

Liu Qingge ground his teeth.

So much for letting the peacocks embarrass themselves. Now he had a real problem.

He glanced toward the cloaked figure—the demon prisoner—who was still somehow on his feet but hunched, breath ragged. Two arrows still stuck in him.

In that half-beat of distraction—

a whistle split the air.

Ffff—THUNK.

Pain exploded in Liu Qingge’s left arm.

He hissed—more in anger than in pain—as a long ice arrow punched straight through the muscle.

He staggered back, gritting his teeth.

He’d been careless.

Stupid.

Fifteen and overconfident— that was how people died.

He ripped Cheng Luan free into guard position, ignoring the freeze-cold chewing into his flesh.

Not now.

Pain later.

Focus now.

Three assassins surged forward with frost-forged blades.

The fourth slipped around, sprinting after the injured cloaked demon.

Liu Qingge snarled internally.

Not happening.

He couldn’t let his prey die before he got answers. Or a proper fight.

Arrows rained again, aimed at both him and the cloaked fugitive. Liu Qingge blocked everything he could— ice shattered off Cheng Luan in sprays of glitter, ricochets protecting the demon behind him purely by coincidence or sheer stubborn skill.

Act now. Find out later.

If he died here, he’d never get to gut that fleeing one himself.

“Run, idiot!” he barked without looking back, voice rougher than intended.

The cloaked demon didn’t hesitate—he bolted deeper into the forest, stumbling but fast.

Good.

Alive.

For now.

Liu Qingge lunged at the three remaining assassins, blade singing, ice cracking underfoot.

If the fourth assassin caught the cloaked one—

survive, Liu Qingge thought savagely, so I can pay you back for this trouble.

The assassins closed in with perfect coordination—no wasted motion, no shouting, no arrogance.

Just clean, lethal intent.

Good.

Liu Qingge—Liu Mingxuan, still unaccustomed to the weight of his new title—his Qing generation courtesy name—felt his pulse spike with something close to exhilaration.

Come on, Liu Mingxuan. Don’t embarrass Bai Zhan Peak.

The first assassin struck fast, ice blade aiming for his ribs. Liu Qingge twisted, parried, shoved the strike wide, and drove a kick into the demon’s gut hard enough to crack ribs.

The second came in from behind. Liu Qingge ducked, felt cold air slice over his ear, and slashed low—sending ice shards and blood spraying.

The third tried to flank him—

Liu Qingge lurched forward instead, meeting the attack head-on, Cheng Luan singing as steel crashed against frozen qi.

They were good.

Better than he expected.

Fast, fluid, eerily synchronised.

And instead of being afraid, Liu Qingge’s grin curved—sharp, feral, the kind of smile that made senior disciples sigh and ask the heavens why Bai Zhan Peak bred monsters.

Yes.

Finally, a real fight.

He moved like a blade pulled straight from a furnace—wild but precise, young but frighteningly effective.

The assassins struck in trios, alternating their formations, forcing him to respond with instinct sharpened by years of ruthless training.

He blocked an overhead strike—

Spun—

Cut the second demon across the thigh—

Backstepped—

Took a glancing slice across his back—

Pivoted and slammed his elbow into the third’s jaw—

Pain flickered red across his vision.

His left arm throbbed violently around the  arrow puncture wound.

Breath scraped raw in his chest.

But he refused to slow.

Move, Mingxuan. Keep moving.

The fight dragged longer than he anticipated. More than a dozen exchanges. Then two dozen. Each one burning more qi, more blood, more momentum.

By the end, all three assassins were staggering—bleeding, frost qi unstable, breathing ragged through their masks.

One collapsed to the ground and another one staggered. 

The one with the broken jaw hissed something in a demonic dialect, grabbed the other two by their waists, and—

leapt.

A burst of icy wind carried them away into the canopy, vanishing like four shadows swallowed by the trees.

Liu Qingge swayed.

He spat blood onto the dead leaves.

Red blotches were already blooming across his uniform, courtesy of several shallow gashes and the pierced left arm.

He ignored it all.

Let his breath settle.

Forced his qi to steady.

Then he pressed two fingers to the ground, feeling for disturbances.

A trail of cold— three assassins retreating.

But beyond that—

Footprints.

Crushed brush.

The faint, harsh breaths of someone trying not to collapse.

His prey.

The cloaked demon.

Liu Qingge lifted Cheng Luan, jaw set.

Found you.

He launched himself toward the fleeing figure’s trail, ferocity in every step.

Liu Qingge burst through the last line of trees—and froze on a high branch, breath hitching.

Up ahead, far down the dirt road, a wagon had stopped.

Lantern light flickered weakly against the dusk.

Human voices.

Screams.

Oh no. Civilians.

He pushed qi into his legs—too late.

A figure crouched in the treetop above the wagon, half-hidden by shadows. The last assassin—bow pulled taut, ice arrows shimmering like cruel starlight.

He was aiming at everything.

The wagon.

The driver.

The horses.

And—

The cloaked demon.

“No you don’t,” Liu Qingge growled, launching off the branch.

The assassin fired.

Liu Qingge tore through the air, intercepting the volley with Cheng Luan, slicing arrow after arrow mid-flight. Frost exploded around him like powder. Three arrows shattered against Cheng Luan’s guard. A fourth grazed his cheek. A fifth—

THUNK.

An icy dagger slammed into his right thigh.

Pain roared up his leg. He stumbled but didn’t fall—

instead he rammed Cheng Luan straight into the assassin’s gut in a brutal forward strike.

The demon choked, crumpling— but didn’t die.

Not yet.

Liu Qingge tried to pursue—

but his leg buckled. The his near-useless arm burned. His uniform was soaked through with red. The assassin flipped backward, clutching his stomach, and vanished into the trees like a wraith.

“Coward—” Liu Qingge spat after him, voice cracking.

He forced qi downward, staunching the bleeding in a crude, Bai Zhan way that hurt more than it helped.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears so loudly he barely heard the voice calling out:

“—! —elp! Please—!”

Someone was alive.

He limped toward the wagon, Cheng Luan dragging a line in the dirt, the world swimming.

When he stumbled into the lantern’s glow—

He stopped.

A youth in brown— thin, frantic, hair tied in the plain style of An Ding Peak—was kneeling over the unconscious cloaked demon, patting down his chest and side as if checking for more injuries.

Liu Qingge’s eyes widened.

An Ding?

Here?

Bodies lay scattered around the wagon—three on the ground, one slumped over the driver’s seat. All still.

No qi.

Dead.

The horses stamped nervously, eyes rolling at the scent of blood.

Then the horses took off, dead bodies and all.

“What in the—?”

Liu Qingge staggered closer, raising Cheng Luan in a killing arc out of pure instinct. A demon is a demon. And he was this close to eliminating the problem permanently—

The An Ding worm threw himself over the demon, arms spread wide.

“No—please! Don’t kill him!”

Liu Qingge blinked.

What?

The disciple’s voice shook. “Y-you’re from Bai Zhan, right? And—you’re injured—saving him. He said so before he fainted. He… he told me you helped him out there. It was Huan Hua—!”

The An Ding boy fumbled at the demon’s waist and held up something golden, shaking.

A metal piece shaped like a six-petal flower, delicate yet sharp.

A dart?

“I pulled this out of him,” the boy whispered. “Huan Hua uses these. He’s a prisoner—but I don’t think— I don’t think he’s dangerous to civilians. They were trying to silence him—!”

More nonsense.

Liu Qingge squared his shoulders despite the pain. “Your companions are dead because of him.”

“They were killed by the assassins—!”

“And he’s a demon.”

Liu Qingge’s voice dropped, cold.

“And no sect will believe I helped one. I hunted him. He won’t talk if he’s dead.”

He lifted Cheng Luan to finish the job, to end everything cleanly—

“Wait! Please—don’t kill him while he’s unconscious!” the An Ding disciple cried. “You—you’re injured too! You can barely stand! We can’t kill indiscriminately! It’s dishonourable!”

Dishonourable?

Liu Qingge stared at him as if he’d grown horns.

Why was he defending a demon?

Why was he blocking Cheng Luan with his own body?

Why did this shameless An Ding worm act like saving this stranger was some sacred duty?

It was all nonsense.

Absolute An Ding drivel.

And yet.

And yet—

Something in Liu Qingge’s gut tightened.

A flicker.

A feeling he couldn’t name.

And his arm…

lowered.

Cheng Luan dipped.

He hated himself for it.

“Dead Weight and a Rat”

The An Ding boy— Shang Something— Liu Qingge didn’t bother catching the rest —looked small and jittery, like a field mouse who’d wandered into a tiger’s den.

Except no mouse would have the gall to shove himself between a Bai Zhan sword and a demon.

A rat, then.

A cunning one.

Acting meek so he could manipulate an injured sect brother into doing the hard work.

Because that cloaked demon was heavy.

Ridiculously heavy.

“Lift him carefully— his injuries—!”

Liu Qingge ignored him and hooked an arm under the demon’s shoulder, hauling the limp body upright with one brutal pull. The movement sent a white-hot spike of pain shooting through his stabbed right thigh, but he clenched his jaw until his teeth ached.

The demon sagged against him, unconscious, breath shallow.

And Liu Qingge—

…Liu Qingge found himself squatting, then shifting the demon onto his back, the weight settling like a boulder across his spine. His wounded leg trembled once before he forced it still.

Shang hovered anxiously.

“You— you’re really hurt, Liu-xiong—”

Liu Qingge shot him a glare so sharp Shang squeaked and shut his mouth.

He definitely hadn’t told this rat his name.

Annoying.

Even outer disciples knew his face now?

He had only been head disciple for two months.

He started walking, each step a throb of agony from thigh and arm. Sweat trickled from his brow, soaking into his collar, but he refused to limp.

The rat scampered ahead, leading him down the dark road toward the nearest inn. Shang acted worried, but Liu Qingge could see the shifty undertone— the way the boy stayed just far enough ahead that Liu Qingge carried all the weight.

Absolutely a rat.

When they finally reached the lantern-lit doorway of a small roadside inn, Shang practically wilted with relief. He dug into a tattered pouch, fingers trembling like each coin was a piece of his soul being torn from him.

“One— one room, please— just one—”

The innkeeper eyed the dirt and blood-smudged trio but took the money.

One room.

Rat.

Liu Qingge followed, carrying the unconscious demon up the narrow stairs. Each step burned his thigh, sending flashes of light across his vision. His left arm, pierced through by ice earlier, had gone numb and was starting to throb in a cold, dead way.

Halfway up, the rat finally noticed.

Shang gasped so theatrically Liu Qingge almost stabbed him.

“Liu-xiong— oh no— you’re actually very injured!”

Liu Qingge turned a slow, murderous gaze on him.

Shang froze mid-step, clutching the railing.

“Ah—I meant—I mean— o-of course you’re strong! It must not hurt that much— right?”

Fake.

Every word from that rat mouth was fake.

Liu Qingge didn’t answer.

Didn’t correct him.

Didn’t grunt, didn’t flinch, didn’t limp.

He simply continued upward with a dying demon on his back, sweat dripping down his temples, jaw locked hard enough that something in it might crack.

He would rather die than show weakness in front of an An Ding rat.

“One Room, One Bed, One Demon, One Rat”

Liu Qingge stepped into the tiny rented room— bare walls, one low table, one bed, cracked window shutters— and his vision briefly blurred.

The demon on his back felt like hauling a corpse made of stone.

He crossed the room anyway.

His wounded thigh buckled once halfway to the bed. Just a twitch— barely noticeable— but Shang gave a strangled squeak.

“L-Liu-xiong— you’re bleeding on the floor—!”

Liu Qingge ignored him. Of course he was bleeding. He was stabbed through the thigh and shot through the arm. Blood was supposed to come out.

The rat scurried forward, wringing his hands.

“Careful— careful—”

“I am careful,” Liu Qingge snapped, which was a lie.

He turned, lowering the demon toward the bed.

The weight shifted wrong.

His right leg wobbled dangerously—

For one humiliating moment, he nearly dropped the demon entirely.

He caught himself against the bedframe with a harsh grunt, forcing his leg to steady, then eased the unconscious body onto the mattress in one heavy, graceless motion.

Sweat dripped down his spine. His breath hitched.

Shang’s eyes widened as he finally saw the extent of it— Liu Qingge’s uniform soaked in deep crimson at the shoulder and thigh, the trail of red droplets marking every step from the stairs down the hall to the room.

“Liu-xiong— Heavens— you’re— you’re actually—”

“Say something stupid,” Liu Qingge warned, “and I’ll put your head through the wall.”

Shang snapped his mouth shut.

But not for long.

Because the rat couldn’t help himself. He crept forward, hands fluttering like he wanted to be useful.

“Let me— let me help clean your wounds—”

Liu Qingge unsheathed Cheng Luan two fingers breadth with a shhhk so threatening it could have cut air.

“Touch me,” he said flatly, “and I’ll kill you.”

Shang froze. Completely.

The only thing moving was the rapid blinking that made him look even more rodent-like.

“Yes, Liu-xiong. Of course, Liu-xiong. I won’t touch anything, Liu-xiong.”

“Good.”

Liu Qingge turned toward the demon on the bed, preparing to check whether the bastard was still alive— only because dead prey was inconvenient—

Then the demon stirred.

A soft breath.

A faint shift of weight.

The hood slid back a finger’s width.

Liu Qingge didn’t move. Just narrowed his eyes, ready for an attack.

Instead, long dark lashes lifted, just barely—

And a sliver of blue appeared.

Not a human blue.

A deep, cold, unnatural blue— like the heart of a glacier lit from within.

Startling even in the dim lantern glow.

The demon’s gaze focused, hazy but sharp enough to pick out Liu Qingge’s silhouette leaning over him.

For a moment, that blue stare held onto him— confusion, hostility, and something like instinctive recognition flickering there.

Liu Qingge felt something tighten in his chest— annoyance, he decided.

Just annoyance.

The demon’s lips parted as if to speak, but pain dragged him back under. His eyes rolled shut again, breath shallow and uneven.

Shang hurried over, whisper-hissing, “Is he— is he awake?? Does he look dangerous??”

Liu Qingge’s answer was immediate:

“All demons look dangerous.”

But he didn’t raise his sword again.

And that unsettled him more than anything else that night.

“The Blooming Dart”

Liu Qingge sat heavily on the floorboards, bracing his back against the wall. The demon lay unconscious on the bed, breath shallow but steady. Shang hovered like an anxious rodent by the bedside, muttering nonstop.

Liu Qingge ignored them both.

He hooked a finger into his torn sleeve, tore it wider with a sharp jerk, and ripped off enough fabric to expose the wound on his upper arm. He refused— absolutely refused— to remove his uniform top in front of a demon and a rat.

He had standards.

He had a spare uniform in his storage pouch anyway. Emergency supplies too. He fished the pouch out, hands steady despite the cold burn chewing through his limb, despite the deep throb in his thigh.

Cold.

From carrying the demon.

The demon’s body temperature had been unnaturally low— same chill as those assassins.

So this one is an ice demon too.

Great.

He cleaned the puncture wound with medicated powder, barely reacting to the sting. His fingers moved with the efficiency beaten into him by Bai Zhan training.

He bandaged the arm.

Lifted his trouser leg just high enough.

Tore more fabric.

Wrapped his bleeding thigh tight until the pulse throbbed less violently.

All done in silence.

But Shang would not shut up.

“…and the petal-like grooves—I think it’s a Ling Hua dart, Liu-xiong, the very dangerous kind invented by that Huan Hua elder who escaped the Demon Realm, the type that blossoms inside the body if the target moves too much—ah! And it’s coated with anaesthetic on the outer shell—”

Liu Qingge paused midswipe.

The rat was rambling, but the words were too detailed. Too specific.

Shang lifted the golden object—the six-petal dart he had pulled from near the demon’s kidney. “It—it’s supposed to mimic a plant in the Demon Realm called qing si. Parasitic. Blossoms with movement. Terrible thing. They say the human version grows six sharp petals to shred internal organs—”

Liu Qingge’s steel gray eyes sharpened.

Why did this rat know that?

He stared at Shang. Hard.

The boy finally faltered under the weight of it, shrinking in on himself. “I—I read things— An Ding has intelligence files—”

“No.”

Liu Qingge’s voice was low, dangerous.

“Outer disciples shouldn’t know this.”

Shang swallowed.

He hadn’t batted an eye at the dead disciples by the wagon.

He hadn’t mourned a single one.

He hadn’t panicked properly, only pretended to.

He had dragged Liu Qingge into a room with a demon and then lectured him on honour.

A spy?

A double agent?

A corrupted disciple?

Or—

Liu Qingge’s thoughts skittered sharply.

Why did he himself ignore the bodies?

About ten An Ding disciples dead.

Slaughtered by an assassin.

A demon assassin.

He should have taken command.

He should have secured the scene, sent a message talisman, reported to his Shifu.

Instead he followed this rat.

Carried a demon.

Saved him.

Saved him?

Why?

His head felt heavy. Fogged.

His instincts blunted.

His decisions slipping sideways.

He stared at the demon on the bed.

Unconscious.

Still.

Breathing faintly.

Radiating cold.

A demon.

A high-level one.

He should kill him.

All of them— rat included— could be a coordinated danger.

His hand tightened on Cheng Luan’s hilt.

He should stand.

Should finish the threat.

Should not hesitate.

But… he couldn’t move.

Not truly.

Something in him recoiled every time the thought turned into action.

The blade remained sheathed.

His fingers shook once. A betrayal.

A soft sound pulled his attention.

The demon shifted— breath hitching, body curling slightly, as if in pain. His hood slipped again, revealing a hint of black hair, the arc of a sharp cheekbone.

Shang immediately scurried closer. “Oh! He’s hot—no— cold—cold! Cold like ice. Liu-xiong, that’s consistent with—”

“Shut up,” Liu Qingge snapped.

He shouldn’t care.

He shouldn’t hesitate.

Why was he—

Fog.

Something dulling him.

Something numbing.

Shang was still nibbling at the edges of his nerves: “The anaesthetic on the dart is potent, you know. If you touched the poison or carried someone injected with it for long enough—”

Liu Qingge’s blood ran colder.

So that was it.

The demon had been embedded with a Ling Hua dart.

Anaesthetic coating meant to keep the target mobile but numbed.

He’d carried that weight across the forest.

For a while.

Skin-to-skin contact through cloth.

Shit.

He’d been dosed?

Lightly, but enough to cloud sharpness, soften instincts, blur judgment.

Was that it?

Of course.

No wonder he felt… off.

He glared murder at Shang, furious at himself, at the situation, at the creeping numbness in his limbs and thoughts.

But even poisoned, he could still think.

Barely.

He looked again at the demon.

And at the rat.

He should kill them.

It was the right thing.

The safe thing.

What Bai Zhan would expect.

His grip tightened around his sword.

But—

But something in him wouldn’t move past that moment.

Like stepping into water too cold to endure.

Like facing a cliff edge and feeling the body refuse to jump.

His breath shook once— only once— before he forced it still.

He could not explain it.

He hated that he could not explain it.

A soft rustle.

Liu Qingge looked up.

The demon’s eyelashes fluttered.

Blue eyes— clearer this time— focused on him, unfocused but alert. For one heartbeat, those eyes met his.

Cold.

Brilliant.

Alive.

And something in Liu Qingge’s chest twisted— rage? disgust? something else?— he didn’t know.

But he still couldn’t lift his sword.

“Heat and Ice”

Liu Qingge forced himself into meditation position— back straight, sword across his knees, breaths slow and long.

He swallowed a blood-replenishing pill dry.

It hit his stomach like a stone.

Normally, this would sharpen him.

Clear his qi.

Close his wounds faster.

But tonight—

His vision warped.

The walls dipped left, then right.

The floor slid under him like water.

He pressed two fingers to his wrist, intending to guide his qi—

—and the world went black at the edges.

“Liu-xiong?? Liu-xiong—!”

The last thing he registered was the rat’s voice.

Then he collapsed.

Not a graceful fall.

Not a controlled Bai Zhan roll.

Just a full-body, boneless drop.

His cheek hit the floorboards.

A sharp crack of pain burst across his skull.

Heat roared under his skin.

Fire— burning, blistering— flooded his limbs.

Someone hauled him up under the arms.

Someone else supported his head.

His muddled mind grasped at the voices.

“—he’s burning up—!”

“—he carried the darted one too long— anaesthetic isn’t supposed to do this— so much blood—”

“—idiot human—”

That voice.

Cold.

Deep.

Flat.

The demon.

Liu Qingge struggled to move, to sit up, to kill the threat—

His body betrayed him utterly.

He sagged between two sets of hands— one trembling and one ice-cold.

“Careful— he helped you— he’s the one who—”

Shang’s voice cracked, frantic, words tumbling too fast:

“—you owe him your life, Your High—no! I mean—king— no—follower—listen— he helped you escape— don’t kill him—”

King.

Follower.

The words stuck in Liu Qingge’s fevered brain, twisting, nonsensical.

What king?

What follower?

Of what?

He tried to growl something— anything— but it came out as a weak, pitiful rasp.

Someone tipped water to his lips.

Liu Qingge choked, coughed violently, water spilling down his chin.

Humiliation boiled under his fever.

He blinked his eyes open— just barely.

The bed was small.

Too small.

And Shang, in his infinite stupidity, had laid him on it—

Right beside the demon.

Broad shoulders.

Blood-stained cloak.

Silky black hair loose around a sharp jaw.

Too close.

Far too close.

Liu Qingge’s instinct screamed danger.

Every muscle clawed to move.

To pull away.

To draw Cheng Luan.

He could not even lift his hand.

Where is Cheng Luan?

No!

Heat radiated off him in waves.

His forehead burned.

His breath came short and ragged.

And beside him, the demon’s body radiated—

Cold.

Bone-deep cold.

Like glacier wind.

Like winter incarnate.

The contrast jolted him.

His fevered cheek met the demon’s arm for a split second—

A hiss escaped him.

He couldn’t tell if it was pain or relief.

The demon didn’t shift away.

He didn’t flinch.

He looked down at Liu Qingge— expression unreadable, eyes that impossible glacial blue staring straight into him.

Not with malice.

Not with gratitude.

Something… assessing.

Evaluating.

Liu Qingge’s vision blurred again.

His instincts kept screaming danger—

But his body was too far gone to obey.

Heat and ice.

Fire and snow.

A burning human boy and an ice-born demon on the same narrow bed.

Everything felt wrong.

Everything felt too close.

Everything felt—

He slipped under.

“Ice Bath, Rage, and Humiliation”

Liu Qingge woke like a man being yanked out of a burning house.

His eyes snapped open.

The world swam.

Summer heat pressed against his skin like molten iron.

He lurched upright— half-delirious, breath ragged— and immediately snarled, voice hoarse:

“—Get away from me!”

The demon’s blue eyes flicked toward him.

Shang squeaked and nearly dropped a basin.

Liu Qingge tried to reach for Cheng Luan—

His hand grabbed air.

He looked down.

Thin white underrobes.

Someone.

Had.

Stripped.

Him.

His jaw dropped in horrified fury.

“Who—TOUCHED— my—CLOTHES—?!”

Shang pointed at himself with shaky fingers.

The demon raised an eyebrow.

Neither answer was acceptable.

Liu Qingge tried to stand, to kill them both, to reclaim his sword—

His knees buckled.

The world tilted—

And he collapsed again.

This time, he jolted awake because his entire body plunged into freezing hell.

Water like slush.

Like winter storms.

Like falling directly into a glacier.

He thrashed instinctively, teeth clacking from shock.

Hands grabbed his arms.

Shang’s voice shrieked:

“W-wait—wait— Liu-xiong! You’ll drown—hold still!”

Shang had him in a half-cradle grip, both arms under Liu Qingge’s shoulders, holding his head above the water while Liu Qingge sputtered, gasped, and tried to punch him.

The tub was small, wooden, and packed with ice chips that glittered like broken crystal.

The cold hit hard enough that tears pricked Liu Qingge’s eyes.

“How—h-how is this— cold—? It’s SUMMER—!” he rasped, trembling violently.

Shang, panting, answered breathlessly:

“Th-thank you, my Ki—ah—thank you, for letting me use your bathwater for Liu-xiong!”

Liu Qingge froze.

Not physically— he was already freezing.

Mentally.

The demon’s.

Bathwater.

He was submerged in a tub filled with water that had been used by—

He whipped his head toward the bed.

The tall demon stood beside it, shirtless, drying long black hair with a cloth. Droplets slid down the curve of his neck, across his collarbone, evaporating into faint frost.

Liu Qingge wanted to die.

Not from the fever.

From pure humiliation.

He’d been stripped.

Dunked in a tub.

Held by a rat with a rope tied around his neck.

And bathed in a demon’s leftover ice-water.

This broke several Bai Zhan commandments.

Possibly all of them.

Shang, still supporting Liu Qingge’s slack body, continued babbling:

“Liu-xiong had a fever so— so high! His skin was burning! Water that cold was the only thing that could— could stabilise him— My King —I mean—you’re very generous—thank you for—“

“SHUT UP!” Liu Qingge snarled, voice cracking.

Shang squeaked and nearly dunked him.

The demon said nothing, expression unreadable, towel draped loosely over one shoulder.

His gaze lingered a fraction too long on Liu Qingge’s trembling form—

not mocking,

not sympathetic,

just assessing.

Liu Qingge’s entire soul recoiled.

In his fever-hazed mind one coherent thought formed:

Just let me die.

Just kill me NOW.

Anything is better than being in a DEMON’S bathwater.

Then another wave of dizziness crashed over him, and the cold bite faded into numbness.

He slumped in Shang’s arms, breathing uneven, eyelids drooping.

The last thing he saw was the demon stepping closer, frost curling faintly under his feet—

And Shang tugging nervously at the rope tied around his own neck, muttering:

“Liu-xiong, please don’t die, I can’t face two angry demons at once—”

Two demons? 

Where?

There’s only one!

Liu Qingge passed out with a sound that was almost a growl.

“Cold Fingers”

Liu Qingge surfaced from unconsciousness slowly, as though dragging himself through warm mud. His fever had ebbed a little— or maybe he had simply grown used to the burning— but the world felt sharper, steadier.

Not well.

But no longer drowning.

His eyes cracked open.

The first thing he saw was rope.

A coarse hemp line stretched from the demon’s wrist… to Shang’s neck.

Shang lay curled on the floor beside the bed, a thin blanket over him, fast asleep and snoring faintly. The rope slackened and tightened with every rise of the demon’s breathing.

A hostage rope.

The demon had tied the rat like a captive animal.

Liu Qingge blinked slowly.

Good. Serves him right.

He pushed himself upright—

—only to realise he wasn’t on the floor.

He was still on the bed.

Beside the demon.

Too close.

Far too close.

The demon’s body radiated cold, a deep glacial chill that seeped into the mattress. His breath came uneven— almost pained. His limbs twitched, muscles tightening and relaxing in abrupt bursts.

A nightmare?

Or demon instincts acting out during sleep?

Either way, Liu Qingge didn’t like it.

He didn’t like any of this.

He felt… weak.

The weakest he had ever felt in his entire life.

A fever shouldn’t do this.

He rarely got sick.

Even when poisoned by beasts or stabbed during training or drenched in icy river water, he could still stand. Still fight.

But now?

His arms trembled when he tried to lift them.

His legs felt hollow.

His qi refused to gather.

Why was he like this?

What had the arrows done to him?

A sudden, violent jolt kicked through the demon’s sleeping body.

Before Liu Qingge could react—

THWACK.

A long leg slammed into his ribs, sending him skidding halfway toward the edge of the bed.

He bit back a shout, pain detonating through his chest.

“—hhk—!”

He tasted copper.

Blood surged up his throat and he coughed, spraying a thin line of red across his sleeve.

Every breath burned.

His vision blurred at the corners.

He tried to push himself up— to glare, to snarl, to shove the demon off the bed and onto the floor where demons belonged— but his strength gave out.

His head fell back against the pillow.

Darkness flickered at the edge of his sight.

He was losing consciousness again.

Pathetic.

He hated it.

He hated the weakness.

He hated the room.

He hated the rope.

He hated the rat.

He hated the demon most of all.

His breaths hitched.

Then—

Cold.

A shock of it.

Fingers— long, chilled, inhuman— touched his cheek.

They slid along his jawline, steady, unhurried.

A thumb brushed the corner of his mouth.

Wiping away the blood.

Liu Qingge’s eyes flew open, fury spiking through the fever-haze.

His voice cracked, barely more than a rasp:

“Don’t— touch me.”

The cold thumb stilled.

The demon’s blue eyes, still heavy with sleep and disorientation, cracked half-open, regarding him with an unreadable expression.

Not mocking.

Not hostile.

Just… watching him struggle.

Liu Qingge tried to jerk away.

His body refused to move.

The hand withdrew a fraction— but not fully.

The demon murmured something low in his own tongue, breath misting faintly in the warm room. A phrase Liu Qingge didn’t understand.

Then Liu Qingge’s world tilted sideways again, the cold fading, the heat rising—

And the darkness swallowed him a second time.

Chapter Text

“The Market Incident and the Interrogation at Qiong Ding Peak”

Shang Qinghua should have known he was going to die today.

Not because of the ice demon sitting silently in the inn room like a death omen.

Not because Liu Qingge was burning up on the bed beside him, muttering deliriously and looking one breath from meeting his ancestors.

No— it was because he was starving.

Seven days of surviving on scraps and melted ice chips had finally snapped something in his brain.

He knelt before the demon, hands clasped, voice trembling with genuine hunger and genuine terror:

“Your… Your Majesty—King— my King— if you don’t let me go buy food, I will actually perish before I can serve you again.”

The demon, sitting cross-legged beside an unconscious Liu Qingge, did not look impressed.

His cold blue eyes flicked to the youth on the bed— Liu Qingge drenched in fever sweat, breathing raggedly— and then back to Shang.

“…Leave,” he said finally, tossing a frayed rope end toward Shang. “But bring food.”

Shang Qinghua nearly wept with relief.

He bowed until his forehead hit the floor. “Yes! Yes, my King!”

And so he ran.

More importantly: he fled the inn, stomach gnawing at itself, mind anxiously replaying the sight he’d left behind:

Liu Qingge— stripped down to thin underrobes, shivering and burning at the same time, face pale and lips cracked.

The demon prince— sitting beside him like an ice statue, expression impossible to read.

A rope— looped loosely around his neck, trailing on the floor. A reminder.

If the King wants him dead when he returns, he’ll die.

If Liu Qingge dies while he’s gone, he’ll die.

If Huan Hua finds either of them, they’ll all die.

Honestly, why did Shang Qinghua get stuck with these two?!

He took the rope off his neck and threw it away. 

“The Congee Incident”

He found a small food stall on the edge of town.

He bought the cheapest bowl of thin congee.

He sat in a corner, gulping it like the starving orphan he once was.

And then—

“Hm? An Ding-shidi?”

Wei Qingwei’s voice.

Right behind him.

Shang nearly swallowed the wooden spoon.

Of all the rotten luck—!

He turned slowly, bowl in shaking hands. His smile was trembling. His soul was already leaving his body.

“W-Wei-shixiong! I— I— fancy meeting you here— haha—ha—?”

Wei Qingwei frowned. “Where are the others? You came down the mountain with a whole group of An Ding disciples. Where did they go? Why did you delay your return for seven days?”

Seven days.

Shang Qinghua wanted to scream.

Instead he did what he did best.

He panicked.

He trembled.

He let his knees wobble.

“O-oh— Wei-shixiong… the others… they… the demon… Liu-xiong saved me… but he…”

“Liu—?”

He swayed.

He paled.

Then he executed a perfect faint, collapsing into Wei Qingwei’s arms.

“Shixiong! He fainted!”

Wei Qingwei poked his cheek twice. “He did.”

“Do we— drag him back?”

Wei Qingwei sighed. “Drag him back.”

And so they did.

“QIONG DING PEAK — The Interrogation”

Shang Qinghua awoke from his “faint” on the floor of Qiong Ding Peak’s grand hall.

Rows of bodies lay outside—the entire An Ding group he had travelled with.

All dead.

His throat tightened. Some tears were real.

He knelt among them.

He cried.

And, yes, some crying was also for himself.

The Peak Lords approached.

Questions, pressure, suspicion piled on him until his head spun.

Then they left him. He thanked the heavens for making the low IQ NPCs accept the excuses he made. 

However, as soon as the peak lords turned away to discuss among themselves—

Shen Qingqiu stepped forward, head disciple, pristine in his green Qing Jing robes, holding his sword, looking like a judgmental celestial flower.

His voice was like ice:

“Shang-shidi… Did the demon leave you a message?”

“N-No…”

“Strange,” Shen Qingqiu murmured. “If nine or ten people died, why would someone like you be the only survivor?”

Shang Qinghua nearly fainted for real this time.

He tried, desperately, to spin a tale—

“Liu— Liu Qingge! He— he saved me! He was on his way back from Bai Lu Forest, we met by chance—   the demon attacked—but Liu Qingge fought it off! He— he protected me! But he was injured, and he’s… he’s still in that town… sick… probably dying…”

The hall went silent.

“—and you fail to mention this— important piece of information, “ Shen Qingqiu hissed. 

Yue Qingyuan’s expression sharpened instantly.

“Liu Qingge is missing,” he said quietly. “He failed to return from his mission— also seven days ago.”

Wei Qingwei’s brows shot up. “Then Shang-shidi’s account may hold truth. If Liu Qingge is injured—we must retrieve him immediately.”

Shen Qingqiu looked… unconvinced.

“Shang-shidi,” he said, voice smooth and cutting, “if you were able to travel to town for food, why did you not send a single talisman requesting aid?”

Shang Qinghua’s heart stopped.

He opened his mouth—

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrowed—

Shang decided to faint again.

His knees bent—

His eyes rolled up—

and—

Yue Qingyuan stepped in front of Shen Qingqiu.

“That is enough. Qingqiu, the boy is traumatised. We retrieve Liu Qingge first.”

Shen Qingqiu’s jaw ticked. “Yue-shixiong—”

“We leave immediately.”

Shen Qingqiu fell silent but the sharp, poisonous look he threw at Shang promised that this matter was far from resolved.

Shang, limp in Wei Qingwei’s arms, felt saved. Momentarily.

Because as long as Liu Qingge was still burning up on that narrow bed—

as long as the demon prince was still sitting beside him—

as long as they were all still alive—

Shang Qinghua knew:

he might survive this day,

but tomorrow is entirely uncertain.

“The Retrieval Party”

Heat.

His own breath felt like steam rising off a forge. Every swallow scorched his throat. His limbs were heavy, trembling with the effort of simply existing.

He surfaced from the fever like a drowning man breaking through ice.

Voices.

Too loud.

Too close.

Someone downstairs was yelling— panicked, exaggerated yelling.

Shang.

The rat.

And several others.

Liu Qingge tried to move. Something cold pressed firmly onto his brow, and he shuddered at the relief despite himself. His eyes cracked open.

A pale, inhuman face looked down at him— expressionless, carved like a statue.

The ice demon.

Its hand dwarfed Liu Qingge’s forehead, icy cold, steady, grounding him in the fever haze. Liu Qingge snarled weakly and lifted an arm to shove it away, but he barely brushed the demon’s wrist before his strength evaporated.

His hand fell back onto the sheets like wet cloth.

“Get— off,” he rasped. It barely came out as sound.

The demon did not move its hand. Its blue eyes were unnervingly still, studying him as if he were something curious and alive yet strangely fragile.

Below them, Shang Qinghua’s voice rose even louder— clearly deliberate:

“Aiya, Wei-shixiong, my legs are weak— we should slow down, mustn’t shock the sick—! Please, slowly—!”

Liu Qingge grit his teeth.

The retrieval party.

He could hear sword tassels. Armour. The heavy tread of multiple disciples. Voices crisp with authority— most likely Wan Jian Peak, Bai Zhan, Qian Cao healers.

They were coming.

And he was lying here.

Beside a demon.

His breath rasped, panic slipping through the fever fog.

“Go,” he forced out, harsher this time. “Get… away.”

The demon’s head tilted slightly. “It is easier,” he said calmly, “to kill them all.”

Something violent in Liu Qingge snapped at that thought. Even dying, feverish, half-delirious— his instincts roared.

“No.”

His head spun. His vision blackened around the edges. But he managed to glare.

“Scram.”

The demon withdrew his hand from Liu Qingge’s forehead, but only slightly— just enough to observe him with new interest. As if reconsidering him entirely.

“I do not stay indebted,” the demon said softly.

A cold, final statement.

Then he rose.

Liu Qingge felt the mattress shift, the cold receding with the demon’s body. His eyes fought to focus as the tall figure straightened, shadowed by the dim lamplight.

Blue eyes swept over him like a winter storm.

“I should kill you,” the demon murmured.

The world went silent.

Liu Qingge’s breath stopped.

But the demon didn’t move. Didn’t touch him. Only watched.

Watched too long, too intently, for someone speaking of death.

Outside the door, Wei Qingwei’s patience snapped.

“Shang-shidi! Move aside— if Liu Qingge is inside, we’re coming in!”

A fist struck the door.

Bang.

The demon flicked a glance toward the sound. Then, without looking back, he said:

“Your friend hid your sword beneath the bed.”

Liu Qingge rasped, “That rat… is not my friend.”

A flash— barely there— crossed the demon’s lips.

A smirk.

Not kind.

Not mocking.

Something sharper.

Recognition, perhaps.

Or the slightest hint of satisfaction.

The door rattled again.

“Move, Shang-shidi!”

Another strike. Louder this time.

Bang.

Liu Qingge’s fingers twitched toward Cheng Luan’s hidden spot beneath the bed. He forced himself upright, failed, sagged back down.

The demon moved at the same moment the final slam shook the wood—

—and vanished.

One heartbeat he was standing there, cold aura filling the room.

The next—

Only empty air remained.

A lingering chill hung where he had been, frosting the fever-thick air around Liu Qingge’s skin.

The door crashed open.

And Wei Qingwei burst in.

Light stabbed into the dim room, and Liu Qingge winced as silhouettes crowded the threshold.

“Liu Qingge—!”

Wei Qingwei’s voice, sharp with alarm, cut through the fever haze.

Hands grabbed him before he could protest— cool— not demon-cold, but human-cool— yet it still hurt as fingers pressed against his shoulder and jaw.

“He’s burning— he’s delirious— get Mu-shidi up here!” Wei snapped.

Liu Qingge blinked, forcing his eyes open. Wei Qingwei’s normally elegant face was twisted in something between fury and worry.

“You idiot,” Wei hissed. “You reckless idiot— seven days?! In this condition?!”

Liu Qingge swallowed, throat too dry to answer.

Behind Wei Qingwei, several Bai Zhan disciples filed in— disciples older than him, stronger-bodied, technically more experienced.

They all stopped.

And stared.

Not with concern.

Not with respect.

With thinly veiled mockery.

“Heh. Head disciple?” one muttered.

“Looks like a dying kitten,” another snickered.

“Shifu really picked him?”

“He’s fifteen. What did they expect?”

Liu Qingge’s chest tightened— not from shame but from an old, familiar fury. He tried to sit up— to prove he wasn’t weak— but a sharp pain twisted through his side and he nearly collapsed again.

Wei Qingwei rounded on them.

“Shut up,” he snapped, voice cracking like thunder. “You call yourselves Bai Zhan? If you’re jealous, train. If you disagree, challenge him properly. Don’t stand there sniping like old women.”

Silence fell.

The Bai Zhan seniors flinched and bowed their heads, chastised. But Liu Qingge still saw the resentment simmering under their lowered lashes.

Not that he cared.

He’d beat them all once he could stand again.

Hands touched him again— lighter this time. Cian Cao healers rushed in, robes pale green, movements smooth and efficient.

A hand pressed his chest—

A talisman slapped against his forehead—

A cool, numbing qi spread down his throat as someone forced medicine between his cracked lips.

“Pulse is erratic.”

“Fever is dangerously high.”

“Possible infection.”

“Possible poison.”

“No— no poison. Traces of — foreign substance—”

Liu Qingge tried to speak.

Nothing came out but a hoarse, broken rasp.

“Where—”

But the words died in his throat.

Because he felt it.

The cold the demon left behind—

still lingering in the bed,

in the air,

on his skin,

sharp as winter breath.

A rustle of silk near the door.

Shen Qingqiu entered like a shadow cut from jade.

Qing Jing robes pristine.

Sword in his hand.

Face unreadable and sharp as glass.

He paused mid-step.

His gaze swept the room.

Over the bed.

Over the air.

Over the faint traces of frost clinging to the windowpane.

Over Liu Qingge’s flushed face and trembling form.

Then his expression darkened— not dramatically, but subtly. A tightening of his eyes. A tilt of the chin.

He sensed it.

“Shen-shixiong?” Wei asked, glancing back.

Shen Qingqiu’s tone was soft, dangerously soft.

“There was a demon here.”

Everyone froze.

Liu Qingge’s heart thudded painfully.

Shang Qinghua— who had been peeking nervously behind Bai Zhan disciples— went stiff like a mouse caught in a trap.

Shen Qingqiu turned, eyes cold as needles.

“Shang-shidi,” he said pleasantly. “Explain.”

Shang Qinghua nearly tripped over himself. “E-explain what, Shen-shixiong—?”

Shen Qingqiu gestured to the room with one elegant hand.

“No demon warding talismans. No qi stabilising incense. No spiritual barriers. No protective glyphs. You were staying in this room for days— with someone gravely injured— and you didn’t set anything?”

Shang Qinghua sputtered.

“I— I’m an outer disciple! Logistics, supplies, Messenger Corps— An Ding Peak doesn’t train us in talismans or combat—! I was afraid the demon chasing us would come aga—“

“That is an excuse,” Shen Qingqiu cut him off, smiled coldly. “A very poor one.”

“I— I can’t draw talismans! I can barely light a fire talisman—!”

“You can buy them.”

A soft, razor-edged reply.

Shang Qinghua choked.

Shen Qingqiu advanced a step, folding his hands behind his back.

“You were out in town just hours ago,” he continued mildly. “Eating congee, I hear. Why did you not purchase even a single communication talisman?”

Shang Qinghua’s mouth opened and closed.

“Uh—I— ah—because—uh— my—my purse was stolen?”

Silence.

Everyone stared at him.

Even Liu Qingge, delirious, managed to glare weakly.

Wei Qingwei sighed into his hand.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyebrow arched to the heavens.

“Shang-shidi,” he murmured. “If you wish to lie, do try harder.”

Shang Qinghua started to sway again—

A faint incoming.

Wei Qingwei groaned. “Not again—!”

But before the faint could land, Yue Qingyuan’s voice echoed up the stairwell:

“Make way— we are taking Liu Qingge back to the mountain.”

Shen Qingqiu paused, bristling faintly as Yue Qingyuan appeared.

But he stepped aside.

For now.

And Liu Qingge, vision dimming, felt himself lifted by steady hands— Wei Qingwei’s? Yue Qingyuan’s? He wasn’t sure— while the room spun away.

Only one thing stayed clear:

The demon

was gone.

But his cold

was still there.

“The Snake at His Bedside”

The first thing he felt was the ache.

A deep, dragging heaviness in his bones— his body reminding him, with irritating insistence, that he had been nearly dead. Fever gone, but weakness clung like damp cloth.

The second thing he felt was the sheets.

Clean. Cool. The scent of Cian Cao’s infirmary herbs thick in the air.

He hated it immediately.

He despised infirmaries.

Despised lying still.

Despised being seen vulnerable.

Liu Qingge forced his eyes open, determined to sit up, determined to not look like an invalid—

And froze.

Because sitting at the chair beside his bed—arms crossed, expression carved into a flawless mask of disdain—

was Shen Qingqiu.

What—

Of all people—

Why—

Liu Qingge’s temper ignited before his brain could catch up.

He pushed himself up on shaky elbows, jaw clenched. Every muscle protested, but pride shoved pain aside.

“Get out,” he snapped.

No honorific. No courtesy.

Just the truth of his irritation.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t move.

He didn’t even blink.

He simply tilted his chin downward, looking at Liu Qingge the way a noble looks at a dirt stain on silk.

“Liu Qingge,” Shen Qingqiu said slowly, voice cool and aristocratically bored, “you have just regained consciousness. Perhaps you should use what little energy you have to breathe instead of bark.”

Liu Qingge’s eye twitched.

He knew this snake was condescending by nature, but somehow Shen Qingqiu sounded even more unbearable than usual today.

What was he even doing here?

Shen Qingqiu had entered the sect only a year ago— rumored to be a personal recommendation from Yue Qingyuan. His mannerisms screamed noble-born: the refined speech, the perfect posture, the perpetual air of superiority.

Soft hands. Expensive fabrics.

Someone who had never been punched in the mouth in his life.

No wonder they hated each other on sight.

Shen Qingqiu found him “barbaric,” “unrefined,” “a wild dog pretending to be a tiger.”

Liu Qingge found him “snobbish,” “fragile-looking,” and “an overgrown poisonous orchid.”

Mutual, enduring dislike.

So why the hell was Shen Qingqiu sitting in his recovery room like some self-appointed overseer?

Liu Qingge narrowed his eyes.

“I said leave.”

Shen Qingqiu exhaled softly, like he was being forced to share air with something beneath him.

“Believe me,” he said, voice silky with sarcasm, “I would very much like to. However—” his gaze sharpened like a sword tip, “—there are matters regarding your… incident… that require clarification.”

“Incident?”

Shen Qingqiu’s smile was too thin to be pleasant.

“The one where you were found dying in an inn room contaminated with demon qi.”

Liu Qingge’s blood chilled.

He kept his face blank.

Shen Qingqiu leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on his crossed knee, the picture of cultivated menace.

“That room was tainted with a cold-aligned demonic aura. Potent. Recently present.” He paused deliberately. “Stronger than anything from mere beasts.”

Liu Qingge held his breath.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes didn’t blink.

“Explain.”

There it was— the interrogation. The suspicion. The scrutiny he expected from Shen-snake, being a creature who thrived on catching others off guard.

But Liu Qingge refused to give him satisfaction.

“I don’t owe you anything,” he said flatly.

Shen Qingqiu stared.

Then smiled.

A thin, dangerous curve of lips.

“Oh, Liu Qingge,” he drawled. “Your answers are as crude as your swordsmanship.”

Liu Qingge’s fingers twitched toward where Cheng Luan should be. He wasn’t allowed his weapon in the infirmary. He hated that too.

“Leave,” he said again, voice low now, steadier. “Or I will throw you out.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Shen Qingqiu said sweetly. “Once you can stand without collapsing.”

Liu Qingge almost launched himself out of bed on pure spite.

Almost.

His arms trembled; he could feel how weak he still was.

Shen Qingqiu saw it.

Of course he did.

His gaze flicked to the quaking muscles with smug amusement.

“Rest, Liu Qingge,” Shen Qingqiu said, rising to his feet with deliberate grace. “For now, at least. Your Shifu will expect a report.”

He walked toward the door.

Paused.

Looked back with a tilt of the head.

“And do consider your answers carefully,” he said softly. “The aura I sensed— was not from any common demon.”

Liu Qingge’s heart pounded.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrowed.

“It was… refined. Controlled.”

A beat.

“Uncommon.”

“Rare.”

Liu Qingge’s breath stopped.

Shen Qingqiu’s smile sharpened.

“I wonder,” he murmured, “what sort of creature you crossed paths with, Liu Mingxuan. You and Shang are hiding something.”

He left the room in silence.

And Liu Qingge realised his fever had broken—

but his problems had only begun.

“The Rat’s Report”

Liu Qingge glared at the ceiling beams of the infirmary, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

Discharged?

Denied.

Lord Yu Wenfei of Qian Cao Peak— gentle voice, iron authority— had smiled serenely and informed him that he would remain in bed for at least three more days.

Three days.

Liu Qingge nearly spat blood.

He argued.

Yu Wenfei calmly pointed out that Liu Qingge nearly died.

He argued more.

Yu Wenfei raised one eyebrow and reminded him he’d collapse halfway to the courtyard.

In the end, Liu Qingge was confined to a bed like a prisoner.

And that was why, when the door slid open with an unmistakably sneaky creak, Liu Qingge was primed to decapitate whoever entered.

Unfortunately, he had no sword.

He would have to beg Huang Wenming, his Shifu for it later. 

He really didn’t want to deal with this interruption. 

Even more unfortunately, the intruder was a rat.

“L-Liu-xiong!” Shang Qinghua hissed in a whisper that was far too loud to be covert. “You look— much better! Praise the heavens! I was so worried!”

Liu Qingge glared murderously. “Get out.”

Shang closed the door behind him anyway and scampered closer, wringing his hands.

“No, no, listen, Liu-xiong— please, please— don’t implicate me.”

The sheer shamelessness made Liu Qingge want to throw something. Preferably Shang.

“I’m begging you,” Shang continued, dropping to his knees dramatically. “I’m just a little An Ding outer disciple! I have no combat training! No talisman training! I barely survived! I had to do what I did to survive— for the two of us to survive. If the sect suspects anything— if they think I saw something— if they think we hid anything—”

Liu Qingge rubbed his temples. “Stop crying.”

“I’m not crying,” Shang lied through trembling lips. “I’m leaking strategically.”

Then, with both hands, he thrust a folded packet of papers forward like an offering to a wrathful deity.

“Here! My incident report! Please read it. I— I made a copy so you can memorise it. We must align our stories, Liu-xiong.”

Liu Qingge stared.

“You expect me to lie for you.”

“No! No no no!” Shang squeaked. “Not lie— just, um— accurately recount events… from a particular angle.”

“That is lying.”

Shang pushed the papers harder.

“Please, just read it!”

Liu Qingge snatched the report just to shut him up. Shang looked startled— actually startled— as Liu Qingge unfolded the pages and began reading with sharp, steady eyes.

“…you can read?” Shang whispered.

Liu Qingge slowly lifted his gaze.

Shang flinched. “SORRY— forget I said anything—I just— never mind— continue— please continue—”

Liu Qingge returned to the document, jaw twitching.

And to his annoyance…

it was clever.

Infuriatingly clever.

Shang had written:

• as a non-combatant An Ding outer disciple, he was part of a supply caravan
  
  
• when a demon ambushed them, all combatants were killed instantly
  
  
• Shang was fleeing for his life when
  
  
• he spotted Liu Qingge descending from the skies
  
  
• Liu Qingge bravely battled the demon and saved Shang
  
  
• but was gravely injured
  
  
• the two surviving horses bolted, dragging the wagon and bodies away
  
  
• Shang, panicked and alone, brought Liu Qingge to the nearest inn
  
  
• without talismans, resources, or training
  
  
• he feared drawing attention and stayed hidden while trying to treat Liu Qingge with basic first aid
  
  
• he eventually went to town for food
  
  
• where he was found by Wei Qingwei
  
  
• and brought back for questioning
  
  

Not a single outright lie.

But the truth was twisted and polished until it gleamed like jade.

Shang had cleverly used his own weaknesses— his rank, inexperience, fear, lack of combat training— to explain every suspicious detail perfectly.

Liu Qingge exhaled through his nose.

“You’re crafty,” he muttered.

Shang brightened instantly. “T-thank you?”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“Oh.”

A beat.

Liu Qingge flipped to the next page.

There was a hand-drawn diagram, poorly sketched, showing:

• the horse-drawn wagon speeding off 
  
  
• the bodies
  
  
• Shang running like a lunatic
  
  
• a stick-figure Liu Qingge swooping down heroically
  
  

He closed the report.

“You drew this.”

Shang nodded vigorously. “Visual aids! I’ve read that people in Bai Zhan are very… practical, so I made sure the Peak Lord could follow along easily.”

Liu Qingge’s eye twitched.

“I will burn you alive.”

Shang choked. “L-Liu-xiong, please! I worked so hard on that!”

The door suddenly creaked again.

Both froze.

Shang dove under the bed like a rabbit fleeing a hawk.

A healer passed by the door without entering.

Shang slowly crawled out, panting.

“See? SEE? I am doing this for both of us, Liu-xiong!”

Liu Qingge’s patience snapped.

He sat upright— weakly, but with enough force to make Shang scoot backward.

“If anyone asks,” Liu Qingge said through clenched teeth, “I found you by chance. I saved you. Nothing else happened.”

Shang nodded frantically. “Exactly!”

“I never saw any demons except the one that attacked the wagon.”

“Yes, yes, that’s in the report!”

“And if you tell anyone I was sick,” Liu Qingge growled, “I will kill you myself.”

Shang swallowed. “O-Of course.”

Liu Qingge tossed the report back.

Shang caught it, hugging it like a lifeline.

“So… we’re in agreement?” he squeaked.

Liu Qingge glared.

Shang squeaked louder. “R-right, I’m leaving! Leaving!”

Shang scuttled to the door—

Paused—

Turned back—

And whispered:

“Liu-xiong… thank you for not killing me.”

Then he disappeared down the hall.

Liu Qingge slumped back onto the pillow, eyes closing.

The rat was gone.

But on his tongue lingered the faint memory of winter.

Icy.

Silent.

Watching.

He exhaled sharply.

The demon had vanished.

But he wasn’t done with Liu Qingge.

Not by a long shot.

Liu Qingge knew this and he refused to let the sinking dread immobilise him. 

He will kill that demon if he sees it again. 

Secrets won’t come to light if they’re dead. 

“Report to Bai Zhan Peak”

Bai Zhan Peak was home.

Stone steps. Harsh winds. Training fields scarred by blades.

The ringing clang of disciples sparring at dawn.

Liu Qingge loved it more than anywhere else in the world.

But today, walking into the main hall— even with fever gone, even mostly steady on his feet— his stomach twisted.

Because he had to lie.

Not out of shame.

Not out of fear.

But because the truth would destroy him.

He knelt before Huang Wenming, Bai Zhan Peak Lord.

His Shifu was a towering man— broad, scarred, with arms like battering rams and a presence that crackled like battle lightning. He wasted no breath on niceties.

“Report,” Huang Wenming rumbled.

Liu Qingge bowed his head and presented the written document—

Shang Qinghua’s polished half-truths, reshaped in his own blunt handwriting.

He spoke with clipped tone, jaw tight:

“I was flying a return route over Bai Lu Forest and saw a demon ambush on a wagon. I intervened. I sustained several injuries. My wounds became infected… I lost consciousness. I do not clearly remember the seven days afterward.”

That part, at least, was not a lie.

His Shifu grunted. “Fevers from wound infection make fools of everyone.”

Liu Qingge resisted the urge to grimace.

Huang Wenming continued reading, eyes narrowing with interest— not at the lies, but at the combat details.

“These ice-form arrows… hn.”

He tapped the paper with a thick finger.

“Clever weapons. Leave no trace after melting. Hard to study. Harder to counter. Who knows what poison or curse is embedded. Your wounds were infected too quickly. Suspicious.”

Liu Qingge swallowed.

Shifu wasn’t accusing him.

Shifu was excited.

A battle maniac through and through.

“If only we had even one arrow,” Huang Wenming lamented, stroking his beard. “We could test its qi, find its maker, understand the refinement technique… sophisticated demons are rare. They rarely venture to our realm.”

Liu Qingge almost told him he’d been injured with two.

One shot in the arm.

One stabbed in the thigh.

He did not.

No need.

The Cian Cao reports would have stated those. 

Those healers poked and prodded him— intrusively. They should have enough to record and present. 

His Shifu moved on.

With surprising heaviness, Huang Wenming placed a second scroll before him.

Stark white.

He recognised the handwriting instantly.

Shen Qingqiu’s.

Or rather— Qing Jing Peak’s.

“The investigation summary,” Huang Wenming said.

Liu Qingge’s blood ran cold.

He kept his face blank.

Huang Wenming read aloud:

“‘Residual cold-aligned demonic qi present in the victim’s room… stronger than common-class demons… signs of recent departure… possible refined origin.’”

Shen Qingqiu’s elegant handwriting made the accusations feel even worse.

Huang Wenming set the scroll down.

Then, for the first time, he looked Liu Qingge directly in the eyes.

“Two reports,” Shifu said. “Which is true?”

The hall fell silent.

Liu Qingge’s heartbeat thundered in his ears.

His mind raced.

If he admitted anything—anything at all—

Bai Zhan would be disgraced.

He would be expelled, imprisoned, or executed.

He wouldn’t even be allowed trial.

The cultivation world would tear him apart.

But he kept his breathing even.

His gaze steady.

He did not answer.

He simply knelt.

Still.

Stone-like.

Hard.

His Shifu watched him for a long, long moment.

Then—

Huang Wenming barked a laugh.

Deep, thunderous, dismissive.

“Ha! That Qing Jing brat. Always eager to poke his nose into Bai Zhan business.”

Liu Qingge’s shoulders loosened by a fraction.

Huang Wenming rolled up Shen Qingqiu’s report and tossed it carelessly onto a side table.

“Qing Jing Peak Lord Ren Wenjia’s prized disciple—mm.”

He snorted.

“Always so eager to show off their ‘deduction skills’. They see a chill breeze and cry ‘demon’.”

Liu Qingge exhaled— quietly, controlled— but his heart stumbled in relief. 

His Shifu’s rivalry with Qing Jing was legendary.

The peak lords clashed almost monthly.

Their disciples followed suit.

Bai Zhan hated Qing Jing’s arrogant airs.

Qing Jing hated Bai Zhan’s bluntness.

Their mutual disdain—

just saved him.

Huang Wenming waved a hand.

“Your report stands. Final.”

Liu Qingge bowed deeply, forehead nearly touching the floor.

“Thank you, Shifu.”

“Rest,” Huang Wenming said with a grunt. “Then train. Then get stronger. Injuries like these—learn from them. Do not repeat them.”

“Yes, Shifu.”

The peak lord rose, cloak sweeping behind him.

“One more thing.”

Liu Qingge lifted his head.

“Do not concern yourself with Qing Jing’s suspicions.”

A grin tugged his Shifu’s mouth.

“We settle matters between peaks with fists, not gossip.”

Liu Qingge almost smiled.

Almost.

Then Huang Wenming left, boots echoing through the hall.

Liu Qingge stayed kneeling a moment longer, breathing slow.

He was safe.

For now.

But he knew one thing:

the ice demon would not disappear forever.

And when winter returned…

Liu Qingge would be ready.

The training grounds were loud as always— and metal on metal, the grunt and clash of sparring, the rhythmic thud of fists into wooden dummies.

Liu Qingge inhaled deeply.

This was where he belonged.

This was where his mind quieted.

This was where he could pretend the fever, the demon, and Shen Qingqiu’s accusations never happened.

He had barely stepped into the courtyard when the older Bai Zhan seniors blocked his path.

Three of them.

All bigger than him.

All older by at least five to eight years.

All wearing identical smirks.

“Well, well,” one drawled, arms crossed. “Look who’s finally crawled out of the infirmary.”

Another leaned in, tone dripping mockery.

“Head disciple Liu, you should be more careful next time. Wouldn’t want to get sick again. Think of the shame.”

Liu Qingge’s eyes lowered to slits.

The third stepped forward, tapping a wooden practice sword against his palm.

“Why don’t you show us how you got that title, hm? Or was it just Shifu’s favouritism?”

He didn’t flinch.

He didn’t speak.

He simply held their gazes— quiet, cold, unblinking.

Silence stretched.

Their smirks twitched.

They expected him to snap.

To shout.

To swing.

Fools.

Liu Qingge didn’t waste breath on people beneath his level.

He shifted his weight just slightly— subtle enough for only trained eyes to catch— and the three seniors involuntarily tensed.

Good.

He let them see it:

that he was recovering

that he could still fight

that he would destroy them.

Then, with absolute contempt, he walked past them.

Not a word.

Not a glance.

Not a shred of acknowledgment.

The humiliation landed harder than any punch.

Behind him, one hissed, “Tch— acting like he’s above us—!”

“Why does Shifu tolerate that brat?”

“One that looks like he can fit in Xian Shu. Even Shifu’s blinded by his beu—”

Liu Qingge was done listening.

That does it.

His looks are taboo. 

He never asked to be born with this— these damned— ugh!

But these lowlifes are not worth his energy. 

He strode across the courtyard to the outer cliffs where he usually trained alone— steep rocky paths, treacherous footing, sharp wind. Perfect.

With deliberate calm, he began his warm-up:

fist forms

stances

breathing drills

slow blade motions— even without Cheng Luan, muscle memory was enough.

His body still felt stiff, but every movement strengthened his resolve. Sweat rolled down his back. The fever ghost loosened. The tremors in his arms faded.

He could breathe.

He could fight again.

He—

A distant scream cut across the mountain.

“AH—!!”

Liu Qingge’s head snapped up.

He recognised the voice.

One of the same seniors who had just mocked him.

Another shout:

“He slipped—!!”

Liu Qingge moved instantly.

His legs propelled him down the rocky trail, boots skidding, rocks tumbling underfoot. Wind cut his ears. His heart hammered with instinct.

Ahead—

on the steep outer path—

two Bai Zhan seniors were scrambling, panicked.

One pointing.

One screaming.

On the slope below—

rolling—

bouncing off jagged stone—

was the third senior.

His body was a blur of limbs and gravel as he careened down the incline toward a sheer drop.

Without thinking, Liu Qingge sprinted faster.

The senior’s terrified shouts echoed:

“HELP—!! LIU QINGGE—!!”

Liu Qingge leapt—

slammed his foot into a jutting rock—

launched himself off it—

and dove down the slope.

He hit the ground sliding, rocks tearing at his palms. Momentum dragged him forward, but he dug his heels in, ignoring the sting and burn.

He reached the rolling senior

just as the man’s fingers slipped over the edge.

Liu Qingge grabbed the back of his collar—

his wrist—

his belt—

anything he could hold—

and braced his entire weight backward.

Their combined momentum nearly yanked them both off the cliff.

But Liu Qingge’s stance held.

His muscles screamed.

His wounds throbbed.

His breath hissed between clenched teeth.

He pulled.

Hard.

The senior slid back onto stable ground with a strangled sob.

Liu Qingge collapsed onto one knee, panting.

The rescued disciple stared at him, shaking, pale.

“I… I would’ve died…”

Liu Qingge didn’t respond.

He stood, dusted off his palms, and started walking back up the trail.

Behind him, the other two seniors scrambled after him.

“Liu Qingge—! Wait—!”

He ignored them.

“Liu-shixiong—! Thank you—!”

Still ignored.

They trailed behind him like chastised dogs.

By the time he reached the training grounds, half the peak was watching. Whispers spread like wildfire.

Someone who hated him

someone who mocked him

someone who wanted him humiliated

had called his name in terror—

and Liu Qingge saved him anyway.

Because that was what strength meant.

Because Bai Zhan didn’t abandon its own.

Because Liu Qingge didn’t need their approval.

He simply walked past them all, headed toward the highest cliff for more training, sweat streaking down his cheek.

He didn’t look back.

But everyone else did.

“Retributions”

News traveled fast on Bai Zhan Peak—

especially embarrassing news.

By evening, the entire peak had heard two things:

1. Liu Qingge rescued a senior disciple from falling off the cliff.
   
   
2. Liu Qingge did not brag about it.
   
   

The second point hit harder than the first.

Bai Zhan disciples admired strength, but they admired silence even more.

Anyone who fought fiercely without boasting earned a certain respect.

So when Liu Qingge walked through the courtyard later that day, a few voices followed him:

“Hey—Liu-shixiong.”

“You’re… tough.”

“Good job out there.”

Compliments from Bai Zhan were rare, but sincerity? Even rarer.

Liu Qingge nodded stiffly, not slowing his pace.

He didn’t care for praise, but he wasn’t blind.

Some eyes followed him now with something like grudging respect.

But there were also others.

The ones who had mocked him for being too young.

The ones who wanted the head disciple position for themselves.

The ones who were angry that he survived the fever at all.

They stared at him with tightened jaws and darkened eyes.

His rescue of the senior hadn’t humbled them—

it had enraged them.

They whispered when he passed:

“So he saved one person. So what?”

“Trying to show off again.”

“He’s pretending to be noble.”

“Let’s see how noble he is next training match.”

Liu Qingge ignored all of it.

Let them talk.

Let them come.

He would break their teeth the same way he broke his fever.

But the bullying did not stop.

It simply changed shape.

During sparring, seniors struck too hard, too wild.

On missions, someone “accidentally” forgot to pack talismans.

One left a venomous beast egg in his bag.

Another pushed him forward to draw a creature’s aggro.

Liu Qingge expected it.

He endured it.

He fought harder.

He wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him flinch.

But then—

strange things began happening.

Not to him.

To them.

Incident 1 — The Tripping

A senior who deliberately struck Liu Qingge too hard during training

slipped on dry stone

during a simple morning drill

as if someone yanked his ankle mid-step.

He stumbled across the courtyard, arms flailing,

and landed face-first into a barrel of water.

Training halted.

The courtyard roared with laughter.

Liu Qingge hadn’t touched him.

Hadn’t even looked at him.

The senior glared at Liu Qingge afterward—

suspicious, shaken—

but Liu Qingge only shrugged.

Incident 2 — The Boots

Another senior who sabotaged Liu Qingge during a mission

woke to find his boots frozen solid to the ground beside his bed.

In summer.

Even stranger, each boot was filled with ice—

perfect, smooth ice,

like winter had grown inside the leather.

Liu Qingge raised an eyebrow at the sight.

He walked away.

No one connected him to it—

but the senior avoided him for a week.

Incident 3 — The Snake

A disciple who had shoved Liu Qingge into a pit trap

opened his wardrobe the next morning

and found a harmless snake curled up on his uniform.

He screamed so loudly that three peaks heard it.

The snake had no demonic aura.

It was just startled and mildly offended.

Shang Qinghua, passing by, paled and whispered, “O-oh no.”

Liu Qingge didn’t react.

Whispers began.

“Is Liu Qingge cursed?”

“Or blessed?”

“This is Bai Zhan—karma moves faster here.”

“No, no—someone’s interfering.”

“But who?”

“What cultivator uses ice? Only Cian Cao peak, right?”

“Those aren’t healing techniques.”

“No… that wasn’t Cian Cao’s ice.”

Shen Qingqiu, passing through the Bai Zhan courtyard one afternoon, paused mid-step—

eyes narrowing at a frozen footprint near the training field.

He said nothing.

But his expression sharpened.

Liu Qingge pretended not to notice.

He kept training.

Kept fighting.

Kept proving himself.

But late at night, when the mountain winds blew cold,

he sometimes felt a shift in the air.

A presence.

Familiar.

A memory of winter breath at his neck.

He would draw, spin, scan the darkness.

Nothing.

Only the lingering chill—

a whisper of something watching from afar—

leaving frost in its wake.

He didn’t fear it.

He refused to.

But deep inside, something in him knew:

The ice demon hadn’t forgotten.

Nor had he gone far.

And the retributions?

They were not random.

They were not accidents.

Someone else was watching over him.

Someone who did not stay indebted.

“The Snake Strikes”

The head-disciple meeting had barely ended when Liu Qingge felt a shadow fall over him.

He didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Silk rustled. A folded fan snapped open with the arrogance of someone who believed air should part before him.

“Liu Mingxuan.”

Liu Qingge did not honour that with a response.

It’s akin to not acknowledging him as someone worthy of being one of the Qing generation— a future peak lord.

He had already turned to leave when a sharp tap of a fan blocked his path. Shen Qingqiu’s arm extended with graceful rudeness, folding fan barring his chest like a smug barrier.

“You’re not going anywhere until you answer me.”

Liu Qingge’s eyebrow twitched. “Move, Shen.”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes gleamed— not kind, not patient, but sharp with calculation, as if cutting him apart one thought at a time.

“I have heard,” Shen said, voice calm as jade, “about the incidents plaguing your peak.”

Liu Qingge said nothing.

Shen Qingqiu stepped closer, chin tilted, the picture of cultivated superiority.

“Frozen boots. Slipping seniors. Critters appearing in wardrobes. Very… selective misfortune.”

Liu Qingge stared flatly. “So?”

Shen’s eyes narrowed.

“So,” he said, tapping his fan against Liu Qingge’s chest again, “you didn’t merely save that An Ding rat on the road that day, did you?”

Despite himself, Liu Qingge nearly barked out a laugh.

Rat.

Shang is a rat in Shen’s eyes too.

Finally— something he agreed with.

He schooled his expression into a bored stare, but something in his shoulders loosened, ever so slightly, at the shared insult.

Shen Qingqiu mistook the shift.

His glare sharpened.

“Don’t mock me, Liu Qingge. I’m not blind. A demon was in that room with you. And now strange things follow those who wrong you.”

Liu Qingge scoffed, stepping past the fan. “Your imagination is diseased.”

Shen Qingqiu stepped after him.

“And your tongue is surprisingly sharper than your sword. Answer me.”

“No.”

“Coward,” Shen Qingqiu hissed, fan flicking open fully with a snap. “Even now you refuse to acknowledge the danger.”

Liu Qingge’s blood pricked with irritation.

He turned, eyes dark, ready to fling back something vicious—

But Shen Qingqiu got there first.

“You’re hiding demon involvement,” he accused. “Someone— or something— is watching you. Protecting you. I can deduce enough to know—”

“You’re obsessed with gossip,” Liu Qingge cut in coldly. “What, Shen? Trying to learn how to get even with your bullies too?”

Silence.

A soft, violent silence.

It took a heartbeat before Liu Qingge realised what he had just said.

He’d used the word bully.

About himself.

Revealing, without meaning to, that he dealt with such things too.

His jaw clenched.

Too late to take it back.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes changed— very slightly.

Not sympathy.

Not pity.

Offense.

As if Liu Qingge had exposed something raw and private.

Shen Qingqiu’s fan lowered.

Dangerously.

His voice was soft, poisonous.

“How dare you.”

Liu Qingge exhaled sharply through his nose.

“I meant what I said,” he replied coolly, refusing to back down. “You’re too invested in rumours for someone so self-righteous.”

Shen Qingqiu stepped in until they were almost nose-to-nose, his expression flawless like carved ice— but his eyes burning.

“You think you’re clever,” Shen whispered. “But listen well, Liu Mingxuan— my interest has nothing to do with petty disciples.”

The fan snapped shut with a metallic click.

“I investigate because demons slipping past our borders threaten the entire sect. And if you are meddling with forces you cannot comprehend—”

“I’m not meddling with anything,” Liu Qingge snarled. “Unlike you, I don’t have time to snoop into everyone’s business.”

Shen Qingqiu’s lips thinned.

For a moment, neither moved.

Two head disciples—little more than boys—standing like opposing storms ready to break.

Shen Qingqiu broke the silence first, voice cold enough to freeze bone:

“Deny all you want. But I will find the truth. And when I do, you will regret keeping your mouth shut.”

Liu Qingge scoffed. “Try.”

Shen Qingqiu’s gaze hardened into polished steel.

“I fully intend to,” he said, and turned on his heel, sleeves billowing behind him like the tail of an angry fox.

Liu Qingge watched him go, heartbeat thrumming.

He hated that arrogant, poisonous man.

But he respected one thing:

Shen Qingqiu was not a fool.

And if he was sniffing this close to the truth…

Liu Qingge had to tread carefully.

Because the ice demon—

that cold shadow in the back of his mind—

was still out there.

Watching.

“The Retribution Problem”

Shang Qinghua had been hearing the rumours for days.

“He tripped? For insulting Liu Qingge?”

“So-and-so found ice in his boots—ice! In hell crack summer!”

“Someone shoved him— next day a snake in his room!”

“Heaven’s punishment is too fast in Bai Zhan…”

“Someone’s backing Liu Mingxuan?”

“More like haunting—”

“Shh.. he’s Liu Qingge now— careful with what you say.”

“Tch— can he not be too perfect? Who knows what sorcery his renowned clan—”

“Pei— sorcery? It’s obviously money— these clan nobles—“

“Shut up! You want to get cursed too?!”

Every time he heard it, Shang Qinghua felt a cold sweat drip down his spine.

Retribution?

No— worse.

Mobei-jun. The Mobei prince.

Shang Qinghua knew that cold signature anywhere.

He created it.

Back when he wrote the webnovel Proud Immortal Demon Way, he had poured all his frustration, all his “why-are-readers-like-this, why-are-they-like-Meng Mo” energy into designing the perfect Northern Ice Demon Clan alpha hero:

• Tall
• Broad-shouldered
• Glacially cold
• Blue-eyed
• Hair straight and glossy down to his waist
• Masculine enough to make steel blush
• Emotionally constipated beyond redemption
• Zero social skills
• One loyalty, once earned, unbreakable

He had wanted to write the ultimate male fantasy power-character.

He had succeeded too well.

And now that character—

that walking iceberg of a young prince—

was lurking somewhere around Cang Qiong, leaving frosty retributions on anyone who bullied Liu Qingge.

Liu Qingge.

The one destined to die from qi deviation in a few years.

Mobei-jun is not yet the king of his kingdom, now deeply embroiled in the power struggle with his own uncle to inherit his father’s throne.

The assassin who killed all the outer disciples must be his uncle’s lackey. 

The fact that the prince was caught by Huan Hua Palace was because of that uncle too. 

He knows— because he wrote the story. 

And now Shang Qinghua’s paying karmic price by being the future Mobei-jun’s slave. 

Shang Qinghua peeked from behind the stacked training dummies he had delivered, tucked into a nook at the edge of Bai Zhan’s training yard.

He had waited, crouched, trembling, hoping to catch a glimpse.

Because if the prince was around…

If he was acting out of character…

If he was forming an attachment…

OH NO, THIS IS BAD, VERY BAD—

Then he saw him.

Not the prince—

but the martial prodigy who unknowingly started this whole divine-retribution chain.

Liu Qingge.

Shang Qinghua blinked.

Then double-blinked.

“Holy— no wonder…” he whispered to himself.

Fifteen years old, barely a teenager, but somehow looking like the draft sketch of a male protagonist before he levels up into full-blown celestial-esque hotness.

Shang Qinghua gaped.

Did I… did I accidentally give him protagonist-tier potential?

Because Liu Qingge— even at fifteen—

• tall for his age
• long black hair tied in a high ponytail, wildly handsome
• pale but not delicate— sharp
• muscle definition already showing
• steel gray eyes like a drawn bowstring: tense, cutting, alive
• that beauty mark under his left eye?? Did he write that? He definitely didn’t remember writing that!

And now that Shang squinted…

If this boy grew to his full height—

if he survived—

if he matured—

he could actually rival Luo Binghe.

What the hell.

What reader did I write this for?!

He watched Liu Qingge train tirelessly. Every motion was fierce, precise, the gleam of someone born to be a war god.

Then it hit Shang Qinghua. 

Like a falling mountain.

He was supposed to die.

In the original plot, Liu Qingge qi-deviated in the Lingxi Caves while pushing for a breakthrough— Shen Qingqiu failed to stabilise him, and his tragic early death served to emphasise Shen’s cruelty.

A cheap plot device.

He winced.

Liu Qingge deserved… well, a lot better.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

No.

The worst part was the presence he sensed.

That faint, chilling ripple of frost qi at the edges of the clearing.

Barely there.

Watching.

Shang Qinghua felt the hair on his arms stand up.

He knew exactly who it was.

If an early-stage Mobei prince was already hovering around Bai Zhan Peak…

If he was already punishing Liu Qingge’s bullies…

If he was already sticking close to him—

Then the future frost tyrant wasn’t following the original script at all.

Shang Qinghua pressed a shaking hand over his mouth.

“This is bad… this is so bad…”

He squinted past the dummies again.

Liu Qingge swung a practice blade with brutal determination, sweat rolling down his neck.

Handsome. Intense. Deadly.

A compelling figure even at fifteen.

No wonder the prince was lurking.

Shang choked on a breath.

“Oh no… he’s… he’s attracted to the kid, isn’t he?”

The thought horrified him.

It horrified him because:

1. Liu Qingge was a ticking time bomb who would qi deviate in a few years.
2. The prince, not-yet-Mobei-jun is the type who, once fixated, would move mountains with murder to protect his chosen person.
3. The original plot did NOT include fanfic-grade demons pining over the Bai Zhan head disciple!
4. AIRPLANE HAD NOT NAMED THIS CHARACTER YET. NOT EVEN A NAME.

He clutched his head.

“Ahhhhhh— I’m so screwed!”

A faint gust of winter brushed his cheek.

Shang Qinghua froze.

Behind him—

on the upper rocks—

a tall silhouette flickered then vanished, leaving only cold air in its wake.

Oh gods.

He saw him.

He SAW him.

This lowly volunteer-slave!

Shang Qinghua dropped into a squat and hid his face between his knees.

“I’m so dead… I’m so dead… please don’t kill me for writing you hot… I’m so dead…”

Meanwhile, Liu Qingge kept training, oblivious to the chaos, each swing sharper than the last.

The prince watched.

And Shang Qinghua realised:

these retributions weren’t random.

They were personal.

They were protective.

And things were about to get a LOT more complicated.

“The (future)War God Has No Chill”

Shang Qinghua made the mistake of approaching Liu Qingge right after training.

Right after training—

when Liu Qingge was still shirt-damp with sweat,

breathing steady and lethal,

pony tail swishing like a damn runway model who could kill with a look.

Shang Qinghua sprinted toward him anyway, because fear is a powerful motivator.

“L-Liu-xiong!” he hissed in panic. “WE NEED TO TALK—”

Liu Qingge didn’t stop walking.

He didn’t even look at him.

“What,” Liu Qingge said flatly.

Not a question. A warning.

Shang Qinghua slid in front of him, bowed so low his forehead nearly kissed the dirt, and whispered at lightning speed:

“Liu-xiong—my King is haunting Bai Zhan—freeze-drying bullies—he thinks he’s protecting you—PLEASE ASK YOUR SPIRITUAL BOYFRIEND TO STOP BEFORE WE ALL DIE!”

Liu Qingge brushed past him like he was an annoying breeze.

Shang Qinghua squeaked and trailed after him.

“Liu-xiong! Listen!! I GOT PROMOTED— An Ding inner disciple! I finally have a PRIVATE ROOM— REAL BED— REAL TABLE—”

Liu Qingge continued walking toward the disciples’ barracks, hair flipping elegantly behind him, effortlessly gorgeous in that infuriating Bai Zhan way.

Shang Qinghua practically wheezed as he ran to keep up.

“BUT BUT BUT— THE MOMENT I GOT THERE— THE DEMON PRINCE WAS ALREADY LYING IN MY BED. MY BRAND NEW BED. THREE DAYS. HE ATE MY FOOD. HE USED MY PILLOW. I SLEPT ON THE FLOOR LIKE A DOG— AGAIN— LIKE IN THAT INN—”

Liu Qingge stopped.

Slow.

Dangerous.

Shang Qinghua’s words hung in the air:

“—Liu-xiong was lucky to be allowed to lie on the bed even though he was vomiting and delirious because he saved the prin—”

He didn’t finish.

Because strong, sword-callused fingers encircled his throat.

Hard.

Shang Qinghua’s breath stopped.

Liu Qingge slammed him against the stone wall behind Bai Zhan’s armoury with enough force to rattle dust loose. The impact jolted through Shang’s entire skeleton— and, humiliatingly, straight to his groin.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?! HE’S A CHILD! HE’S A CHILD! A terrifying, beautiful child—STOP IT, AIRPLANE—

The System however, was oddly silent.

Then Liu Qingge leaned in— face close, jaw sharp, eyes burning cold.

“You vermin,” Liu Qingge growled, voice low and lethal. “You disgrace of a disciple.”

Shang Qinghua trembled, legs turning to useless jelly.

Liu Qingge’s grip tightened, cutting off sound. Cutting off dignity. Cutting off air.

“You offered yourself to that demon as a slave.”

Shang Qinghua tried to shake his head. Tried to explain. Tried to breathe.

Liu Qingge didn’t let him.

“You crawled at his feet,” Liu spat. “Begged on your knees. Pathetic. Traitor.”

The disgust in his voice made Shang Qinghua whimper.

Then—

Liu Qingge spit.

Right in Shang Qinghua’s face.

He froze.

Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, hack webnovelist who spent years surviving flame wars—

who crossed worlds—

who had written thousands of dog blood chapters—

had never been so emotionally— and physically— wrecked in his life.

He opened his mouth to deny it— weakly, desperately—

But Liu Qingge was too close.

Too furious.

Too terrifying.

And too stupidly hot, WHAT WAS WRONG WITH HIM—

Then suddenly—

He was released.

Shang Qinghua collapsed in a heap at Liu Qingge’s boots, choking violently, coughs racking his ribs.

A vicious kick to his side made him yelp.

“Don’t ever show your face to me again,” Liu Qingge said.

Cold. Final.

He turned and walked off, ponytail slicing the air behind him like a sword stroke, leaving Shang Qinghua wheezing on the dirt.

Shang lay there, staring at the sky, soul leaving his body.

His thoughts ran in circles:

—Liu Qingge is terrifying

—Liu Qingge is insane

—Liu Qingge is beautiful

—NO STOP THAT

—My King is going to kill me for getting choked

—WHY IS THIS MY LIFE

He slapped both cheeks.

“O-okay,” he croaked hoarsely.

“Okay. Don’t… show face… to Liu Qingge.”

He staggered to his feet, clinging to a wall.

“And pray… pray the prince never learns about this.”

Because if the young prince saw Liu Qingge hurt because of him—

Shang Qinghua shivered so hard he nearly fell.

He stumbled away, hugging his report scrolls like a lifeline.

He was absolutely, unquestionably dead.

“The Winter That Answers”

Liu Qingge’s blood was still running hot when he reached the inner courtyards.

Not exhaustion.

Not weakness.

Rage.

Shang Qinghua’s pathetic begging, his disgusting self-degradation before a demon, the sheer shamelessness— it crawled under Liu Qingge’s skin like fire ants.

He stalked down the stone path toward the head disciple quarters, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

But just before he reached the steps to his room—

Someone stepped into his way.

A Bai Zhan senior.

Tall.

Thick-armed.

One of the worst offenders— one who had tried to sabotage missions, one who openly mocked Liu Qingge’s age and title, one who had sneered at him at every opportunity.

His smirk widened.

“Well, look who’s back.”

Liu Qingge didn’t stop.

The senior held out an arm to block his path.

“You think saving one idiot will make everyone bow to you now? Don’t get ahead of yourself, kid.”

Liu Qingge’s eyes lowered to the offending arm.

A beat.

Then—quietly, coldly—

“Move.”

The senior sneered. “Or what? You’ll beat me up like you did that An Ding ant? Heard you were choking him behind the armoury. Real brave of you—”

Something snapped.

Not inside Liu Qingge.

In the air.

A subtle crack— too faint for most to catch— like frost forming on glass.

The bully’s breath misted.

He blinked. “What the—?”

Liu Qingge felt it.

He felt him.

A shift in the world’s temperature.

A drop so sharp it stung the lungs.

A coldness that wasn’t weather, wasn’t qi, wasn’t natural.

Winter.

Instant, unnatural winter.

Behind him.

Beside him.

Everywhere.

He didn’t look.

He refused to look.

Because if he acknowledged it— if he even recognised it— he’d be admitting that a demon was protecting him.

Again.

The bully rubbed his arms. Frost was forming on his sleeves.

“What the—? Why is it cold—? Did the Qing Jing brats put something in the warding talismans—”

His words choked off into a scream.

Because the ground beneath him froze.

Instantly.

A sheen of ice coated the stone under his boots.

His foot slipped— hard—

and he fell backward, arms flailing wildly.

He hit the ground with a sickening thud.

“AAAH— my shoulder—!!”

Liu Qingge clenched his fists.

He didn’t move to help.

The bully scrambled, panicked— only to slip again, sliding across the courtyard on the impossible ice like a terrified fish.

He crashed into a pillar.

The pillar iced over on contact.

“What the— what is— ? THIS PEAK IS CURSED—!!”

Liu Qingge exhaled sharply through his nose.

He didn’t need to turn.

He could feel the presence in the shadows just outside the lantern light—

silent, high above, perched like a predator on the tiled roof.

Watching him.

Waiting.

Answering his anger like a command.

A cold breath of wind brushed the back of his neck.

He refused to shiver.

Finally, the bully staggered to his feet, half-frozen, screaming curses and fleeing down the corridor.

The ice melted the moment he left.

Silence.

Liu Qingge stood there alone.

Except he wasn’t alone.

He stepped forward.

The air stirred behind him—

cold brushing his back like fingers,

frost crawling along the railing beside him for just a heartbeat

before disappearing.

“I don’t need your help,” Liu Qingge said.

Not loudly.

Not angrily.

Just… truthfully.

The cold paused.

Stilled.

Then retreated.

Not gone—

never gone—

but slipping back into the shadows, watching with that same unnerving patience.

Liu Qingge walked into his room and slid the door shut.

His heart pounded once.

Twice.

He pressed a hand against his chest.

Not in pain.

In something far more dangerous.

Because deep down, beneath pride and defiance, he understood:

If the demon wasn’t tormenting Shang Qinghua.

He wasn’t haunting Bai Zhan randomly.

He wasn’t punishing others indiscriminately.

He was watching Liu Qingge.

And he answered Liu Qingge’s anger

as if it were his own.

“Peak of Idiots”

Bai Zhan Peak was loud that morning.

Too loud.

Not the usual clamor of sparring, shouting, cheering, weapons clashing.

This was… investigative noise.

A dozen Bai Zhan elders— hall masters, senior instructors, long-time muscleheads with more brawn than common sense— were stomping around the main courtyard like confused oxen.

They circled a patch of stone where frost still lingered in a thin film.

“Cold energy traces,” one grunted, squatting to poke the ice with a blunt finger.

Another squinted at the sky. “But it’s summer.”

A third narrowed his eyes deeply, as if thinking physically pained him.

“Is this… some kinda new Qian Cao technique?”

“No, idiot, Qian Cao makes mist, not ice.”

“So it’s Huan Hua?”

“Huan Hua uses water qi, not this sharp cold. Are you stupid?”

“You literally just asked if Qian Cao caused winter.”

“Shut up!”

It spiraled into bickering.

Liu Qingge watched from the side, arms crossed, face expressionless.

He had always known Bai Zhan disciples had… limitations.

Their peak prided itself on brute strength, precise weapons, minimal words.

It produced incredible warriors—

and equally incredible idiots.

But this level of obliviousness?

Even for Bai Zhan, it was embarrassing.

One hall master finally noticed him standing there.

“Ah! Mingxuan, perfect.”

Ah yes. They still slipped and used his real name sometimes.

The elder strode over, hands behind his back, pretending to be wise.

A bad fit.

Very bad.

“We’ve noticed strange qi manifestations around the peak,” the man said. “Cold aura. Unnatural. Possibly hostile.”

Liu Qingge suppressed the urge to glance upward—

toward the ridge where he felt a presence lurking.

Instead he raised an eyebrow. “…and?”

“And you’re the strongest among your peers,” the elder said proudly.

“So we wanted to ask if you have noticed anything unusual.”

Liu Qingge stared.

Unusual?

Let’s see:

• a powerful demon stalking him
• winter erupting whenever he grew irritated
• bullies slipping and freezing
• Shang Qinghua being haunted
• frost on the railing outside his door
• a murderer-level cold lingering in the air whenever he tried to sleep
• and the fact that he knew exactly who caused it all

But he was not about to tell these battle-obsessed buffoons any of that.

Unless he wanted to risk death and forever smear his clan name posthumously for “associating with a demon”.

He exhaled.

“No.”

The elder blinked. “No…?”

“No,” Liu Qingge repeated, voice flat.

The hall master nodded immediately. “Good enough for me.”

Just like that.

No more questions.

No suspicion.

No need for elaboration.

The other elders overheard and murmured to each other:

“If Mingxuan says nothing happened, then nothing happened.”

“Boy has the best instincts in this peak.”

“Second only to Peak Lord Huang himself.”

“He’d know if something was amiss.”

“Must’ve been weather fluctuations.”

Liu Qingge did not even bother correcting them.

Weather fluctuations.

On Bai Zhan Peak.

In the middle of summer.

During a heat wave.

Pathetic.

He almost missed Shang Qinghua’s frantic whining. Almost.

One elder stroked his beard thoughtfully.

“It’s settled then. We’ll report this as an anomaly and move on.”

“Yes, yes. Probably a stray cooling talisman.”

“Maybe from Qian Cao apprentices.”

“Or the heavens sneezed.”

Liu Qingge stared.

He genuinely could not tell if they were joking.

They dispersed, satisfied with the investigation, leaving the frost to melt unnoticed.

Liu Qingge turned away, heading toward his room.

Detached.

Distant.

Even irritated beyond belief.

He trained with Bai Zhan.

He fought for Bai Zhan.

He respected his Shifu, Huang Wenming— the only person whose strength he admired.

But these elders?

These peakmates?

He felt no camaraderie.

No sense of belonging.

Not anymore.

Not after all the senseless bullying.

Not after being mocked for falling sick.

Not for being belittled endlessly despite being the best.

Not after realising how alone he truly was in this place.

He had grown into a self-serving survivalist out of necessity.

Trust no one.

Rely on no one.

Respect only the strong.

The only person he had ever truly looked up to was his Shifu— the man feared across the Jianghu for his skill.

Everyone else?

Too stupid to connect demon frost with demon presence.

Too blind to what stalked their peak at night.

Too dull to notice the growing aura of winter on their doorstep.

Liu Qingge entered his room.

Closed the door.

And in the silence, he finally let his pride simmer down.

Just enough to whisper to himself:

“…pathetic.”

But the moment he said it—

the temperature dropped.

Just slightly.

A breath of cold fogged the air.

Liu Qingge froze.

Then narrowed his eyes.

“Not you,” he muttered.

Silence.

Watching.

Always watching.

“Climbing Toward Winter”

The treacherous ridge behind Bai Zhan was steep enough that only fools— or warriors— dared to climb it.

Liu Qingge climbed it anyway.

Hand over fist.

Boots scraping stone.

Muscles burning.

Those damned no-fly wards. 

The peak forbade sword flight within its boundaries, so the climb was brutally slow.

Dangerous.

Tedious.

Good.

It sharpened his focus.

It let his anger simmer into something clear.

He was being stalked.

By a demon.

A powerful one.

One that answered his moods with cold, followed him unseen, meddled with his peak, and dared to linger like some lurking ghost.

Liu Qingge would not tolerate it.

Reaching the top, he stood on the narrow flat of stone overlooking the whole peak. Wind whipped his hair. Sweat dried instantly on his skin from how cold the air suddenly became.

Good.

“You,” he said into the emptiness.

“You cowardly bastard. Come out.”

Silence.

The temperature dropped further.

Frost crept across the stone under his feet.

Liu Qingge’s lips curled. “Not enough.”

He stepped forward, fists clenched.

“Fight me properly. Stop sneaking around, hiding like your An Ding rat-slave.”

A sharp, airy sound— almost like disbelief.

Then a scoff.

Low.

Cold.

Arrogant.

A shape stepped from the shadow of a crooked pine tree.

Not fever-drenched haze this time.

Not delirious impressions.

Clear.

Terrifying.

Beautiful.

The young demon stood tall— far taller than any adolescent human had a right to be. Broad-shouldered, long-limbed, posture straight like the finest sword pulled from the forge.

His hair was loose, silken and black as midnight, brushing past his shoulders.

His skin— pale, not sickly but frost-born pale. The kind of pale that looked carved from winter light.

And his eyes—

Liu Qingge had seen blue eyes before.

But never this.

This was glacier-blue, an unnatural brightness rimmed in frost, glowing faintly like ice reacting to the moon.

A predator’s eyes.

Confident eyes.

Each time they blinked, the air crystallized.

Strength— preternatural, ancient, inhuman— radiated off the demon in waves.

It was intoxicating.

Liu Qingge exhaled once.

A low pulse of envy clamped around his ribs.

If I had power like that…

He dismissed the thought.

He didn’t need the power.

He just needed the fight.

The demon prince looked him up and down, taking in the climb-flushed face, the half-healed wounds, the challenge burning like wildfire in Liu Qingge’s gaze.

“You are not afraid of this prince at all,” the demon said.

The voice—

Liu Qingge had never heard it clearly before.

Deep.

Smooth.

Cold in a way that made the ridge feel suddenly too small.

It rolled through his spine like a slow knife dipped in ice water.

A prince.

So Shang hadn’t been lying.

This really was a demon royal— one who should have slaughtered him just over two weeks ago.

Instead he was here.

Stalking him.

Liu Qingge drew Cheng Luan.

Deliberately slow.

Metal whispering against the scabbard.

He felt the demon’s attention sharpen— curious, amused, predatory.

Good.

He dropped into an offensive stance, every muscle coiled.

“I should’ve killed you when you were unconscious,” Liu Qingge said plainly.

No heat.

Just fact.

That made the demon laugh under his breath.

A cold, unimpressed sound.

“Try.”

Liu Qingge’s heartbeat thundered.

Fear?

No.

Satisfaction.

Finally— a worthy opponent.

Even if he lost.

Even if he died here.

He would die fulfilled.

Liu Qingge kicked off the stone and leapt.

Straight into the jaws of winter.

Straight at the demon prince.

Chapter Text

Liu Qingge’s body moved before thought could catch up.

Cheng Luan cut through the air in a clean, murderous arc—

aimed straight for the demon prince’s throat.

The prince didn’t even bother stepping back.

He lifted a single hand.

Bare.

Unarmoured.

Almost lazy.

Steel met skin—

—and a bloom of frost exploded across Cheng Luan’s edge, racing toward the hilt like living ice.

The shock of it bit into Liu Qingge’s palms—burning cold, like gripping winter itself.

Good.

He pushed harder.

The demon prince raised an eyebrow, expression finally shifting from disinterest to mild intrigue.

“You chase death eagerly,” he said.

Voice low, curling like frost smoke around the words.

Liu Qingge bared his teeth.

“Then stop talking and kill me.”

The prince’s lips twitched.

Amused.

He pressed forward—the single hand holding Cheng Luan at bay without effort—

and shoved.

Hard.

The force slammed through Liu Qingge’s arms, rattling his bones, sending him skidding back across the stone. He braced, caught his footing, and lunged again, fury and exhilaration building in equal measure.

This time he changed grip mid-swing, twisting, redirecting.

A feint.

A bait.

A dangerously sharp follow-through.

The prince caught the first strike with two fingers.

Just two.

As if holding back a child.

Liu Qingge snarled and pivoted—

And that was when something shifted.

A subtle slackening in the prince’s guard.

Tiny.

Almost imperceptible.

But Liu Qingge had trained against monsters older, stronger, faster than himself since he could walk. He felt the opening the same way he felt breath in his lungs.

He took it.

Cheng Luan snapped sideways and up, blade tip flicking like lightning—

The prince moved—

but too late.

The edge kissed the side of his cheek.

A shallow cut.

Barely a mark.

Thin as a paper slice.

A single drop of dark, cold demon blood welled and slid down his skin.

Silence shattered the ridge.

The demon prince froze.

Not because he was hurt.

Not because he was threatened.

Because he was surprised.

Actually surprised.

His eyes— icy, unearthly— fixed on Liu Qingge with a focus that hadn’t been there before.

Slowly, he touched the tiny wound with the tip of a forefinger.

Looked at the blood.

Then looked back at Liu Qingge.

“You drew my blood,” he said softly.

Liu Qingge tightened his grip on Cheng Luan, chest heaving. “You were careless.”

The prince’s expression changed again—

from amused

to interested

to something much colder.

Much darker.

“You are the first human to injure me,” he murmured.

He stepped forward. The air dipped, frosting instantly.

Frost spiderwebbed under his feet with each movement, chasing the stone like delicate lacework.

Liu Qingge lifted his sword.

The prince smiled.

A slow, predatory smile.

A smile that promised danger.

“And now,” he said, frost swirling around his hands—

“you have my full attention.”

The demon prince’s words—

You are the first human to injure me—

should have cowed anyone sane.

Instead Liu Qingge laughed.

A sharp, breathless sound that scraped the cold night air.

“The first?” he echoed, wiping blood from the corner of his lip with the back of his hand. “Am I really?”

The prince’s eyes narrowed a fraction.

Liu Qingge tilted his chin up, blade steady, stance loose and ready.

“What about Huan Hua that day?” he mocked.

“The way you fled from them, their dart lodged itself in your gut?”

A flicker.

A shift.

Not hurt.

Not shame.

Annoyance.

A dangerous one.

The air dropped a full ten degrees.

The prince didn’t answer.

He simply moved.

One heartbeat, he stood still—

the next, he was everywhere.

Ice cracked underfoot, frost exploded off the ridge, and Liu Qingge barely brought Cheng Luan up in time to intercept claws sharp as honed steel.

The impact vibrated down his arms, nearly wrenching his shoulders from their sockets.

Liu Qingge grinned savagely.

Finally.

The prince pressed harder, speed blurring into a flurry of strikes that shattered stone, left gouges in the ridge, sent shards of ice bursting into glittering sprays.

Liu Qingge parried—

dodged—

twisted—

met every blow with steel and ferocity—

But the difference in strength was undeniable.

This was no testing swipe.

No lazy amusement.

The prince was attacking.

Seriously.

The first real slash forced Liu Qingge back three steps.

The second knocked the breath from his lungs.

The third—

a sweeping kick colder than a winter gale—

sent him stumbling dangerously close to the ridge edge.

He found footing—

barely—

and launched himself forward again, refusing even the instinct to defend.

If he retreated now, he would lose.

He would never retreat.

The prince twisted aside, swift as a blizzard, and seized Liu Qingge by the arm—

the right one.

The cold was instant.

Ice crawled up his skin beneath his sleeve like living chains, biting into flesh, numbing muscle, freezing bone.

Liu Qingge hissed— but stayed standing.

He dropped low and slammed his shoulder into the prince’s torso.

A stupid idea.

A reckless one.

Perfect.

The demon staggered— only a fraction, only for a heartbeat—

but it was enough.

Liu Qingge rammed his knee up, catching the prince in the side, and they both toppled over the ridge.

The fall was fast.

Too fast.

Wind ripping past.

Frost trailing in spirals.

The prince’s grip tightening, dragging Liu Qingge with him like linked prey.

They slammed into an outcropping of jutting rock halfway down.

Liu Qingge’s skull cracked against stone—

a white burst of pain, a flash of nothing—

but he forced his eyes back open, slashing blindly with his left hand to keep the prince from pinning him.

Blood trickled warm down the side of his head.

His right arm felt dead from ice constriction.

His breathing was tight and shallow.

But his legs—

His legs still worked.

So he kicked.

Hard.

The demon prince snarled as they rolled again, smashing through brush, slamming into the dirt of a lower slope.

Liu Qingge spat blood, wiped his eyes, and wrenched himself upright.

His right arm was a sheath of frost.

Ice like veins of silver-blue spread to his shoulder.

His fingers shook.

He lifted Cheng Luan anyway—

with one hand if he had to.

The prince rose slowly.

Unharmed.

Unbloodied.

Expression no longer merely amused or irritated—

But interested.

Deeply.

He took in Liu Qingge’s posture, the laboured breathing, the ice creeping up his arm—and the absolute lack of fear.

“You refuse to fall back,” the prince observed, voice like cracking permafrost.

Liu Qingge steadied his blade.

“I said fight me,” he rasped.

“And I’m not done.”

The prince’s lips curved.

Not mockery.

Recognition.

“Very well.”

Frost spiralled up his arms, swirling into claws of solid ice.

“Then neither am I.”

The demon prince descended upon him like falling snow made of blades.

Liu Qingge barely blocked the next strike—

the impact drove him to one knee, Cheng Luan juddering in his grip.

His right arm remained a frozen weight, useless except for pain, the ice creeping further beneath his robes.

The prince moved again—

too fast to follow, too cold to track—

and Liu Qingge found himself slammed flat against the earth.

A knee pressed into his chest.

One clawed hand seized his shoulder.

The other wrenched Cheng Luan from his numbed fingers and flung it aside, the sword skidding over stone.

Frost coiled around his throat, not choking—

not yet—

but poised to tighten.

Liu Qingge’s vision swam.

The world rolled.

Blood throbbed at his temples.

But he did not stop fighting.

He drove his knee upward, aiming for the demon’s ribs.

A brutal, ugly move.

The prince caught it effortlessly.

Pressed harder.

Pinned him more firmly.

“Stay down,” the demon murmured.

“I won’t,” Liu Qingge hissed, every word dragging through raw lungs. “If you want me dead, then do it properly.”

A faint exhale escaped the prince.

Amusement.

Disbelief.

Something darker.

“You fight,” the demon said, “as though you have nothing to guard. No sect. No kin. No fear of losing breath or bone.”

Liu Qingge glared at him through the strands of hair stuck to his bloodied cheek.

“I fight,” he rasped, “because you are in front of me.”

The prince’s head tilted.

Cold eyes narrowed.

“And if I were not?”

“Then I would find something else.”

Pause.

“Someone else.

It does not matter.”

The prince pressed his thumb to the hollow of Liu Qingge’s throat—

just enough to feel the hammering pulse beneath his skin.

Cold seeped into the very centre of Liu Qingge’s being, freezing the breath in his chest.

“You speak like a creature without attachments,” the demon said.

“Humans cling to life. You cling to battle.”

Liu Qingge bared his teeth.

“Is that a problem?”

The prince’s expression lowered into something unreadable.

He shifted—

the weight of winter itself poised above Liu Qingge—

and lifted one frost-forged claw.

A killing blow.

Sharp.

Absolute.

A single sweep would end him.

Liu Qingge did not turn away.

He stared directly into the demon’s eyes, pupils blown wide from pain but spine refusing to bend.

If this was the end, then he would die while looking his enemy in the face.

The prince paused.

The blow hovered—

a hair’s breadth from Liu Qingge’s heart.

Not hesitation.

Something stranger.

The demon leaned down, closer, cold breath brushing Liu Qingge’s cheek as though reading something carved beneath his skin.

“You should fear me,” he said softly.

“I don’t,” Liu Qingge whispered, voice ragged.

“I don’t fear anything on two legs.”

Silence.

Cold gathered in the prince’s palm—

—then dispersed like mist.

The frost that had crawled up Liu Qingge’s neck eased.

Not warmth.

But a withdrawing of lethal intent.

The demon drew his claw back.

“You,” he murmured, almost to himself, “are troublesome.”

Liu Qingge spat blood at his face.

The prince caught it with a tilt of his head—more surprised by the audacity than the insult.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” Liu Qingge growled.

A faint curl touched the prince’s lips.

“I did not,” he said simply, “because something about you is… intriguing.”

He released Liu Qingge abruptly.

Liu Qingge tried to push himself up—

but his right arm buckled beneath him, pain screaming through bone and tendon.

The prince rose smoothly, frost swirling like a cloak.

“You live,” he said, stepping back into the shadows, “because this prince, for now, wills it.”

Liu Qingge’s glare followed him even as his vision blurred.

“You live because I will kill you next time,” he managed to rasp.

A soft, almost pleased huff drifted from the darkness.

“We shall see.”

And with that—

the cold disappeared.

Not fully.

Not completely.

But enough to leave Liu Qingge injured, bleeding, and alone on the slope—

still conscious, still furious, still wishing the fight had lasted longer.

“Shelter of Stone”

The damned demon had vanished like a breath on a frozen mirror.

Liu Qingge remained on the slope—

bleeding, shaking, one arm stiff with ice, vision lurching.

He pushed himself upright.

He did not stand gracefully.

He staggered.

The ground tilted.

But he refused to fall.

He spat blood, wiped the rest from his chin with the back of his sleeve, and forced his legs to move.

He would not collapse out here.

Not on open ground.

Not where anyone could see—

and certainly not where those vultures in Bai Zhan might stumble upon him and “accidentally” finish the job.

He knew how many would like to see him dead.

He had counted them, even if they had not realised he’d noticed.

Liu Qingge half-walked, half-slid down the uneven terrain, each step jarring through his skull, making the world flash white at the edges. The ice climbing his arm throbbed with a dull ache, numbing fingers, stiffening joints.

He gritted his teeth.

He refused to let the cold reach his heart.

The mountain path curved, narrowing between two jagged outcroppings.

Liu Qingge paused, steadied himself against the rock, and scanned the cliff-face.

There.

A shadow where the rock folded inward—

a narrow crevice, deep enough to hide a wounded fool.

He breathed hard through his nose and ducked inside.

The space was tight, barely arm’s width, but it widened after a few steps into a hollow big enough for one person to curl in. The night wind did not reach here. The stone walls radiated a faint, ancient heat from the day’s sun.

Better.

He knelt— carefully, though his legs trembled—and lowered himself to sit against the rough wall.

His white robes were ruined.

Blood—his own— spattered across the front.

And the head wound— ugh— he grimaced. 

Dust and gravel ground into the cloth.

Ice crusted one sleeve like frost armour.

He ignored all of that.

First: his arm.

His fingers were stiff as wood.

He pinched them hard until he felt something—pain, however faint.

Then he pressed his palm over the icy flesh, channelled his internal qi downward, forcing heat to flow.

It hurt.

Not a sharp pain—

but a deep, bone-sickening ache, as though cold claws were still sunk in his marrow.

Good.

Pain meant he wasn’t dead yet.

He breathed in slowly, let the qi circulate, let it burn through the numbness.

The frost receded a little.

Not enough.

But enough to keep his arm alive.

Next: his head.

Liu Qingge touched the back of his skull.

His fingers came away red and sticky.

But his vision hadn’t blackened fully.

No ringing in his ears.

Not fatal.

Head wounds always bled too much—that’s what his Shifu said.

He had learned to trust that.

“Still… irritating,” he muttered, pressing a piece of torn robe to the worst part.

His chest heaved.

The world dipped sideways.

He steadied himself with a hand against the stone.

He slipped a small vial from his belt—

a low-grade healing pill, something Cang Qiong-issued.

He swallowed it dry.

Heat spread sluggishly through his core.

His body answered, tired but obedient.

He curled his knees closer, letting the warmth pool inside him, driving back the cold.

Liu Qingge exhaled.

Not a sigh of relief.

A sigh of annoyance.

He should have returned to the barracks.

He should have reported injuries.

He should have rested under an attending healer.

But he would rather chew off his own arm.

Going back now—

bloodied, half-frozen, robe in tatters—

would give those waiting jackals too much satisfaction.

He would not grant them that.

Inside the crevice, the air grew still.

Liu Qingge closed one eye, kept the other half-open.

Sleep tugged at him—

dangerous, heavy, coaxing.

He forced more qi through his meridians, enough to spark pain up his arm and chest.

That kept him awake.

He tilted his head back against the stone.

“Next time,” he murmured to no one.

“To the death.”

A faint current of cold brushed the entrance of the crevice.

Liu Qingge’s eyes snapped open.

But when he looked—

there was nothing.

Just night.

Just silence.

Just the faint trace of winter in the summer air.

He smirked.

“Coward,” he whispered.

And then, despite himself—

despite blood loss, cold poisoning, and fading consciousness—

he smirked wider.

“…should’ve killed me.”

Sleep claimed him only when he was certain the shadows outside held no threat he could not face later.

“A Snake at Dawn”

Dawn broke grey and thin over Bai Zhan Peak.

Liu Qingge eased himself out of the crevice with a hiss through clenched teeth. His limbs were no longer frozen— his qi circulation had burned the cold from his veins— but the blood loss left his steps dull, slightly delayed, like wading through shallow mud.

He steadied himself against the stone.

Cheng Luan…

Somewhere up the cliff.

Abandoned.

Shameful.

A cultivator’s spirit sword was a second heart.

To lose it—even temporarily—was to invite death.

Liu Qingge cursed softly.

He would retrieve it before dusk.

No matter how high the ridge. No matter how exhausted.

His path down the peak was quiet— no disciples, no elders, no training bells— yet. Bai Zhan slept deeply at this hour, like the pack of dull carnivores they were.

He prayed it stayed that way long enough for him to reach his quarters. 

Until a familiar voice cut through the morning air—

Too quiet.

Too raw.

Too unguarded.

“…Liu—”

Liu Qingge froze.

His vision swam for a moment, but even blurred, he recognised the silhouette on the rocky path ahead—

Green robes

perfect hair

a grip on a scroll too tight

eyes wide in a way Liu Qingge had never, ever seen.

Shen Qingqiu looked like he had seen a ghost.

Liu Qingge immediately turned away, refusing to acknowledge him.

Not today.

Not when he was barely standing.

Not when Shen would seize any weakness and use it as a spear.

He resumed his trek, jaw set—

Footsteps crunched rapidly behind him.

Chasing him.

Liu Qingge’s temper snapped.

He broke into a sprint.

But his legs protested. His head throbbed. The world slanted.

He stumbled.

Shen Qingqiu caught up at once—

too fast, too eager, too close.

The snake reached out, fingers aimed for Liu Qingge’s arm—

Liu Qingge slapped the hands aside with a snarl.

“Don’t touch me.”

But Shen Qingqiu didn’t recoil.

He didn’t sneer.

He didn’t draw his fan.

He didn’t make a single belittling remark about stupidity or brawn.

He only stared— hard, breath uneven, face pale in the dawn light.

And then asked, voice low and steady:

“Who did this to you?”

Liu Qingge’s blood ran hotter than the sunrise.

He glared, breathing ragged, shoulders tense—

And for the first time since he woke, Liu Qingge realised:

Shen Qingqiu wasn’t mocking him.

He was alarmed.

Actually alarmed.

But Liu Qingge’s pride was a blade.

Wounded, cornered, poisoned pride was an even sharper one.

He spat back:

“No one you can handle.”

Shen Qingqiu stepped in front of him.

Actually stepped into his path—

as if he had any right

as if Liu Qingge were some Qing Jing junior he could shepherd around with a fan and a sharp tongue.

“Move,” Liu Qingge growled.

Shen Qingqiu did not.

He folded his arms; the scroll he held was crushed slightly under the pressure.

“Not until I see,” Shen Qingqiu said.

“…See what?”

“Your injuries.”

Liu Qingge barked a short, sharp laugh— more breath than humour.

“I don’t need a Qing Jing silk-sleeve fussing over bruises.”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrowed to slits.

“I saw the way you were walking.”

“Walking?” Liu Qingge spat. “This is Bai Zhan. Injuries are inevitable.”

Shen Qingqiu stepped closer.

Too close.

Liu Qingge bared his teeth. “Back off.”

“No,” Shen Qingqiu said, utterly undeterred, expression tightening with something disturbingly like concern. “Who did this? And how often has this been happening? Do your seniors ambush you when you’re alone? You fell off from up there, didn’t you? Do they—”

Too sharp— way too sharp, this Shen. 

“Enough.”

Liu Qingge’s voice cracked like a whip.

Shen Qingqiu held his ground—

snake-like, slender, but irritatingly stubborn.

He should not care.

He should not ask these questions.

He should not look at Liu Qingge as though piecing together a puzzle no one else bothered to see.

Liu Qingge hated it.

Hated it more because his vision blurred for a beat and he swayed.

Shen Qingqiu reached reflexively.

Liu Qingge slapped his hand away again.

Hard.

“Do not touch me.”

A muscle twitched in Shen Qingqiu’s jaw.

But instead of biting back with venom, he asked— again, low and too steady:

“Who?”

Liu Qingge’s patience frayed to its last thread.

“Why are you here so early?” he snapped, voice harsher than intended. “Spying on Bai Zhan? Come to lecture us on how to breathe properly?”

Shen Qingqiu’s face hardened.

“I came to deliver a complaint.”

Liu Qingge blinked.

Oh, no jeering? 

That was unexpectedly easy. 

Shen lifted the crumpled scroll slightly.

“A group of Bai Zhan imbeciles barged into Qing Jing last night— again— picked a fight— again— and injured twenty-nine of juniors. Twenty-nine, Liu. They are all in Cian Cao now.”

Liu Qingge stilled.

That explained Shen Qingqiu’s earlier trembling grip on the scroll.

That explained the hour.

But he did not have the energy nor interest to entertain peak rivalries at dawn.

He snatched the scroll from Shen’s hand with a swift, irritated movement.

Shen Qingqiu gasped— not daintily, not dramatically—

but with genuine shock.

“Give that back—!” he snapped, reaching for it.

Liu Qingge tilted it out of reach and turned away.

“I’ll deliver it to Lord Huang.”

Shen Qingqiu stared.

Actually stared.

And for the first time, he did not immediately explode into a tirade—

no accusations of barbarity,

no insults about brainlessness,

no haughty flick of his fan.

Instead he hissed, voice quieter than usual but razor-sharp:

“What guarantee do I have? You brute— how do I know you won’t burn it? Or use it to light your training braziers?”

Liu Qingge stopped walking.

Turned his head just enough to meet Shen Qingqiu’s eyes.

Not glaring.

Not mocking.

Just tired.

Exhausted.

Bleeding.

Barely upright.

And fed up.

“I said I’ll deliver it,” he said.

No bite.

No heat.

Just stubborn finality.

“Leave.”

Shen Qingqiu opened his mouth.

He closed it.

Then, for reasons Liu Qingge refused to analyse, Shen Qingqiu obeyed.

He stepped back, eyes filled with suspicion, irritation, and— annoyingly— something else Liu Qingge didn’t want to name.

Liu Qingge walked away first.

His legs wobbled.

But he did not fall.

Not in front of him.

Not in front of anyone.

“Back to the Peak of Wolves”

Liu Qingge did not look back.

He refused.

Even when he could feel Shen Qingqiu staring after him—

sharp gaze tracking each step,

suspicious, unsettled, entirely too invested.

It wasn’t until Liu Qingge turned a bend in the stone path, vanishing behind a jut of boulders, that Shen’s presence faded from the back of his neck.

Good.

He didn’t need a snake watching him bleed.

He focused on breathing—

slow, steady, controlled—

as he descended toward Bai Zhan’s main hall.

His vision blurred once, twice.

He blinked it away.

He walked with the stiffness of someone who had taken a beating from a god, but his spine remained straight. Bai Zhan did not tolerate dragging one’s feet. Bai Zhan did not care if one was half-dead.

Pain meant little on this peak.

It was simply the price of strength.

Huang Wenming was already outside the hall’s wide steps, arms folded, towering in his plain grey robe, looking every bit the seasoned war immortal he was.

His stern gaze swept the courtyard—

and caught on Liu Qingge.

Briefly.

A flicker of an eyebrow.

A glance at the dried blood staining Liu Qingge’s collar.

Another at the tattered sleeve, stiff with half-melted frost.

No comment.

No reprimand.

No show of concern.

Just a grunt— low, unreadable— and the barest of nods.

Liu Qingge bowed, formal and crisp despite the pain slicing his ribs.

“Shifu,” he said, voice steady.

He held out the scroll.

The pattern of the cloth backing the paper was recognisable enough.

Huang Wenming reached for it with one massive hand.

“Qing Jing, hm,” he muttered. “Always complaining.”

Liu Qingge did not respond.

He did not dare sigh.

He simply bowed again and stepped aside.

His Shifu didn’t question how he obtained the scroll. Didn’t ask whether Liu Qingge had been involved in whatever brawl Qing Jing was furious about. Didn’t ask about the blood, or the odd qi stench clinging faintly to his robes.

This was Bai Zhan.

If you come home alive, the details are your own.

If you collapse, someone will drag you out of the courtyard to avoid obstructing training. That was the extent of their mercy.

Liu Qingge headed to the barracks.

Each step was deliberate, measured.

He would not limp.

He would not stumble where others could see.

Inside his assigned quarters, the door clicked shut behind him.

Silence.

The room was plain, bare— just a bed, a small shelf, a basin, and a wooden chest for personal belongings. A warrior’s space, nothing more.

He sat on the edge of the bed for a heartbeat—

not resting, just gathering himself.

Then he stood.

He stripped his ruined outer robe and assessed the damage—

bruises blackening across ribs,

scrapes along his shoulders,

a shallow but deep-red cut at the back of his head,

and the last remnants of cold qi staining the veins of his right arm like blue lightning.

He exhaled sharply.

He didn’t have time for this.

He had a sword to retrieve.

Cheng Luan— his spirit, his partner, the blade that had been in his hands since he gained Shifu’s acknowledgment— was still wedged somewhere along the cliffside, abandoned during the fall.

Leaving it for even a short while was unacceptable.

Unaffordable.

Unforgivable.

He rinsed his face, bound his arm tight, tied his hair back again, and donned a fresh set of training robes. His body protested every movement, but pain was just noise.

Bai Zhan Peak did not pause for scrapes.

And Liu Qingge refused to be left behind.

He slid the door open.

Stepped back into the harsh morning air.

And headed toward the cliffs where his sword waited—

ignoring the faint ache in his chest,

ignoring the dizziness rising behind his eyes,

ignoring the cold trace still lingering under his skin like a ghost.

Training would begin soon.

He would retrieve Cheng Luan.

He would show up on time.

He would fight as he always did.

Everything else—

the demon prince

the fall

the frost

the snake

—could rot.

“Why He Was Chosen”

Liu Qingge’s limbs still ached, his ribs still burned, and the wound on the back of his head throbbed with every heartbeat— but he climbed the cliff anyway.

Hand over rock.

Foot over gravel.

Breath steady.

Behind him, Bai Zhan Peak was waking.

Lanterns flickered to life in the barracks.

Disciples yawned and shuffled outside, stretching before morning drills.

Whispers rose like a swarm of insects when they saw him—

“…look at that—”

“—so early— punished—?”

“—is that blood??”

“—maybe he fought a beast—”

“—no, look, those bruises on him— who can even land those on him—”

“—not so high and mighty anymore eh—

Liu Qingge ignored them all.

He climbed higher.

He reached the ridge where frost still clung in faint threads—

and there, wedged between two stones, brushed with a glaze of thin ice, lay Cheng Luan.

His sword.

His heart.

He grasped the hilt, warm under his fingers despite the cold that had seeped into it.

And in the distance—

in the far tree-line above the ridge—

he felt eyes on him.

A presence colder than dawn.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

Silent as snowfall.

Watching.

The prince.

Liu Qingge did not look up.

He sheathed Cheng Luan and muttered:

“You’ll have to wait.”

He descended the mountain to the training fields, steps steady, wounds hidden beneath fresh robes.

He was late.

But Lord Huang Wenming did not comment.

Being late after surviving the night was nothing unusual on Bai Zhan Peak.

Two long rows of disciples knelt on the hard-packed earth before the peak lord’s stance.

These were the culprits— the fools who stormed Qing Jing in the night, waving blades and stupidity, injuring nearly thirty Qing Jing juniors.

Huang Wenming stood before them like a mountain in human form—

broad, scarred, silent, impossible to read.

“Justify your actions,” he commanded.

The disciples rattled off excuses:

“Qing Jing mocked our sword forms—”

“They insulted Bai Zhan!”

“They disrespected our training!”

“They said we only use brawn—”

Liu Qingge resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Lord Huang Wenming lifted his voice— calm, but heavy as a war drum.

“By whose orders?”

The culprits stiffened.

“No one, Peak Lord.”

“We went on our own.”

“It was a matter of pride—”

“They were weak—”

The peak lord’s gaze sharpened.

“Cowardice,” he thundered.

His voice shook the packed earth.

“Cowardice has no place in Bai Zhan. Picking on the weak is not Bai Zhan’s way. Strength tests strength. Honour meets honour.”

He swept his gaze over the kneeling group.

“You lot,” he said slowly, “do not even respect the head disciple.”

Silence fell.

Some disciples flinched.

Some sneered in secret.

Lord Huang Wenming raised his hand.

“So,” he continued, “I will let you experience exactly why he was chosen… and not you.”

A ripple went through the rows.

Liu Qingge straightened behind the crowd.

He knew this command.

He had lived it enough times.

He stepped forward as the circle of disciples split to clear a centre.

His fingers brushed Cheng Luan’s hilt.

The blade sang faintly— and the circle quieted.

Even though many older than him sneered behind their bravado, Liu Qingge’s presence made them hesitate.

A boy of fifteen,

already better than all of them.

Already hated by many.

Already feared by most.

He unsheathed Cheng Luan with a controlled movement—

slow, elegant, terrifying in its precision.

The blade gleamed with new frost streaks from the demon prince’s clash, giving it an even sharper, colder aura.

Liu Qingge counted.

Twelve enemies.

He recounted.

Twelve.

His Shifu was ruthless today.

Too many for a clean match.

Too many for a spar.

Just enough to break bones.

Just enough to send him back to the infirmary.

A punishment disguised as a lesson.

The disciples around him felt the shift.

They drew their blades— hesitant or eager, depending on which ones hated him more.

Liu Qingge brushed his thumb over Cheng Luan’s edge.

“…Without killing anyone,” he muttered under his breath.

His Shifu had given no rules,

but the unspoken expectation was clear.

Break pride.

Break bodies.

But do not take lives. 

While dealing with this many simultaneously?

A near-impossible task.

The circle tightened.

The twelve surrounded him.

The peak lord folded his arms, face unreadable.

Liu Qingge blew out a slow breath.

Pain from last night still dragged like weights on his limbs.

His ribs ached.

His vision wavered.

But this—

this was his element.

He set his stance.

The yard hummed with anticipation.

Come.

The first blade rushed him from the left.

And Liu Qingge moved.

“The Rat Returns”

Three weeks passed like the snap of a blade.

Three weeks of solo missions shoveled onto Liu Qingge’s roster—

his Shifu, Huang Wenming, tacitly punishing him for brutalising half the peak’s troublemakers.

Despite indirectly ordering him to. 

Three weeks of returning bloodied and bruised from beast hunts, rogue cultivator chases, and one swamp demon nest.

Three weeks of silence in Bai Zhan—

not respect, not admiration—

just fear.

None of those disciples had dared meet his eyes since the punishment match.

A few were still bedridden in Cian Cao.

Three left the sect altogether.

Good riddance.

Liu Qingge arrived at the head disciple meeting room in his fresh uniform, hair tied in a high, clean ponytail, face wiped of blood and dirt—

but still exhausted from a mission completed just before dawn.

Voices reached him before he crossed the threshold.

Yue Qingyuan’s gentle but firm tone.

Shen Qingqiu’s sharper, colder one—

softened by volume, but still biting like a blade dipped in poison.

They were arguing.

Quietly, heatedly, with the politeness of people one breath from losing decorum.

Then Shen Qingqiu saw him.

Green eyes snapped away from Yue Qingyuan’s face and swept over Liu Qingge—

once

twice

slow

too slow—

cataloguing his state, the faint stiffness in his right shoulder, the lingering fatigue around his eyes.

It made Liu Qingge’s skin crawl.

He ignored the snake and took his place.

The other peak head disciples turned and began whispering immediately.

“…he’s back again—”

“—that’s Bai Zhan’s prodigy—”

“—heard he took down twenty armed bandits alone—”

“—no wonder his peak is terrified of him—”

Only Wei Qingwei of Wan Jian Peak walked up confidently, giving Liu Qingge a hearty clap on the shoulder that nearly sent him staggering.

“You are growing into a legend, Liu-shidi!” Wei boomed.

The smack reverberated through Liu Qingge’s cracked ribs.

Wei Qingwei continued with a grin, “The way you handled those fools who caused trouble at Qing Jing— impressive.”

He didn’t finish with words, but with a loud, satisfied gesture— slicing the air as though cutting down ten men.

“Just don’t be too great at being great,” Wei added with a laugh.

“Or else you’ll leave the rest of us eating dust.”

Before Liu Qingge could reply, not that he wanted to, another presence drifted to his side.

Qi Qingqi of Xian Shu Peak.

Light-footed, sharp-eyed, smirking as if she’d arrived on a breeze specifically to cause trouble.

“Speaking of leaving us in the dust…” she purred.

Liu Qingge stiffened.

“What,” he said flatly.

Qi Qingqi leaned in, eyes gleaming mischievously.

“Did you hear about the An Ding head disciple, Liu-shidi?”

“No,” Liu Qingge muttered, tone as dry as old parchment.

He couldn’t care less.

He only respected two head disciples in this entire sect—

Yue Qingyuan for his perfection,

and Wei Qingwei for his straightforwardness.

Qi Qingqi?

Troublesome.

Cunning.

Nosy.

“Ah,” she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

“Well, apparently he displeased his peak lord too many times. He’s on the verge of being replaced.”

Liu Qingge’s face remained impassive.

Wei Qingwei scratched his chin.

“Poor fellow keeps making strange mistakes. Things he never used to muck up before.”

Qi Qingqi’s smirk deepened.

“It’s almost like he is being sabotaged.”

She paused.

“By who, I wonder?”

Liu Qingge couldn’t care about this either.

Until—

The door slid open.

Shang-rat shuffled inside.

Nervous.

Flighty.

Sweaty.

Carrying scrolls like they were shields.

The rat’s eyes scanned the room—

landed on Liu Qingge—

and lit up.

Lit up.

And then that brazen fool had the audacity to—

Smile.

And wave.

Liu Qingge’s blood pressure spiked so hard he saw white for a beat.

Qi Qingqi’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oho? Seems like the replacement has finally arrived.”

Wei Qingwei frowned.

“This fellow— he has been around a lot. Why is he waving? …No wait, why is he coming over here?”

Liu Qingge kept his posture straight, emotionless, murderous.

Shang Qinghua scuttled straight to him like a rodent to rice.

“Liu-shidi!” the rat simpered brightly.

Silence.

Qi Qingqi stared as if witnessing the birth of a scandal.

Wei Qingwei’s jaw dropped.

Liu Qingge did not hide his disdain.

“Who’s your shidi, damn rat?” he growled.

Shang Qinghua froze mid-step, sweat beading at his temples.

From the corner of his eye, Liu Qingge caught it—

Shen Qingqiu,

leaned slightly behind Yue Qingyuan,

fan unfurling with a soft snap,

eyes narrowed in pure, poisonous amusement…

And smirking.

Smirking at him.

As if enjoying this far too much.

Liu Qingge flexed his fingers, imagining strangling both the rat and the snake.

Shang Qinghua barely managed, “Liu-shidi—” before the air chilled.

Not from the demon prince.

From Shen Qingqiu.

The Qing Jing head disciple glided toward them like a viper slithering out of silk.

Fan flicked open.

Green eyes gleaming.

Voice cold enough to frost a pond.

“Just because you happen to have history with Liu-brute,” Shen Qingqiu said with razor delicacy,

“does not mean you are anywhere near his level… Shang—Qing—Hua.”

The entire room stiffened.

Even Yue Qingyuan’s expression flickered in mild surprise.

Shen Qingqiu had spoken Shang’s courtesy name before the An Ding peak lord had announced it.

Before Shang himself had dared utter it.

The reassignment of the An Ding’s previous head disciple’s name to a new one.

The rat didn’t even get his own courtesy name.

The exposure was deliberate.

Vicious.

Humiliating.

Shang Qinghua froze like a rat caught under a lantern.

Wei Qingwei let out a low whistle.

“History?” Wei repeated.

“What history? The fool hid and hoarded Qingge when he should’ve reached out for help.”

He thumped Liu Qingge on the back— again, painfully.

“Nearly got him killed. That’s not history— that’s attempted murder by stupidity.”

Qi Qingqi slid in elegantly on Liu Qingge’s other side.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say murder,” she said sweetly.

“More like… scheming. A very low, very pathetic attempt to cling onto Liu-shidi to climb ranks.”

Her smile sharpened.

“See if you can fool us, Shang Qinghua.”

Shang Qinghua looked one breath from fainting.

Instead of defending himself like a normal person…

he scuttled behind Liu Qingge.

Behind him.

Under his shadow.

Using him as a shield.

As if Liu Qingge would protect him.

The audacity.

The sheer, suicidal audacity.

But Liu Qingge did not shove him away.

He didn’t dare.

Not because of pity.

Not because of compassion.

Because if Shang Qinghua panicked—

if he opened his mouth—

if he uttered even a hint about the ice demon prince—

the one Liu Qingge accidentally saved

and failed to exterminate on sight—

it would doom them both.

Shang Qinghua trembled in Liu Qingge’s shadow, trying to be small.

Then the idiot leaned closer.

Even worse—

he whispered.

“Liu-xiong— listen carefully,” Shang hissed through a forced smile.

“He— he might be here— my King— he’s been in a foul mood for days— please, for the love of heavens, control your spiritual boyfr—”

Liu Qingge’s elbow drove back with lethal precision.

A clean, brutal strike to Shang Qinghua’s ribs.

The rat squeaked like a kicked rodent and folded silently to the floorboards.

The head disciples blinked.

Qi Qingqi covered her mouth, either laughing or gasping.

Wei Qingwei looked impressed.

Yue Qingyuan sighed in the distant background.

Shen Qingqiu’s fan stilled— eyes glinting with something like satisfaction.

Liu Qingge did not look down at the wheezing mess on the ground behind him.

He only muttered under his breath—

“Vermin.”

A faint groan rose from the floor.

“…ow.”

Shen Qingqiu’s fan flicked open again, a vicious smile curling at its edge.

“Truly,” Shen drawled, “Liu-brute treats his acquaintances with astonishing affection.”

Liu Qingge glared at him.

Everyone else wisely pretended not to breathe.

“The Meeting That Became a Battleground”

The head disciple meeting droned on like a never-ending funeral chant.

Liu Qingge sat against the wall, arms folded, expression carved from stone.

He wasn’t listening.

He never listened to these meetings—

they were tedious, repetitive, and full of self-important prattle.

If something needed to be done, he would do it.

He didn’t need eleven talking heads debating it for half a shichen.

His gaze drifted to the floor.

A ripple of cold qi brushed along his senses—

that damned prince watching again?

Or memory residue from the night before?

He ignored it.

He ignored everything.

Until—

“…and let us not forget,” drawled the head disciple of Ku Xing, “Bai Zhan’s head disciple’s decisive action in punishing the culprits who stormed Qing Jing. Admirable.”

A few heads nodded.

Liu Qingge mentally scoffed.

Admirable?

It was punishment.

Nothing more.

But then—

A soft snap of a fan.

And Shen Qingqiu’s voice, acid-laced and elegant:

“Punish them? How convenient.”

The room quieted instantly.

Liu Qingge’s gaze snapped toward the snake—

who gazed back with that infuriatingly serene jade-green stare.

Shen Qingqiu stepped forward slightly, folding his fan with slender, deadly fingers.

“Let us recall,” he said lightly, “that Bai Zhan ruffians raid Qing Jing especially when their head disciple is absent. Constantly absent.”

A pointed pause.

“Out on solo missions… endlessly.”

The sneer underneath the politeness was unmistakable.

“Incompetence from the peak’s leader,” Shen Qingqiu added, “is what allows such repeated incidents in the first place.”

A soft intake of breath rippled through the room.

Even Shang Qinghua, hovering nervously behind Liu Qingge, froze.

Liu Qingge did not rise to the bait— not with fire, not with temper, not with the usual snapping growl.

He simply blinked once.

Tired.

Apathetic.

Half-dead on his feet.

He met Shen Qingqiu’s eyes and said, voice flat:

“My incompetence did indeed inconvenience Qing Jing.”

Shen Qingqiu faltered—

if only for the briefest heartbeat.

Liu Qingge continued, tone calm as cold steel:

“But I have already ensured such things will not happen again.”

No heat.

No shouting.

No fury.

Just finality.

Then Liu Qingge stood.

Not abruptly.

Not dramatically.

He simply rose, dusted off his robes, and started walking toward the door.

Qi Qingqi blinked rapidly.

Wei Qingwei muttered, “Ah…?”

Yue Qingyuan opened his mouth, obviously about to intervene.

And Shang Qinghua—

the rat—

squeaked:

“L-Liu-shidi! You— you can’t— sit down! The meeting isn’t over!”

Liu Qingge didn’t break stride.

He didn’t acknowledge anyone.

Especially not Shen Qingqiu, whose fan had stilled mid-flick, expression unreadable.

Liu Qingge left the room without a backward glance.

The doors closed behind him with a soft thud—

cutting off the whispers, the alarm, and Shang Qinghua’s frantic scurrying.

He didn’t care.

He had no patience left

for politics,

for peak quarrels,

for Qing Jing barbs,

for An Ding rats,

for demon princes watching from rooftops.

All he wanted was quiet.

But he knew—

from the faint prickle of cold along his spine—

that he wasn’t going to get it.

The wooden doors of the meeting hall slid shut behind Liu Qingge with a dull thud.

Finally— air free of snakes, gossipers, and idiots.

He strode down the long steps, the morning sun hitting the top of his head like a hammer. His ribs ached under his uniform. His shoulder still throbbed from last night’s hunt. His right hand tingled faintly from the residual cold qi that no amount of meditation had erased completely.

He needed silence.

Training.

Battle.

Anything except another word from Shen Qingqiu or the other head disciples.

Footsteps scrambled down the steps behind him.

Light.

Panicked.

Pathetically familiar.

“Liu-xiong! Liu-xiong! W-wait—!”

Liu Qingge stopped.

Only because if he didn’t, the rat would keep squeaking, and the squeaking would give him a headache.

A shadow fell over Shang Qinghua as Liu Qingge pivoted sharply and seized the front of his robes.

One swift, brutal motion.

Shang Qinghua’s feet left the ground for a heartbeat before his toes found the steps again— barely.

His eyes bulged so wide they nearly popped out.

“L-Liu-xiong—!”

“What do you want now?”

Liu Qingge’s voice was flat.

Dead quiet.

A tone that meant someone was about to bleed.

Shang Qinghua gulped loudly, hands shaking as they hovered in the air like frightened sparrow wings.

“I— I only wanted to warn you—!”

Liu Qingge yanked him closer by the collar.

“About what?”

Shang Qinghua’s gaze darted everywhere—

up the stairs, across the courtyard, back toward the meeting hall door—

checking for witnesses.

Liu Qingge noticed this.

He did not like it.

“Speak,” he growled.

Shang Qinghua leaned up on his toes, whispering frantically:

“Your— ice— friend— might have come— he— he saw— he—”

Liu Qingge elbowed him.

Hard.

Right in the ribs.

Shang Qinghua folded in half with a wheeze, clutching his side.

“Hhhgg—! Why— why must you always hit me—?!”

“Stop spouting nonsense,” Liu Qingge said, releasing his collar only to shove him back a step. “And stop following me.”

Shang Qinghua staggered, breathless, hunched, eyes watering.

“But— but Liu-xiong—!”

“I will not repeat myself.”

The rat froze.

Part fear.

Part admiration— the infuriating kind.

Part genuine terror of whatever he thought the demon prince might do.

Liu Qingge turned away.

He was done.

Done with meetings.

Done with gossip.

Done with head disciples.

Done with Shen Qingqiu’s endless barbs.

Done with Shang Qinghua’s cowardice wrapped in loyalty.

He descended the peak steps with long, sharp strides, intending to seek the quiet of the training fields—

When, from behind him, Shang Qinghua rasped:

“Liu-xiong— if you don’t listen to me— you might die—!”

Liu Qingge didn’t slow, didn’t turn, didn’t spare a breath.

He only answered, without looking back:

“I’m not so easy to kill.”

And Shang Qinghua wilted on the steps like a trampled flower.

“Winter in His Room”

Liu Qingge slammed the door of his quarters, the wood rattling in its frame.

He did not bother lighting the lantern.

He did not bother to meditate.

He did not bother with anything except stripping his ruined robe off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a heap.

His torso was a map of fresh cuts, half-healed bruises, and faint blue discolorations that still lingered under his skin like the memory of frost.

He did not care.

He only cared about silence.

Solitude.

And then—

A breath of cold slid across his spine.

Not the wind.

Not the night.

Not exhaustion hallucinating.

But a presence.

Liu Qingge spun, hand already halfway to Cheng Luan—

When the shadows unpeeled themselves.

And the young demon prince stepped forward.

No sound.

No warning.

No smoke.

Just cold reality, standing in the centre of Liu Qingge’s room as though he’d simply walked through the wall.

“Where have you been?” the prince demanded.

Not curious.

Not amused.

Accusing.

Liu Qingge’s jaw flexed.

He took his hand off Cheng Luan’s hilt and turned away deliberately.

“I owe you no explanation.”

The cold sharpened behind him.

A hand closed around his arm— too suddenly, too tightly, forcing him to pivot.

The demon moved like a winter storm: all force, no hesitation.

They crashed into each other, into the narrow space between bed and wall.

Liu Qingge snarled, braced his stance—

but the prince was stronger.

He seized Liu Qingge by the wrists and shoved him down, pinning him half onto the bed, half standing on the floor, spine bent in a painful angle.

The demon leaned over him, blue eyes glowing faintly in the dimness.

“These bruises,” he murmured, gaze sweeping across Liu Qingge’s bare torso, “are ugly.”

Liu Qingge growled under his breath, annoyance flaring hot.

He tried to jerk his arms free.

The prince tightened his grip.

“You truly are unafraid of me,” the demon simpered softly, leaning closer still, as though examining a particularly stubborn animal.

Liu Qingge glared back.

Silent.

Defiant.

Too tired to shout.

Too stubborn to yield.

The demon’s fingers dug into Liu Qingge’s wrists—

cold and unyielding, pressing bone to bone.

Liu Qingge hissed.

The demon stilled.

“…I am hurting you?”

The incredulity in his tone was almost insulting.

“Yes,” Liu Qingge said simply.

No drama.

No gasp.

Just fact.

That single word struck the demon like a thrown stone.

His hands fell away immediately.

Not cautiously—

but abruptly, as though burned.

He stepped back, expression shifting—confusion, mild alarm, something uncertain flickering across his features.

Liu Qingge sat up, rubbing one wrist, not breaking eye contact.

The demon prince stared at his own hands, flexing the fingers once, as if unsure how he had used them.

“You—” he began, then stopped.

He tried again.

“You should have said so sooner.”

Liu Qingge’s brow twitched.

“I did.”

The demon blinked.

Twice.

As if genuinely struggling to process that.

They stared at one another in the narrow room—

one half-dressed, bruised and furious,

the other immaculate except for the faint line where Liu Qingge had cut him weeks earlier.

The demon prince stepped closer again—not touching this time—just staring with sharp, unreadable intensity.

“You vanished,” he said lowly.

“For many days.”

Liu Qingge folded his arms across his chest.

“I was on missions.”

“Alone,” the demon hissed.

“I prefer it that way.”

A dangerous silence stretched between them.

Then the demon bared his teeth—quietly, beautifully, like a predator unwilling to admit worry.

“You will not disappear like that again.”

Liu Qingge scoffed.

“I take orders from no one.”

The demon leaned in—

close enough that Liu Qingge felt the cold of him, the faint brush of breath.

“You will,” he murmured.

“From me.”

Liu Qingge reached for Cheng Luan again.

The demon caught the motion—

—but did not stop him.

Instead he said, softer, as if trying the words on his tongue:

“…I did not mean to hurt you.”

Liu Qingge’s grip on his sword paused.

For the first time, the demon looked at him not like prey, not like a challenge, not like an amusing toy—

—but like a puzzle he could not solve.

And Liu Qingge hated—

hated—

that his heart lurched once in confusion.

The demon prince released his wrists.

Not gently.

Simply… stopped holding him.

As if the realisation that he’d tightened his grip too much genuinely startled him.

Liu Qingge pushed himself up at once, breath sharp, hair falling messily over one eye. His torso— still half-bared from disrobing— rose and fell with restrained agitation. The bruises across his ribs were ugly shades of purple and blue, some still fresh, others lingering from the previous weeks.

The prince’s eyes followed them with a slow, cold sweep.

Liu Qingge noticed.

He hated that he noticed.

The prince reached out.

Without warning.

A single fingertip brushed a bruise just beneath Liu Qingge’s collarbone— barely a touch, a questioning pressure, like one testing the paint on a new craft.

Liu Qingge’s body reacted before his mind did.

He nearly punched the demon straight through the wall.

The prince caught the blow— barehanded— ice qi blooming where their arms collided.

“You—!” Liu Qingge snapped, furious.

The prince tilted his head, gaze unreadable, unbothered.

“Your reactions are amusing,” he said, voice low.

“I was only looking.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Then stop getting injured.”

Liu Qingge’s glare deepened.

“That,” he growled, “is none of your business.”

The prince’s lips curved—

not quite a smile, not spirit enough to be mockery,

but something dangerous and faintly intrigued.

“It is inconvenient,” he said.

“Inconvenient?” Liu Qingge repeated, incredulous. “For you?”

The demon nodded, as if this were the most logical thing in the world.

“You,” Liu Qingge said slowly, “truly believe I owe you explanations.”

The prince’s gaze sharpened.

“I asked where you were.”

A pause.

“You should answer.”

Liu Qingge scoffed.

“I owe you nothing.”

Silence thinned the air between them.

Then the prince moved.

Not to attack.

Not to threaten.

He simply walked past Liu Qingge—

uninvited—

and sat on the edge of Liu Qingge’s narrow bed, posture regal even in a cramped space meant for human cultivators.

He rested one hand atop his knee, the other draping casually over the bedframe.

As if this were his room.

As if this were normal.

Liu Qingge stared.

The prince stared back.

“I told you to leave,” Liu Qingge said, voice flat.

“No,” the demon replied instantly.

Liu Qingge’s jaw clenched. “No?”

“I will not leave.”

He leaned back the slightest fraction, shoulders relaxed, winter qi curling faintly around him like a cloak.

“I am here,” the prince said calmly, “because you should not vanish without my knowing.”

Liu Qingge gritted his teeth.

“You are not my keeper.”

“That is true,” the prince allowed, the faintest ghost of amusement touching his eyes. “But you… are interesting.”

“I do not care.”

“Liar,” the prince said smoothly.

Liu Qingge stepped forward so abruptly the floor creaked.

“Get. Out.”

The demon prince tilted his chin up faintly, meeting Liu Qingge’s anger with a level, imperious gaze.

“No.”

“I will fight you.”

“Then fight.”

“You—!” Liu Qingge cut himself off, fists trembling at his sides. “Why are you here?”

“To see you,” the prince said plainly.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

“There is nothing to know.”

Another faint scoff, almost derisive.

“You persist, you defy, you bruise, you bleed, you climb cliffs at dawn as though death has no claws sharp enough to catch you.”

He gestured vaguely at the bruises painting Liu Qingge’s torso.

“And you ignore pain as though it bores you.”

Liu Qingge’s breath hitched—not at flattery, but irritation.

“So what?” he snapped.

“So,” the demon prince said, settling his back against the wall and folding one knee, looking thoroughly unwilling to move,

“I will stay.”

Liu Qingge, stunned for a fraction, could only glare.

Then he hissed:

“Not in my room.”

The prince smirked—

“Especially here.”

The moment the prince lay down on his bed—

his bed—

and patted the space beside him like Liu Qingge was some pet tiger to be coaxed,

Liu Qingge’s patience snapped clean in two.

“No.”

He said it without hesitation, without heat—

a solid wall of refusal.

The demon only looked faintly amused.

“We have lain together before,” the prince said.

Liu Qingge balked.

“Not— the way you’re implying.”

“I implied nothing.”

“You—” Liu Qingge pointed at the bed, furious and red-eared, “—get off.”

The prince did not move.

He shifted further into the blankets—

long limbs stretching, hair spilling over the pillow, taking up far too much space—

and shut his eyes, feigning the utmost comfort.

Liu Qingge’s jaw clenched.

Fine.

If the demon refused to leave—

then he himself would leave.

He grabbed his outer robe—didn’t bother wearing it—and strode straight out the door, bare from the waist up, bruised and furious and wholly intent on sleeping in the meditation hall.

A cold breeze snapped against his spine.

Shadows lengthened unnaturally along the corridor.

The air behind him changed.

Before he could turn—

A hand clamped around his wrist.

Not tight, not painful—

but inarguably inescapable.

Liu Qingge spun, raising his free hand to strike—

The world split.

A tear in the air, black and cold as midwinter depths, opened right beside him with a soft, unnatural ripple.

Shadow leaked from the edges like smoke.

The demon prince stepped out of Liu Qingge’s room, expression unreadable, and pulled him—

firmly, inevitably—

into the rift.

The corridor vanished.

Light vanished.

Warmth vanished.

For a breath, there was nothing but cold—

not painful, not biting, just absolute, perfect stillness.

They emerged into darkness layered with soft glimmers—like distant starlight caught in ice.

Liu Qingge tore his wrist free the instant he could.

“What in the nine heavens are you doing?”

The prince tilted his head, midnight hair brushing his cheek.

“You walked away.”

“I will do it again.”

“Not without me.”

Liu Qingge’s temper erupted.

“You do not get to decide where I sleep!”

The prince regarded him as though he had said something delightfully absurd.

“You were leaving your own room to avoid me,” he said, tone flat but eyes gleaming faintly. “This is unacceptable.”

“Unacceptable?! To whom?!”

“To me.”

Liu Qingge took a step forward, fury radiating off him.

“I don’t care. This is Cang Qiong Mountain. Bai Zhan. My peak. My room. You have no right—”

The demon cut him off with a low, unhurried answer:

“I have every right.”

“Based on what?” Liu Qingge snarled.

The prince’s gaze dropped, lingering—

for a beat too long—

on the bruises across Liu Qingge’s torso.

“Based on this.”

Liu Qingge bristled.

“Bruises are none of your business.”

The prince’s voice remained disturbingly calm.

“They are.”

“They are not.”

“They are,” the demon repeated, stepping closer, “because I caused none of them.”

Liu Qingge’s breath stopped.

He opened his mouth to spit venom—

But the prince added, quietly:

“And I mean to ensure no one else will— ever again.”

The void around them crackled.

Something ancient and cold stirred in the air—

possessive, territorial, dangerous.

Liu Qingge glared up at him, rage and confusion twisting inside him.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

The prince lowered his head until their foreheads almost touched—

a gesture not gentle, not tender,

but territorial.

“It means,” the demon murmured,

“I am not leaving.”

Liu Qingge’s pulse slammed in his throat.

He lifted his hand to shove him back—

And the darkness around them pulsed like a held breath.

He punched the demon. Hard.

He kicked.  

The demon  kicked back.

They ended warping back into his room.

They fought in that small space, knocking over the chair, displaced the bed. Liu Qingge grabbed the demon and slammed him against the wall. He landed a solid hook to the ribs.  

Liu Qingge was grabbed, lifted and hurled to the floor. His back scraped against the rough stone. 

Then he scissored the demon’s ankles and brought him down, moved to a body lock and arched.

The demon growled but Liu Qingge strained and held with all of his strength till he heard something snap.

The demon snarled in pain.

Suddenly the air shifted and Liu Qingge was enveloped in shadows together with the fiend.

It’s a distance crossing portal.

They were no longer in Bai Zhan.

He found himself surrounded by white.

Snow.

“Why? Why? WHY?”

The moment the frozen powder kissed his bare skin, Liu Qingge jolted.

It wasn’t normal cold.

It was killing cold.

The kind that burned.

It stole his breath—

but it also woke something vicious inside him.

He saw the demon prince kneeling in the whiteness, one arm hanging strangely, blue eyes fixed intently on him.

Liu Qingge grinned, teeth chattering.

“Not so invincible, are you?”

The prince slowly lifted his head—

eyes glacial, angry, and faintly… bewildered.

“No,” he said evenly, “I would not be indebted to you if I were invincible.”

Liu Qingge blinked.

Indebted?

He’s bringing that up now?

He shuddered, the cold biting into his ribs, raising gooseflesh along his bare torso.

“So what?” Liu Qingge snapped. “What does that have to do with anything?”

The demon prince rose to his full height, cold whirling around him like a storm.

His voice was low.

“Why did you help me?”

Liu Qingge squinted.

“That’s it?” he said incredulously. “That’s why haunt me and now you drag me to this freezing wilderness?”

The demon’s jaw clenched.

“You did not kill me when you could have,” he said, voice rising— not loud, but sharp, slicing the air like a drawn blade.

Liu Qingge scoffed, crossing his arms tightly against the cold.

“So?”

“Tell me why.”

“Why what?”

“WHY?”

The snarl echoed across the barren plain—

disturbed nothing but snow and wind.

The demon’s composure cracked—

blue eyes lit with something violent and confused,

his voice not just demanding, but almost… cornered.

Liu Qingge stared at him.

Utterly blank.

His thoughts were half-frozen anyway.

He was half-bare in a tundra, after wrestling a demon prince inside a collapsing rift.

He could die here.

He knew it instinctively.

And the demon prince knew he knew.

Cooperate, or freeze to death.

Pride didn’t matter when survival was on the line.

Is that the case?

No— not at all.

So Liu Qingge stepped forward.

Close.

Brazenly so.

The demon stiffened.

Liu Qingge jabbed a finger into the demon’s broken arm.

The prince inhaled sharply.

“I don’t strike down helpless creatures,” Liu Qingge said simply.

A pause—

long enough for the wind to whistle between them.

“It’s too easy. Not exciting at all.”

He lifted his chin, gaze cold, voice flat.

“Why bother ask me that stupid question?”

He stared at the demon’s face— unreadable fury beneath ice.

“Isn’t that why I am still breathing too?”

“Despite shredding your pride by helping you escape your captors?”

“Despite hurting you—” he jabbed the broken bone again, more deliberately—

“—like this?”

He leaned in, expression indifferent.

“What am I to you again?”

A slow, sharp smile.

“Interesting?”

He scoffed.

“Your existence must be so dull then, demon.”

The prince’s expression twisted.

Not merely anger.

Not merely offence.

Something simmered—

a dangerous blend of fury and fascination,

curiosity sharpened into obsession,

pride bruised and smouldering under Liu Qingge’s blunt words.

The ice demon took a step forward, snow hissing under his boots.

“You—”

He seized Liu Qingge’s jaw in one cold, unyielding hand, claws grazing skin but not breaking it. His grip was firm enough that Liu Qingge’s head tilted upward, forced to meet those cutting glacier-blue eyes.

“Tell me the truth.”

Liu Qingge stared back, unflinching, breath fogging between them.

The wind screamed across the frozen plain. Snow battered his bare shoulders like thrown needles.

And Liu Qingge— already shivering, skin reddening— still didn’t give the demon the satisfaction of an answer.

He jerked his head free with a violent twist.

“Think whatever you like.”

The prince’s eyes widened—

only a fraction, only for a blink—

but it was there.

Shock.

Liu Qingge turned on his heel.

And began walking.

Straight into the endless white.

The demon’s voice cracked across the tundra—

“Get back here!”

Liu Qingge didn’t even glance over his shoulder.

He marched on, muscles tensing against the cold, each breath slicing down his throat like shards of ice.

“Where are you going?!” the prince bellowed, wind swirling violently around him.

“To my honourable death,” Liu Qingge snapped over the gale, “away from you! I cannot survive this weather like this— no human can!”

The words echoed into the frozen emptiness.

Silence answered.

Liu Qingge’s bare torso burned with the cold.

His fingers had gone numb.

His feet slipped on ice with every step.

His breath grew white and thin.

“Damn demon… damn rift… damn luck…” he muttered through chattering teeth.

He kept walking.

The terrain offered nothing—

no shelter, no landmarks, no trees, no hills—

only an endless, flat expanse of pale death.

Liu Qingge gritted his teeth and forced his body forward.

“I cannot believe this…” he growled. “Dragged into some hellscape… half-naked… freezing like a plucked chicken… for what? Because that bastard wants answers?”

The wind stole his curse and flung it into the vast sky.

He walked.

And walked.

And walked.

His skin went from burning to numb.

His breath went from fog to silence.

The pounding in his ears grew distant.

This atmosphere—

This cold—

This emptiness—

It was beyond the human realm.

He knew it in his bones.

He had passed through some demon realm rift, pulled across the boundary into a foreign world that wanted him dead within heartbeats.

Still, Liu Qingge pressed forward, because he refused to offer the demon the sight of him collapsing at his feet.

He pushed and pushed on for who knows how long. 

He no longer sees the demon but he can still feel it watching. 

Damn it!

He will collapse despite him regulating heat around his organs with qi.

He could not do much about his exposed limbs. 

His steps slowed.

His vision dimmed at the edges.

His knees buckled once.

He straightened.

Then buckled again.

He forced himself upright a final time—

“One more step—” he muttered.

But his legs no longer obeyed.

With a final curse—

spoken through blue lips,

half defiance,

half surrender—

“Damn you… damn this… damn everything—”

Liu Qingge staggered—

—and the world went white.

The snow swallowed him whole.

“Shelter of Monsters”

Darkness thick like cold water…

Voices blurred into distance…

Heat and cold twisting inside him like battling spirits…

Liu Qingge clawed back to consciousness.

His body felt wrong.

Too heavy.

Too slow.

Too… numb, yet burning.

His limbs trembled violently—

not from fear,

but from the deep, marrow-grinding cold that had seeped into him. This is cold poisoning:

—Qi refusing to circulate properly

—blood thickening

—meridians shrinking under frostbite

—the spirit flickering like a candle in a storm.

He was wrapped—tightly—

in something to warm him, coarse, and stained.

Fur.

Snow leopard?

No—

the scent was stronger, metallic, fresh.

Fresh blood and death.

His teeth chattered uncontrollably.

A small fire crackled nearby— not natural flame, but talisman fire, burning with a pale gold glow. It warmed only a palm’s width of air.

Too little for a human to survive.

The cave around him smelled of iron, cold, demon qi.

He tried to move.

His body refused.

And then he heard it—

Shang Qinghua’s frantic, simpering wail echoing off the stone walls.

“My K-King, this humble slave begs— he is not waking— he is not waking!”

Liu Qingge blinked slowly.

He tried to lift his head.

Failed.

His vision wavered, blurred, but he recognised the outline of Shang Qinghua kneeling on the ground, forehead nearly pressed to the stone, trembling like a cornered mouse.

Above him, the demon prince stood like a shadow carved of winter.

“You are taking this prince for a fool,” the prince said, voice a low, cold rumble.

“He is not waking. I have done as you said. Useless.”

A sharp sound—

a crack

followed by a heavy thud.

Shang Qinghua collapsed sideways with a pitiful grunt.

Liu Qingge tried to snarl—

to demand the demon stop beating that rat because he alone had the right to beat Shang—

but his throat only produced a rasp of frozen air.

Shang Qinghua sobbed, clutching his cheek.

“M-Mercy, my King! Mortals cannot withstand this extreme cold without proper protection, this slave begs you— please, we must take him somewhere warm!”

“I hate warm,” the demon said flatly.

“Build a bigger fire.”

“This slave can’t!” Shang wailed. “There is no firewood— nothing burns in this frozen realm—!”

“Then burn the carcass,” the prince snapped.

“I have already taken off the fur. Make use of it.”

Liu Qingge’s half-frozen mind processed this.

He was wrapped in the pelt of some beast the demon had hunted—

For him.

Disgusting.

Insulting.

Appalling.

And… lifesaving.

Shang Qinghua sobbed harder.

“T-This one can’t, my King—! The stench—this slave—”

A soft, deadly hum.

“Can’t,” the prince repeated, low.

“Or won’t?”

Shang Qinghua shrank like a dying insect.

“You will sabotage your way even into gaining my sole attention.”

“N-no! Never! I would not dare! I know my place—my King, this slave knows his place—!”

Another blow, heavier.

Another thud.

Shang Qinghua whimpered on the ground, breathing shallowly.

The demon prince scoffed.

“You crawled your way to become head disciple by covertly trampling over others. Expertly.”

His tone was glacial.

“So vile. So despicable. You think this prince does not know?”

Shang Qinghua sobbed, but did not deny it.

Of course he didn’t.

Liu Qingge’s muddled brain sparked with fury.

Head disciple? This rat?! Whose bright idea—?!

Then—

The demon prince said the most offensive thing Liu Qingge had ever heard in his life:

“First the fever— you failed to make him better. I entertained your useless whims back then too. And now you aim to once more sabotage my feral pet.”

Feral… WHAT?

The roar in Liu Qingge’s chest almost forced him upright.

Him?!

HIM?!

A feral pet of a damn demon?

Of this arrogant, frost-rotted, simpering, condescending creature?!

Insidious.

Unforgivable.

His lips formed a word that came out hoarse:

“…bastard…”

The prince’s head turned sharply.

The frozen firelight reflected in ice-blue eyes that narrowed with interest.

“You wake,” he said.

As if this entire ordeal was an experiment.

As if dragging Liu Qingge into a frozen realm and nearly killing him was a test.

Liu Qingge tried to push himself up.

Pain tore through his chest.

His frozen muscles spasmed.

The world swayed.

But he stared back— defiant even half-dead.

And beneath the numbness, the fury burned bright.

Pet?

He would bury this demon with his bare hands before allowing such humiliation.

Liu Qingge’s mind roared.

Feral?! PET?!

Cold poisoning be damned—

rage ripped through him like a forge-wind.

His eyes snapped open fully.

His muscles screamed, bones creaked, frost stung—but he forced his arms beneath him.

He pushed.

The world tilted, swayed—

but he rose.

Bare-chested.

Shuddering with cold.

Vision blurred.

Teeth clenched.

Standing.

Both the demon prince and Shang Qinghua jolted.

Liu Qingge swayed violently— but he reached for the nearest object and used it to steady himself.

It was the wall.

He pretended it wasn’t.

His voice broke harsher than steel on stone:

“—who,” he snarled, each word dragged from a frozen throat,

“THE HELL… are you calling… a feral pet?”

The demon prince blinked once in visible surprise.

Shang Qinghua fell over himself, crawling backward in sheer terror.

“My King, forgive me—he’s awake—this is good but please stop—!!”

“Shut up,” Liu Qingge barked.

He staggered one step forward.

The cold hit him like a hammer—

his knees nearly buckled—

but he forced himself upright through will alone.

He jabbed a shaking finger at the demon prince.

“You—”

He coughed violently, spitting red-tinged phlegm.

“You dare… call me that again… and I’ll break the rest of your bones.”

The demon prince regarded him with a strange expression—

half fury,

half fascination,

and something that made Liu Qingge’s blood boil hotter than any fire.

“You can barely stand,” the prince said, stepping forward in that slow, predatory way.

Liu Qingge lunged.

Clumsily.

Weakly.

But with intent to fight.

The demon prince caught him by the wrist—

Liu Qingge twisted—

hooked his numb arm around the prince’s neck—

and tried to drag the bastard to the ground.

His body screamed—

his vision burst white—

he nearly toppled himself—

But he held on.

Like a starving wolf latching onto prey.

The demon prince actually grunted,

hands tightening on Liu Qingge’s waist to keep both of them from crashing into the fire pit.

“You are frozen stiff,” the demon hissed.

“You cannot even breathe properly.”

“Doesn’t— matter,” Liu Qingge rasped, pulling harder,

“if I can still— beat you.”

Shang Qinghua shrieked in the background.

“YOU ARE DYING, LIU-QINGGE—STOP—!!”

The demon prince snarled, then—

to Liu Qingge’s complete fury—

laughed.

Low.

Thrumming.

Icy.

“Even half-dead,” he murmured,

“you fight me.”

Liu Qingge tightened his hold until his own arm trembled.

“I said,” he growled through teeth clicking with cold,

“I don’t yield.”

The demon prince’s eyes glinted.

“Then show this prince,” he said softly,

“if your body can defy death… as stubbornly as your tongue.”

Liu Qingge answered by headbutting him.

Hard.

The sound echoed.

The demon actually staggered.

And Liu Qingge almost collapsed after the motion—

but caught himself on sheer spite.

Both of them breathing hard.

Both aggressive.

Both refusing to step back.

The demon’s voice dropped lower than winter.

“…you are still dying.”

“Good,” Liu Qingge spat.

“Then I’ll die fighting you.”

Shang Qinghua— snot-nosed, trembling, louder than any starving fox— darted forward, waving both hands frantically.

“L-Liu-xiong, wait— DON’T—!”

Liu Qingge ignored him.

With the last of his strength, he launched himself at the demon prince.

It was pitiful.

Frozen limbs, qi in disarray, senses sluggish from cold poisoning—

but he threw himself into combat anyway, fists swinging, breath harsh, vision tunnelling.

The demon merely blinked.

A flick of a wrist.

Shang Qinghua yelped as a pulse of cold qi burst around them—

not directed at Liu Qingge at first, but at him.

The rat shrieked as he was hurled bodily through the doorway—

straight into a snowbank outside like a rag thrown by a bored monarch.

His muffled curses and sobbing continued somewhere in the white drifts.

Liu Qingge did not waste breath reacting.

He lunged.

The demon caught him mid-swing.

Not roughly.

Not gently.

Just… decisively.

Fingers like ice-shackles cinched around Liu Qingge’s wrists and yanked him forward until their bodies collided, the sudden heatless cold searing across Liu Qingge’s bare chest like knives carved from midwinter.

“You are frozen through,” the prince said, voice low with annoyance. “And that liar forbade me from warming you.”

Liu Qingge snarled, twisting, trying to elbow him in the throat.

The demon turned his head; the strike barely grazed him.

“You are as stubborn as a starving wolf,” the prince muttered. “Fine. Be warmed.”

He released his grip— only to place both palms flat against Liu Qingge’s ribs.

Demonic qi surged.

Not gentle.

Not controlled.

A torrent, sharp enough to slice meridians, hot enough to fracture bone, powerful enough to boil rivers.

Liu Qingge’s entire body arched like a bowstring.

The scream never left his mouth—

it punched out instead as a choked gasp, blood bursting over his lips in a hot, coppery splash.

Demon qi had never entered his system before.

Now, it ravaged him.

His meridians constricted violently.

Pain tore through his muscles in waves.

His heart stuttered.

Vision flashed white, then black in rapid pulses.

This was not warmth.

This was poison.

Liu Qingge’s knees buckled.

The demon caught him before he crumpled onto the stone floor, arms sliding under his back and knees with infuriating ease.

“You— idiot—” Liu Qingge rasped, head lolling.

“Quiet,” the demon said.

Outside, Shang Qinghua clawed his way out of the snowbank and darted back into the shelter, hair full of ice flakes, face white as ghost ash.

“My King!! STOP— STOP!!”

He skidded on the stone floor, saw Liu Qingge in the demon’s arms, blood at the corner of his mouth, chest heaving unevenly.

“MY KING— NO MORE—NO MORE!” Shang wailed, voice cracking. “Human meridians can’t withstand your potent qi— he will die! He’ll DIE!”

The demon’s hands stilled.

His frost-blue eyes narrowed— not in fear, not in regret, but in irritation at being contradicted.

“I am not finished,” he said plainly.

Liu Qingge let out a wet, rattling cough.

Oh yes, he thought dimly.

This dumb frostbite will kill me before I get the chance to punch him properly.

His head rolled back against the prince’s shoulder, more blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Shang Qinghua pushed himself between them, tears streaming in panic.

“My King— please! Take him to Cian Cao peak! To healers who know how to treat humans! If his core fractures, that’s it— he’ll never stand again— PLEASE!”

“No,” the prince growled immediately.

“My King—!”

The demon rose to full height, holding Liu Qingge in his arms with insulting ease.

“I said no,” he repeated coldly.

“I will not hand him to humans. He is mine.”

Shang Qinghua froze.

Even Liu Qingge— half unconscious— felt the weight of those words coil around him like binding chains.

The prince’s gaze hardened, glacial, fierce.

“I saved him from the snowstorm,” he said. “I warmed him. I will repair him.”

“You’ll BREAK him!!” Shang wailed. “Please— if you want him alive— take him to Cian Cao—”

“Enough.”

The temperature plunged.

Ice dust spiralled around the prince’s feet like drifting spirits.

He looked down at Liu Qingge—

bloodied, shivering, breath shallow—

then hissed, almost to himself:

“This should not be difficult. Why is your body so fragile?”

Liu Qingge tried to lift his hand to punch him.

His fingers didn’t move.

Everything dimmed.

Outside, the blizzard howled, filling the world with white.

Shang Qinghua sobbed, on his knees, forehead pressed against the cold stone.

“My King—please…”

The demon prince ignored him entirely.

He lowered his head until his breath brushed Liu Qingge’s cheek.

And murmured:

“You will not die.”

His grip tightened.

“Because this prince does not permit it.”

Liu Qingge’s eyes slid shut—

—whether from pain

or unconsciousness

or the shock of hearing that—

he couldn’t tell.

But darkness surged up and swallowed him.

“Carried by a Snake”

Warmth.

Wrong warmth.

Too soft.

Too steady.

Too… human.

Liu Qingge jolted awake—

but only inside his skull.

His limbs remained sluggish, stone-heavy, stiff with cold poison threading through every meridian.

He was moving.

No—

he was being moved.

Carried.

Someone had an arm under his back, another beneath his knees.

His body was draped with frigid cloth that smelled strongly of ink and old paper.

Dusty sandalwood from library shelves.

Herbal tang from Qing Jing incense.

Not Bai Zhan.

Not the demon realm.

Not that miserable tundra.

Cang Qiong.

He was back in Cang Qiong Mountains.

Wind rushed past.

Footsteps pounded urgently.

Above him, a voice seethed:

“Bull! He’s frozen stiff. His meridians are clogged with demonic qi. And what happened to his clothes? Why is he battered— half naked— like this?”

Half what?

Liu Qingge blinked blearily.

He was covered—

wrapped in someone’s outer robe.

Light green.

Soft.

Too clean.

Too fragrant.

A sleeve brushed his cheek.

Long hair, silk-fine, fell forward and tickled his jaw as the person carrying him leaned over to adjust their hold.

Liu Qingge’s soul left his body.

No. No, no, no, no—

That scent.

That hair.

That voice dripping with anger and disdain.

It was—

Shen.

Qing.

Qiu.

Carrying him.

Carrying him.

Liu Qingge would rather have died in the snow.

Behind them, Shang Qinghua ran in frantic circles, babbling with the desperation of a cornered rodent.

“This shidi swears, shixiong— I found Liu Qingge by the Rainbow Bridge like this!” the rat yelped, scrambling to keep up.

His voice trembled so much even Liu Qingge, half-dead, wanted to kick him.

Shen Qingqiu snarled without slowing:

“Found him? FOUND him?!”

His voice shook the mountain path.

“Shang Qinghua, if you found him like this, I am the Immortal Emperor’s grandmother!”

They rounded a bend.

Liu Qingge’s stomach lurched.

“I—I mean he— he was already like this when I arrived, Shen-shixiong! He must’ve— must’ve— been attacked!”

“Attacked by what?!” Shen Qingqiu snapped.

“Look at this— his skin is blue— his breath shallow—this is demonic frost poisoning! What sort of nonsense—”

“An ice demon! The ice demon that attacked the caravan weeks ago must have returned!”

Liu Qingge would have strangled the rat if he could feel his fingers.

He made a noise—

low, pained, furious—

and found blood rising, choking him.

He coughed.

Hard.

A hot, coppery surge burst past his lips.

Shen Qingqiu reacted instantly—

one arm tightened under him, the sensation firm, solid—

the other moved to brace his back.

“Hold on— Liu Mingxuan— stay awake,” Shen Qingqiu ordered, voice cracking with something Liu Qingge refused to identify.

The ponytail brushing Liu Qingge’s cheek tickled again.

Liu Qingge tried to turn his face away in mortification.

Tried and failed.

His voice rasped out, raw and stubborn:

“Put… me… down…”

Shen Qingqiu nearly tripped.

“Absolutely not,” the Qing Jing head disciple hissed. “You’re in no state to stand— much less walk.”

Shang Qinghua gasped dramatically, rushing to Liu Qingge’s other side:

“Liu-shidi!! Speak to me! Did— did the same ice demon do this?! Did it chase you back here? Did it freeze you half-to-death? Did it— did it steal your clothes?!”

Liu Qingge wanted to shove snow into the fake rat’s mouth.

He coughed again— pain ripping down his throat— and another spurt of blood stained Shen Qingqiu’s pristine pale green sleeve.

Shen froze.

And then he growled.

“Shang Qinghua,” he said in a frighteningly low voice, “run ahead to Cian Cao Peak Lord and tell him we are bringing in a Bai Zhan idiot with demonic qi poisoning. Hurry before he dies in my arms.”

Shang squealed and sprinted off like his life depended on it.

Liu Qingge was left alone in Shen Qingqiu’s arms as the snake, breath hard, hair swinging against Liu Qingge’s cheek, began half-running, half-sliding down the mountain paths.

The humiliation nearly revived him on its own.

“Put… me… down…” he tried again.

Shen Qingqiu’s arms tightened.

“You shut up,” Shen snapped, voice trembling.

“You are not dying like this. Not half-clothed. Not frozen. And certainly not carried by this shixiong against your will.”

Liu Qingge coughed again and nearly blacked out.

He thought— just barely—

I would rather die.

And he did not know if he meant by the cold,

by the demon prince,

or by Shen Qingqiu’s mortifying grip around him.

“The Healer’s Hall”

By the time Shen Qingqiu kicked open the doors of Cian Cao Peak’s medical hall, Liu Qingge was barely conscious. His mind rose and sank like a stone in water— cold, heavy, sluggish.

He was lowered onto a wide cedar bed, the medicinal quilts coarse against his bare back. The green robe Shen Qingqiu had thrown over him on the way here slipped aside, revealing the bruises like ink stains across his ribs, the frost burns on his arms, and the faint thread of demonic qi pulsing along his meridians like a poison worm.

He cracked an eye open.

The light stabbed.

A familiar simmer of fury warmed the air beside him.

Shen Qingqiu, oddly infuriated and refused to leave.

He stood rigidly near the bed— jaw clenched, knuckles white around a folded fan he hadn’t even opened. His brows were drawn tight, and his voice, when he spoke to the healers, came out terse.

“Treat him properly. And quickly.”

One healer bowed. “Shen-shixiong, please stand back. We need space.”

“I am not moving,” Shen Qingqiu snapped.

Liu Qingge groaned. “Go away, snake.”

Shen Qingqiu ignored him too.

At that exact moment, Shang Qinghua stumbled into the hall, still blubbering and trembling.

“I—I must assist!” he blurted, rushing to the bed with frantic hands. “Check his pulse, yes, I should— should check—”

Before he could touch Liu Qingge, the head healer, Mu Qingfang, swept in like a freezing wind.

Mu Qingfang was calm, precise, gentle—

and absolutely terrifying when crossed.

He slapped Shang Qinghua’s hand away with a flick of his wrist.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Shang froze. “I—I—I am his— his shidi— no, friend— no, companion—”

Mu Qingfang’s eyes narrowed. “Liar. And a very bad one.”

He jerked his chin at two junior disciples.

“Remove him.”

“Wait— wait— this disciple swears—!” Shang yelped as he was lifted bodily by the arms.

“No,” Mu Qingfang said, flat as a blade. “Cian Cao needs clarity, not chaos.”

The rat was dragged kicking and protesting out of the hall.

One last wail echoed down the corridor:

“Liu-shidi, stay alive—!!”

Liu Qingge grimaced. Teeth gritted to prevent them chattering uncontrollably. “Don’t call me that.”

Mu Qingfang turned to Shen Qingqiu.

“Shen-shixiong,” he said politely, “I will take it from here. Liu Qingge’s condition is serious— his meridians are ruptured, and demonic cold qi is choking several pathways. You may wait outside.”

“I’m staying,” Shen Qingqiu replied immediately.

Mu Qingfang blinked. “Shixiong. You are in the way.”

Shen Qingqiu didn’t budge.

His voice was quiet— deadly quiet.

“Look at him, Mu-shidi.”

Mu Qingfang did.

Bruises.

Frostbite.

Cuts.

Demonic qi.

And Liu Qingge— pale as paper, breathing unevenly, sweating cold.

“He was not this bad weeks ago. Now look.”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes slid to Liu Qingge’s bruised chest, and limbs, the frost burns, the trembling.

Something urgent flickered across his face.

“He will not be mishandled. Not this one.”

Mu Qingfang sighed. “Very well. But let me do my work.”

Shen Qingqiu nodded stiffly—

but stayed rooted to the spot, arms folded, eyes fixed on Liu Qingge with an intensity that made Liu Qingge want to sit up and stalk out of the room purely out of spite.

Mu Qingfang rolled his sleeves and placed his hand over Liu Qingge’s pulse.

The healer’s eyes widened.

“His meridians… are in turmoil. This is not frost from a beast. This is demonic. Why did you not say so earlier?”

Shen Qingqiu’s head snapped towards Liu Qingge.

Liu Qingge closed his eyes.

Of course it comes back to this.

Shen Qingqiu marched to Mu Qingfang’s side.

“Shidi, can you stabilise him?”

“I can,” Mu Qingfang answered, “but if this continues, his qi sea may collapse. Someone must tell me exactly what he came into contact with.”

Mu Qingfang’s gaze swung sharply to Liu Qingge.

Shen Qingqiu’s gaze followed.

Liu Qingge grimaced inwardly.

“…a snowflake,” he muttered.

Shen Qingqiu’s fan snapped open with a loud crack.

“Where,” he said slowly, voice low and deadly, “did you get demonic cold qi in your veins?”

The hall held its breath.

Liu Qingge felt exhaustion crash through him—

—and shut his eyes.

“None of your business.”

Shen Qingqiu bristled.

Mu Qingfang exhaled through his nose.

Shang Qinghua, outside the door, resumed sobbing.

And the demon prince—

somewhere in the distant reaches of the demon realm—

felt the tether between them shudder.

“Under the Healer’s Hand”

Liu Qingge lay on the cot, teeth clenched hard enough to crack.

Someone had changed him into one of Cian Cao Peak’s clean patient robes— thin, pale green, smelling faintly of herbs and disinfected silk. A thick blanket had been draped over him, plastered to the brim with warming talismans that pulsed heat into his numbed flesh.

A healer sat beside him, one palm pressed firmly over Liu Qingge’s sternum.

Qi transfusion.

The moment the foreign qi poured into him, a wave of nausea rolled through his body.

Liu Qingge’s fingers curled weakly in the sheets.

He hated this.

Hated the invasive sensation of someone else’s qi being forcibly threaded through his meridians, pushing out the frost-poison clinging deep in their walls.

It hurt.

It burned.

It reminded him— too vividly— of the last time Mu Qingfang had performed this technique on him.

The demonic qi extraction.

The cold melting into fire.

Being held down so he wouldn’t thrash.

Liu Qingge swallowed bile.

This was worse.

His head throbbed from fever; his limbs were heavy; every meridian felt like a swollen river forced to drink more water.

He gritted his teeth against a groan.

The healer paused only long enough to adjust a talisman before continuing.

“Almost done, Liu-shidi,” he murmured sympathetically.

“You sustained frostbite in the inner meridians. We must flush out the residue.”

Liu Qingge didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

If he opened his mouth, he might retch.

Finally— mercifully— the healer withdrew his hand.

“I’ll prepare the next round of medicine. You must not move.”

With a bow, he stepped out.

Silence settled.

Liu Qingge exhaled shakily and closed his eyes— only briefly— just enough to steady himself.

He should have known better.

The door slid open.

Light footsteps entered.

Controlled.

Too graceful.

Too familiar.

Liu Qingge’s eyes snapped open.

And there he was.

Shen Qingqiu.

Standing at the foot of the cot, fan in hand but not unfurled, eyes sharp enough to flay skin.

His expression was unreadable—

a blend of anger, calculation, and something disturbingly close to concern.

They were alone.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Liu Qingge’s gut tightened.

Perfect.

Exactly what he didn’t need.

Shen Qingqiu approached his bedside and raised a brow.

“So.”

Liu Qingge glared.

He had no strength to sit up, but he kept his spine straight even while lying down.

Shen Qingqiu’s gaze swept over him— from the talismans, to his slightly trembling fingers, to the pallor of his face.

“What,” Liu Qingge rasped, “do you want, Shen?”

Shen Qingqiu’s fan snapped open—

not for style,

but to shield half his face as his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“I want answers,” he said coolly.

Liu Qingge closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling through his nose.

Of course.

Of course the snake came slithering in now.

Shen Qingqiu stepped closer, voice low and sharp as a blade.

“Liu Qingge,” he said,

“what in the nine heavens happened to you?”

Liu Qingge closed his eyes.

The healer had barely stepped out when Shen Qingqiu slid back into the room like a well-dressed curse. All clean and prissy once more. Liu Qingge lay flat on the cot, breathing unevenly, the qi transfusion burning its way down his meridians like forced fire. His stomach churned. His limbs trembled beneath the blanket plastered with warming talismans. They left acupuncture needles embedded here and there. The robe Mu Qingfang put on him felt too thin. Too exposed.

Yet Shen Qingqiu approached without hesitation.

His shadow fell across Liu Qingge’s face as he spoke, tone clipped but low.

“I found Cheng Luan in your room,” Shen said. “The place was in disarray. And your upper robes on the floor. Signs of a scuffle.”

As if Liu Qingge needed reminding.

Shen Qingqiu continued. “Your peak members—” a small hesitation, as if picking a less brutal phrase— “have not been treating you with the respect a head disciple is owed.”

Just say some dare to make his life difficult— bully him. 

Liu Qingge’s jaw tightened. He looked at the wall.

“And then these.” Shen Qingqiu’s gaze lowered to where the mission earned bruises beneath the blankets. “Layered bruises. Lacerations. Fresh over old. Scrapes on your arms. On your back. On your waist.”

His voice dropped further, losing its habitual sharpness. “I interrogated Shang Qinghua. He babbled nothing but nonsense. So I handed him to Yue Qingyuan for further questioning.”

Typical Shen Qingqiu, Liu Qingge thought bitterly. Delegate the messy work to someone else.

“What are you hiding, Liu Qingge?”

Liu Qingge kept his face blank.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Shen said, tone tightening. “The demon from the An Ding caravan. You didn’t kill it— that is clear in your report. It has returned. Or perhaps… it has been around this entire time. Circling you. Haunting you.”

Still Liu Qingge did not react.

“It nearly killed you this time,” Shen Qingqiu pressed. “That cold aura— I recognise it. I felt it in that inn. I felt it again around you.”

His throat dipped in a visible swallow. His fan trembled slightly at his side, then stilled.

“Why can’t you say it out? This is no trivial matter, Liu Qingge.”

Liu Qingge stiffened. His name. Out of Shen’s mouth. Without insult. Without venom. That alone felt wrong.

What happened to “Liu-brute”?

He stared at the ceiling rather than those razor-sharp green eyes.

Shen Qingqiu shifted closer. Too close. “Did it—”

The words snagged. Shen tried again, quieter.

“I know it is the one who punished your bullies. All those mysterious injuries. But… at what price—”

Liu Qingge nearly bolted upright when a hand pressed over his heart— through the thick blankets but somehow far too intimate. He whipped his head around, glaring. Shen Qingqiu didn’t even recoil. His expression—

Liu Qingge had never seen that face on him.

No smugness. No disdain. No cultivated frost.

Just… worry.

“Liu-shidi,” Shen said softly. Too softly. It made Liu Qingge’s skin crawl. “This may be a sensitive question, but I must ask it. As the one leading this investigation.”

Liu Qingge’s breath thinned.

Shen Qingqiu inhaled, then—

“Did the demon force itself on you?”

The room froze.

A roar erupted inside Liu Qingge’s mind, louder than any battlefield clash. His blood surged so violently the warming talismans fizzled, qi fracturing down his limbs. Shame— no, fury— burned through him, hotter than the fever he had experienced in the inn.

He has never been more insulted in his life.

His muscles spasmed; the needles lodged in his arm dragged painfully as he tried to sit up.

Shen Qingqiu flinched at the sudden movement. “Liu Qingge—?”

But Liu Qingge wasn’t listening. His vision blurred red. He reached instinctively toward the acupuncture needles to rip them out, to get as far from Shen Qingqiu’s pitying face as possible.

Raped?

Him?

By that abominable, infuriating, arrogant demon prince?

As if it could. 

He would rather die a thousand times than let Shen Qingqiu look at him like that.

His hand wrapped around the needle— ready to tear—

Liu Qingge had barely twitched the qi-needles when a hand— cooler than it should be— closed firmly around his wrist.

“Stop,” Shen Qingqiu breathed, too close, too earnest. His grip was not forceful, but it was unyielding. “You’ll rupture your meridians if you pull them out mid-flow, you fool.”

Fool. That, at least, sounded like Shen Qingqiu.

Liu Qingge snarled under his breath, jerking his arm. “Let go.”

“Not until you stop acting like—”

But the door slammed open.

“Shen-shixiong!” Mu Qingfang’s voice cracked through the room like a whip. The Cian Cao head disciple strode inside with a face that promised one thing: he had heard everything.

Shen Qingqiu stiffened, turned rigid as a bamboo stalk.

Mu Qingfang bowed stiffly. “Shixiong, please step outside. Now. Liu-shidi needs rest and calm, not interrogation. His qi pathways are unstable. Do you intend to send him into collapse again?”

Shen Qingqiu’s fan snapped shut with a threatening click— but his eyes flicked to Liu Qingge’s pallid face, to the shallow rise and fall of his chest, to the trembling tension in his jaw. Something pinned him silent. Something uneasy, something almost guilty.

He released Liu Qingge’s wrist slowly.

“…We will speak tomorrow,” he murmured— soft, but not gentle.

Liu Qingge refused to look at him.

Shen Qingqiu lingered one breath too long at the doorway… and left.

The door thudded closed behind him.

The muffled shuffle of fabric outside told Liu Qingge that Mu Qingfang was herding the Qing Jing head disciple away like an unruly spirit beast.

Inside the room, silence pressed close.

Liu Qingge clenched his jaw, fingers curling weakly over the blanket. His wrist still tingled where Shen Qingqiu had grabbed him. Disgusting. Infuriating. Embarrassing.

He would leave this cursed place the moment he could stand. Crawl out if he had to.

He hated infirmaries.

He hated being weak.

And he hated that Shen-snake dared to look at him like he was something breakable.

Liu Qingge glared at the ceiling, breathing through the lingering ache in his bones, the fire in his meridians, the ghost-cold that still clung to him like frostbite.

Tomorrow.

He’d be gone before dawn.

If the rat and the demon didn’t make things worse before then.

Chapter Text

“Night Flight”

Liu Qingge jolted awake to cold.

Not the frigid, marrow-gnawing cold of the demon realm— this was the gentle, medicinal coolness of Cian Cao’s night air seeping through paper screens. But it was enough to remind him of that other cold, the one he was still ashamed his body had nearly succumbed to. A spike of defiance replaced the lingering chill.

He shoved the blankets off, ignoring how the talismans’ warmth bled away and left him unsteady. The qi transfusion still thrummed uncomfortably beneath his skin— an itch, a tightness, a burn. He sat up, breathed once, twice, then swung his feet to the floor.

He would not lie on his back like some invalid.

He would not remain under anyone’s watch.

And he certainly wouldn’t stay where Shen Qingqiu could look at him the way he did earlier— as if he were breakable.

Liu Qingge stood.

The world skated sideways. He caught the wooden screen before he collapsed, teeth clenching until the dizziness passed. Then he forced himself onward, slipping out the rear door and into the silent courtyard.

Except someone was there.

A lone figure sat beneath the moonlit branches of an old ginkgo, arms folded across layered white and green robes, fan resting against one knee. Shen Qingqiu’s head snapped up the instant Liu Qingge appeared—like he had been waiting.

Actually waiting.

“What are you doing up?” Liu Qingge rasped.

“I could ask you the same,” Shen Qingqiu said coldly—but his voice had none of its usual venom. “Trying to flee? Again? You’re as bad as my Qing Jing juniors.”

“Move.” Liu Qingge walked past him.

Shen Qingqiu blocked him with lazy, irritating ease. “Liu-shidi, Mu Qingfang exhorted you to rest. Even I don’t disobey him so openly.”

“I don’t need your lectures.” Liu Qingge brushed past—Shen Qingqiu grabbed his arm.

“Get. Back. Inside.”

Liu Qingge jerked his arm free. “Release me, snake.”

“If you run off at night with demonic qi still in your system, you’ll drop dead before sunrise. Do you want Mu Qingfang to lose his temper? He is already furious with Shang Qinghua.”

“I don’t care about—”

Both stiffened.

A cold prickle rolled across the courtyard stones—faint, whisper-soft, unmistakable. The hair at Liu Qingge’s nape rose. Shen Qingqiu’s fan snapped open, the rings clinking softly.

“He’s watching,” Shen Qingqiu whispered.

Liu Qingge forced his posture straight, jaw set. “Then I’m leaving.”

He took a step.

Shen Qingqiu followed immediately. “Are you insane? Out there, you are alone. Your Shifu is away with my Shifu—no one from Bai Zhan will look after you.”

“I don’t need anyone to watch over me,” Liu Qingge snapped.

Shen Qingqiu’s voice lowered. “From that? You may think so… but you’re wrong.” His eyes were sharp, moonlight catching the green. “Liu Qingge, that thing didn’t just injure you. It left its cold in you. Do you not understand what that implies?”

Liu Qingge bristled. “I don’t need your concern.”

“Unfortunately,” Shen Qingqiu said, stepping after him as Liu Qingge pushed past the courtyard gate, “I wasn’t offering it. I’m following because someone has to be sane while you are busy trying to prove you’re invincible.”

“Go back.”

“No.”

Liu Qingge glared over his shoulder. “Why are you like this?”

Shen Qingqiu returned the look levelly. “Because you won’t be able to handle it alone.”

Liu Qingge scoffed and kept walking into the night, the cold presence lingering at the edges of the mountain air.

Shen Qingqiu followed.

At a distance.

Silent.

Watching the shadows the same way Liu Qingge did.

As if neither of them trusted what waited in the dark.

The Rainbow Bridge shimmered faintly beneath the moonlight, its arc glazed with night-mist. Disciples on patrol stopped mid-stride as two head disciples stalked across it: Liu Qingge, pale as death and moving like a wounded tiger refusing to limp, and Shen Qingqiu, robes immaculate yet hair slightly mussed from what must have been hours of sleepless pacing.

Liu Qingge ignored every stare. He had no patience for gossips or gawkers. He wanted only one thing— to return to Bai Zhan, sharpen Cheng Luan, and prepare himself for the inevitable confrontation with the demon lurking in his shadows.

He stepped off the bridge, preparing to take the steep climb toward Bai Zhan’s lions-maw gates—

“Liu Qingge.”

Shen Qingqiu’s voice cut through the night.

Liu Qingge turned only enough to show displeasure.

Shen Qingqiu approached until he stood mere steps from Liu Qingge, fanning himself once, sharply. “You are in no condition to fight or defend yourself. Go to Qing Jing with me.”

Liu Qingge stared at Shen Qingqiu as if he’d sprouted antlers. “No.”

“Stop being stubborn,” Shen hissed. “You want to run back to that peak of warmongering idiots while barely keeping your balance? If that demon shows up again—”

Liu Qingge’s eyes flashed. “I can handle it.”

“You cannot even stand straight.”

“I can stand straighter than you,” Liu Qingge snapped back.

Shen Qingqiu actually made a strangled sound of outrage. “Do you think I enjoy chasing after you like a nanny? I am trying to keep you alive, Liu-shidi— if only so that I don’t have thirty Bai Zhan fools storming my peak again after you die!”

“I’m not going to Qing Jing,” Liu Qingge said with finality.

Shen Qingqiu stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Then at least retrieve your sword first.”

Liu Qingge stopped cold.

“My what.”

“Cheng Luan.”

“You took my sword.”

“Because it was lying on the floor,” Shen Qingqiu snapped, fanning himself so hard the fan cracked. “Your room was a disaster. Signs of struggle everywhere. Your clothing on the ground. No wards. No alarm talismans. If I’d left Cheng Luan there your idiotic peak-mates might step on it or steal it.”

Liu Qingge’s jaw tightened.

He hated— hated— that Shen Qingqiu had a point.

He also hated that Shen Qingqiu had entered his room at all.

And he hated most of all that he wasn’t strong enough yet to punch the demon into oblivion, retrieve Cheng Luan himself, or keep others out of his mess.

Shen Qingqiu crossed his arms, green eyes glinting with equal parts disdain and a strange, unwanted concern. “Come to Qing Jing. Take back your sword. Then do whatever suicidal thing you insist on doing.”

Liu Qingge glared at him.

Shen Qingqiu glared back.

The patrolling disciples held their breaths, unsure whether they were about to witness a duel or a murder.

At length, Liu Qingge muttered, “…Fine.”

Shen Qingqiu exhaled— relief, irritation, something unspoken tangled between.

“Good,” he said curtly. “Then follow me.”

Liu Qingge did, though every bone in his body screamed at the indignity.

Because, swordless, half-healed, and hunted by a demon—

Liu Qingge knew he needed Cheng Luan back more than he needed his pride for one night.

Liu Qingge had never stepped into Qing Jing Peak’s inner sanctum. The dormitories were quiet, lanterns flickering against latticed screens, bamboo shadows swaying like slender dancers in the wind. The air itself felt cleaner, softer— annoyingly so.

Shen Qingqiu led the way, robes rustling in the night’s stillness. Liu Qingge trailed behind, stiff and on guard. This was the snake’s territory; it felt wrong to walk these polished paths half-exhausted, barehanded, and still aching from demonic qi backlash.

Shen Qingqiu’s private room was… tidy. Too tidy. Not a speck of dust. A tea set gleaming with pride. Scrolls arranged in obsessively precise order. The faint scent of sandalwood and ink lingered in the air.

And there— propped against a lacquered chest— was Cheng Luan.

Liu Qingge’s breath caught. Something unclenched in his chest.

Shen Qingqiu crossed his arms.

“Before you accuse me of theft, again— to be clear, I took it because it was lying on your floor when I went to investigate.” His tone bristled. “Your rotten peak-mates might have done something to it if I left it there.”

Liu Qingge stiffened. That possibility had never occurred to him— and now that it did, it chilled more than the demon prince ever had.

He approached Cheng Luan slowly, fingers brushing the spirit sword’s familiar hilt. His shoulders dropped a fraction. Balance restored.

He scanned the room subtly— checking for that freezing, predatory presence.

Nothing. Not even a hint of foreign qi.

Shen Qingqiu noticed. “Qing Jing has demon-warding talismans installed in every corridor, plus a proper protective barrier maintained by the elders. Unlike Bai Zhan Peak, where apparently even spiritual literacy is considered optional.”

Liu Qingge bristled.

“Bai Zhan is a martial peak. Talismans are unnecessary.”

Shen clicked his tongue sharply.

“Unnecessary? There’s not even a lock on your door, Liu Qingge. Never mind demons— what if your tormentors decided to wander in?”

Liu Qingge slid Cheng Luan onto his back, tightening the strap.

“They will find themselves facing Cheng Luan.”

Shen Qingqiu stared at him, incredulous.

“Yes. Good. Have it back before you get yourself murdered.”

Liu Qingge nodded stiffly… then paused.

A beat.

He forced the words out.

“…Thank you.”

Shen Qingqiu froze like someone had slapped a contract note into his palm. His eyes widened ever so slightly— astonished that the brute’s mouth could shape gratitude.

Liu Qingge turned to leave, eager to escape the sanctimonious bamboo-perfumed room before Shen could say something snide and ruin the moment.

“Wait,” Shen Qingqiu snapped.

He rummaged through his desk, pulled out a stack of neatly crafted talismans— dense with elegant script and powerful seals—and shoved them against Liu Qingge’s chest.

“Demon-warding talismans. I made these. Put them up.”

Liu Qingge blinked, then… set them back on Shen Qingqiu’s desk.

“No need.”

Shen Qingqiu’s jaw dropped.

“Are you insane? It’s clear you’re far from safe. Take them!”

Liu Qingge hesitated… then decided— for some reason— to be honest.

“I don’t know how.”

Shen Qingqiu stared at him. Slowly. Incredulously. Painfully.

Then he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“…Hopeless brute.”

Shen Qingqiu slapped a fresh sheet of demon-warding paper into Liu Qingge’s palm.

“Put it on the wall,” he ordered.

Liu Qingge stared at him, unimpressed. “How?”

Shen Qingqiu inhaled sharply, the sound thin and murderous. “Like—this.”

He snatched the talisman back, flicked his fingers, and a neat surge of spiritual energy threaded through the paper as it adhered to the wall with a soft crackle.

Then he slapped another talisman against Liu Qingge’s chest, hard.

“Now you try.”

Liu Qingge’s jaw ticked, but he stepped forward, fingers touching the paper. Shen Qingqiu hovered too close— close enough for Liu Qingge to feel the heat of his breath on his neck as he muttered instructions.

“Channel qi through your fingertips— LIGHTLY. Not like you’re splitting boulders.”

Liu Qingge did as told.

A small spark flared… then the talisman neatly sealed itself onto the wall.

Shen Qingqiu froze.

“…You… actually did it?”

His voice sounded offended. Deeply.

Liu Qingge raised an eyebrow. “Did you think I couldn’t?”

“I expected you to blow a hole through my wall,” Shen Qingqiu hissed. “Not— whatever this is. How is a Bai Zhan brute executing something refined so well?”

Liu Qingge shrugged. “Wait till you hear my guqin playing.”

Shen Qingqiu stared at him as if he’d suddenly spoken in demon tongue.

“You. Play. Guqin.”

“Learnt it up till entering the sect,” Liu Qingge said off-handedly, tone flat as stone. 

Shen Qingqiu’s mouth twisted into its natural sneer. “Doesn’t mean you’re any good.”

The insult slid right off Liu Qingge this time. He inclined his head slightly.

“True.”

Shen Qingqiu blinked. He almost looked… disappointed that the barb didn’t land.

Liu Qingge took that moment to bow stiffly.

“I take my leave now.”

He hesitated—vbarely half a breath— before adding, low and blunt:

“…And thank you. For everything.”

Shen Qingqiu’s fan trembled. For a beat, he said nothing.

Liu Qingge was already turning away when Shen Qingqiu snapped— too quick, too sharp, too flustered:

“D-DON’T think that means we’re amicable now, Liu-brute!”

Liu Qingge didn’t even glance back.

“Tch,” he said softly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And then he strode out into the night, Cheng Luan at his side, talismans tucked under his arm— and the strange weight of unexpected gratitude lingering between them both.

The night wind bit cold as Liu Qingge crossed the Rainbow Bridge back toward Bai Zhan Peak. His limbs still trembled faintly from the demonic qi backlash, but the stubborn set of his jaw kept him upright. He walked quickly— partly to escape Qing Jing before Shen Qingqiu changed his mind and forced more talismans onto him, partly because the creeping chill in the air told him the demon prince had already noticed his return.

The talismans Shen Qingqiu forced into his hands were shoved inside his robes. Liu Qingge had no intention whatsoever of plastering them on his door like a coward hiding behind paper charms. Let Shen Qingqiu worry himself sick; Liu Qingge would not live like a frightened child.

He stepped into the Bai Zhan barracks courtyard. Everything was dark except for the faint glow from the training ground torches. His room stood near the corner— small, plain, with a rickety door that swung on hinges.

He approached, feeling the chill deepen— like frost settling into his bones.

He stopped.

There was someone inside.

Not someone.

It.

Liu Qingge exhaled through his nose, annoyance sharply cutting through the weariness.

He slid the door open.

The damn demon was on his bed.

Not reclining elegantly— not looming threateningly—just sitting, elbows propped on his knees, blue eyes glowing faintly in the dark like twin shards of winter sky. His long black hair spilled loose, half-frozen strands glittering silver under the moonlight. The jagged bone in his arm had healed— Liu Qingge noted that with grim irritation.

The demon’s gaze swept over him from head to toe— taking in the patient robes, the exhaustion, the faint tremor left from the qi transfusion.

“You took your time.”

Liu Qingge ignored him and stepped inside. He shut the door behind him, tossed the stack of talismans on his table with a disdainful flick, and muttered:

“Get out.”

The demon didn’t move. “You smell of someone else,” he stated calmly. “Ink. Herb smoke. Paper dust.”

“Cian Cao hall,” Liu Qingge snapped. “Not your business.”

“Everything about you is this prince’s business.”

Liu Qingge glared murderously. “Leave.”

The demon leaned back slightly, examining the cracked skin along Liu Qingge’s knuckles. “You walked willingly into the cold last time. You did not answer my question.”

“I don’t need to answer anything,” Liu Qingge said icily. “This is my room. Get out.”

A faint smile ghosted over the demon’s lips. “Your sword was not here last time. Someone else took care of it. Someone else took care of you.”

Liu Qingge’s glare sharpened. “I won’t repeat myself.”

“Then don’t.” The demon’s voice dropped low, smooth, dangerous. “This prince has waited.”

“For what?”

“You.”

Liu Qingge grit his teeth. “I told you— I don’t need your protection.”

“Liar,” the demon said simply. “Your peak would tear you apart if not for me.”

Heat flared in Liu Qingge’s chest. “I can handle them.”

A scoff. “You nearly froze to death.”

Liu Qingge’s temper snapped. “Because you dragged me into a snow wasteland, you—!”

“You followed.”

“I walked AWAY.”

“And collapsed. Very dramatically.”

Liu Qingge would have thrown something at him if there had been anything throwable in the room. Instead he just snarled:

“You’re a demon. You can endure the cold. I can’t.”

“Then stop wandering off,” the demon said, tone inexplicably scolding. “You cannot handle my realm yet.”

Liu Qingge’s eye twitched. “I don’t need to handle your realm.”

The demon rose smoothly.

Liu Qingge instinctively reached for Cheng Luan.

The demon stopped right in front of him, close enough that Liu Qingge could feel the cool air swirling around his robes. The prince looked down at him with a strange expression— equal parts irritation and…something unreadable.

“You returned.”

“Because this is where I live,” Liu Qingge snapped. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

The demon’s fingers brushed a lock of hair off Liu Qingge’s jaw— feather-light, infuriatingly gentle.

Liu Qingge jerked back violently. “Touch me and I will cut you.”

A soft laugh. “You always say that.”

“And one day,” Liu Qingge warned, “I’ll follow through.”

The demon’s smile sharpened. “One day, perhaps. Tonight? No.”

He stepped back, settling onto the bed again as if it belonged to him.

Liu Qingge pinched the bridge of his nose. “You cannot stay here.”

“I can,” the demon corrected, making himself comfortable. “And I will.”

Liu Qingge’s patience was shattering. “I am not sleeping in the same room as a demon.”

“Then go back to the medical hall.”

Liu Qingge’s scowl deepened. “I’m not going there again.”

“Then stay,” the demon said simply.

Infuriating.

Impossible.

Unmovable.

Liu Qingge muttered every internal curse he knew, grabbed his talismans, and opened the door to storm outside— for air, for distance, for sanity—

He can’t fight this monster right now. 

And it doesn’t seem to have any intention of harming him— yet

A frost-laced arm shot out and caught him by the wrist.

“Come back,” the demon said, voice low, almost dangerous. “You are half-dead. I will not chase you across realms tonight.”

Liu Qingge glared back over his shoulder. “I’ll go where I want.”

The demon’s blue eyes narrowed.

“We shall see.”

The air crackled between them— ice and steel, tension wound tight as bowstring.

Liu Qingge yanked his arm free.

He stepped outside anyway.

Oddly— the demon let him go.

“Whisperings”

Liu Qingge emerged from meditation as dawn thinned into pale gold across Bai Zhan Peak. He had not slept— could not sleep— not with the demon’s presence prowling the dark beyond the meditation hall walls. Two other disciples had been meditating in the far corners; perhaps that was why the demon refrained from appearing.

Fine. Let him lurk in the shadows. Liu Qingge would not cower.

He rose stiffly, tidied the fallen strands of hair back into his high ponytail, and walked back to his room to change into fresh training robes. The talismans Shen Qingqiu shoved into his hands last night were still crisp, untouched. He has tossed them onto the desk. They remained there, accusingly bright.

He refused to depend on talismans. Or Shen. Or anyone.

Morning training passed in its usual haze of dust, shouted corrections, and the thud of wooden dummies being split in half. Lord Huang Wenming did not return yet; the hall masters pretended Liu Qingge did not exist. The disciples continued to keep a respectful ten-step distance from him, as if his severe glare could snap their necks.

Good.

Let them fear.

By the time Liu Qingge entered the mess hall for breakfast, he had found a rare moment of quiet in himself. Steam rose from the rice porridge. Salted vegetables. Tea. His hands felt steadier than yesterday.

Then he heard it.

Soft— at first.

Then louder.

Then unmistakably about him.

“Liu Qingge was in Cian Cao yesterday.”

A clatter of chopsticks followed.

“Oh? Why?”

“Someone said Shen Qingqiu of Qing Jing ran carrying him like a dead corpse bride to Cian Cao!”

Liu Qingge’s hand stopped halfway to his mouth.

A corpse bride?

He swallowed the porridge as if it had turned to stone.

“He almost died, they say.”

“Who are these ‘they’? Liu-shidi doesn’t look dead to me.”

“It’s true though.”

“Listen, listen—those on night patrol saw Liu following Shen Qingqiu up to Qing Jing peak late at night.”

“Lies! They hate each other. Solid enemies!”

“Impossible but true.”

“Then last night young master Liu meditated in the hall.”

“Shen kicked him out of bed?”

A chorus of disgusted sputtering:

“Oi—oi— none of that sort of rumour. Makes me sick Bai Zhan gets associated with Qing Jing like that.”

“Hey— he heard us.”

“So what? What can he do? Shifu isn’t here.”

Liu Qingge slowly placed his bowl down.

He lifted his head just enough to turn a flat, icy stare toward them.

The mess hall froze.

Several disciples flinched. One dropped his cup. Another choked on rice.

Their cowardice did not amuse him today.

Their insolence did not anger him today.

Their gossip about him and Shen Qingqiu—of all people— did not even merit a proper temper.

He was simply tired.

Tired of nearly dying.

Tired of demons stalking him.

Tired of the rat’s secrets.

Tired of Shen Qingqiu appearing at every wrong moment.

Tired of Bai Zhan disciples who behaved like barnyard hens.

But mostly—

Tired of feeling watched.

He felt it even now.

Cold as a blade resting between his shoulder blades.

The demon prince was somewhere near.

Of course he was.

Liu Qingge ignored the whispers, stood up, and left the hall without a word.

Behind him, the quiet shattered into frantic whispering again.

He barely heard any of it.

He had more pressing matters to deal with.

And he refused to let anyone— human or demon—see him rattled.

Liu Qingge didn’t even bother finishing the last mouthful of congee once he spotted two silhouettes at the entrance of the mess hall— one pale green robe gliding in like a judgemental breeze, the other brown-clad and stern, carrying the faint medicinal scent of herbs and disinfectant.

Shen Qingqiu’s lips were a bloodless slash of disdain.

Mu Qingfang, beside him, looked troubled in a quiet way that made Liu Qingge want to evaporate into thin air.

They spoke briefly to a hall master.

The hall master’s chin tipped— directly at Liu Qingge.

The mess hall filled with whispers sharper than thrown needles.

“Shen Qingqiu— here?”

“Looking for Liu-shixiong again?”

“Why are Qing Jing and Cian Cao meddling with Bai Zhan business…?”

Liu Qingge ignored all of it.

He rose without acknowledgement, picked up his tray, walked it to the cleaning stack, and headed for the courtyard exit.

Neither Shen Qingqiu nor Mu Qingfang said a word—but they followed, two shadows dogging him like he was a misbehaving junior.

The moment they stepped outside into the cool morning air, Liu Qingge stopped.

He turned.

They halted a few paces away.

Shen Qingqiu’s gaze swept him from head to toe as if searching for new bruises to catalogue.

Mu Qingfang exhaled sharply, relieved and exasperated at once.

“Liu-shidi,” Mu Qingfang began, “you escape the infirmary again after I specifically told you to rest for one night.”

Liu Qingge said nothing.

He stared at both of them with a level expression that meant leave.

But of course, they didn’t.

Shen Qingqiu folded his fan closed with a soft snap.

He stepped forward, green eyes glinting like polished jade.

“Fine— I may have enabled you to leave,” he said, voice low, clipped. “Explain why you didn’t install the warding talismans—”

Liu Qingge turned away and began walking.

“Liu Qingge!” Shen Qingqiu hissed.

He stopped, but only because Mu Qingfang moved to block the path, hands raised in a placating gesture.

“Listen first,” Mu Qingfang said, unusually firm. “I’m not here to scold you. But you nearly died. Your meridians were unstable. Your core was fluctuating. If we hadn’t caught it early—”

Liu Qingge’s expression remained carved from stone.

“Then I would’ve dealt with it myself,” he said flatly.

Shen Qingqiu scoffed, a sharp, disbelieving sound.

“Yes, because you are clearly known for your self-preservation.”

Liu Qingge shot him a glare sharp enough to peel paint.

From the doorway of the mess hall, Bai Zhan disciples were streaming out, pretending not to stare while absolutely staring.

Mu Qingfang noticed and lowered his voice.

“Liu-shidi,” he said, “we didn’t come to humiliate you. But you must come for a follow-up examination. The demonic qi backlash—”

“I am fine.”

“You are not,” Shen Qingqiu muttered, stepping even closer. “One wrong step and you’ll collapse again. And if you collapse on this peak filled with half-brained muscle heads, do you think anyone besides your Shifu would notice?”

Liu Qingge clenched his jaw.

He hated how his pulse thudded at his temples.

He hated how he could still feel faint shivers along his spine— echoes of the demon prince’s frigid qi threading through him.

He hated how the whispers behind him sounded like:

“Dead corpse bride…”

“That Qing Jing fellow carried him…”

“Is he also cursed…?”

Trash.

All trash.

But Shen Qingqiu wasn’t backing down.

He lifted his chin and said, soft but unyielding:

“Come with us. Either you walk, or I have Mu-shidi drug you on the spot and I will carry you again.”

Mu Qingfang coughed into his sleeve.

Liu Qingge’s eye twitched.

The Bai Zhan disciples who overheard that sucked in sharp breaths.

Shen Qingqiu stepped closer, invading personal space in that typical Qing Jing way— like someone confident no one could land a hit on his delicate face.

“Choose, Liu Qingge.”

Liu Qingge grudgingly marched ahead of them down the stone corridor, tray long abandoned in the dining hall. Behind him, the Bai Zhan disciples gawked openly— some whispering, some elbowing each other.

“Shen Qingqiu is following him?”

“Is that Mu Qingfang? Why are Qing Jing and Cian Cao here?”

“Liu-shixiong must’ve done something again—”

“Or something happened to him…”

“Impossible. Look at him. He looks… normal. As normal as that monster can look.”

Monster.

Splendid— both Shen Qingqiu and Mu Qingfang heard that for sure but neither reacted. 

The moment Liu Qingge unlocked his door and stepped aside stiffly, Shen Qingqiu breezed right past him like a thin green storm, and Mu Qingfang slid in with a polite bow.

Shen Qingqiu immediately spotted the untouched stack of talismans sitting on the desk where Liu Qingge had left them the night before.

His expression curdled.

“You—” he hissed, snatching the stack. “Unbelievable.”

Without waiting for permission, Shen Qingqiu marched around Liu Qingge’s small, bare room, slapping talismans onto the four corners with a crisp snap of spiritual force. The flimsy paper sizzled as each activated, the entire room warming slightly with protective qi.

Liu Qingge crossed his arms and scowled.

Mu Qingfang, meanwhile, gestured to the narrow bed.

“Sit, Liu-shidi.”

Reluctantly, Liu Qingge sat. Mu Qingfang placed two fingers on his wrist, examining the circulation of qi, then slid a hand over his back to sense the blocked meridians.

“You are recovering well,” Mu Qingfang noted.

“I meditated all night,” Liu Qingge replied curtly.

Mu Qingfang hummed in reluctant approval. “Your meridians are beginning to stabilise. But—” He lifted his hand, frowning. “There is still some remnant cold demonic qi here. If left to accumulate, it will damage your foundation permanently.”

Liu Qingge’s jaw tightened.

Mu Qingfang continued, gentle but firm. “Someone needs to help purge and cleanse your meridians daily. Just a small qi transfer each time.”

Liu Qingge grimaced openly.

Someone? Must he?

Mu Qingfang spoke as if reading his thoughts. “Without constant cleansing, your cultivation will be jeopardised in the long run. You need someone with good qi control—someone I can teach quickly. Do you have anyone you trust enough to ask?”

Liu Qingge stared away, face blank, refusing to answer.

Shen Qingqiu, having just finished slapping the final talisman to the wall, dusted off his hands and cut in sharply:

“Mu-shidi, our Liu-brute does not do friendship.”

Liu Qingge turned to glare daggers at him.

Mu Qingfang paled. “N-no, Liu-shidi, I—I didn’t mean— I mean, you could come to me in Cian Cao—”

“I won’t trouble shixiong,” Liu Qingge said flatly.

“But shidi—”

“I’ll manage.”

Silence thickened.

Then Shen Qingqiu, standing beneath one of the glowing talismans with his arms crossed, announced with insufferable nonchalance:

“This shixiong will do it.”

Both Mu Qingfang and Liu Qingge turned to him in identical, startled disbelief.

Liu Qingge actually leaned back.

Mu Qingfang sputtered. “Shen-shixiong?! You— you? You have the time—?”

Shen Qingqiu sniffed. “I am extremely capable, thank you.”

Liu Qingge felt his headache intensify.

Shen Qingqiu met his shock head-on. “What? Would you rather be crippled by demonic qi?”

‘You can cripple me while pretending to help’, Liu Qingge thought, clenched his jaw.

He didn’t want anyone doing this—but Shen Qingqiu?

Of all people?

Shen Qingqiu flicked open his fan and added, almost smugly,

“Besides. I’m the only one deranged enough to deal with you every single day.”

Mu Qingfang quietly slipped toward the door. “Right. I… shall prepare instructions.”

Liu Qingge wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

And Shen Qingqiu looked far too pleased with himself.

“The First Qi Transfer”

Liu Qingge braced himself on the edge of his hard Bai Zhan cot as Mu Qingfang finished taking out acupuncture  needles out of his forearm. Shen Qingqiu sat beside him— closer than Liu Qingge wanted— hands already warmed with cultivated energy.

Mu Qingfang cleared his throat.

“Shixiong, you may begin. Slowly at first. His meridians are extremely strained.”

Shen Qingqiu lifted a brow as if insulted by the reminder, then placed one palm lightly against Liu Qingge’s back, right over the junction of two major meridians. Liu Qingge stiffened instantly at the contact.

“This will be uncomfortable,” Shen Qingqiu warned.

“I know,” Liu Qingge muttered.

Shen Qingqiu’s qi flowed into him like a keen blade— sharp in precision, decisive, cutting through the lingering demonic chill with ruthless efficiency. Yet… it wasn’t unpleasant. Not gentle like Mu Qingfang’s touch, but methodical, controlled. Effective.

Too effective.

Liu Qingge gritted his teeth, expecting the usual nausea, the pressure of foreign qi ramming into his channels. But instead, his shattered meridians eased open as if Shen Qingqiu’s cultivation method was tailored exactly for slicing away corrupted qi without aggravating the damage.

Mu Qingfang hummed in surprise.

“Remarkably stable,” he murmured. “Shen-shixiong, your control is excellent.”

Shen Qingqiu sniffed, as if excellence was his baseline existence.

Liu Qingge hated how relieved his body felt.

He hated even more how Shen Qingqiu could probably tell.

The warmth finally settled through him, banishing the leftover cold demonic residue from his limbs. Shen withdrew his hand with a flick, shaking out his fingers as if shaking off dust.

Mu Qingfang straightened.

“That should be enough for now,” he said. “You must rest, Liu-shidi. No training.”

Liu Qingge scowled. Resting was for weaklings.

Mu Qingfang ignored the look and gathered his tools. “I must return to Cian Cao. No need to see me off.”

Liu Qingge assumed Shen Qingqiu would follow him out.

But Shen stayed put.

As soon as Mu Qingfang disappeared out the door, Shen Qingqiu turned, folding his arms and looking every bit the overbearing Qing Jing senior with too much authority and nowhere to put it.

“In the evening,” he said sharply, “one sichen after sundown— come to Qing Jing. Either to my room or the library. I will supervise the cleansing until your meridians stabilise.”

He said it like a decree.

Liu Qingge only nodded, if only to make this snake leave sooner. He had no intention of showing up.

Shen Qingqiu narrowed his eyes, as if hearing the thought.

“You will show up,” Shen said, flicking open his fan with a snap. “Or I will come find you, brute.”

Liu Qingge glowered. Shen Qingqiu merely stared down his nose in that infuriating way.

“And do not worry,” Shen added almost absently. “It won’t take forever. Your tolerance is absurd. You should stabilise quickly.” Then— softly, unexpectedly— “You are tougher than anyone I know.”

Liu Qingge blinked.

What?

Shen Qingqiu froze, seemingly realising what he’d said aloud. He coughed sharply into his fist, as if trying to hide his own slip.

Then Shen Qingqiu’s expression sharpened.

“Now. Question for you.”

Liu Qingge tensed.

“Did the demon come to you last night?” Shen Qingqiu asked in a low voice. “Is that why you didn’t put up the talismans and hid yourself in the meditation hall instead?”

Liu Qingge’s eyes widened before he could stop himself.

Shen Qingqiu lifted a hand. “Don’t lie. I can tell. And I understand—”

His voice softened in something like reluctant empathy.

“It is humiliating to reveal our… problems.”

Problems?

So the snake had problems too?

Shen Qingqiu went on, “Fine. Keep your secrets. But show up to your appointments.”

Liu Qingge’s jaw clenched. “Why?”

The real question— why are you doing this— hung unspoken.

Shen Qingqiu snapped his fan shut, lips tight.

“I cannot stand mysteries,” he said.

A half-truth. Liu Qingge could smell it.

Shen Qingqiu rose, robe sweeping across the floor.

“One sichen after sundown. Library, most likely.”

“But just now—” Liu Qingge began.

“That was a lesson,” Shen cut in, tapping Liu Qingge’s forehead with the tip of his fan. “It does not count. Show up.”

And with a final dismissive flick of his sleeve, he left.

Liu Qingge stared after him.

He had absolutely no intention of obeying.

And yet…

His meridians felt clearer than they had in weeks.

“The Demon’s Visit”

Liu Qingge meditated on his bed, back straight, knees folded, the faint afternoon light filtering through the paper window. Mu Qingfang’s order to rest irritated him more than any bruise on his body, but he obeyed— barely. His breaths evened out, sinking into the familiar rhythm of circulation.

The air shifted.

He felt it before he heard anything—

a drop in temperature so sharp it throbbed in his teeth.

The demon.

Liu Qingge didn’t move.

Didn’t open his eyes.

Didn’t even twitch.

Ignore it.

That was the only rule he had when dealing with irritants he can’t do anything about.

The cold presence hovered nearer. He felt its gaze like needles prickling between his shoulder blades. It lingered… and lingered… and lingered, until the furnace of Liu Qingge’s patience cracked.

A blade of ice pressed against his throat.

Thin. Precise. Cold enough to burn.

Still, Liu Qingge didn’t flinch.

Only when the edge bit deeper— just enough to draw a bead of blood— did he lift his hand. His fingers wrapped around the blade. Frost tore into his skin. His other hand shot up and seized the demon’s wrist in a brutal clamp.

In one fluid motion—

He twisted. He surged. He overpowered.

The demon hit the mattress with a muted thump.

Liu Qingge followed, pinning him by the throat with one hand, leaning his full weight forward. His right hand— already bleeding— snatched the ice dagger away and flung it across the room. Then he pressed that same hand beside his other one, two rough, angry palms gripping the demon’s cold throat, smearing blood across pale skin.

They were close— far too close.

Liu Qingge’s knees braced against the edge of the bed.

Their hips pressed, the demon’s breathing unsteady but unmoving.

His hair fell forward in a dark curtain around their faces.

“Finally coming to finish me off?” he hissed.

The demon did nothing.

Didn’t resist.

Didn’t move.

He only lay there— still, unreadable— blue eyes watching him from beneath long lashes.

Liu Qingge’s lip curled. “Tch. Don’t bother showing up if you don’t want to fight.”

He shoved off the demon’s body and turned away.

He made it barely three steps before cold hands clamped around his hips.

Liu Qingge froze.

“Those talismans can’t stop me,” the demon murmured behind him. His voice was lower than Liu Qingge remembered, frigid and oddly strained. “Yet they affect me.”

Liu Qingge turned just enough to flash a sharp smirk.

“But they affect you,” he repeated.

“A little,” the demon admitted, breath uneven. “Lesser ones wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Liu Qingge didn’t know what to make of that.

He also didn’t like how close the demon’s grip was.

Then—

“Shen Qingqiu is snooping around,” the demon said, voice like cracking ice. “This prince had the impression that you two are nemesis.”

Liu Qingge’s expression twitched. He yanked his hips out of the demon’s grasp.

“I owe you no explanation.”

The demon’s eyes narrowed— cold, sharp, assessing—

and very, very intrigued.

The demon did relent— Liu Qingge was caught again.

His fingers clamped on Liu Qingge’s jaw, thumb sweeping once— slow, strange— across Liu Qingge’s skin. His touch was cold enough to sting, but the intention beneath it was anything but detached. The demon’s breath ghosted Liu Qingge’s cheek, frost curling at the corners of his lips. Those blue eyes were unfocused, not from weakness— but from Shen Qingqiu’s barrier, still clinging to him like invisible thorns.

The demon leaned closer, voice low, rougher than usual.

“Why is that Qing Jing pest around you?” he demanded. “Why is he sniffing at your door? Why does he carry your sword as if he has that right?”

Liu Qingge’s breath hitched, instincts flaring. Is this—?

Shen Qingqiu’s question from Cian Cao slammed into his mind.

“Did the demon force himself on you?”

A chill worse than the demon’s touch rolled down Liu Qingge’s spine.

No. No. Absolutely not.

If this demon meant to—if he dared—

Liu Qingge’s gut shrivelled in dread and revulsion. With a snarl he kicked, heel slamming into the demon’s torso hard enough to send even that supernatural body crashing backward.

“Stay away from me!”

The demon did not retreat.

Pressed against the far wall where Liu Qingge had kicked him, the prince rose to his full height—  dark hair falling like a shadow, eyes bright as winter sun on ice. He advanced with a controlled slowness that made the tiny room feel suffocating.

Liu Qingge freed Cheng Luan and held it angled between them, breath sharp. The demon’s earlier behaviour, his strange heat, the way his fingers had lingered— Shen Qingqiu’s crude question stabbed through his mind like a poisoned thorn.

Did the demon force itself on you?

No. Never. But this— this proximity was wrong. Wrong in a way that made his gut twist and his throat burn with fury.

The demon’s voice was low, ragged in a way Liu Qingge had never heard:

“You still refuse to answer me.”

He stepped close enough that frost curled over the floorboards around Liu Qingge’s boots.

“Get out,” Liu Qingge growled.

The demon ignored the command and, with a flick of his wrist, seized Cheng Luan’s blade. Spiritual steel screeched as frost exploded across it. He slammed it downward until it pinned the mattress, useless.

Liu Qingge snarled, lunged—

—and was caught.

Long, cold fingers closed around his jaw again, harder this time, tilting his head back until their foreheads nearly brushed. The demon’s breath was freezing against Liu Qingge’s lips.

The demon’s neck was still smeared with Liu Qingge’s blood from their earlier struggle —a stark crimson visible even this close. Too close.

“Remember this,” the demon said, voice fraying at the edges like an old wound. “You are mine.”

Liu Qingge’s heart slammed painfully against his ribs.

The demon’s grip tightened.

“If that Qing Jing pest dares to interfere again—”

“Dares to what?” Liu Qingge spat, shoving hard against the demon’s chest, though he barely managed to move him. “Kill him? Scare him? Are you that bored in your frozen realm that you hover around me like a confused fly?!”

Frost cracked under their feet like bones snapping.

Liu Qingge’s voice rose, unhinged, incandescent with rage:

“Decide! Do you finally want to kill me or not? You almost did it yesterday! I am done with you— do you hear me?”

The demon’s eyes went dark. Thunderous.

Snow-cold breath brushed Liu Qingge’s cheek as he leaned in even closer.

“Kill you?”

A humourless little huff escaped him— almost a laugh, almost a snarl. “You saved me. You carried me. You chose not to strike when you could. Tell me why.”

Liu Qingge’s lip curled.

“Because you were helpless. Because it wasn’t exciting. Because killing something unconscious is boring.” He shoved again. “And because I wanted to hunt you myself— take your head with my own hands.”

The demon’s expression twitched—somewhere between fury and fascination.

“Then swear it.”

Liu Qingge froze.

“…What?”

The demon cupped his jaw more firmly, thumb pressing against the pulse leaping beneath Liu Qingge’s skin.

“Swear loyalty to me.”

Liu Qingge stared.

The demon continued, tone like an ancient decree:

“You saved this prince. Therefore you will not be permitted to betray him. Give him your oath.”

Liu Qingge barked an incredulous laugh.

“A mistake,” he spat. “Saving you was a mistake—pure coincidence! You think I did it out of loyalty? You think I want to be tied to you?!”

His voice cracked with sheer outrage:

“If you want devotion, get it from your slave— that rat Shang! I want no part of your cursed life!”

The demon’s eyes flashed, blue deepening into a violent, bottomless shade— like a glacier cracking beneath moonlight.

Liu Qingge went still, chest heaving.

The demon stepped forward, closing the last sliver of distance, and spoke with the quiet, terrible certainty of an oathbinding vow:

“You can rage. You can deny it. But you saved me. And I will not let you go.”

Snow began to fall inside the room— soft, deathly cold.

Liu Qingge’s blood felt like it turned to iron.

He growled back, low and shaking:

“As if I’d let you.”

And the room held its breath.

The demon’s expression curdled— something between outrage and a strange, wounded insult that froze the air between them.

“A mistake,” he echoed, voice low. “So that is what you call it.”

Liu Qingge’s jaw clenched. “I told you to leave.”

“You call it coincidence. I call it debt.” Frost prickled at the demon’s temples, his breath turning white in the warm room. “You spared this prince’s life. You bore witness to his weakness. You touched him. Now you think you may walk away?”

Liu Qingge barked out a hollow laugh. “Touched you? I carried your unconscious dead weight because it was tactically convenient. There was no glory in killing something that couldn’t lift a hand in return.”

A muscle twitched in the demon’s cheek. “You speak as if you are still capable of killing me.”

Liu Qingge snapped.

Steel sang. Cheng Luan ripped free of the mattress, scattering ice shards. His body moved before thought— straight into a reckless offensive slash.

The demon caught the blade barehanded.

The spirit sword shrieked against frozen skin; frost crawled up the blade in retaliation. Liu Qingge snarled, trying to wrench it free, but the demon twisted sharply, pulling him forward.

Their bodies slammed together.

The impact forced air from Liu Qingge’s lungs. His wrists were seized, pinned above his head in a heartbeat. His back struck the wall hard enough to dislodge one of the talismans that Shen Qingqiu had plastered earlier.

The demon repelling barrier wavered.

Liu Qingge kicked, forcing the demon’s knee to buckle. They crashed to the floor, rolling, limbs tangling in brutal desperation. The demon was stronger— unnaturally so— yet Liu Qingge fought with the ferocity of someone who had decided death by combat was preferable to living harassed by a demon’s obsession.

A fist connected with the demon’s jaw. The demon’s nails raked Liu Qingge’s shoulder. Frost bit into skin; heat bled from Liu Qingge’s meridians as they grappled.

They reversed, then reversed again, bodies sliding across the floorboards, breath sharp and ragged.

Then—

The demon crushed him to the ground.

Liu Qingge felt the weight— cold, unyielding— straddling his hips, pinning his thighs. An arm barred his chest. The demon’s other hand fisted in Liu Qingge’s hair, tilting his head back.

Their faces hovered a few fingers breadth apart.

Lips almost brushing.

Liu Qingge’s breath stopped.

His pulse roared.

“Swear to me,” the demon growled, breath icy against his mouth. “Swear you will not betray this prince.”

“Never,” Liu Qingge rasped.

“Never… betray,” the demon repeated softly— dangerously— “or never… swear?”

“Never anything,” Liu Qingge spat. “And get off me!”

Instead, the demon leaned in.

Lower.

Closer.

Liu Qingge twisted violently, their mouths grazing— barely, accidentally, catastrophically thunderous.

It wasn’t anything.

But it was close enough that Liu Qingge felt heat flush down his spine— born of fury, shame, and something unnameable.

The demon’s breath shuddered.

His grip on Liu Qingge’s wrists tightened, just a fraction.

“You truly—” the demon whispered, voice dropping to something raw, something edged with hunger and confusion, “—are not afraid.”

Liu Qingge’s answer was a vicious headbutt that snapped their foreheads together.

White exploded behind his eyes. The demon hissed. Liu Qingge used the opening to twist his wrists free, shoving the demon backward with both legs.

They broke apart on the floorboards, panting.

A single beat of silence.

Then Liu Qingge growled—

“Try that again and I will gut and strangle you with your entrails. Prince or not.”

And the demon— stunned, furious, fascinated beyond reason— lifted a blood-tinged thumb to his lower lip, staring at Liu Qingge as if he had just been given proof of something he had long suspected.

Something dangerous.

Something possessive.

Something irreversible.

The demon didn’t even flinch at Liu Qingge’s outburst.

His blue eyes iced over— frigid, ancient— before narrowing in silent accusation.

“You will take that back,” the demon said, stepping forward.

Liu Qingge snorted. “Make me.”

The temperature plunged. Frost bloomed across the floorboards. The demon moved first— fast, brutal— and Liu Qingge met him head-on. Somehow, Cheng Luan was stabbed again into the bed, useless. Fine. His fists were enough.

Their bodies slammed together with the force of colliding beasts.

The demon swung an arm; Liu Qingge ducked and drove his elbow into the demon’s ribs— again, right where he can cause bone to give way. The demon hissed, staggered half a step.

Liu Qingge leapt, catching him around the neck, aiming to smash him to the floor.

But the demon seized his waist, spun him, and they crashed hard into the door.

Wood cracked.

Liu Qingge’s breath left his lungs but he refused to yield— he hooked his leg behind the demon’s knee and wrenched. The demon went down on one knee, dragging Liu Qingge with him.

They hit the floor in a tangle of limbs, both snarling, both refusing to relent.

The demon rolled, pinning Liu Qingge beneath him.

“Yield,” he growled through clenched teeth.

“Die,” Liu Qingge snarled back, shoving upwards with a vicious twist. Their faces smashed close— too close— their noses brushing, foreheads colliding hard enough to ring.

A heartbeat hung suspended—

a breath

shared in the cold,

dangerous,

far too intimate.

The demon’s lips once more hovered a mere whisper away from Liu Qingge’s. His breath was cold enough to sting.

“If you had sworn to me,” the demon said softly, voice a dangerous tremor, “you would not suffer. You would not—”

Liu Qingge bucked violently, shoving him back into the floorboards.

“Shut up!”

They rolled again— earth, sky, wall, ceiling spinning— until Liu Qingge ended up braced above the demon, one hand fisted in his collar, the other cocked, qi consolidated for a killing blow. He’ll smash that head into the floor. The demon grabbed Liu Qingge’s wrist mid-strike. Their eyes locked— two storms crashing, equally furious, equally unwilling to retreat.

The demon’s grip tightened.

He pulled Liu Qingge down—

Just a hair’s breadth apart.

Close enough that their breaths tangled.

Close enough that anyone seeing them would assume—

“Liu Qingge?!”

A bellow from the hallway.

The demon froze.

Someone pounded sharply—

BOOM–BOOM–BOOM— the door rattled on its hinges.

“Liu Qingge! What is going on in there? Open the door this instant!”

A Bai Zhan elder.

Liu Qingge’s eyes widened—

the demon’s narrowed.

In a swift, soundless ripple, the shadows around them warped. Black frost curled upward in spiralling tendrils as the demon reached one hand toward the air, slicing reality open like silk.

The rift pulsed.

Cold spilled out.

The demon’s remaining hand brushed Liu Qingge’s jaw— fleeting, proprietary.

“This is not finished.”

Another slam on the door.

“Liu Qingge! If you do not open this door, I will break it down!”

Liu Qingge exhaled once— shaking, furious, humiliated— and braced himself to answer.

The pounding on the door rattled the hinges.

“Liu Qingge! What is going on in there?!”

The demon vanished the instant before the final strike of the elder’s fist— a ripple of darkness folding inward like an exhaled breath. The cold left with him, except for the frost still spider-webbed across the legs of the overturned chair and the wrinkles in Liu Qingge’s rumpled bedding.

Liu Qingge stood frozen for a beat, chest heaving, pulse thunderous. His mouth still tingled— infuriatingly— from where the demon’s breath had brushed it. His jaw felt hot where those long fingers had gripped his face, as if burning through frost.

He scrubbed the sensation off with the back of his hand, there’s a tear on his shoulder from the demon’s claw, red stained the fabric so he snatched his discarded outer robe and flung it over himself, tying the belt in violent, jerking motions.

The elder pounded again.

“Liu Qingge! Open this instant!”

Liu Qingge yanked the door open.

It was never locked in the first place.

A Bai Zhan hall master loomed there, arms crossed, face dark as storm clouds. His eyes dropped immediately to Liu Qingge’s state— hair mussed, collar crooked, breath uneven. Then his gaze flicked past Liu Qingge’s shoulder, scanning the mess inside.

“What,” the elder said coldly, “happened in this room?”

Liu Qingge stared back with a blank, perfectly steady expression— despite the raging, humiliating flush still clinging to his ears and neck.

“…A mouse,” he said flatly.

The elder blinked.

“A mouse.”

“Yes.” Liu Qingge nodded once, curtly. “A large one.”

The elder’s eyes travelled again over the room— the toppled chair, the skewed bedding, Cheng Luan stabbed halfway through the mattress like a war banner planted in defeat.

“A mouse did that,” the elder repeated.

“Yes.”

Silence.

The elder’s suspicion sharpened; he leaned forward slightly, nostrils flaring as though expecting to sniff out bloodshed or demonic aura. Liu Qingge kept perfectly still. Not even a twitch betrayed the pounding of his heart— pounding from something shamefully not the fight.

This is absurd.

What is wrong with me.

The elder’s gaze settled on Liu Qingge’s neck.

“Your pulse is racing,” he said, frowning. “Are you unwell?”

Liu Qingge forced a slow breath through his nose.

“I trained earlier. It has not yet settled.”

“In your room?”

Liu Qingge did not blink.

“Yes.”

The elder narrowed his eyes. “There were complaints earlier this year. Fighting in dormitories is forbidden.”

“No one fought me,” Liu Qingge answered truthfully.

He just didn’t mention the demon.

“Mm.” The elder stepped inside without invitation, surveying every corner. Frost still clung faintly to the sword-stab in the mattress. Liu Qingge shifted subtly to block the elder’s view of it.

The silence stretched taut.

Finally the elder exhaled, long and disapproving.

“This room is a disgrace. Clean it up before training ends. And keep your sparring where it belongs— on the grounds, not in here.”

“Yes, Hall Master.”

With one last suspicious sweep of his gaze, the elder turned and strode away down the corridor.

Liu Qingge closed the door softly.

The quiet hit him like a blow.

His breath stuttered— just once— before he crushed the reaction and shoved it back into the coldest pit of his mind. He pressed a hand to his racing chest, teeth clenched.

Not the fight.

No. He had fought ice tigers, beasts, bandits, assassins, and that damn prince.

It was that moment—

That hateful, humiliatingly close moment when the demon’s cold breath ghosted his mouth and his own blood-warm breath had struck back—

That almost-ki— kiss.

He wanted to punch himself in the head.

“What sickness is this…” he muttered under his breath, glaring at the bed as though it had personally wronged him.

Outside, somewhere at the edge of the wards, the cold stirred.

Watching.

Waiting.

Hunting him.

Liu Qingge exhaled sharply through his nose.

If this is what it felt like to be prey, he’d rather die standing.

“Shen Qingqiu Arrives Unexpectedly”

Liu Qingge’s pulse had barely steadied after the elder’s visit. The room still felt tainted— too much cold, too much heat, too much proximity to danger. The bed was a crumpled mess, the blanket half-hanging off the frame where the demon had pinned him; Cheng Luan was unsheathed beside him like a silent guard. He lay stiffly on his side, breathing evenly only through stubborn discipline.

A knock broke the fragile quiet.

He immediately seized Cheng Luan, blade whispering as he raised it.

“Who?” he barked.

A short pause. Then—

“Shen.”

Liu Qingge froze.

Shen Qingqiu?

He scrambled upright, sword still in hand. He was not exactly presentable— hair mussed from being manhandled, robe tugged crooked from too many grapples for one afternoon— but he forced himself to stride to the door with the same rigid, martial pride he carried into battle.

He opened it.

And there Shen Qingqiu stood, pale jade robes pristine, expression sour as ever. His green eyes flicked over Liu Qingge— taking in the disorderly clothes, the dishevelled hair, the faint flush still clinging to the younger disciple’s neck.

“It’s early,” Liu Qingge said, unable to hide the small note of suspicion.

Shen Qingqiu swept inside without waiting for invitation, brushing past him with an inscrutable look— as though he hadn’t just barged into Bai Zhan Peak’s most chaotic room.

“Yes,” Shen snapped shortly, “change of plans— there’s a night hunt later.”

His voice dripped unhappiness. “Qiong Ding Peak decided, for reasons transparent only to themselves, to invite Qing Jing at the last breath. As the head disciple, I am obligated to attend. An unwanted complication.”

Liu Qingge shut the door behind them, brow furrowed. Before he could make sense of Shen’s sudden intrusion, Shen Qingqiu had already surveyed the room with a sharp, clinical sweep. His gaze landed almost instantly on the talisman lying helplessly on the floor, knocked loose during the earlier struggle.

With a soft huff, Shen bent, picked it up between two graceful fingers, and inspected it with the unimpressed disdain of a tutor discovering a pupil had used his notes as a footrag.

“You dropped it,” Shen said accusingly.

“I didn’t,” Liu Qingge corrected stiffly.

“Then someone else did. Which is even worse.”

Shen Qingqiu strode straight to the nearest wall and began re-applying the talisman with sharp, precise movements— his sleeve brushing the air with unconcealed irritation.

Liu Qingge could only stare.

As if this were normal.

As if Shen Qingqiu barging into Bai Zhan, poking about his messy room, and fixing his protection talismans were part of daily routine.

As if Liu Qingge hadn’t almost died twice since yesterday.

As if there weren’t still residual frost qi clinging to his skin.

As if there weren’t a demon prince lurking too close for anyone’s comfort.

As if they get along with each other.

Shen Qingqiu spoke again without turning around.

“You are hopeless, truly. One afternoon and your room already looks like you’ve fought a rabid boar.”

Liu Qingge stiffened instinctively. “It’s fine,” he muttered.

“It is not fine.” Shen slapped the talisman flat, qi sparking through the paper with a faint glow. “If you die in your sleep because you are too stubborn to hang four pieces of paper, I refuse to be blamed.”

Liu Qingge opened his mouth, closed it, then muttered, “I won’t die.”

“I know you won’t,” Shen retorted. “Unfortunately.”

Only then did he turn fully to face Liu Qingge— expression sharp, but threaded with something else. Something unreadable. Something that put Liu Qingge on edge far more than the demon’s claws had.

Shen Qingqiu took one step closer.

And his eyes narrowed, not in contempt this time, but in assessment.

“As long as you are breathing,” he said coolly, “you are coming to Qing Jing this evening. Whether you like it or not.”

Liu Qingge stared back, jaw set.

After everything that had just happened— after the demon, after the fight, after the near-kiss, after the elder nearly discovering the truth— this was somehow the most exhausting thing he’d faced all day.

“…Fine,” he muttered.

Shen Qingqiu gave a tiny, victorious sniff. “Good. Now fix your hair. You look half-abducted.”

If only he knew.

Shen Qingqiu rolled another talisman open between his fingers.

“And for heaven’s sake, brute— put on a robe that is not bloody or ripped.”

“The Walk to Qing Jing”

The descent from Bai Zhan Peak began in a taut silence, boots crunching over gravel and pine needles. The wind was sharp as always, but for once Liu Qingge did not stride ahead in his usual lone-wolf fashion— because Shen Qingqiu kept deliberately matching his pace half a step ahead, long sleeves fluttering like arrogant banners.

They reached the outer yards where a handful of Bai Zhan disciples lingered after training. When they saw Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu walking side by side— calmly— a ripple of stunned whispering swept across the grounds.

Shen Qingqiu ignored every stare. In fact, he seemed perfectly content to let them burn holes into his back. Liu Qingge merely pressed his lips thin. Trash would always talk trash.

They exited the Bai Zhan gate. Shen Qingqiu could have taken to the air here, swords flashing into flight— but the snake held Cheng Luan out of reach and continued walking downhill.

Liu Qingge frowned. “We can just fly.”

“No.” Shen Qingqiu said without turning. “Walking.”

Liu Qingge narrowed his eyes. Shen Qingqiu had flown into Bai Zhan earlier. His legs were certainly fine. “Why?”

A breeze carried the faint scent of bamboo, sword oil, ink, and whatever fragrant powder Qing Jing disciples powdered themselves with. Shen Qingqiu walked lightly, green robes swaying, the pale nape of his neck rigid with something like…focus.

When he finally replied, he spoke as though tasting every word before allowing it to exist.

“I haven’t shown you the way to the Qing Jing library. You know where my room is… but not where you’re supposed to come for the cleansing.”

He didn’t even answer his question. But Liu Qingge for once, didn’t pick on it. He let it be. 

Liu Qingge huffed. “I can just ask someone.”

Shen Qingqiu stopped walking long enough to turn and stare at him, fan half-opened in disbelief.

“You are Bai Zhan. The Qing Jing dwellers will either be wary or openly hostile to you.”

Liu Qingge’s brows knit. “I stopped them,” he said simply. “The raids. It won’t happen again.”

At that, Shen Qingqiu resumed walking, though something like a dry laugh escaped him.

“Let’s see how long that will last.”

Liu Qingge bristled. “That’s all?”

“Hm?” Shen Qingqiu didn’t look back, but that smugness was unmistakable. “You’re talkative today.”

Liu Qingge glared daggers at his back. He was talkative? Shen Qingqiu was the one talking nonstop in that simpering, sanctimonious voice—

But the snake didn’t say more. He simply walked, letting the silence stretch, letting Liu Qingge stew.

They reached the crossroads at the Rainbow Bridge. Torchlight flickered from the night watch stations. Even the patrolling disciples froze at the sight of them— Qing Jing’s paragon and Bai Zhan’s monster, walking shoulder-to-shoulder at dusk.

Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat. “Stay close once we enter Qing Jing grounds.”

Liu Qingge snorted, but a part of him obeyed. The demon’s cold presence had been haunting him since sunrise… muted as soon as they crossed the boundary and though he’d rather die than admit it aloud, having Shen Qingqiu within arm’s reach— arrogant, noisy, suspicious Shen Qingqiu— felt strangely…steadying.

They continued down the path lit by amber lanterns, the bamboo groves looming tall. For once, neither of them insulted the other. For once, they walked in uneasy, crackling peace.

The library’s silhouette appeared through the trees.

Liu Qingge breathed out. “This better be worth it.”

Shen Qingqiu sniffed. “Of course it is. You’ll live longer.”

“…Tch.”

Shen Qingqiu added, softer—softer than Liu Qingge had ever heard from him:

“And perhaps… you’ll finally stop attracting ghosts.”

Liu Qingge stiffened.

But Shen Qingqiu did not elaborate— only pushed open the library doors, letting warm lamplight spill over the threshold.

“Come in, brute,” he said. “Let’s get this over with before I have to go beast-hunting.”

The interior of the Qing Jing Library was dim and cool, perfumed faintly by sandalwood and the dust of ancient scrolls. As soon as Liu Qingge stepped inside beside Shen Qingqiu, several Qing Jing disciples startled like frightened birds. A few bowed too quickly— almost tripped— then scurried away to hide between tall shelves. Their eyes were wide, darting from Shen Qingqiu’s impassive face to Liu Qingge’s martial build as though bracing for the entire library to collapse from sheer incompatible qi.

Liu Qingge tried to ignore it, but he didn’t miss the way those same disciples stiffened when Shen Qingqiu walked past. Their fear was sharper, more specific. It was not of a Bai Zhan brute intruding. It was of their own head disciple.

Interesting.

Shen Qingqiu did not seem to notice— or he had grown used to it. He simply gestured curtly at a secluded alcove between bookshelves.

“Sit. We’ll begin.”

Liu Qingge lowered himself onto the meditation cushion. Shen Qingqiu knelt opposite him, back straight, sleeves falling gracefully. Without another word, he reached out and placed two fingers at Liu Qingge’s wrist.

Liu Qingge braced.

He expected the unpleasant wash of alien qi— like the Cian Cao healer’s forceful purge. But Shen Qingqiu’s cleansing was again…

…different.

Sharp but controlled. Cold but steady. Firm but never pushing too hard.

It did not batter his meridians. It threaded through them with accuracy, sweeping the remnants of demonic frost like cutting rot off bone.

Liu Qingge’s brows knitted.

He hated how tolerable— no, how decent— it felt.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes flicked upward. “Pain?”

“No.”

It came out too quickly. Liu Qingge scowled at himself.

Silence settled. Only the soft turn of pages from distant shelves filled the air.

For a moment, Liu Qingge let his guard slip, the warm drifting rush of balanced qi lulling him, the quiet of the library softening the edge of his mind.

It was peaceful.

Annoyingly peaceful.

He cracked his eyes open, watching the faint furrow between Shen Qingqiu’s brows as he worked.

And before he could stop himself—

“Why help me?”

Shen Qingqiu’s fingers paused for half a breath— just a tremor— before continuing.

He didn’t answer.

Liu Qingge felt irritation coil in his chest. His voice dropped low.

“Really. Tell me the truth.”

Shen Qingqiu finally looked up.

His green eyes were unreadable. Not mocking. Not sharp-tongued. Not venomous.

The same expression Liu Qingge saw last night in Cian Cao, when Shen Qingqiu— of all people—placed a hand over his heart and asked softly, painfully, insultingly— whether he had been violated by a demon.

That look again.

Too soft.

Too cautious.

Too close to pity.

Liu Qingge’s breath snagged in his throat.

His mind flashed to earlier that day—

The rift, the frost, the sharp blue eyes—

The demon in the narrow space—

He snapped his gaze away.

Impossible.

No. Absolutely not.

He would never let that happen.

And the demon— whatever its twisted motives—hadn’t forced anything like that on him.

He would die before allowing it.

But Shen Qingqiu…

Shen Qingqiu didn’t know that.

Did Shen… think he had been violated?

And was doing all this out of pity for a victim?

Liu Qingge’s stomach twisted.

Shen Qingqiu spoke quietly.

“You are being… haunted by something you won’t name.”

His tone was flat, but the undercurrent was unmistakable.

Pity.

Concern.

Unwanted.

Liu Qingge’s jaw tightened until it ached.

“You do not have to say anything,” Shen Qingqiu continued, eyes steady on him. “But stop assuming everyone in this sect is too blind to see what’s happening to you.”

Liu Qingge’s fists curled on his knees.

“So that’s why?” he said roughly. “You think I’m… broken?”

Shen Qingqiu’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his gaze.

“No,” he said softly. “But I think you’re hiding more than anyone should endure alone.”

Liu Qingge’s pulse thudded painfully.

Was that sincere?

Was that pity?

Or was it something else entirely?

Either way, he hated how his chest tightened.

Shen Qingqiu withdrew his hand, qi settling.

“That’s enough for today. Go. Rest.”

But Liu Qingge didn’t move.

Because Shen Qingqiu— his rival, his tormentor, his sharp-tongued snake— had just looked at him with something dangerously close to… compassion.

In the stillness of the library—broken only by the faint crackle of the incense stick— where Liu Qingge almost relaxed. Almost. Because Shen Qingqiu sat close, too close, watching him with that annoying green-eyed stare.

Liu Qingge again muttered, low and stiff:

“Why help me? Really. Tell me the truth.”

Shen Qingqiu went very still.

Liu Qingge’s jaw tightened.

It is pity. 

Shen Qingqiu truly think he’s been—

The memory punched through him:

—ice-blue eyes hovering above him,

—fingers gripping his jaw,

—the accidental brush of lips in the violent tangle of claws and blade,

—his body reacting with fury and confusion—

Liu Qingge’s face heated. He tore his gaze away.

No. No. Shen Qingqiu had the wrong idea entirely. He wasn’t—

He didn’t—

He refused to let Shen Qingqiu see him like that.

Liu Qingge opened his mouth, voice flinty:

“That question you asked me—”

He forced himself to look up, to say it clearly so Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t assume he was some fragile flower—

A quiet voice cut through the aisle.

“A-Jiu… there you are.”

Liu Qingge froze.

Shen Qingqiu froze harder.

From between the book shelves emerged Yue Qingyuan— tall, composed, robes pristine, sword sheathed at his waist. His gentle, steady expression melted into something like… shock.

“Hm?” Yue Qingyuan blinked slowly, gaze flickering between Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge seated far too close for any sane interpretation. “Ah… I seem to be interrupting.”

Liu Qingge shot up to his feet out of sheer instinct, about to clasp his hands in greeting—

—but Shen Qingqiu’s hand shot out and pressed down hard on Liu Qingge’s arm, holding him still.

“Shidi will come again tomorrow as we agreed?” Shen Qingqiu asked— voice soft, steady, but carrying an unmistakable command beneath it.

Liu Qingge stared.

Then narrowed his eyes.

An ‘obey or else’ tone.

Liu Qingge didn’t understand at all.

Still, he gave a short, stiff nod.

Shen Qingqiu actually smiled. Softly. Like his face had forgotten how to be cruel for a breath.

Liu Qingge nearly stumbled when he finally stood and bowed properly to Yue Qingyuan.

“Yue-shixiong.”

Yue Qingyuan returned the greeting but his expression was stiff— stiff in a way that suggested he had a thousand questions and zero intention of asking them in front of him.

Liu Qingge moved to leave. Good. He did not belong here between whatever unspoken thing living between these two.

But Yue Qingyuan spoke again:

“Ah, Liu-shidi. Since you are here anyway— we are headed to a night hunt shortly.”

Shen Qingqiu snapped to his feet with alarming speed.

“Yue Qingyuan!”

Liu Qingge blinked. He truly had no idea what was going on.

Yue Qingyuan continued as if Shen Qingqiu hadn’t barked at him:

“Would you be willing to join us, Liu-shidi?”

Shen Qingqiu crossed the room in a flash, planting himself beside Liu Qingge and shoving at him in silent warning. “He is returning to Bai Zhan,” Shen hissed.

But a night hunt is a night hunt.

And Liu Qingge is a creature of instinct.

A creature who loved battle like air and water.

“This shidi would be honoured, shixiong,” Liu Qingge said, bowing again. “Please grant me guidance.”

Shen Qingqiu pinched his waist— hard— but Liu Qingge did not budge.

Yue Qingyuan brightened instantly. He stepped forward, clapping Liu Qingge on the shoulder—right on top of the demon’s earlier claw mark.

Liu Qingge didn’t flinch. Barely.

“Excellent, Liu-shidi. Go prepare— take your time to get everything you need from Bai Zhan. We will await you outside.”

“No need,” Liu Qingge said curtly. “Cheng Luan is all I require.”

And perhaps—

Perhaps a part of him refused to leave Shen Qingqiu alone in whatever strange tension was happening here.

Yue Qingyuan smiled warmly.

Shen Qingqiu looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

Liu Qingge bowed again, silent, observing. Whatever this mess between Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan was… it was none of his business.

But the night was young.

The hunt called.

And something deep in Liu Qingge warned him that leaving Shen Qingqiu’s side— tonight of all nights— would be a mistake.

Chapter Text

The moon hung low as they soared across the range, spiritual swords cutting the mist into ribbons. Yue Qingyuan led the flight— calm, composed, robes fluttered under the moonlight— while Shen Qingqiu glided behind him like a dark, coiled shadow, jade green sleeves snapping sharply in the wind. The juniors from Qiong Ding and Qing Jing strained to keep pace, some wobbling as the altitude changed.

Liu Qingge flew last, Cheng Luan humming beneath his feet, the sword’s humming steady against the cold seeping into his bones.

They descended toward a valley village tucked between forested foothills— Nanjie Village, known in passing as a quiet goat-herding settlement. Torches glimmered around its perimeter. The smell of animal blood lingered faintly even from above.

A Qiong Ding junior grimaced.

“Shixiong… it reeks.”

Shen Qingqiu’s voice slithered like a thorny vine.

“Because the beast we’re hunting slaughters livestock by draining them dry. Use your nose for once, not your mouth.”

The Qiong Ding juniors snapped their mouths shut immediately.

They landed lightly on packed dirt as the village elder hurried out, bowing with visible relief.

“Immortal masters— thank the heavens. Fourth night, another goat torn apart. Before that, cattle… and— and something left claw marks on the well.”

Liu Qingge scanned the treeline. Deep grooves scarred the trunks. The soil was heavily disturbed, hoofprints broken by something heavier. A low rumble vibrated under the wind.

A burrower. A stalker. Something big.

Good.

Shen Qingqiu nudged his juniors forward.

“Observe quietly. Do not wander. If you get eaten, I will not coax you back out.”

The three Qing Jing juniors stiffened, bowing deeply.

Yue Qingyuan turned.

“Liu-shidi, you have the sharpest tracking instincts among us.

Could you enlighten the juniors on how to begin reading this scene?”

Liu Qingge blinked. “Me?”

Shen Qingqiu flicked his fan open.

“Who else? The Qiong Ding pups? Please— one nearly dropped from his sword when we landed.”

Liu Qingge stepped past the group without acknowledging the jab.

He knelt, brushing the dirt with calloused fingers.

“Listen.”

They leaned in despite themselves.

He pointed at a crushed patch of grass.

“This beast has weight. Heavy. See the depth here.”

One Qing Jing girl squinted. “A bull demon?”

“No,” Liu Qingge said bluntly. “Lower. Shorter legs. It drags its belly at times— see that trail.”

He rose fluidly.

“The beast circles the goat pens at least twice each night. It’s not hunting randomly. It’s assessing.”

A Qiong Ding boy frowned, confused.

“Assessing… what?”

“Security.” Liu Qingge’s gaze swept the tree line again.

“It’s choosing the best route for a bigger strike.”

The juniors blanched.

Shen Qingqiu spared them a bored look.

“See? You’d never get this from me— I’d simply push you at the beast and let you learn survival the hard way.”

Liu Qingge ignored him.

“The villagers said the goat was drained. Not eaten. That means—”

A low growl rolled from the darkness.

The juniors clustered together instantly.

Yue Qingyuan stepped forward.

“Everyone, formation.”

Liu Qingge’s blood thrilled.

At last— something he understood.

Something honest.

He unsheathed Cheng Luan with a resonant metallic note, stepping toward the edge of the torchlight. His breath fogged. The grass rustled once, sharply.

Behind him, he heard one Qing Jing junior whisper anxiously:

“Why is Bai Zhan’s head disciple smiling?”

Shen Qingqiu slapped the boy quiet with his fan.

Yue Qingyuan lifted his own sword.

“Liu-shidi. Any guesses what we are dealing with?”

Liu Qingge tightened his grip, listening to the heavy, almost liquid breathing in the dark.

“Something with a low centre of gravity,” he murmured. “Thick forelimbs. Carnivorous. Big.”

Shen Qingqiu arched a brow.

“Ah. A Shiukui.”

The juniors panicked as the implication hit.

A man-eater. Fur like wet stone. Teeth like crushed shale.

A creature fast enough to kill a cow before it can moo.

Liu Qingge smirked.

“Correct.”

“Shiukui Attack”

The moon still hung low, but now it looked swollen and dull over the farmlands as the group descended in another area, their spirit swords scattering pale light over the village outskirts. Liu Qingge led the group there. Goat pens were torn open, ribs gnawed clean. A cow carcass lay half-submerged in a ditch where muddy water had turned black with blood.

Liu Qingge stepped ahead without waiting for anyone’s signal, Cheng Luan humming sharply at his back.

“Tracks,” he muttered.

The juniors clustered behind him, wide-eyed. Liu Qingge ignored them completely, crouching low. The packed soil showed deep claw pits, six talons each— wide as a man’s hand— dragged in chaotic scrapes as if the beast had bounded on all fours and then upright.

“It circles before striking,” Liu Qingge said flatly. “It toys with prey.”

The Qing Jing juniors gasped. One girl tugged at her sleeve subconsciously.

“T-that’s— I read they attack in pairs, don’t they, Liu-shixiong?”

“Hn,” he replied, rising. “Stay alert.”

He stepped forward again, a silent, predatory confidence in the way he moved— something feral that only those who had survived countless hunts possessed. Even Yue Qingyuan’s steady composure shifted, as if quietly impressed.

Shen Qingqiu walked a few paces to Liu Qingge’s left, posture deceptively relaxed, fan tucked into his belt. His eyes missed nothing.

The night wind changed.

A low, wet growl trembled beneath the soil.

“MOVE!” Liu Qingge barked.

The ground erupted.

A massive shape unfurled from the earth— a Shiukui, its hide slate-blue, its mouth splitting open in a ring of jagged teeth. Its eyes fixed immediately on the nearest movement—

—one terrified Qing Jing junior, rooted in place.

In a flash of white, Liu Qingge was there.

No leap, no warning. Just speed— impossible speed.

Cheng Luan flared, silver blade slicing downward so cleanly the wind itself screamed. The beast’s hooked limb, aimed at the teen’s throat, was cleaved aside with such force the creature staggered backward, bellowing.

The juniors froze, stunned.

This wasn’t “Liu Qingge the rising prodigy.”

This was Liu Qingge of Bai Zhan— the one the older disciples whispered about, half in awe, half in resentment. The one who fought like he had been born carved from steel and sharpened on war.

The Shiukui lunged again, but this time Yue Qingyuan was beside him, his secondary spiritual sword flashing in a graceful arc— not Xuan Su. His movements carried elegance, serenity— yet each stroke landed with deliberate fatality that cleaved the air.

Shen Qingqiu surged forward at the same moment the second Shiukui burst from the shadows. A Qoing Ding boy stumbled right into its jawline—

—Shen Qingqiu’s fan snapped open.

A single flick.

A blinding green talisman flared mid-air.

It detonated, redirecting the Shiukui’s pounce just enough for Shen to step in, catch the boy by the back of his collar, and yank him aside. His footwork was flawless — so precise it bordered on frightening.

“Eyes up, not on the ground!” Shen snapped at the junior, shoving him behind Liu Qingge.

Liu Qingge didn’t turn, but he heard it— every word. He grit his teeth, muscles tensing instinctively.

The Shiukui he faced wasn’t waiting.

Its heavy tail whipped around, aiming for his ribs. Liu Qingge twisted, ducked low, and plunged forward. Cheng Luan struck the beast’s underbelly, slicing open thick hide into a burst of dark fluid.

The creature shrieked.

“Qingqiu, the second—!” Yue Qingyuan warned.

“I see it!” Shen Qingqiu leapt sideways, robes spiralling like jade mist, throwing talisman after talisman. They ignited around the beast, forming a brief prison of light. The monster howled, barreling forward only to meet one more exploding charm.

But even so—

It forced its way through.

Straight toward one of the Qing Jing girls.

Her scream tore the air.

Before Shen Qingqiu could reach her—

Liu Qingge was already there.

His foot slammed into the creature’s head, knocking its trajectory askew, and Cheng Luan pierced downward, pinning the Shiukui to the dirt.

The earth cracked beneath the impact.

The girl fell backward, stunned but unharmed.

Liu Qingge, panting lightly, did not look at her. He withdrew Cheng Luan and stepped forward again, stance shifting to intercept anything else that dared appear.

Moonlight caught the white of his robes, the red stains across his sleeves, the cold flare in his eyes.

A battle monster.

A blade made human.

Even Shen Qingqiu faltered for a beat— just one— watching him.

Yue Qingyuan’s voice carried, warm and steady:

“Excellent work, Liu-shidi.”

Liu Qingge only tightened his grip on Cheng Luan and muttered,

“More incoming.”

And from the darkness of the tree line—

more growls answered.

Then the forested valley turned quiet— too quiet. The earth smelled of overturned mud, snapped reeds, and something sour from the beast’s saliva. The juniors fanned out under Yue Qingyuan’s instructions, swords hovering behind them like timid shadows.

Liu Qingge walked ahead, Cheng Luan angled loosely in his grip. His white robes, though immaculate, made him stand out like a lone snow peak. Even so, the juniors followed him— Qing Jing and Qiong Ding alike— waiting for more tracking pointers.

“See the claw pattern,” Liu Qingge said bluntly. “It dragged its hind legs. Means it’s preparing to shed its skin.”

A Qing Jing girl trembled. “Sh-sh shed its skin… now?”

Liu Qingge opened his mouth to respond—

The ground lurched.

A ripple ran through the earth— too fast to be mere movement. Trees bent as if pushed by an unseen tide.

Shen Qingqiu inhaled sharply. “Scatter!”

A Shiukui, its moss-coated jaws yawning open, burst from the undergrowth— straight toward the Qing Jing boy who was too stunned to move.

He didn’t even scream.

Liu Qingge moved before thinking— a white blur cutting diagonally across the vale. Cheng Luan met the monster’s snapping jaws with a ringing clash that shook leaves free from the canopy. Sparks sprayed out where blade met scale.

The Qing Jing juniors froze.

This wasn’t “talent.”

This was battle incarnate.

Yue Qingyuan descended beside him like a streak of dark silk, qi-coated blade carving a precise arc that forced the Shiukui back. Shen Qingqiu, almost at the same heartbeat, yanked the frozen junior behind him with a hooked sleeve and sent a talisman spinning. It detonated mid-air— white light cracking across the trees.

A perfect triad:

Liu Qingge overwhelming, Yue Qingyuan elegant, Shen Qingqiu frighteningly surgical.

But the juniors barely caught their breath when—

Another Shiukui erupted from the riverbed.

Wait—

Two.

Moving in tandem.

Circling.

A coordinated hunt.

The Qiong Ding seniors shouted for formation, but they were already split apart by the beasts’ pincer tactic— one aiming for the outer ring of cultivators, the other barreling for the cluster around Shen Qingqiu.

“Left!” Shen snapped.

“Already there,” Liu Qingge growled back.

They moved without planning, without trust, without liking one another— yet the moment demanded instinct far greater than any head disciple rivalry.

The second Shiukui lunged at Shen Qingqiu. Liu Qingge launched himself off a stone, flipping over the beast’s head mid-air. He landed on its back, plunging Cheng Luan deep into the ridge of its spine. The beast bucked, trying to fling him, but Shen Qingqiu was already there— a jade sleeve whipping forward, planting a talisman directly against the exposed flesh where Liu Qingge had cut.

The talisman ignited.

The Shiukui shrieked as half its body convulsed, qi rebounding through its joints.

Liu Qingge rode the recoil, tore his blade out, and vaulted clear just in time for Shen Qingqiu to finish the beast with a thrust of his fan that detonated the weakened talisman.

A shockwave of light blew the Shiukui apart.

Not a breath passed before the first Shiukui, wounded from earlier, tried to seize advantage— lunging for Liu Qingge’s unguarded back.

“Look out!” a Qiong Ding junior cried out.

But Shen Qingqiu was faster.

His fan whipped out like a blade, hooking into Liu Qingge’s collar and dragging him back with far more force than his delicate appearance suggested. The Shiukui’s jaws snapped where Liu had been standing a blink ago.

Liu Qingge twisted mid-drag, landed on his feet, and charged forward with a snarl— Cheng Luan splitting scale and bone in a brutal downward arc. The beast convulsed in its death throes.

Silence fell.

Shen Qingqiu lowered his fan, sleeves settling.

Around them, all the juniors stared— wide-eyed, speechless.

Not only at Shen Qingqiu.

Not solely at Yue Qingyuan.

At Liu Qingge, Bai Zhan’s young prodigy in white, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the Qing Jing tactician he argued with every waking day.

For one breathless moment—

They had fought as though they were forged from the same steel.

The night hunt was over, beast blood steaming on the ground.

The Shiukui carcasses lay collapsed in the trampled mud— massive, bloated beasts with bone ridges jutting from their spines like sickle-shaped fins. Their corrupted demonic qi leaked into the wind in thick, sickly coils.

Shen Qingqiu moved to neutralise the poisonous qi with talismans. 

Liu Qingge wiped Cheng Luan clean with a rag from his infinite storage pouch. 

Around him, the juniors buzzed in a trembling knot of awe and disbelief.

“He’s our age,” one Qing Jing girl whispered, voice cracking. “He’s fifteen.”

“Tch— don’t compare,” muttered a Qiong Ding boy, knuckles white around his sword hilt. “Did you see how he moved? That wasn’t human.”

“I blinked once and the Shiukui was already split in half— was that even a sword technique?”

“It wasn’t a technique,” someone whispered reverently. “That was just… Liu Qingge being Liu Qingge.”

All the juniors subtly leaned away from him as if he were the beast, not the thing he had just eviscerated.

Liu Qingge ignored them. Their opinions didn’t matter.

What did matter was that one of the Qing Jing juniors— the one the Shiukui had nearly swallowed— was still shaking too hard to stand.

Shen Qingqiu was now kneeling beside her, checking for injuries wearing an annoyed face.

Liu Qingge sheathed Cheng Luan, intending to walk away—

“Liu-shidi.”

That hated, elegant voice snapped out like a whip.

Liu Qingge stopped.

Shen Qingqiu straightened, eyes burning into him. “You were in Cian Cao yesterday.”

“So?” Liu Qingge muttered.

“So,” Shen Qingqiu stalked right up to him—too close, too intrusive—“you can’t possibly be fine.”

Like a striking cobra, he seized Liu Qingge’s wrist.

Liu Qingge jerked, but Shen’s grip tightened, fingers locking around the pulse point with surgical exactness.

“Let go.”

“No.” Shen Qingqiu glared up at him, green eyes sharp enough to cut. “Your meridians feel wrong.”

He pressed his thumb more firmly into the underside of Liu Qingge’s wrist, sending a pulse of probing qi down his arm.

Liu Qingge hissed— part pain, part irritation. “Don’t—”

Shen Qingqiu ignored him entirely, brows drawing together. “Reckless brute,” he muttered, half to himself. “You should have refused to join the hunt.”

Liu Qingge bared his teeth. “I am not weak.”

“You are injured,” Shen Qingqiu corrected stiffly, already channeling a thin but potent stream of qi into Liu Qingge’s stagnant meridians.

It was sharp, decisive, and annoyingly effective.

Liu Qingge fought the urge to shiver.

“Stop fussing,” he snapped.

“Stop courting death,” Shen Qingqiu snapped back.

Not far off, Yue Qingyuan approached in quiet footfalls, his dark Qiong Ding robes rustling like passing night wind.

He paused when he saw them— Shen Qingqiu gripping Liu Qingge’s wrist in a healer’s hold, the two glaring at each other as if arguing was their native language.

Yue Qingyuan’s expression shifted— first surprise, then something else, more complicated. Concern, perhaps. Confusion. A touch of guilt.

“Since when…” he murmured under his breath, “…do the two of you get along?”

Neither rival heard him.

Shen Qingqiu was too busy scolding Liu Qingge through clenched teeth.

Liu Qingge was too busy pretending the cleansing qi didn’t make his knees weak.

And Yue Qingyuan simply watched them— eyes unreadable, memory-stirring, as if seeing an echo of something he’d lost long ago.

“Return Flight – Mid-air”

Liu Qingge knew the moment his qi wavered.

A thin tremor ran along Cheng Luan’s blade, responding to the uneven spiritual flow. His limbs were still strong— of course they were— but the exhaustion creeping into his bones was a different kind of fatigue: the kind that came from cold demon qi still lodged like ice slivers in his meridians.

He tightened his core, re-centred his qi, forced his flight level. No one needed to know.

They were halfway back to Cang Qiong, the moon bright above and gleaming on the streaming formation of swords cutting through the sky. Qing Jing green ahead, Qiong Ding black and grey in the middle, and Liu Qingge at the rear, taking the guard position by habit.

He preferred it. He always preferred being closest to danger.

But his qi dipped again— subtle, but noticeable enough that he felt Cheng Luan slightly drag downward before he corrected it.

Someone had been watching.

A streak of pale jade light slowed beside him. One of Shen Qingqiu’s juniors— the only boy among the three— glanced sideways, eyes widening.

“You’re wobbling.”

Liu Qingge gritted his teeth. “Mind your flight. I am fine.”

The boy blinked, then gave a small, earnest laugh that cut through the wind like bells.

“Come on— want to hop on for a bit?”

Liu Qingge felt his temper flare at the audacity, the sheer gall of the junior to offer him— him— a ride. A Bai Zhan disciple would rather fall out of the sky than look weak.

“No,” Liu Qingge said flatly. “I said I’m fine.”

But the boy angled his sword closer, keeping easy pace with him. “You saved us back there. Both times. Let me repay at least one breath of that.”

“Unnecessary.”

“We’re the same age, you know.” The boy smiled, bright in the moonlight. “Really. Same age. So if everyone else sees you as some untouchable war spirit, I don’t. You look cold and exhausted and like you’ll fall asleep standing. Let me help.”

Liu Qingge nearly snapped at him again— but the truth gnawed:

He was tired.

His vision had blurred once or twice.

The demon qi still pulled at him like a swallowing tide.

And they still had a long flight back.

He weighed the offer for a short breath. The boy didn’t look deceitful. Didn’t look like Shen Qingqiu’s brand of sly. Didn’t look like Bai Zhan’s brand of cruel.

Just… sincere.

“I will trouble you,” Liu Qingge said, voice low, grudging.

The boy beamed as if Liu Qingge had just agreed to borrow a book instead of accepting life-saving mid-air escort.

“No trouble at all!” he chirped.

The boy slowed further, letting Liu Qingge’s sword drift close. Liu Qingge stepped lightly off Cheng Luan, landing on the junior’s long sword behind him. The boy adjusted his stance to balance the added weight— cleanly, competently. Not bad, Liu Qingge thought. At least the kid wouldn’t drop him.

The moment they resumed speed, the wind whipped the boy’s ponytail backward— directly into Liu Qingge’s face.

Liu Qingge reflexively caught the ponytail in one hand, gathering it to prevent the hair from lashing his eyes again.

“Sorry!” the boy laughed breathlessly. “I didn’t think about that.”

Liu Qingge exhaled through his nose, long and suffering. “Just fly.”

“Right, right.”

The formation ahead didn’t seem to notice— thank heavens— and Liu Qingge allowed himself, for the first time that night, to lean a fraction of his weight forward, letting the younger cultivator’s sword carry him for a few breaths.

The cold in his meridians no longer dragged like an anchor.

The sky felt a little steadier.

His hands stopped shaking.

But he held onto that ponytail like a lifeline anyway, pretending it was just practicality.

The boy glanced back once, grinning. “See? Not so bad.”

Liu Qingge rolled his eyes. “Keep flying.”

And for a brief moment— the wind in his hair, the moon on snow-white robes, the warmth of another person’s qi steady beneath his feet— Liu Qingge did not feel hunted, frozen, or alone.

Just… moving.

The flight smoothed out. The boy’s sword was steady and swift, gliding above cloud edges. Warmth radiated from the junior’s back, and the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing created a strange lull.

The world dimmed at the edges.

Liu Qingge… relaxed.

Just a moment. Only a breath.

His forehead tipped forward.

At some point—

he slept.

His eyes opened to the sound of a startled gasp.

A flock of flighty birds scattered. 

“H-hey, keep it steady, Jing Liu!” A Qiong Ding boy flew alongside— broad-shouldered, messy hair tied at the crown.

“I am keeping it steady, Gong Wen! Don’t bark at me, I know what I’m doing!”

Jing Liu’s arm was hooked backwards, bracing across Liu Qingge’s waist to hold him upright.

Liu Qingge froze in horror.

His face was—

pressed against the Qing Jin boy, Jing Liu’s back.

He jerked upright immediately.

The sword wobbled violently; the boy barely corrected the course in time.

Gong Wen clicked his tongue. “Whoa. You alright there, Liu?”

Liu Qingge was mortified.

He gripped Jing Liu’s shoulders with both hands, forcing distance. The boy’s ponytail slapped his cheek again—

Enough.

Liu Qingge unsheathed Cheng Luan mid-air.

He stepped onto it in one smooth motion, letting the blade hover beside them. His expression was calm, but his ears burned.

Neither boy laughed.

Neither teased.

Neither smirked.

Jing Liu only said, “We’ll be landing soon.”

Gong Wen nodded. “Stay close until the platform.”

The simplicity bewildered Liu Qingge.

No malice.

No mockery.

No simmering competition.

No envy.

Just… normalcy.

Liu Qingge steadied himself on Cheng Luan, looking away so no one would see the strange twist in his chest.

He hitched a ride on another’s sword and fell asleep. 

Did Shen Qingqiu or Yue Qingyuan see?

If they had… then he would die of shame.

But the juniors didn’t jeer.

Didn’t stare.

Didn’t whisper behind hands.

They treated the incident like it was nothing.

And Liu Qingge suddenly felt something foreign and sharp in his chest.

Envy.

So this is how other disciples treat each other…?

What an absurd world.

He kept his face carved from stone as they descended on Qiong Ding.

“Post-Hunt, Qiong Ding Courtyard”

Yue Qingyuan’s voice carried like warm wind over steel.

“Tonight’s outcome was excellent. No losses, no serious injuries. Qiong Ding Peak thanks each of you for your cooperation. Rest well— tomorrow we file the report.”

The juniors bowed, exhausted but glowing with the high of survival.

Liu Qingge stood stiffly at the back of the gathering, white robe dirty in places, still smelling faintly of Shuikui bile. He kept his expression blank, saying nothing, even though his pulse still throbbed unsteadily from the earlier fatigue.

As soon as Yue Qingyuan dismissed them, a hand tugged lightly at his sleeve.

“Liu,” whispered a soft voice.

Liu Qingge turned to see the Qing Jing boy— Jing Liu— hovering beside him, cheeks still pink from exertion. Beside him was the Qiong Ding junior, Gong Wen, tall and broad-shouldered, arms crossed.

Both boys bowed a little too deeply for comfort.

“Thank you for tonight,” Jing Liu said, earnest in a way that Liu Qingge was not used to. “Truly. If you didn’t intercept that first strike… I might’ve been the goat the Shuikui wanted.”

Gong Wen nodded emphatically. “We owe you. And… for joining on such short notice. We heard that you were in Cian Cao yesterday— but you agreed to come with us anyway.”

Liu Qingge felt oddly warm— and then immediately strangled the feeling.

“Your shixiongs would’ve saved you regardless,” Liu Qingge muttered. “Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu are more than capable. You’d have lived.”

“Still,” Gong Wen said, scratching the back of his neck, “you were… great. Really great. When you jumped in front of Jing Liu— when you cut that thing up like a paper kite— by the heavens…”

He trailed off, looking sheepishly impressed.

Jing Liu stepped a little closer. “It’s late and we’re dead tired but— honestly? I wish we could go somewhere and talk more.”

He brightened. “It’s rare to meet someone our age who’s…”

He faltered, gesturing vaguely. “Like you.”

“Or even like us,” Gong Wen added with a half-laugh. “Qing Jing is mostly girls. I sometimes forget Jing Liu isn’t one.”

“Gong Wen!” Jing Liu spluttered.

Liu Qingge grimaced. His shoulders crept up defensively. This warmth— this easy camaraderie— unsettled him far more than the Shuikui’s teeth.

Gong Wen’s laugh accidentally spilled too loud, echoing across the courtyard—

—and immediately died when Shen Qingqiu whipped around, eyes narrowed, fan snapping open like a threat.

Both boys straightened in terror.

Liu Qingge only sighed.

Trash always talks trash. But these two… didn’t.

He didn’t know what to do with that.

And he didn’t know why that made something in his chest hurt.

Shen Qingqiu did not even wait for Yue Qingyuan to finish speaking. The moment the participants dispersed into loose groups— some still high on adrenaline, some too exhausted to stand straight— Shen Qingqiu strode straight for Liu Qingge like a storm with a fan.

“Liu-brute, stop mingling with children!” he snapped sharply as he caught Liu Qingge by the sleeve.

Jing Liu, still bright-eyed despite the ordeal, blinked at them.

“But Shen-shixiong, Liu Qingge is the same age as us. Children should play together.”

Shen Qingqiu did not miss a single beat.

“Children playing cultivators do not belong in a sect,” he said with exquisite disdain, already dragging Liu Qingge backwards by the wrist.

“Forgive us, Liu…” Jing Liu groaned dramatically, slumping forward like a dying maiden. “We can’t save you. Shen-shixiong is too formidable. We’ll pray for you.”

“Jing Liu, lavatory duty tomorrow,” Shen Qingqiu fired over his shoulder.

Gasping, Jing Liu collapsed fully this time. Gong Wen, eyes wide, dropped to one knee and fanned him with both hands as if resuscitating a corpse.

“…dramatic idiots,” Liu Qingge muttered, but there was a puzzled hitch in his voice. A part of him— small, startled, and quickly buried.

When Shen Qingqiu’s grip finally loosened, Liu Qingge straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve.

“That was unnecessary,” he said flatly.

Shen Qingqiu sniffed. “It’s fine. Jing Liu knows I am only joking.”

Liu Qingge stared at him, incredulous.

“You can joke?”

“Of course,” Shen Qingqiu snapped, chin lifting with offended dignity. “Not with you, obviously.”

He marched ahead, fan flicking irritably as he led Liu Qingge off Qiong Ding grounds. Yue Qingyuan called after them— once, twice— but Shen Qingqiu did not so much as glance back.

Liu Qingge did.

“Shen, shixiong is calling.”

“Let him be.” Shen Qingqiu’s tone dropped into rare, cutting coldness. “After the stunt he pulled tonight, we are not talking to him for at least a week.”

“…We?” Liu Qingge echoed.

Shen Qingqiu shot him a sideways look, unreadable.

“He knows you are unwell, brute. Cian Cao’s latest fugitive who refused bed rest. You joining the hunt was risky— idiot battle maniac. Be more careful before jumping headfirst into adventures next time— you are not made of steel.”

That last line struck Liu Qingge far stranger than the scolding itself.

There was sharpness, yes. Condescension, naturally.

But beneath it— buried deep— something close to…

concern.

Liu Qingge bristled. “I was fine.”

“You fell asleep upright on another disciple’s sword.”

Liu Qingge choked. “That—”

“It’s embarrassing,” Shen Qingqiu added mercilessly. “And dangerous. And embarrassing.”

Liu Qingge looked away, mortified.

“And,” Shen Qingqiu continued, voice softening by a fraction, “you fought well.”

Liu Qingge nearly stumbled.

Shen Qingqiu immediately covered the slip with a derisive snort.

“Obviously not as well as me, but serviceable.”

Liu Qingge clenched his jaw, unsure why that warmed and irritated him in equal measure.

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

At least, until they reached the bend leading towards the Rainbow Bridge— where the wards of Qing Jing and the chaos of Bai Zhan parted like oil and water.

There, Shen Qingqiu paused, fan half-open.

“Don’t forget. After sundown. Library.”

Liu Qingge grunted.

“And…” Shen Qingqiu hesitated for a fraction of a breath— barely perceptible. “Don’t push yourself today.”

Liu Qingge had no idea how to respond.

So he didn’t.

He simply turned toward Bai Zhan Peak.

And— unseen by anyone— Shen Qingqiu watched until he disappeared behind the torch-lit path.

Liu Qingge landed at the Bai Zhan gate with the last of the night wind still clinging to his hair, cheeks faintly flushed from the long flight and sore limbs. He remembered the moment Shen Qingqiu finally released his sleeve, and that instant he turned away with a dramatic swish of pale jade-green robes, Liu Qingge exhaled— quiet, controlled, but undeniably exhausted.

He crossed the silent courtyard alone.

The Bai Zhan night patrol watched him in awe, in resentment, in confusion— he couldn’t tell anymore. Tonight had been… too much. The hunt. The slivers of cold demonic qi still lodged in his meridians. Shen Qingqiu’s difficult face softening in odd moments. The two juniors treating him like a normal boy instead of a feral rival to crush.

And then that humiliating nap on Jing Liu’s sword.

Liu Qingge pushed all of that aside and entered his quarters.

He shut the door.

Then froze.

Something was wrong.

The air was colder. Sharper. The warding talismans Shen Qingqiu stuck on his walls buzzed faintly, like insects struggling under a net.

His cot had been adjusted. Not rumpled— adjusted.

The desk was different too. Something was sitting upon it.

A small jar. Plain black stone glazed in an icy sheen, frost crawling over the lid like delicate vines.

Liu Qingge’s heartbeat dropped.

He approached slowly, picked it up. The jar was frozen solid— unnaturally so. As cold as the demon’s touch. As cold as the tundra he nearly died in.

When he prised it open with force, a faint plume of white vapour escaped.

Inside, he recognised the scent immediately:

top-grade burn and wound salve.

Horrifically potent. Rare. Expensive.

A gift.

A claim.

A reminder.

Liu Qingge’s fist curled slowly around the cold jar.

“Bastard,” he muttered, jaw tight.

The demon had entered his room again— deliberately— and left this behind without showing himself. Mocking the talismans. Mocking Liu Qingge’s attempt at reclaiming control. Mocking the distance Liu Qingge tried to build.

He set the jar down too hard. Frost cracked across the wood.

Liu Qingge stared at it a long moment, pulse unsteady for reasons he refused to name.

“…I didn’t ask for this,” he said into the empty air.

The shadows in the corner shifted— only slightly. A temperature drop. A presence. A promise.

But the demon did not step out.

It left the jar as the only message.

Liu Qingge scowled and turned away. He stripped his dirt-stained outer robe, tied his hair back harshly, and muttered under his breath:

“If you think I’ll use that, you’re mad.”

The frost on the jar creaked— responding. As if laughing.

Liu Qingge slammed himself onto his bed, face burning with something that was decidedly not fear.

Dawn was approaching. 

It was going to be a long day.

And the demon wasn’t done with him.

“Qing Jing Library — Day 2 Cleansing”

The atmosphere in the Qing Jing library was just as Liu Qingge remembered: cool, quiet, and filled with that peculiar mix of incense, old scroll dust, and Shen-snake’s sheer oppressive presence.

Today, however, Shen Qingqiu barely looked up when Liu Qingge arrived. His desk— tucked into a side alcove— was drowning in scrolls, ancient and brittle with age. Some had seals older than the Cang Qiong sect itself. Shen Qingqiu’s brush scratched rapidly over one of them, his brow creased in concentration, as if trying to decipher something esoteric.

Liu Qingge didn’t ask. He simply sat on the cushion he’d used before, folded his legs beneath him, and waited.

Shen kept him waiting for exactly seven breaths— just long enough to be irritating— before rising, brushing off his sleeves, and kneeling behind him.

The cleansing was smoother than yesterday.

Liu Qingge hated to admit it, but Shen Qingqiu’s qi was precise, sharp, cutting clean lines through the lodged demon-qi without causing any jarring backlash. It felt… efficient. Cool but steady. None of Mu Qingfang’s gentle handholding, and none of the painful scraping of the Cian Cao apprentices.

Liu Qingge exhaled. He had to tolerate this for only a handful more days.

When Shen Qingqiu was done, he rung a small brass bell.

There were hurried footsteps.

Then—

“You summoned, Shixiong?—”

Jing Liu burst through the library doorway. He looked mildly winded from running across the yard, ponytail slightly askew.

His eyes landed on Liu Qingge.

They sparkled.

“Liu!”

The boy’s entire face lit up— pure, sincere, unrestrained joy.

As if they had known each other for years.

Liu Qingge almost jerked back in reflex. What sort of greeting was that?

Before he could respond, Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Jing Liu,” Shen said in a voice that promised violence, “have you forgotten every single manner drilled into you since the day you crawled into this peak?”

Jing Liu blinked. “Uh—Shixiong?”

“Liu Qingge is the head disciple of Bai Zhan,” Shen snapped. “Not your village childhood playmate you used to climb trees with. Address him properly, ruffian.”

Jing Liu flinched, bowed, and said meekly,

“Apologies, Liu-shixiong.”

Even Liu Qingge didn’t buy the repentance— it was too quick, too easy.

Shen Qingqiu clearly didn’t buy it either. His green eyes narrowed, suspicion etched all over his face.

Then— shockingly— Shen turned to Liu Qingge and said, with his arms crossed:

“Since someone has been simpering all day about wanting to ‘get to know the great Liu Qingge better’—”

Jing Liu froze in horror.

“—and since you often fail to use your brain to find your way back to Bai Zhan without stumbling into trouble— Jing Liu will escort you.”

“Ah?” Jing Liu squeaked.

“Feel free to terrorise him on the way,” Shen Qingqiu added, waving a hand. “Your personalities match. Jing Liu. Liu-brute. A recipe for chaos if I’ve ever seen one.”

Jing Liu brightened immediately.

“Understood, Shixiong!”

He trotted over and beamed at Liu Qingge.

“Shixiong— shall we?”

Liu Qingge was caught off-guard enough to stand awkwardly.

Shen Qingqiu clicked his tongue.

“Tch. Children.”

The insult held no venom.

Liu Qingge noticed.

And he didn’t know what to think of it.

The sky had just begun to dim into the muted lavender of evening when Liu Qingge followed Jing Liu out of the Qing Jing library. The jade-green pavilions were quiet at this hour; only the whisper of bamboo stalks brushing together punctuated the stillness.

Jing Liu walked ahead with an easy bounce in his step, ponytail swaying, utterly unbothered by Shen Qingqiu’s insults or the prospect of escorting the notoriously thorny Bai Zhan head disciple.

“Come on, Liu—”

He corrected himself hastily after a glance over his shoulder.

“Liu-shixiong.”

Liu Qingge grunted. Acknowledgement enough.

They crossed the bridge toward Bai Zhan’s territory. The stone beneath their feet grew rougher, the wind sharper, carrying the faint scent of iron and pine resin.

Jing Liu chattered lightly, not truly expecting answers:

“Shixiong, it must be nice having a sword as famous as Cheng Luan… My sword’s still temperamental. Shen-shixiong says it reflects my nature. Whatever that means.”

Liu Qingge offered no reply, but— strangely— he did not mind the noise. The boy’s brightness reminded him of the warmth of human company he rarely tasted.

Halfway across the ridge path, the atmosphere changed.

A chill rolled across the stones— thin at first, like a dying breeze, then suddenly dense, heavy, a suffocating frost that did not belong in midsummer.

Liu Qingge’s steps halted. His instincts roared.

Not near—

But watching.

From somewhere unfathomably close.

Jing Liu turned back, oblivious.

“Shixiong? Something wrong?”

Liu Qingge’s fingers curled reflexively around Cheng Luan’s hilt.

The cold thickened, settling over his skin like a predator’s breath.

He forced himself to look outward, past the ridge, toward the line where Bai Zhan Peak rose like a jagged spine. He did not see anything— of course he didn’t. The demon prince was too powerful, too cunning to reveal himself for a simple escort home.

But he felt him.

Like a spear tip grazing the back of his neck.

Like blue eyes tracing the boy beside him— calculating, displeased.

Jing Liu was in danger.

That realisation punched through him with brutal clarity.

The demon prince had tolerated Shang-rat; had tolerated Shen Qingqiu’s interference; had tolerated even Liu Qingge’s disobedience—

But another cultivator beside Liu Qingge?

One young, male, lively, friendly—

Close.

Too close.

The frost in the air shuddered like a warning growl.

Liu Qingge stepped sharply in front of Jing Liu, blocking him from the unseen gaze, his white sleeves fluttering with the motion.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered lowly.

Jing Liu blinked. “Shixiong?”

“Just do it.”

His tone allowed no argument.

Yet the boy did not look frightened— merely confused, concerned perhaps, but trusting enough to obey. He shifted behind Liu Qingge, peeking around his shoulder like a curious fox.

“Is there danger?”

Liu Qingge’s jaw clenched.

He couldn’t answer.

Couldn’t admit that a terrifying demon sovereign was stalking him— and that merely standing next to him placed Jing Liu in mortal peril.

He scanned the treeline again.

Nothing.

Nothing.

And then—

A thin silver scratch formed in the air, far above, like the surface of reality being scored by an invisible nail.

It sealed shut instantly.

A silent threat.

Liu Qingge’s blood ran cold.

Jing Liu didn’t see it— thank the heavens— but he shivered anyway, rubbing his arms.

“Strange… It suddenly feels chilly.”

Liu Qingge forced his legs to move, shepherding the boy onward with rigid strides.

“We’re leaving.”

“Ah— yes!” Jing Liu hurried after him, oblivious to the murderous gaze shadowing their backs.

As they neared Bai Zhan’s gate, the frost dissolved.

The pressure lifted.

The demon prince receded…

But not in defeat.

Liu Qingge knew a warning when he felt one.

The demon did not like Jing Liu.

The demon did not like anyone near him.

And next time, the demon might not hold back.

“Bai Zhan Peak, Liu Qingge’s Room”

The demon stood right in the middle of the cramped, bare space— his towering frame almost brushing the hanging lantern.

The air was cold enough to sting Liu Qingge’s freshly-cleansed meridians, but he didn’t flinch. He entered with a cold exhale, tossing his outer robe onto the rickety chair.

“I wouldn’t have to go to Qing Jing for meridian cleansing,” Liu Qingge said, voice flat, “if you hadn’t damaged my pathways with your damned qi.”

The demon’s thick lashes lowered. He didn’t reply.

He simply looked.

Liu Qingge took a deliberate step closer— close enough to see the slight greyness draining the demon’s face, the faint tremor at the edges of his jaw. The talismans worked. They hurt him. Liu Qingge had installed another layer on top of Shen Qingqiu’s formation. 

Good.

“You don’t have to come here if it pains you,” Liu Qingge mocked, his tone almost gentle in its cruelty. “I’m sure tormenting me can wait.”

The demon’s breath left him in a thin plume of frost. Not quite anger. Not quite humour. Something in-between.

Liu Qingge kept approaching until they were an arm’s breadth apart.

The demon didn’t move.

But his breath stuttered— a hitch, subtle, but there.

The talismans were burning him from the inside.

“Leave,” Liu Qingge said simply.

A flicker crossed the demon’s blue eyes. Something unreadable, a sharpening of focus as though he was committing every shape of Liu Qingge’s face to memory. He lifted a hand slightly— then stopped mid-reach, as if the talisman barrier tugged invisible chains around his bones.

“You asked for this,” Liu Qingge added, tone steady. “You followed me first.”

The demon tilted his head, shadows curving around his hair like something alive.

“This prince…” His voice was low, strained, but even. “Does not retreat.”

“You will now.”

A long breath.

Then, very slowly, the demon lowered his hand. The cold receded— not fully, but enough for Liu Qingge to feel the room breathe again.

The demon stepped back once. The talismans crackled faintly in protest.

Another step.

He was still holding Liu Qingge’s gaze when he said, quietly:

“If you die tonight,” he murmured, “it will not be by another’s hand.”

That was the closest thing to goodbye Liu Qingge would ever get from him.

The shadow-rift opened at the demon’s heels— dark, quiet, folding into itself.

Before he stepped in, the demon paused, gaze flicking once to Liu Qingge’s throat, then his hands, then his eyes.

No threat.

No demand.

Just a silent acknowledgment.

And then—

He vanished.

Only the faint frost left on the floor remained as proof he had been there at all.

Liu Qingge exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. He didn’t know what that was— only that it wasn’t a fight, and it wasn’t quite peace either.

Just—

Something strange.

Something suspended.

Something he didn’t have the energy to understand tonight.

He shut the door with a soft thud and leaned against it, breath unsteady, wondering— not for the first time—

What in the hells have I gotten myself entangled with?

“Day 3 — Qing Jing Library”

The library felt different today.

Not colder, not warmer— just sharpened. As if every whispering bamboo in the garden outside had gone silent to watch.

Liu Qingge stepped inside, nodding stiffly at the juniors who scrambled to bow and clear out of the aisle. He didn’t spare them a glance; he only headed for the alcove where Shen Qingqiu always sat during the cleansing sessions.

Except today, Shen Qingqiu wasn’t alone.

Yue Qingyuan stood beside the desk— calm, composed, slate-toned robes falling in immaculate lines— yet something in his face shifted the moment he saw Liu Qingge. Not disapproval, not concern— something stranger, tighter. The air between him and Shen Qingqiu practically hummed with an undercurrent Liu Qingge had never seen between any other pair of head disciples.

Shen Qingqiu glanced up.

His green eyes flicked over Liu Qingge’s posture, the stiffness of his shoulders, the energy of his steps— his gaze catalogued everything. Too carefully. Too slowly.

“You’re late,” Shen Qingqiu said. His voice sounded bored, but the hand tightening on his fan betrayed irritation.

Liu Qingge grunted. “I had training.”

Shen Qingqiu hummed, folding the fan with a snap. “Sit.”

Liu Qingge sat across from him, extending his wrist. Shen Qingqiu’s palm cupped it with calculated delicacy— as if the meridian cleansing required this level of closeness. It didn’t. Mu Qingfang didn’t hover like this. He didn’t linger.

Shen Qingqiu’s fingers were cool, firm, precise.

Too precise.

Liu Qingge felt the qi stream in— a deep, steady warmth pressing into the frayed meridians damaged by demonic cold. Shen Qingqiu adjusted his flow with uncanny accuracy, almost… gentle.

Liu Qingge suppressed a frown.

Shen Qingqiu was… dragging this.

He could feel it. Every motion slowed by a fingerbreadth. Every pulse of qi extended. Shen Qingqiu’s grip shifted often, fingers brushing farther up his arm than necessary— as if ensuring Yue Qingyuan saw it.

Liu Qingge stared past Shen, not wanting to accidentally make eye contact.

He could practically feel Yue Qingyuan’s gaze drilling into the back of his skull.

What is this?

What is happening between these two?

Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat softly. “Relax your shoulder.”

“I’m relaxed,” Liu Qingge lied.

“You’re tense enough to snap a bowstring,” Shen snapped back, narrowing his eyes.

Yue Qingyuan’s smile, normally serene, tightened. “A-Jiu… take care not to tire yourself.”

A-Jiu?

As in Shen Jiu— Shen Qingqiu real name?

Shen Qingqiu ignored the older head disciple.

Liu Qingge suddenly wanted to leave— desperately. This atmosphere was too much. Too strange. Too suffocating. Between Shen Qingqiu’s odd gentleness and Yue Qingyuan’s silent scrutiny, he felt like a sword placed between two invisible pressure stones.

Shen Qingqiu shifted closer again, leaning in to check a qi node at his wrist. His sleeve brushed Liu Qingge’s knee— light, intentional or not, Liu Qingge couldn’t tell.

The cleansing was not usually this slow.

Shen Qingqiu was doing this on purpose.

Why?

Liu Qingge clenched his jaw.

He didn’t understand Shen Qingqiu.

He never had.

Yesterday Shen looked at him with that strange expression and said—

No.

He shoved the memory away.

He didn’t want Shen Qingqiu’s pity. He didn’t want Shen Qingqiu’s closeness. He didn’t want—

Any of this.

Shen Qingqiu’s voice cut through his spiralling thoughts. “Don’t shift. I said be still.”

Liu Qingge snapped, “Your hand is too close.”

Shen Qingqiu paused. His eyes flicked up to meet his. “Do you wish to extend the session, Liu-shidi?”

Liu Qingge stiffened. “No.”

“Then be quiet and let me work.”

The nerve of him.

Yet Shen Qingqiu’s qi pressed again—all  clean, all sharp— sweeping the demonic cold from his meridians. It felt strangely… steadying. Liu Qingge hated admitting that.

Finished at last, Shen Qingqiu withdrew his hand with a soft exhale.

But Yue Qingyuan spoke before either of them moved.

“Shidi,” he said, voice quiet but heavy, “is this truly necessary to do yourself?”

Shen Qingqiu’s spine went rigid.

Liu Qingge felt ice slightly lighter than demon frost creep up his nape.

Shen Qingqiu replied evenly, “Of course. I was the one who detected the demonic qi lodged in Liu Qingge first. It is only natural that I see to the matter thoroughly.”

Yue Qingyuan looked between the two of them. His expression stayed polite— too polite. “I see.”

Liu Qingge hated every beat of this.

He wished he could sink into the floor.

Shen Qingqiu stood abruptly, shutting the session down. “We’re finished. Return tomorrow.”

He didn’t look at Liu Qingge.

But his shoulder brushed Liu Qingge’s as he passed—a subtle, deliberate shield, as if interposing himself between Liu Qingge and Yue Qingyuan’s questioning stare.

Liu Qingge stood stiffly, bowed to Yue Qingyuan, and left the room the moment etiquette allowed.

Behind him, he heard Yue Qingyuan’s soft voice:

“A-Jiu… what are you doing?”

Shen Qingqiu replied in a tone Liu Qingge had never heard before.

“Doing what the others won’t.”

Liu Qingge didn’t let himself look back.

“The Demon’s Admission”

The room was dim, the single oil lamp sputtering as if even the flame could sense the pressure of the demonic presence inside.

The talismans Shen Qingqiu pasted, along with another layer of Liu Qingge’s still humming faintly on the walls— weak light trembling with every faint shift of cold.

The demon stood in the centre of the cramped space, unmoving, freezing the air around him so intensely that Liu Qingge could see his own breath. His posture looked relaxed, but the slight tightness in his jaw, the dullness beneath those blue eyes, and the faint sallow sheen on his skin told Liu Qingge all he needed:

The talismans were hurting him.

Still, the prince stayed.

Like an idiot.

Liu Qingge closed the door behind him with a soft thud and stalked closer, boots crunching on the thin layer of frost gathering on the floorboards.

“You’re very tempted to run my sword through me right now,” the demon said first— flat, as if he were commenting on the weather.

Liu Qingge clicked his tongue. “It would end your suffering. Having to stand here like this— enduring the wards. You look pathetic.”

A faint twitch in the demon’s brow. Almost amusement. Almost pain.

Then—

“These wards,” the demon murmured, voice low, “are nothing compared to Huan Hua’s demon encirclement formation.”

Liu Qingge stopped.

That was…

That was the first time the demon had volunteered anything personal. Anything vulnerable. The demon did not share.

He simply existed— cold, violent, overwhelming.

But now he looked…

Unwell.

Sick.

Liu Qingge stepped in closer, curiosity cutting through instinct. “Huan Hua’s encirclement formation,” he repeated slowly. “So they caught you there?”

A flicker in those icy eyes.

Shame? No—anger at himself.

“They did,” the demon said. “Then I broke out.”

A pause. A pause that felt deliberate.

“And they chased you,” Liu Qingge pressed.

Silence again.

The demon stared at the floor as if considering crushing it through sheer will.

That was new.

The demon never avoided eye contact.

Never looked uncertain.

Liu Qingge pushed harder— not out of sympathy, but because he sensed a rare opening. “It was painful, wasn’t it? Fleeing with that nerve-numbing splinter stuck in your side. A dart to the kidney. A paralytic meant to incapacitate even demons as powerful as you.”

The prince froze.

A ghost of something crossed his expression— old pain, remembered humiliation.

His jaw worked once, twice.

When he finally spoke, his voice was strangely quiet.

“That— dart.”

A breath.

“It was not meant to incapacitate.”

Liu Qingge frowned. “Then what—”

“It was meant to keep me alive,” the demon said, bitterness sharpening every syllable, “so they could take me whole.”

Liu Qingge’s breath stilled.

The demon lifted his eyes— glassy, furious, unreadable.

“And that,” he said softly, “was far more painful.”

The cold deepened, crawling up Liu Qingge’s spine—not from fear, but from the realisation:

The demon had not only been hunted.

He had been captured.

And Liu Qingge was the only reason he wasn’t still in chains.

For the first time, the space between them felt heavy with something unspoken— dangerous, fragile, volatile.

Liu Qingge swallowed, suddenly unsure where to place his hands.

The demon watched him.

Quiet.

Waiting.

Liu Qingge finally said, voice low but steady,

“…Then leave.”

The prince blinked.

“Liu Qingge,” he said, almost softly. “You ask me to go.”

“I am,” Liu Qingge replied. “Or I’ll add more layers to these wards— see how well you can withstand them.”

—something in the demon prince’s expression fissured.

Not anger.

Not pride.

Something rawer, darker—something Liu Qingge had never seen before.

And then it happened too fast to track.

One heartbeat he was standing.

The next— Liu Qingge’s back slammed into the thin mattress, the coarse blanket biting into the back of his neck. The prince’s grip was iron, one cold palm locking over Liu Qingge’s sternum, long fingers splayed as though pinning down a beast trying to buck free.

Liu Qingge’s vision jarred, but he did not fight back.

He could have.

A twist, a kick, a short burst of qi— he could’ve thrown the demon off.

But he stayed still.

Perhaps out of instinct.

Perhaps curiosity.

Perhaps because exhaustion dragged at him, somewhere deep in his damaged qi pathways.

The demon leaned down, close enough that Liu Qingge could see the faint tremor in the prince’s jaw— something brittle struggling to hold shape.

Cold breath ghosted across Liu Qingge’s cheek.

“You speak,” the demon said, voice low, roughened, “as though you understand what that night was.”

Liu Qingge met his stare head-on. “Do I strike you as stupid?”

“No,” the demon growled, “you strike this prince as insolent.”

The pressure on Liu Qingge’s chest increased.

His ribs protested, but he grit his teeth and refused to be pushed further into the bed.

The demon’s eyes— normally cutting and glacial— looked… unfocused.

Long lashes fluttered once, betraying the strain of the warding talismans. His breath hitched, barely audible, as if fighting nausea.

Liu Qingge realised:

The wards were weakening him faster than he wanted to admit.

Yet instead of fleeing, he had pinned Liu Qingge as though needing an anchor.

Liu Qingge’s voice came out quieter than he intended.

“Get off.”

Silence.

Then the demon lowered his head even further, until their foreheads almost touched.

“You know nothing,” the demon whispered, “of being hunted across realms.

Nothing of waking in your own blood, unable to stand, while blades carved circles around you.

Nothing of that moment when the body fails, and the mind—”

He stopped.

The breath he took trembled.

Liu Qingge’s pulse stuttered.

He had never seen the demon prince like this—

unsteady.

Breathing too hard.

As if the memory itself was poison in his veins.

Liu Qingge swallowed.

“So,” he said, “it was painful.”

The demon’s control snapped.

His hand shot up and gripped Liu Qingge’s jaw, thumb pressing hard against the hinge as though to silence him.

Their faces were so close the demon’s frosted lashes brushed Liu Qingge’s skin.

“Do not,” the demon hissed, “ever pretend you can comprehend my suffering.”

Liu Qingge’s heart quickened—anger, adrenaline, and something colder coiling beneath it.

He hated this closeness.

He hated the way the demon’s voice vibrated against his throat.

He hated—

how strangely human the demon’s trembling felt.

“You forced the topic,” Liu Qingge rasped, jaw aching in the prince’s grip.

“If the truth disgusts you, that’s your weakness.”

The demon froze.

His grip tightened.

And for a flicker of a moment, Liu Qingge thought—

not that he would be killed, but that the demon might do something far worse.

Something confusing.

Something irreversible.

But then—

The prince exhaled harshly, shutting his eyes.

When he spoke, his voice was low enough that Liu Qingge almost missed it.

“This prince has endured worse,” he murmured, “than a wound… or a memory.”

Liu Qingge’s brow furrowed.

The demon leaned closer, their lips a breath apart.

“You, Liu Qingge,” the demon said softly, dangerously, “are the only one I cannot endure.”

And with that cryptic verdict, the demon abruptly released him—

as though touching him had burned.

“Oh— you think I am that special?”

“What gives you the right to terrorise my life?”

Liu Qingge asked as the demon stood, swaying slightly, his expression cold again, shuttered.

“I will not answer your questions.”

“Good,” Liu Qingge said, pushing himself up on his elbows. “I don’t want your answers.”

A beat.

The demon looked down at him, face unreadable.

“…Liar,” he murmured.

And without another word, the prince vanished—

the shadow-rift swallowing him whole, leaving only a faint frostbite across Liu Qingge’s sheets.

And Liu Qingge, heart pounding far too loudly in his chest, sat alone in the sudden silence.

Unable to decide which unsettled him more—

the demon’s anger,

or the tremor he’d heard beneath it.

“Qiong Ding Peak – Afternoon”

The courtyard before Qiong Ding’s great hall had already begun to stir with activity—juniors sweeping the stone steps, a few Wan Jian envoys delivering scrolls, the cooling scent of pine drifting from the ridge where swords were forged. Liu Qingge landed lightly on Cheng Luan, sheathing the blade in one smooth motion before stepping off the sword.

He did not want to be here.

Another head disciple meeting. Another long session of pointless internal disputes, political bickering, and Shen Qingqiu’s voice sounding too close no matter where Liu Qingge sat because of their stupid cleansing arrangement.

Liu Qingge grimaced and strode forward.

“Liu!”

Gong Wen popped his head out of the hall door, half his hair tied, half undone, arms full of scroll tubes. He brightened immediately— so openly it threw Liu Qingge off-balance.

“You came early,” Gong Wen said, stepping aside so Liu Qingge could enter. “Good— can you help me for a moment?”

“…why would I?”

Gong Wen blinked, then grinned sheepishly. “Because these chairs are heavy and the others are slow.”

One such junior shuffled past, painfully slow, clutching a stack of booklets. Gong Wen groaned.

Liu Qingge sighed through his nose. “Give it here.”

He took half the scrolls without waiting for an answer. Gong Wen blinked, startled by the unexpected cooperation.

“Ah— thanks. Um. We’re arranging seating according to seniority. Except Shen-shixiong keeps switching his seat every meeting so we made his spot unassigned. And then Yue-shixiong—”

Gong Wen’s voice trailed.

Because footsteps echoed behind them.

Light. Crisp. Familiar.

Liu Qingge stiffened.

Gong Wen’s eyes widened a fraction and he politely stepped aside.

“Liu-shidi,” Yue Qingyuan greeted with a gentle smile, hands folded behind his back.

Liu Qingge bowed respectfully. “Shixiong.”

Gong Wen bowed as well, almost bumping into a chair leg.

Yue Qingyuan turned to him. “Gong Wen, good work preparing the hall.”

Gong Wen beamed under the praise. “Thank you, shixiong!”

Then—

A colder presence slid into the room.

The kind that made Liu Qingge’s scalp prickle.

Shen Qingqiu entered.

He looked immaculate as always— green robes arranged with exaggerated care, fan in hand, jade pendant chiming faintly. His expression, however, was thunderous the moment his eyes landed on—

Liu Qingge.

“Why,” Shen Qingqiu said, slow and sharp, “are you two loitering outside instead of being inside where you’re supposed to be?”

Gong Wen straightened like a startled chicken. “Shen—Shen-shixiong! I was just arranging— I asked Liu— Liu-shixiong for help.”

“Your voice is too loud. And your hair is uneven.”

Gong Wen immediately pressed his ponytail flat, mortified.

Shen Qingqiu huffed and turned to Liu Qingge with narrowed eyes. “And you. Don’t overexert yourself. You are here to attend, not to collapse.”

Yue Qingyuan coughed lightly, in a way that meant: please calm down.

Shen Qingqiu ignored it.

Liu Qingge’s jaw tightened. “I am fine.”

Shen Qingqiu shot back, “You are not—”

“Shen-shidi,” Yue Qingyuan warned gently.

Shen Qingqiu snapped his fan open. “Fine. I will reserve my comments. For later.”

Gong Wen whispered toward Liu Qingge, barely audible:

“…is this what Qing Jing life feels like? No wonder Jing Liu says his hair falls from stress…”

Liu Qingge almost snorted.

Almost.

Shen Qingqiu noticed the near-expression and bristled more.

Yue Qingyuan, ever serene, stepped between them. “Let us enter. The meeting will begin shortly.” He turned to Liu Qingge. “Sit near the front today, Liu-shidi. There may be matters that concern Bai Zhan.”

Liu Qingge nodded.

Gong Wen leaned close as they entered the hall, whispering in awe:

“You’re brave. You walk between those two dragons without being burned alive.”

Liu Qingge did not respond.

If only Gong Wen knew.

There was a third predator shadowing him every night.

And its claws were colder than snow.

Liu Qingge took the seat he was currently in because Shen Qingqiu made him— there was no other explanation. The snake had simply glided in behind him, glared at Shang Qinghua’s occupied spot until the rat squeaked and evacuated as if chased by a divine punishment bolt, leaving the seat wide open.

To Liu Qingge’s escalating horror, Shen Qingqiu sat directly beside him, even arranging his sleeves neatly as if this arrangement were perfectly normal.

It was not.

Mu Qingfang, seated on Liu Qingge’s left, offered Shen Qingqiu a serene nod. Shen Qingqiu returned it politely— far more polite than the disdain he usually reserved for everyone else.

The remaining head disciples froze mid–conversation, all nine pairs of eyes flicking between Bai Zhan’s feral prodigy and Qing Jing peak’s elegant serpent like they expected bloodshed.

The meeting began anyway.

Yue Qingyuan cleared his throat, but his gaze kept drifting toward the pair. In fact, everyone’s gaze kept drifting toward them.

Liu Qingge refused to acknowledge any of it. He sat still, arms crossed, eyes forward. Detached. Unbothered. Absolutely unbothered. He could not hear the rapid muttering behind him or the dull buzz of whispered bets forming among the heads.

Shen Qingqiu, meanwhile, behaved like this arrangement was ordained by the heavens.

He flipped open his fan and halfway through the meeting, began speaking on Bai Zhan Peak’s behalf.

Smoothly. Cleanly. With that sharp, venomous tongue of his— but this time the venom wasn’t aimed at Liu Qingge.

Whenever someone questioned Bai Zhan’s discipline, or the sect mission roster, Shen Qingqiu cut them down with frightening efficiency.

“If you want to complain about Bai Zhan, complain to the peak lord,” Shen Qingqiu said coolly. 

And then later, “Liu Qingge cannot single-handedly compensate for your peak’s lack of spine. Take up some of the risky missions yourself.”

Mu Qingfang raised a polite eyebrow.

Wei Qingwei choked on his tea.

Qi Qingqi mouthed the word ‘what’ at no one in particular.

Shang Qinghua, three seats away beside Yue Qingyuan, looked like he had swallowed a live scorpion. His eyes darted between Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu, searching desperately for some explanation— perhaps looking for hints of demonic possession.

But Shen Qingqiu continued as if representing Bai Zhan was second nature.

“Regarding the Qing Jing hall intrusion,” Shen continued, tapping his fan on the table, “we acknowledge that disciplinary measures have already been carried out. Bai Zhan’s head disciple resolved the matter thoroughly.”

Nine heads swivelled toward Liu Qingge.

Liu Qingge stared ahead, blank.

He was reconsidering his recent night-hunt experience because this was more surreal than fighting two Shuikui at once.

Yue Qingyuan’s lips parted slightly—astonishment flickering over his normally composed features.

Mu Qingfang hid a smile behind his sleeve.

Qi Qingqi’s fan snapped shut in a gasp.

Only Shen Qingqiu seemed firm in his stance, chin lifted, as though daring anyone to challenge his assessment of Bai Zhan Peak’s competence.

No one dared.

Because if Shen Qingqiu— the sect’s sharpest tongue— said Liu Qingge handled it, then it must be true.

Shang Qinghua’s hand rose, trembling.

“Shen-shixiong… is… is that truly your stance on the matter?”

Shen Qingqiu flicked him a look so venomous that Shang nearly toppled from his seat.

“Do you have any objections, Shang–Qing–Hua?”

The rat swallowed so loudly it echoed.

“N-no…”

Shen Qingqiu turned back to the assembly, composed.

Liu Qingge glanced sideways at him for the briefest moment.

Shen didn’t look back, but the corner of his mouth twitched—just barely.

The meeting concluded without incident, without barbs, without violence.

Without a single insult traded between them.

That, more than anything, unsettled everyone present.

As the disciples dispersed, Liu Qingge rose and strode out without waiting for anyone. Shen Qingqiu followed a beat later, leaving whispers in their wake.

“Are they… not murdering each other?”

“Is this the end of the world?”

“Did Shen-shixiong just defend Bai Zhan?”

“Is Liu Qingge ill again?”

“Is Shen Qingqiu ill?”

“…Are both of them ill?”

Shang Qinghua whispered to himself: “Heaven preserve me, the timeline is collapsing.”

But none of them dared to voice these questions to Liu Qingge— not when he looked like he could cut down questioning eyes with a single unsheathed glance.

Liu Qingge left Qiong Ding Hall with the stiff, silent dignity of someone who refused to acknowledge the sheer absurdity of the seating arrangement forced upon him earlier.

He stepped into the courtyard’s cooling afternoon wind—

—and instantly heard frantic shuffling.

Of course.

Shang Qinghua.

The rat popped out from behind a decorative pillar, eyes already huge with gossip-fuelled panic.

“Liu-shidi!” he squeaked, scuttling directly into Liu Qingge’s path. “Liu-shidi, Liu-shidi— WAIT— please wait—”

Liu Qingge didn’t break stride.

“Go away,” he said flatly.

But Shang Qinghua was persistent in the same suicidal way fleas were persistent— determined, irritating, and apparently convinced that talking to the Bai Zhan head disciple after nearly being kicked to death several times was somehow survivable behaviour.

The rat jogged alongside him.

“I— I just have to ask! What is happening between you and Shen Qingqiu?!”

Liu Qingge stopped walking.

Not because he wanted to talk.

But because the sheer stupidity of the question stunned him.

“…What,” Liu Qingge said.

Shang Qinghua gulped, but now that he’d opened his mouth, he couldn’t stop the flood.

“You two! You— you sat together today! SAT together! Peacefully! Shen-shixiong didn’t call you an illiterate muscle-head even once! And you didn’t call him a venomous snake! And— and then the rumours—”

Liu Qingge’s eyebrow twitched.

Very dangerously.

“What,” he repeated, “rumours?”

Shang Qinghua winced.

Then whispered like a man confessing treason:

“That you and Shen Qingqiu… are… secret lovers.”

The world went silent.

Birds overhead stopped mid-chirp.

The breeze dared not blow.

And Shang Qinghua immediately dropped to his knees with his hands above his head because he realised— too late— that he had triggered a landmine.

Liu Qingge’s face remained blank.

His qi, however, flared in a way that made a few passing juniors bolt in terror.

“…What,” he said again, but colder, deeper, a voice from the ninth hell.

Shang Qinghua babbled in panic:

“NOT MY FAULT! I DIDN’T START IT! But— b-but after the Rainbow Bridge incident— y-you know— Shen Qingqiu carrying you— shirtless— dying— frozen inside— and I couldn’t move you because mo—uh-you know-who nearly KILLED me too— and Shen-shixiong shouted at everyone— and then the two of you vanished into Bai Zhan late at night— and the patrols saw you going up Qing Jing— and Shen Qingqiu inviting you on a night hunt— you go to Qing Jing daily at night— and t-then TODAY— you two sat together— sat— TOGETHER—”

He inhaled like a drowning man.

“Liu-shidi, they’re convinced the two of you are secretly— you know— entangled!”

The crack of Liu Qingge’s boot connecting with Shang Qinghua’s ribs rang across the courtyard.

Shang Qinghua flew a full half-zhang across the tiles, rolled, groaned, and lay splayed like a crushed insect.

“OW—!!” Shang wheezed. “I KNEW IT— I KNEW YOU’D KICK ME— why do I always get kicked!? First by Mobei— I mean— HIM— then by you—”

He clasped his chest dramatically.

“Speaking of you-know-who— what did you do to make him so pissed?! He’s been— been— GLARING at me from shadows! Following me! Breathing cold down my neck! Do you know I woke up to frost on my blanket last night? Frost! It almost killed me!”

Liu Qingge’s expression twisted— full disgust and pure loathing.

“He almost killed me multiple times,” he said, voice low and lethal. “Your ‘King’—your master—your demon— the monster you sold yourself to—”

Shang Qinghua winced pre-emptively.

Liu Qingge stepped forward, looming, eyes cold enough to slice through bone.

“He dragged me into his realm,” Liu Qingge snarled. “Froze me. Poisoned my meridians. Left me for dead in a blizzard. And now he stalks me like a cursed shadow that refuses to die.”

Shang Qinghua swallowed hard.

“But— Liu-shidi— you— you’re still alive, aren’t you?”

Liu Qingge leaned down.

His killing intent spilled like a blade’s whisper.

“I survived,” he said. “Not because of him. Despite him.”

Another vicious kick sent Shang Qinghua rolling again.

“Stay away from me,” Liu Qingge said coldly. “And stay away from that monster. Or one day, you’ll find yourself without a throat to scream with.”

Shang Qinghua curled into a ball, wheezing.

But as Liu Qingge turned to leave, the rat’s terrified voice piped after him:

“Liu-shidi— w-wait—!! If YOU made him this furious— that means he’s going to kill ME next—!! At least tell me what you did—!!”

Liu Qingge didn’t look back.

“I did nothing,” he said. “He’s simply insane.”

He kept walking.

But he felt it— the demon’s faint, cold presence somewhere far above the rooftops.

Watching.

Waiting.

Fixated.

Shang Qinghua’s panicked scream echoed behind him:

“THAT MAKES IT WORSE!!”

“Broad Daylight Duel and the Demon’s Last Act”

The desolate Bai Zhan training yard lay empty at this hour— sun hanging low, heat shimmering against bare rock, the air sharp with dust and the lingering smell of cold iron. Liu Qingge had chosen this place precisely because no one ever used it unless Shifu forced them. Perfect for clearing his head.

He moved through a form, Cheng Luan slicing through nothingness, his body still sore from the cleansing earlier and from the demon’s unwelcome visits. Sweat beaded between his shoulder blades; his breathing steadied into the familiar rhythm of someone raised on the Bai Zhan creed— fight until the world stops spinning.

Then the temperature dipped.

Not gently. Not subtly.

A knife-edge drop, as if winter slammed its palm onto the scorching stones.

Liu Qingge didn’t flinch. He didn’t freeze. His grip on Cheng Luan only tightened.

“So,” Liu Qingge said without turning. His voice carried the dry rasp of someone who had been pushed far past patience. “You dare show your face in daylight now.”

A ripple in the air— shadow peeling open like torn silk— revealed him.

The demon prince stepped out of a crack in light itself, tall, cold, blue eyes glowing against the harsh sun. Frost spread beneath his boots, spider-webbing across the yard. Several passing Bai Zhan juniors shrieked at the sudden cold and fled in terror.

Liu Qingge didn’t look away from the demon.

The prince tilted his head, studying him the way one studies a weapon they forged with their own hands.

“So,” the demon murmured. “You are well enough to bare your fangs again.”

Liu Qingge lifted Cheng Luan, its blade ringing like a challenge.

“No,” he said. “I’m well enough to end this.”

A faint smile curved the demon’s mouth— dangerously amused, dangerously eager.

“End?” the demon repeated. “You think you decide that?”

“Today,” Liu Qingge said, stepping forward, blade rising into a killing arc, “I will free us of each other.”

At those words, cold pressure surged, spiralling around the prince. A blade of black ice formed in his hand— long, jagged, and immaculate, reflecting distorted shards of the world.

The demon lowered it in a stance far too relaxed for what it promised to do.

“Try,” he invited.

Liu Qingge didn’t need more.

He launched.

Their swords collided with a sound that cracked across the mountain— the clash of frost and steel, of demonic qi recoiling against human ferocity. Ice burst outward from the point of contact, scattering crystals into the sunlight.

The demon slid back half a pace, testing, measuring.

Liu Qingge attacked harder.

Every blow was a promise. Every step forward was a vow. His muscles burned; his wounds tugged; his meridians shuddered faintly under the remnants of cold poison— but he didn’t care.

Not anymore.

If he died, so be it.

If he survived, this nightmare ended.

If he killed the demon… all the better.

“You are reckless,” the demon hissed, parrying a vicious strike that nearly took off his jaw.

“You make me reckless,” Liu Qingge spat.

“Then you admit—”

Liu Qingge cut him off with another strike, their swords grinding, sparks and frost raining.

“Shut up and fight.”

For the first time, the prince’s expression cracked—not anger, not rage— but something wildly close to exhilaration.

“Very well,” he breathed. “If death is the answer you seek, Liu Qingge… I will give you a worthy one.”

Sunlight glinted off Cheng Luan.

Cold mist curled around the demon’s fingers.

And the fight began in earnest.

The world tilted around Liu Qingge, the clash of Cheng Luan and the black-ice blade still ringing in his bones. His blood steamed in the cold air. The demon’s blade had just carved a line across his ribs—Liu Qingge refused to fall, lunged again—

And something in the demon snapped.

Not rage.

Something worse.

An instinct that made the air crack around him, cold thickening like a creature unfurling.

The prince’s eyes went feral—  sharp, bright, frighteningly intent.

Liu Qingge’s breath hitched.

This was not battle-focus.

This was claiming, a predator’s decision.

The demon moved, a blur of snow-shadow—Liu Qingge barely brought Cheng Luan up in time—

“Enough,” the demon hissed, cornering him. “This prince is done indulging your tantrums—”

“Fight me properly!” Liu Qingge snarled back, refusing to retreat even as the demon’s killing aura surged.

He struck, a clean horizontal slash meant to maim.

The demon caught Cheng Luan with bare hands— and for the first time since their first meeting, Liu Qingge felt true danger. The demon leaned in, face much too close, breath fogging against Liu Qingge’s cheek.

“You will not leave me,” the demon growled, voice low— wrongly low. “You will—”

He didn’t finish.

Because the world exploded.

A volley of ice arrows shot down from the ridgeline— white-blue streaks that stabbed into the ground around them in a perfect ring. A formation ignited under Liu Qingge’s feet, brilliant and cruel, a demonic sigil that overwhelmed his senses with weight.

Immense pressure.

Liu Qingge dropped to his knees.

Unable to lift a finger.

Unable even to breathe.

The demon prince slammed down beside him, snarling.

“They finally found this prince.”

More arrows rained— like fangs driven into earth. A suffocating force crushed the air, bending both of them towards the ground. Liu Qingge’s qi stuttered, strangled under the demonic array.

Shapes materialised in the white haze— black-clad assailants, silent, deadly, the same as those from that forest night.

Huan Hua?

No— worse.

These were skilled hunters.

Liu Qingge braced his palms to rise— his arms buckled. He could barely lift his head.

Then the next volley came.

He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t move—

One arrow pierced straight through his back.

Liu Qingge choked on a spray of blood and hit the ground hard.

The world contracted into pain.

Another volley— he heard the hiss of arrows parting air—

—none hit him.

Because a heavy weight crashed over him, cold and solid. The demon prince dropped his own blade and flung himself over Liu Qingge, taking every strike meant for him. Arrows thudded into demonic flesh— into ribs, shoulders, spine.

Blood— icy blood— splattered across Liu Qingge’s cheek.

He tried to push the demon off, teeth gritted.

“Get— off— me—!”

The demon didn’t budge.

“Play dead,” the demon whispered, voice torn with pain— too close, breath brushing Liu Qingge’s ear.

“I will fight to the end!” Liu Qingge gasped, fury and pride shredding his chest open.

“You won’t stand a chance.”

Another cough— dark blood dripped onto Liu Qingge’s collar.

“You are too human.”

“Move, damn you—!”

But the demon stayed draped over him like a broken shield, arrows jutting from his body.

Footfalls approached— slow, deliberate.

Demons.

Liu Qingge reached blindly for Cheng Luan—

The demon seized his jaw— rough, desperate— and pressed his blood-smeared lips fully against Liu Qingge’s.

Liu Qingge froze.

Not really a kiss.

A seal.

A transmission.

A whisper of sheer icy force entering his mouth, flooding his throat—

“Please live,” the demon murmured into him, torn voice unravelling.

A frigid palm pressed against Liu Qingge’s back, exactly over the wound—

Cold qi surged violently into it, into Liu Qingge’s heart.

Too much.

Too sharp.

Too foreign.

He convulsed.

Blood burst from his mouth.

No!

The world tore sideways—

The sound of boots—

The demon’s weight—

The stench of iron and snow—

And then nothing.

Liu Qingge’s vision collapsed into black.

The world returned to Liu Qingge in shards— cold shards, hot shards, shards full of pain. His eyes snapped open to a blur of trembling green and dark grey fabric. Voices, young and frantic, crashed over him.

He was lying sideways on the ground, blood trickling out of his mouth. 

Or— he had been laid sideways.

“Liu! Liu— Liu, can you hear me?!”

This voice— Jing Liu?

“Gods, Gong Wen. We only wanted to eat meat buns with him. This is not the kind of surprise we wanted! This is—this— is murder!”

Jing Liu’s voice cracked. The boy was kneeling over him, palms pressing against Liu Qingge’s chest, qi trembling and uneven but pouring into him with panicked devotion.

There was another person behind his back working on the hole made by the arrow.

“Keep doing that Jing, he’s gaining a bit of colour. I stuffed the wound already,” another boy said. That one was tearing the fabric of his own robe, wrapping it around Liu Qingge’s chest tight. 

The touch hurt— Liu Qingge’s meridians spasmed violently, his inner core writhing under the stain of the demon’s qi and the fresh puncture wound in his back. The Qing Jing boy’s qi was feebly enforcing the slivers of Liu Qingge’s life force— excruciatingly painful. But he gritted his teeth. He refused to make a sound.

“Good! He’s awake— he’s awake!” Jing Liu gasped, tears welling despite the boy’s desperate attempts not to cry. “Liu… stay with me, alright? Don’t close your eyes. Don’t— don’t you dare—”

Liu Qingge blinked slowly, the world swinging sideways. His limbs were cold stone; his lungs dragged for air that didn’t reach the bottom. Blood clogged his throat— he coughed, dark red spattering the dirt.

Jing Liu choked.

“He’s vomiting more blood— gods, gods— Gong Wen, go now— go— hurry!”

“I’m going!” Gong Wen shouted, bolting toward the entrance of the training yard. “Keep him awake— I’ll fetch Mu-shixiong— anyone! Don’t let him fade!”

Jing Liu cupped Liu Qingge’s face with trembling hands.

“Look at me, Liu. Look at me. Who did this to you? Tell me—”

Liu Qingge’s fingers twitched. He forced his gaze to steady— first on Jing Liu’s tear-bright eyes, then on the sky weaving above them.

Protectiveness.

Honest fear.

Despair.

No ulterior motives.

No cruelty hiding behind courtesy.

Two disciples who owed him nothing had run to find him because they wanted to eat with him.

What— buns?

It made something inside his chest splinter.

“Hey…” His voice was barely a rasp. “Stop crying… useless. Too late—”

“I’m not! Shut up, Liu!” Jing Liu scrubbed his cheeks furiously. “You’re the one bleeding like a slaughtered boar— don’t you dare say it—!”

Liu Qingge tried to scoff but instead coughed again, blood streaking his chin.

Jing Liu cried harder.

“Stay awake,” the boy pleaded, pressing more qi into him even though his own arms were shaking from strain. “Please… please stay awake. We’ll get help. You just… don’t go quiet on me. I don’t want to lose—”

His voice cracked again, breaking into a raw sob that hit Liu Qingge like an unexpected blow.

Jing Liu grabbed his hand desperately, as if trying to anchor him to the earth.

His qi slipped and stuttered, but determination slammed through it again.

“Liu! Liu Qingge, listen to me— open your eyes! Don’t leave me alone here with your blood everywhere! Please—!”

Liu Qingge made a sound— half growl, half breath— forcing his eyelids open again. Jing Liu immediately leaned closer, relieved.

“That’s it— good, good…” he whispered. “Gong Wen’s fast. Someone will come. Just… just keep breathing, alright?”

The ground spun beneath Liu Qingge. His limbs were numb, demons’ cold crawling up his spine like a living thing. He felt light— too light— like he was slipping through his own body. A distant ringing drowned the boy’s voice. His heartbeat faltered.

He tasted frost in his mouth.

Death.

Or the memory of a cold kiss and a whispered please live.

His vision swam.

Jing Liu’s voice seemed far away now, cracking with terror:

“Liu! Stay awake— stay awa—”

Everything dimmed.

The last thing Liu Qingge registered was Jing Liu frantically leaning over him, hands glowing weakly with qi, calling his name again and again until the darkness swallowed the world whole.

Chapter Text

“One Year Later —The Town Below Cang Qiong”

The mountain air gave way to humid, end of summer heat as the three boys— Liu Qingge, Jing Liu, and Gong Wen— walked shoulder to shoulder down the busy main street. They wore plain travelling clothes; without their peak colours or spirit swords, they looked like ordinary youths out on an errand.

They were not on an errand.

They were on Jing Liu’s self-declared mission.

“Shixiong really comes here sometimes— people saw him,” Jing Liu whispered conspiratorially, leaning close so mortals passing by wouldn’t overhear. “We should confirm if it’s true. Imagine the thrill of solving a Qing Jing mystery.”

Gong Wen groaned. “This isn’t a Qing Jing mystery. This is you being nosy. And if Shen-shixiong catches us, our corpses will be found floating in the outer ponds.”

Jing Liu ignored him.

Liu Qingge walked with his usual blank, stoic expression… but his thoughts were anything but calm.

A brothel.

Shen Qingqiu.

A… brothel.

The words didn’t sit right in his head.

Liu Qingge’s understanding of such places was embarrassingly basic— almost primitive. His clan had drilled sword forms into him, not social knowledge. Brothels, in the Liu family’s limited lexicon, were:

—places where men ruined their cultivation, reputation, and marriages,

—places that corrupted the body and tainted the spirit,

—places where shameless ones sought immoral contact with pleasure workers.

He had never stepped foot in one. Never wanted to. Never thought about them. He trained. He hunted. He practised. Cultivation required discipline, and his clan valued discipline above all.

Besides, he’s too young to be thinking about—

about— about those things.

And Shen Qingqiu… that prideful man, with his meticulous robe hems, cold eyes, and endless disdain… going to such a place?

It made no sense.

Liu Qingge didn’t want to be here. Not for this, and not with the fear that something genuinely scandalous would be exposed. Shen Qingqiu had been cleansing his meridians every few days for almost a year now. Their rivalry had shifted into… something else. Not friendship, but not enmity either. Something tense, sharp-edged, reluctant.

And Liu Qingge owes him.

Shen Qingqiu is still a snake— but a tolerable one now. 

He didn’t want to be here, digging into the snake’s private life.

But Jing Liu was unstoppable when excited about a rumour, and Gong Wen— despite normally being the sensible one— had been dragged along by sheer momentum. And Liu Qingge… somehow found himself dragged along too.

“Are you sure!” Gong Wen hissed as they turned down a narrower street where lanterns hung even in daylight.

“Multiple accounts,” Jing Liu declared, chin high. “The Red Warm Pavilion is supposedly Shen-shixiong’s favourite.”

Liu Qingge nearly choked on air.

Favourite.

He wanted to go home.

They turned the final corner— and halted.

Before them stood a tall, lacquered wooden building dressed in crimson banners, gold tassels, and carved railings. Elegant, tasteful, unmistakably indulgent.

Even this early, the doors were open, spilling warm perfumed air into the street.

A painted sign read:

The Red Warm Pavilion

Jing Liu stopped dead, mouth open.

Gong Wen swallowed so loudly it could be heard over street chatter.

Liu Qingge stared up at the ornate doors, expression unreadable, internal alarm bells clanging like war drums.

Of all the places in the entire mortal realm… it had to be a brothel.

And Shen Qingqiu’s rumoured haunt, no less.

The three of them stood before the lacquered red doors of Red Warm Pavilion, facing the entrance of the Red Warm Pavilion as if about to face a fearsome beast rather than a mortal pleasure house, the carved lanterns swaying in the late afternoon breeze. Liu Qingge’s shoulders were stiff, jaw locked. He didn’t know why he let Jing Liu drag them here in the first place.

He did know one thing:

He wanted to leave. Immediately.

Jing Liu inhaled dramatically as though he were beholding an ancient relic instead of a brothel.

“This is definitely the one,” he whispered reverently. “Rumour says Shen-shixiong comes here—”

“No,” Liu Qingge snapped.

Gong Wen nodded with rare urgency. “No.”

Jing Liu turned, already bright-eyed with a terrible idea. “We should—”

He didn’t get to finish.

Liu Qingge and Gong Wen moved in perfect martial synchrony, one grabbing each of Jing Liu’s arms. Jing Liu squawked like a captured chicken.

“HEY! HEY— traitors! Unhand me!”

They hoisted him backwards just as the brothel’s upper balconies stirred with movement—silk rustling, bracelets chiming. Women leaned over the carved railings, eyes bright with mischief.

“Oh my, handsome young masters leaving so soon?”

“Look how shy they are—how adorable!”

“Come back~ We especially like nervous ones!”

Jing Liu preened despite being dragged like a sack of rice. “See, see— they think we’re handsome— let me GO—”

But the women weren’t done.

The tallest courtesan leaned far over the railing, tapping her lip thoughtfully.

“Mmm… that serious one with the brows— I choose him.”

Gong Wen went red in the ears.

Another woman giggled, fanning herself.

“I’d prefer the princely one with the mole under his eye~ He looks like a cold type. My favourite.”

Liu Qingge’s grip tightened on Jing Liu’s arm, face schooled into a mask of pure, choking mortification.

Then a third chimed in, voice syrupy:

“Honey, the delicate-looking ones are usually the real beasts beneath the sheets.”

Jing Liu perked up proudly.

“That’s clearly me—”

“SHUT UP,” Liu Qingge and Gong Wen barked together.

They dragged him faster.

But the teasing only grew louder.

“Aw, don’t leave~!”

“Youths these days are so shy!”

“Maybe the two gallant ones are jealous, hm? Possessive lovers?”

“Ah, that explains it— their delicate beauty in the middle!”

Gong Wen nearly tripped over his own feet. “Jing Liu, I swear on my sword— stop struggling or we’ll knock you out!”

Liu Qingge grunted, hauling harder. “Move.”

Jing Liu, still wriggling: “You two are so UPTIGHT! It’s just a brothel! Shen-shixiong might be in there RIGHT NOW—”

“That is precisely why we are LEAVING,” Gong Wen hissed, face scarlet to the roots of his hair.

Liu Qingge didn’t bother giving reasons. He simply dragged.

His grip never wavered.

His expression never cracked.

But inside, his mind shrieked:

If Shen-snake ever finds out I was anywhere NEAR this place— I will die. Actually die.

Behind them, the brothel women let out melodramatic sighs and exaggerated pouts.

“So shy, so cute!”

“Come back when you grow up, little masters!”

“We’ll make it worth your while!”

Gong Wen broke into a half-run.

“FASTER, LIU! We’re not coming back here EVER AGAIN!”

Liu Qingge tightened his hold, silently agreeing.

Jing Liu, being dragged helplessly down the street:

“YOU TWO ARE NO FUN!”

The three of them vanished around a corner like fugitives, trailed by the sound of laughter, flirtatious whistles, and the occasional—

“Pretty young master with the mole, you owe us a visit~!”

Liu Qingge nearly tripped.

He was never following Jing Liu’s rumour trails again.

“Tanghulu, Catcalls, and the Stoic Idiots of Cang Qiong”

Jing Liu reappeared triumphantly from the vendor’s stall with three sticks of tanghulu, the candied hawthorns glistening in the afternoon sun like lacquered jewels.

“Here.” He shoved one stick into Liu Qingge’s hand and another into Gong Wen’s. “Peace offerings for being such joyless rocks.”

Liu Qingge stared at the crimson orbs as if they were poison pellets. Gong Wen held his at arm’s length, as though it might explode.

“What,” Jing Liu deadpanned, “do I have to animate these and feed the both of you like toddlers?”

“No,” Gong Wen said firmly, drawing himself up. “I simply choose not to eat anything purchased near the red-light district. The aura of that place will taint my cultivation.”

“It was a snack stall, not a bordello,” Jing Liu snapped.

“Still,” Gong Wen muttered darkly, “that entire street radiates evil yuan.”

Jing Liu rolled his eyes so hard Liu Qingge thought they might lodge in his skull. “You two are hopeless. I swear the brothel ladies were right— handsome young masters, but so painfully stiff.”

Both Liu and Gong Wen stiffened at that.

Jing Liu smirked. “Oh come on. You were just catcalled by half the district. That’s experience. Consider yourselves blessed.”

Gong Wen made a noise of profound disgust. “No beauty is going to pluck me. For the sake of my cultivation, I fully intend to maintain my chastity until the day I ascend. No one is even allowed to kiss me. Ever. I refuse to risk foreign qi contaminating my meridians.”

Liu Qingge froze mid-step.

A flicker— unwelcome and sharp— cut through him. Ice collapsing into his veins. The demon’s cold palm at his nape. Fever and snow. Blood on lips that weren’t his. A year had passed, but that memory was stitched into his bones.

Jing Liu stopped and smacked the back of Gong Wen’s head.

“Idiot. Mind your words!”

Gong Wen’s face fell, eyes widening. “Liu—I didn’t mean— I wasn’t— I apologise. Truly.”

Liu Qingge shook his head. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. But neither was it something he intended to burden anyone with.

“The cold qi is gone,” Liu added brusquely. “Qing Jing’s cleansing did what it needed to. There is no more danger to my cultivation.”

He did not mention, of course, the other thing— the part that felt heavier than demon qi. His debt to Shen Qingqiu. The countless sessions. The discreet care. The stabilising, firm qi he had come to… rely on.

And the rumours.

Rumours of them.

Rumours that lasted months after the ambush.

Rumours that had long since died.

Now replaced by fresh gossip of Shen Qingqiu visiting a brothel.

“Speaking of rumours,” Jing Liu piped up, still chewing his tanghulu, “Liu, you really aren’t curious whether Shen-shixiong goes to the brothel?”

Liu Qingge exhaled sharply. “No.”

He meant it. If Shen Qingqiu wished to ruin his own reputation by fraternising with pleasure workers, that was Shen’s business. Liu Qingge only cared that the rumours didn’t drag the sect’s dignity through mud.

“There is no evidence,” Liu Qingge said flatly. “And rumours are often baseless.”

Gong Wen nodded vigorously. “True. If the rumour about you being Shen Qingqiu’s lover were true— which we all know is impossible— then the Heavenly Emperor is my father.”

Jing Liu snorted so loudly people turned to stare.

“We should focus on cultivation,” Liu Qingge muttered.

“Agreed,” said Gong Wen.

“Boring,” Jing Liu declared. Then he softened. “But I love the both of you anyway.”

Before Liu could step away, Jing Liu looped an arm around his shoulders and grabbed Gong Wen, pulling them both into a three-way, walking embrace.

Gong Wen groaned. “Get off— this is embarrassing.”

Liu Qingge endured in stiff silence. These two had once dragged him back from death. He would tolerate this much.

Gong Wen then muttered, “In my opinion, if Liu ever ends up having something with anyone, it’d be with you, Jing Liu. Stop being so handsy. And affectionate. With both of us.”

Jing Liu gasped dramatically. “Maybe the ladies were right. Maybe you’re jealous. Maybe you—”

Gong Wen clamped a hand over Jing Liu’s mouth.

Liu Qingge sighed long and deep.

The women of the pleasure district had been less exhausting than these two.

“Qing Jing Library — The Confrontation About the Brothel”

The cleansing session ended with the usual cold-warm thrum of foreign qi slipping out of Liu Qingge’s meridians. Shen Qingqiu withdrew his hand from Liu Qingge’s wrist with an absent flick of his sleeve, far more pensive than usual. Outside, the bamboo rustled in a wind that did not quite reach the library alcove.

Liu Qingge sat very still, grounding his breath, waiting for the usual curt dismissal.

Instead, Shen Qingqiu said—

“You and your little friends were in the red-light district yesterday.”

Liu Qingge froze.

He did not jolt— he refused to jolt— but his thoughts stalled, grinding like a blade biting stone.

How does he know?

His brain wasn’t built for riddles. But every instinct in him— battle-honed, ice-demon-brutalised— told him something unpleasant was coming.

Shen Qingqiu calmly arranged a stack of scrolls, as if discussing weather. “Jing Liu cannot lie. Gong Wen tries, bless his well-meaning heart, but caves after three words.” A sardonic smile. “Next time, if you’re going to investigate rumours about me, at least pick bolder accomplices.”

Liu Qingge inhaled, slow. Controlled. His face stayed blank.

“…You could have just asked me,” Shen Qingqiu added, letting the last talisman on the table click lightly against wood as he set it down.

Liu Qingge stared at him. This was— absurd. Nonsensical. Why would he ever ask the snake about his private vices?

He shook his head. “None of my business,” he said evenly. “But keep it discreet. Your reputation reflects on the sect.”

Shen Qingqiu sighed— long, dramatic, almost affronted. “Is this what it feels like for a husband whose wife reassures him he may visit a whorehouse so long as the neighbours do not find out?”

Liu Qingge’s jaw twitched. “I am not your wife.”

“You might as well be,” Shen Qingqiu retorted dryly. “Aren’t you my rumoured cultivation partner?”

“I am not.”

“So firm. So final.” Shen Qingqiu gave him a small, almost satisfied smile. “Good. Stay like this.”

Liu Qingge stared at him, unable to comprehend why that felt like praise rather than mockery.

He rose, intending to leave. A respectful bow—however shallow—and then—

“Wait.”

Shen Qingqiu’s voice was quiet. Not sharp. Not sly. Quiet.

Liu Qingge paused.

Shen Qingqiu stood, smoothing his robes, eyes unusually unreadable. “You arrived at the correct pavilion,” he said at last. “I do go there often.”

Liu Qingge’s stomach turned. Hot, unpleasant, heavy. Something like disappointment, though that made no sense. Something like resentment, though he owed the snake too much to indulge it.

He mastered his expression ruthlessly.

“I will make sure,” he said, voice perfectly level, “to not venture there again.”

The air in the alcove shifted— heavy, strained. Shen Qingqiu looked at him in a way Liu Qingge had never seen before, as though something inside him had just… pinched.

For a moment Liu Qingge had the wild thought— absurd, insane— that Shen Qingqiu was waiting for a different answer.

But the moment passed.

Shen Qingqiu inclined his head stiffly. “We have a mission together tomorrow.”

“Yes.” Liu Qingge bowed again, short and curt. “Shen-shixiong.”

Shen Qingqiu hummed. “See you then.”

Liu Qingge turned and left— feet steady, back straight, chest tight with something he could not name and would never admit existed.

“Mission Briefing”

Shang Qinghua unrolled the mission scroll like he was unveiling a sacred treasure. His voice immediately took on that oily, nasal cadence Liu Qingge had long since learned to tune out.

“…and so, according to the village elders, if you peer into the well during the deepest watch of the night, you’ll see—”

Liu Qingge stopped listening.

Not because he didn’t understand the words.

But because the rat was the one speaking them.

Shang Qinghua. The smarmy, traitorous An Ding head disciple. The same parasite who nearly got Liu Qingge killed, who lied without shame, who pledged fealty to a demon, who followed him everywhere like a bothersome spirit. His mere presence soured Liu Qingge’s temper; even breathing the same air as him annoyed Liu Qingge’s bones.

The scroll fluttered as Shang Qinghua waved it around dramatically, utterly unaware of how close Liu Qingge was to grabbing it and tearing it in half.

Liu Qingge shifted his stance, arms folded, eyes fixed on a distant banyan tree instead. He preferred the tree. The tree at least was quiet, dignified, and did not whinge.

A gust of wind carried Shang Qinghua’s voice back to him anyway.

“…drag victims into the well— drown them— sometimes even take on the appearance of a dead loved one—”

Liu Qingge resisted the urge to sigh.

If the victims died, how the hell does anyone know that the thing in there takes in the appearance of a dead loved one?

Says who?

Beside him, Shen Qingqiu was leaning smugly against the old banyan’s trunk, a book already out of his sleeve as if he’d been waiting for an excuse to avoid labour. His posture was elegant, pretentious, and unbearably composed. Exactly how Liu Qingge expected.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t look at Liu Qingge, but Liu Qingge could feel him smirking internally. Probably thinking Liu Qingge had no brain cells to spare for complicated briefings.

Liu Qingge’s jaw tightened.

They were supposed to be a trio for this mission.

Cang Qiong valued “kinship” between peak leaders, the scroll had said.

Kinship his arse.

Shen Qingqiu feigned civility.

Shang Qinghua feigned competence.

And Liu Qingge? He was the one stuck between them, assigned as the “vanguard muscle” as if he were some hired thug.

Absurd.

The scroll slapped again as Shang Qinghua continued animatedly, “—and if you put your head over the well, supposedly the spirit inside will smile faintly and beckon you down to be—”

Liu Qingge’s eye twitched.

Again, how’d anyone know? The dead victims talked?

Liu Qingge scoffed. 

Shang Qinghua peeked up from the scroll mid-rant, nervous eyes darting to Liu Qingge.

“…Liu-shidi… can you… can you let me finish first…?”

No, Liu Qingge wanted to say.

Instead he gave the rat a flat, murderous stare.

Shang Qinghua squeaked. Actually squeaked.

Liu Qingge could feel a headache brewing— one borne not from the mission, but from the simple fact that these two were supposed to be his comrades for the next few days.

He may get along better with Shen Qingqiu nowadays but Shen Qingqiu mixed with people other than him will be— insufferable. 

He really wished he was alone. Missions were easier that way.

Cleaner.

Less noisy.

But no— this time, Shen Qingqiu was required for “strategic support,” and Shang-rat for “logistics.”

Liu Qingge clenched his fists at his sides, ignoring every word Shang Qinghua said after that.

All he needed to know was:

There was a well.

Something lived in it.

It needed destroying.

Simple.

Straightforward.

Nothing like the humans he was forced to work with.

Shang Qinghua was still talking.

A pity, really— Liu Qingge could not hear a single word anymore.

The An Ding head disciple had a talent for turning perfectly functional sentences into grey sludge. Whatever he was reading from the scroll— something about disappearances, a well, suspicious wailing at night— was instantly reduced to an irritating buzz, the kind that crawled under one’s scalp.

“…so the villagers claim that if you lean over the well at night and listen closely—”

Liu Qingge exhaled through his nose.

He disliked many things about this mission.

Firstly: Shang Qinghua was here.

Secondly: Shang Qinghua was speaking.

Thirdly: Shang Qinghua was breathing very loudly between sentences.

But most intolerable was the knowledge that he could not simply walk away. The sect had assigned the three of them together again. “Kinship between peers,” the peak lords called it. Shen Qingqiu had scoffed openly at the phrase earlier. Liu Qingge agreed with him for once.

The shade beneath the banyan tree was cool, but his patience simmered.

“—perhaps you’ll see your reflection smiling faintly up at you,” Shang Qinghua continued, gesturing wildly with the scroll as if to make the story more interesting. “And then it beckons, right, and drags cultivators inside, drowning them— cough— Shen-shixiong, Liu-shidi, let me finish—!”

Liu Qingge shifted his weight and resisted the urge to shove the rat-faced storyteller into the well himself. Drowning him might actually silence him.

Beside the tree, Shen Qingqiu leaned with theatrical grace, sliding a book from his sleeve as though this were a scenic poetry outing instead of a dangerous assignment. Typical. Fan tucked into his belt, expression bored to death, as if his mere posture radiated the ancient wisdom of a hundred sages.

Liu Qingge ignored him too— for entirely different reasons.

He focused on the mouth of the well instead. The stone was old, worn smooth by generations. Deep. Dark. Possibly haunted. Good. Something inside that could be killed— that, at least, was productive.

Shang Qinghua rambled on: “…and the victims reported hearing voices of their dead relatives, sometimes even—”

Liu Qingge lifted a hand.

“Enough.”

Shang Qinghua froze mid-sentence.

Liu Qingge pointed at the well. “Is there something in there or not?”

Shang stammered. “Well—ah— it’s complicated. The scroll suggests—”

Shen Qingqiu turned a page of his book without looking up. “Liu-shidi means you are useless. Condense your nonsense.”

Liu Qingge almost— almost— thanked him.

Shang Qinghua wilted, clutching the scroll as though it might shield him. “It’s a resentful spirit… maybe. Possibly multiple. Very dangerous. That’s why the sect sent, um… you two.”

Liu Qingge’s eye twitched. Shen Qingqiu closed his book with an elegant snap.

The breeze rustled the banyan leaves.

A moment passed.

“Then we should begin,” Liu Qingge said, stepping forward, already assessing angles, drop height, potential escape routes. Shen Qingqiu was right behind him, folding his fan with a soft click.

Shang Qinghua squeaked and scrambled after them.

Liu Qingge did not bother sparing him a glance.

He had a mission. Something to kill. Something real to focus on.

Much better than listening to the rat’s voice for another breath.

He stood at the edge of the old stone well, arms folded, Cheng Luan sheathed across his back. The mossed lip of the well was colder than expected, slick with the damp breath of deep water. He leaned forward, peering down, letting the darkness settle around his eyes.

Nothing.

Just water far below— still, unremarkable, reflecting only the fading sky.

He waited another moment. Still nothing. No eerie smile. No ghostly hand. No cursed reflection that wanted to drag him in.

Liu Qingge straightened, dusting his palms against his trousers.

“Nothing there,” he said flatly.

Shang Qinghua deflated like a punctured wineskin. “What? But the scroll said— look, look— it clearly states: ‘At night, whoever looks inside will behold a reflection beckoning upward—’”

“We are not at night.” Liu Qingge cut him off.

He was already half-planning a methodical sweep of the surrounding plains, mapping attack routes and likely dens. A resentful water-bound spirit would leave traces— cold vapour, yin qi, unnatural moisture. All of which he could find far more efficiently than listening to Shang Qinghua catastrophize.

Behind him, he heard Shen Qingqiu’s lazy drawl:

“You look then.”

Footsteps shuffled. Shen Qingqiu slid his book away and traded it for his fan, strolling over with the casual arrogance of someone who had never once been dragged into a well by a ghost.

Liu Qingge stepped back several paces without needing to be told.

Shen Qingqiu leaned over the well with all the care of someone examining a teacup.

Silence.

Then Shen Qingqiu straightened, flicked open his fan, and said dryly,

“Nothing.”

“Strange… strange…” Shang Qinghua muttered, rustling frantically through the scroll again. “It clearly— CLEARLY— said the reflection should be visible—”

The well remained inert.

No disturbance. No flicker. No reaction.

Shen Qingqiu clicked his tongue quietly. “Hn. As expected. Without a catalyst, dormant spirits frequently—”

“WHAT IF I TRY?” Shang Qinghua chirped, already moving closer.

Both Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu stiffened in the same instant—an accidental synchronisation that annoyed Liu Qingge even more.

“Wait—” Shen Qingqiu snapped.

Too late.

Shang Qinghua leaned forward, peered into the well—

And the water exploded upward in a geyser of black mist.

A woman’s wail tore from the depths, sharp enough to rattle Liu Qingge’s teeth.

The air spiked cold.

Shang Qinghua shrieked, stumbling backward straight into Liu Qingge’s chest. Liu Qingge shoved him aside with a disgusted grunt. “Get off.”

Shen Qingqiu had already flicked open his fan, eyes narrowing. “As expected. It reacts to cowardice.”

“W-w-WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!” Shang Qinghua wailed.

Liu Qingge reached for Cheng Luan, already stepping toward the well as the screeching spirit began to claw its way upward—

Ready. Finally.

Someone competent was needed now.

Liu Qingge didn’t wait for Shen Qingqiu’s theories or Shang Qinghua’s pathetic squeaking.

He stepped forward, exhaled once, and drew Cheng Luan in a single clean arc—blade singing, spiritual energy flaring bright in the dim, damp air around the well.

“Stand back,” he ordered.

Shang Qinghua squealed and practically climbed Shen Qingqiu like a tree. Shen Qingqiu pried him off with a disgusted elbow.

Liu Qingge ignored them both. He focused on the well.

The water below was deceptively calm. Too calm.

He lifted Cheng Luan above his shoulder, spiritual pressure gathering along the azure blade, and then—

He struck.

The sword plunged down into the darkness with a resonant metallic cry. The impact sent a violent tremor through the stone mouth of the well. The water below erupted, frothing and boiling like something alive was thrashing beneath the surface.

A heartbeat later—

A screech tore out of the well.

Mist exploded upward as if the well itself vomited it out. The vapour condensed as it rose, twisting and knotting into a grotesque woman’s head, features warped with centuries of rot and fury.

It lunged straight for him.

Liu Qingge pivoted, swung Cheng Luan in a brutal crescent slash, and smashed the spirit’s head apart with a single, sharp command:

“Retreat!”

The mist-head shattered into ribbons of white vapour, scattering across the courtyard like fog torn by a storm.

For one breath, everything was still.

Then the spirit fragments swirled back together—not toward him, but toward the only person too slow and too stupid to escape.

Shang Qinghua.

The rat froze, panic widening his eyes. “Wait—wait—no—NO—!”

The mist wrapped around him like grasping fingers.

“Liu-shidi! HELP ME—!”

Liu Qingge took one step forward, but the spirit had already engulfed Shang Qinghua. The rat’s knees buckled, his eyes rolled up into his skull, and he collapsed with a dramatic wheeze.

And then, with all the commitment of an actor dying on stage—

Shang Qinghua pretended to faint.

Liu Qingge stared down at the pathetic heap on the ground.

“…Useless.”

Behind him, Shen Qingqiu let out a long, suffering sigh.

“It hasn’t even touched you for two breaths,” Shen muttered, fanning the dissipating mist. “Get up, you disgrace.”

But Shang Qinghua lay limp on the dirt, tongue lolling pathetically from the corner of his mouth.

Liu Qingge sheathed Cheng Luan with a quiet, irritated snap.

This mission… was going to be insufferable.

Shen Qingqiu dusted off his sleeves, stepping closer to the well with that familiar air of condescension. “Judging from the qi disturbance, it’s a water-bound wraith. Low-level. Hardly worth our time.”

“Then why didn’t you deal with it earlier?” Liu Qingge muttered, wiping Cheng Luan clean of residual yin mist.

“It wasn’t my turn,” Shen sniffed. “Your turn produced nothing but a temper tantrum from the spirit.”

Liu Qingge scoffed. “It reacted because it sensed a threat.”

“Yes, yes, very threatening. The brute nearly got himself possessed.”

Liu Qingge stiffened. “Say that again.”

“Possession,” Shen Qingqiu said blandly, “you do remember how vulnerable you are to foreign qi, don’t you? Or shall I list examples?”

Liu Qingge’s grip whitened on Cheng Luan.

Shang Qinghua—still sprawled facedown on the ground, still very much pretending to be dead— twitched at the word “possession” but didn’t dare get up.

Shen Qingqiu ignored him completely.

They examined the rim of the well together— well, Shen examined it, Liu Qingge stood there glaring holes into his back— when the air suddenly shuddered.

A frigid gust rose from below.

The spirit shrieked and surged upward again, reforming in a mass of ghastly mist and distorted female features. Its serpentine neck snapped toward Liu Qingge, jaws wide.

Cheng Luan was already rising.

But Shen Qingqiu moved faster.

Steel met shimmering qi as the two of them clashed with the spirit at the same breath, neither having planned it, both reacting as if by instinct.

Their shoulders brushed.

Their backs collided.

In that heartbeat—Shen Qingqiu manoeuvred to Liu Qingge’s flank, subtly blocking the spirit from touching him.

Liu Qingge felt the intent behind the movement like a slap.

He’s— guarding me?

Why?

I’m not weak—

Humiliation churned hot in his stomach.

Already irritated, he swung harder, faster, more recklessly, ignoring Shen Qingqiu’s hissed, “Stop charging in like a wounded bull!”

“Don’t underestimate me!” Liu Qingge snapped, slicing the spirit in half.

“It’s a ghost, you brainless brute!” Shen Qingqiu barked, parrying a strand of resentful qi trying to curl around Liu Qingge’s ankle. “You’re flesh and blood, I’m the one whose attacks actually affect it—”

Shen Qingqiu leapt behind him, raising his fan, and with a flick—

—blue-white spiritual fire cut clean through the spirit’s form, dispersing it with a wail.

Silence crashed onto the courtyard.

The atmosphere warmed. The well’s dark surface went still.

Liu Qingge whipped around, furious.

“That attack— over my shoulder— could have taken off my head!”

Shen Qingqiu snapped open his fan like a blade. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t miss.”

“You still shouldn’t—”

“You’re welcome,” Shen Qingqiu said with utter disdain.

Before Liu Qingge could lunge at him, a pitiful groan rose from the dirt.

Shang Qinghua sat upright, clutching his head dramatically.

“You guys… don’t argue. Liu-shidi, you misunderstood. In fact, back then Shen-shixiong—”

Two voices exploded in unison:

“SHUT UP!”

Shen Qingqiu’s sleeve flicked. A blast of spiritual force cracked the well’s stone brim beside Shang Qinghua’s head. Fragments rained down.

Shang Qinghua shrieked and promptly collapsed flat again, limbs sprawled like a corpse.

“Idiot,” Shen Qingqiu said coldly, “if you want to die, at least die completely. Don’t suddenly revive halfway.”

Another strangled wheeze came from the ground—Shang Qinghua resuming his “unconscious” act.

Liu Qingge couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or kick him.

Shen Qingqiu sighed as if suffering divine punishment, knelt, and gathered the residual spirit remains into a jade retrieval vessel. Then he sealed the well with a formation so neat and elegant that Liu Qingge found himself staring despite himself.

Shen rose, flicking imaginary dust off his sleeves.

“Done. Now, brute, help me drag that rat back to the road.”

Liu Qingge grunted.

Shang Qinghua whimpered.

The day wasn’t over— but Liu Qingge’s patience certainly was.

Liu Qingge trudged on firm ground, boots scraping gravel as they approached the path where magically revived Shang Qinghua had tied a small rented horse cart. The rat practically scampered ahead, waving them forward as though he were the team leader.

“Shen-shixiong, Liu-shidi! The cart is— this way— ah, careful, the wheel is a little—”

Liu Qingge had already veered sharply away, steps heading in the opposite direction.

Shang Qinghua froze mid-gesture.

“Liu-shidi…? Where are you going?”

Liu Qingge didn’t bother hiding the disgust curling in his gut.

“I will not journey with backstabbing comrades.”

The words came out cold, clipped— a statement of fact.

He didn’t spare Shang Qinghua another glance. If he had to spend even a single li trapped in the same rickety cart as that deceitful worm— that traitor voluntary-slave-of-demonwho dragged him into the orbit of that demon— he might just break something. Preferably Shang’s spine.

But before Liu Qingge could get another step away—

“…backstabbing… comrades,” Shen Qingqiu repeated.

Shen Qingqiu’s voice was quiet. Too quiet.

When Liu Qingge turned, Shen Qingqiu already had his fan raised, expression sliding into a brittle sneer.

“Oh, wonderful,” Shen Qingqiu said, tone so acid it could melt through steel. “Perfect. Truly. I also don’t want to travel with an ungrateful someone— all strength and absolutely no brains whatsoever.”

Liu Qingge blinked.

What?

Shen Qingqiu snapped his fan shut with a crack.

“Let’s go, Shang-shidi.”

Shang Qinghua, already halfway climbing into the cart, made a tiny choking sound.

Liu Qingge stared.

He had meant Shang. The rat. The useless parasite of a man who had dragged him into that year-long nightmare with the demon. He had not meant Shen Qingqiu. Not this time.

But Shen Qingqiu— in his typical self-sabotaging, brittle pride— had taken the insult straight to the heart.

Liu Qingge saw it.

He saw it.

Behind the sneer, behind the cultivated disdain, behind the fan held just a fraction too tightly—

A thinness to Shen Qingqiu’s expression.

A tightness at the edges of the eyes.

A quick, deliberately-hidden look away.

A hurt that Shen Qingqiu probably didn’t even realise had escaped his face.

…shit.

Liu Qingge felt the twist in his chest like an off-centre jab.

He hadn’t meant that.

He owed Shen Qingqiu explanation.

He owed Shen Qingqiu thanks.

He owed Shen Qingqiu… too many things he didn’t want to think about.

But with Shang-rat right there— Liu Qingge could not say it. Could not speak freely. Not with that worm hearing every word and twisting it. Not when he could not risk the demon’s truth leaking.

So he said nothing.

He turned away.

He reached for Cheng Luan.

He stepped onto his blade.

Before he lifted off, he saw Shen Qingqiu one last time:

Standing stiff beside the cart.

Face trained into icy indifference.

But the corner of his mouth was pulled tight— not in anger, but something closer to…

Disappointment.

Liu Qingge’s gut twisted harder.

Later, he told himself.

I will make it right later.

He owed Shen Qingqiu that much.

With a sharp breath, Liu Qingge launched upward—

white light streaking into the sky as Cheng Luan carried him away without a single word.

Behind him, faintly, he thought he heard Shen Qingqiu say:

“…idiot.”

Liu Qingge did not disagree.

“Liu Qingge’s Unauthorised Rampage – Borderlands Hunt”

The moment he left Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu behind on that damned road, Liu Qingge did not return to Cang Qiong Mountain.

He turned Cheng Luan north instead—toward the borderlands.

Toward the wide, desolate stretches where the Human Realm bled into Demon Territory, where ordinary cultivators feared to tread without permission from the sect. Where beasts gathered in packs, half feral, half demonic, their qi polluted by the cold winds rolling in from the cliffs.

An unauthorised venture.

Good.

He needed it.

The sky darkened the further he flew, the horizon bruised with storm colours. The mountain ridges below him were nothing but jagged black teeth. Perfect.

He dropped onto a plateau, boots skidding over gravel and ash. Cheng Luan pulsed in his hand, sensing the killing intent coursing through him. There was a nest of movement ahead— low growls, snarling breaths carrying on the wind.

A flock of horned ridgebeasts.

They lifted their monstrous heads at once when they sensed him, red eyes gleaming in the dark.

Good.

Something inside him—coiled tight, knotted with confusion, resentment, humiliation—snapped clean in half.

Liu Qingge didn’t bother with techniques.

He charged.

The first ridgebeast lunged; Cheng Luan met its neck, cleaving clean through hide and bone. Blood sprayed warm across his arms. The corpse collapsed before the others even reacted.

Another snapped at his side.

Parry—twist—strike.

Spine severed.

He moved through them like a storm—cold, wordless, efficient. Every heartbeat sharpened his senses. Every kill brought clarity to the suffocating tangle left in the wake of—

No.

He refused to think about it.

The year-old scar left by ice.

The weight of a demon over him.

The way that monster’s blood had chilled his throat.

The possession growled against his ear.

The kiss before oblivion.

Liu Qingge growled and drove Cheng Luan straight through a beast’s skull. The blade hummed violently as he ripped it free.

Another beast charged from his right. He didn’t even look— just pivoted, slashed, severed its jaw from its face. It squealed and toppled.

Bodies piled around him.

Blood stung his eyes.

The wind tore at his hair, his clothes, his torn sleeves.

His heartbeat thundered like war drums.

Still not enough.

Another group emerged from the shadows— larger, hulking, corrupted.

Liu Qingge leapt into them, Cheng Luan a silver arc of righteous fury.

A claw raked across his ribs— he ignored it.

Fangs grazed his arm— he split the beast open from chest to gut.

Something struck his back— he slammed the hilt of Cheng Luan into its skull, feeling the bone crumple under the force.

He kept going, breath harsh, muscles burning, qi rumbling dangerously in his meridians.

Better this pain.

Better exhaustion.

Better blood.

Anything was better than thinking of Shen Qingqiu’s expression earlier— thin, betrayed, unsure.

Anything was better than the memory of a demon calling him mine.

He cut down the last ridgebeast in a clean, violent arc. Silence crashed down.

Liu Qingge remained standing, chest heaving, sweat and blood, not all his, dripping down his arms.

The moon hung low and cold above him.

Around his feet were corpses.

Torn earth.

Spilled steam rising into the night.

He still felt… hollow.

But the rage was quieter.

Cheng Luan hummed faintly, as if pleased with him.

Liu Qingge wiped the blade with the edge of a dead beast’s pelt and sheathed it.

He stared into the distance—the cliff line marking the Demon Realm border dark and endless.

He should go back.

Shen Qingqiu would demand answers.

Mu Qingfang would give him a lecture.

His Shifu would say nothing but hand him another mission.

And Shang Qinghua—

Liu Qingge clenched his jaw.

He didn’t know what to do with any of it.

So instead of returning immediately, he walked into the dark again, slipping deeper into the forest.

If more beasts came…

Good.

He wasn’t finished. Not yet.

“Demon in Disguise — The Stream in the Border Forest”

Liu Qingge did not hear them approach.

The forest was quiet save for the hiss of his small talisman powered fire and the soft splash of water as he cupped a handful to rinse the blood from his ribs. His discarded robes hung from a low branch, steaming faintly in the heat. He worked in silence, methodically tightening the binding over the claw wound beneath his ribs with bandages from his storage pouch, ignoring the sting. Beasts were beasts— fighting them made more sense than fighting people.

But the moment the first voice drifted across the clearing, Liu Qingge went perfectly still.

“Ah… what an interesting young man we have here.”

A tall figure in coarse traveller’s robes strolled into the light of the fire— except Liu Qingge knew instantly that this was no mortal man. The cadence, the lazy arrogance hiding strength, the liquid grace in each step, that preternatural aura— demon.

Worse: a powerful one.

He had been around one so now he can easily tell them apart. 

Cheng Luan was in Liu Qingge’s hand before thought could form.

He levelled its tip at the stranger’s throat.

A woman stepped forward beside the demon, her face half-hidden beneath a plain hood. Yet even plain cloth could not mute the sharpness of her presence— disciplined posture, controlled breath, footsteps that barely touched the ground. A cultivator. Almost at core formation level, at least.

Which meant they were together.

Which meant Liu Qingge was cornered.

Another cultivator with ties to a demon.

Secret ties to a demon— the disguises were the tells.

“A Bai Zhan youth?” the woman murmured, eyes narrowing.

“Alone, and this far from the sect?”

He should have swapped his uniform for disguises too.

She is sharp.

No surprise there.

He said nothing. Speaking would only give them more advantage.

The demon smiled, showing faintly pointed teeth.

“Now, now. No need to bristle like a porcupine.”

His gaze travelled over Liu Qingge— shredded skin over ribs, battered arm, bare shoulders, blade raised in defiance. “Injured… alone… and bathing like a fairy in a stream while in the moonlight. What a sight.”

Liu Qingge’s jaw tightened.

“Stay where you are. Leave, and I will pretend I never saw you.”

“Leave you?” the demon repeated, amused.

“When you’re half-bleeding and it will be dark soon? Boy, mortals would die before morning in these woods.”

The woman touched her companion’s arm.

“Let’s go,” she murmured quietly, tense. “We shouldn’t interfere.”

But the demon didn’t move.

He inhaled— slow, deep— and a strange light flickered in his eyes.

“…Winter.”

His voice dropped low.

“You smell like the deepest Northern winter.”

Liu Qingge’s spine went rigid.

The woman turned sharply to her companion.

“What are you talking about?”

The demon clicked his tongue and tossed back his long black hair with theatrical flair.

“I told you before, did I not? About the troubled little crown prince in the north— my old friend’s son —whose uncle keeps trying to kill him to steal the throne? You know him too.”

He leaned forward, studying Liu Qingge with an unsettling sharpness.

“Well, my dear Xiyan, this boy here carries his scent. That brat marked him.”

Marked.

Liu Qingge’s chest constricted so tightly he forgot to breathe.

Marked?

Impossible. Impossible.

He took one involuntary step backward.

The demon smiled as if watching a child piece together a puzzle.

“You truly didn’t notice?”

The woman— Xiyan— looked stunned.

“Marked? As if…” Her eyes softened in disbelief. “Like the mark you placed on me?”

“Hmn.” The demon nodded, utterly pleased with himself.

“Somewhat like that. That icy brat has good taste.”

Liu Qingge’s vision pulsed red.

Never.

Not in this life.

Not in any life.

Whatever that demon did to him a year ago— whatever insanity had happened in that frozen wasteland— whatever that had happened during the final battle on Bai Zhan— it could not be this. It would not be this.

He gripped Cheng Luan until the leather wrappings bit deep into his palm.

“You’re speaking nonsense.”

The demon’s grin widened.

“Then why is your blood humming like his?”

Liu Qingge’s breath stuttered.

I need to leave. Now.

He moved— fast—

But the demon moved faster.

A muscular arm looped around his bare waist and another pinned his sword arm effortlessly behind him. Liu Qingge was yanked against a firm chest, the demon’s qi scalding the skin of his back.

He struggled, twisting, snarling, but the hold was immovable— like iron forged from pits of the underworld itself.

“Oh-ho,” the demon laughed near his ear.

“Solid muscles. Fierce gray eyes. The ice brat truly picked well. Great strength but no match for me. I see the appeal.”

The woman, Xiyan, sighed sharply, raising a brow.

“You pervert. Let the child go.”

But the demon only tightened his grip, amused.

Liu Qingge saw red.

Saw humiliation.

Saw the face of the ice prince who had ruined his life a year ago.

He bared his teeth.

“Release me. Now.”

The demon only purred,

“Mm… no.”

The demon’s grip vanished as abruptly as it had come— one moment Liu Qingge was hauled against a furnace-hot chest; the next, he was thrust a step back, blinking hard, Cheng Luan raised in both hands though his fingers trembled faintly from exertion. The demon— now unmistakably not a wandering poet— stood leisurely at the stream’s edge, dark hair cascading like a silken banner in the wind, eyes gleaming with a mischief too ancient to fake.

The cultivator beside him inhaled sharply, her gaze jumping from Liu Qingge’s face… then down to the mole under his left eye.

Her expression changed.

Recognition. Certainty. Alarm.

“You— wait— are you Liu Qingge of Bai Zhan Peak?” she blurted, one hand curling instinctively near where a hidden weapon must have been strapped beneath her coarse robe. “The youngest head disciple in a century— the one who defeated Huan Hua’s best seed to reign champion two years ago?”

Liu Qingge froze.

If she knew that, then these two were truly no mere wanderers. His muscles coiled.

The demon gave a delighted whistle.

“Oh? That portrait floating around after the Immortal Alliance Conference did not do you justice, boy,” he said, sweeping his eyes over Liu Qingge with disgraceful leisure. “The mole, the eyes— the fine bones! Xiyan, look closely. This child is truly a celestial carved wrong— too thin, too tired, too bruised, too angry.”

Wait…

Xiyan— Xiyan… a mention of Huan Hua Palace. 

Is she— no— Su Xiyan?!

As in Su Xiyan, the head disciple of Huan Hua Palace sect?!

He wouldn’t simply assume but the demon did call her that. He never met Su Xiyan before but her bearing and effortless calm— she seems like a person used to leading and commanding. 

“Stop teasing him,” Su Xiyan scolded, though her voice softened now that she realised exactly who stood before her. She stepped forward, inclining her head, almost respectfully. “Head Disciple Liu, forgive us. We meant only to pass through quietly.”

Liu Qingge kept his sword level.

“State your identity,” he demanded, though his ribs throbbed and blood from the gash on his arm trickled hot down his skin.

The demon’s grin widened until it showed teeth.

“Very well,” he purred, placing a hand over his heart. “Since the pretty one asks so nicely— This one is Tianlang-jun.”

The world lurched.

Tianlang-jun.

THE Tianlang-jun?!

The Heavenly Demon Emperor.

The scourge of the southern domain.

The ancient tyrant who had warred with sects since before Liu Qingge was born.

And Liu Qingge— half naked, dripping water, wounded and weapon in one hand— had pointed Cheng Luan at him.

Tianlang-jun’s eyes sparkled like a cat finding a mouse that bites.

“To think,” he mused aloud, “that spawn of my Northern counterpart— hateful, frigid little thing— left his brand on a human. You are quite unlucky, boy.”

Liu Qingge’s stomach twisted.

Again with this scent nonsense.

Su Xiyan’s brows rose high. “He’s really marked by the Northern Crown Prince?”

“So it seems,” Tianlang-jun drawled. Then he leaned close, voice dropping, “Which explains why you smell of winter storms. A pity— if I had found you first, I might have kept you.”

Liu Qingge almost choked on his own spit.

He stepped back sharply, but Tianlang-jun moved with inhuman speed— his hand catching Liu Qingge’s wrist with a grip firm enough to bruise, yet warm, so warm, it nearly numbed the cold ache in his bones.

“Let me go!” Liu Qingge hissed, twisting violently.

“Careful,” Su Xiyan warned, though she herself did not raise a weapon. Her gaze was trained on Liu Qingge’s injuries, not his sword. “You’re already wounded. The beasts of this forest will be drawn to blood. You should not remain alone.”

Alone.

Yes— he shouldn’t. He knew that.

But he would rather die in the forest than accept help from a demon emperor.

“Release me,” he growled again.

Tianlang-jun only hummed, amused. “He really does fight beautifully, Xiyan. Even half-dead, he has spirit.”

Su Xiyan sighed, exasperated but fond. “Put him down, Tianlang. You’ll frighten him.”

“Frighten him?” Tianlang-jun echoed with mock scandal. “Do you see him trembling? This future sect hero is glaring like he’d cut my heart out and grill it on that little campfire.”

Liu Qingge flushed, furious.

Tianlang-jun’s gaze softened— not kindly, but intrigued, the way a feudal lord might regard a rare beast.

“You are far from your mountain, little war god,” he said, lowering his voice. “Do you truly wish to fight me right now? Bleeding, exhausted… marked by another demon? The world is very dangerous for a youth alone.”

Liu Qingge stiffened. How much did he know? Everything?

Tianlang-jun let go of his wrist— but not before lifting yhe outer robe from his own shoulders and draping it around Liu Qingge.

It may not look like much but settled over him like molten metal— warm, perfumed, unbearably soft.

Liu Qingge nearly recoiled.

“What— what are you doing?!”

“Cover yourself,” Tianlang-jun said cheerfully. “Or else you gift us both a view of your very fine form. Not that I mind, but Xiyan gets jealous.”

“I do not,” Su Xiyan said flatly, though the corner of her mouth twitched. “Ignore him, Head Disciple Liu. He flirts with anything that breathes.”

Tianlang-jun cupped his hand behind his ear. “Did you hear that? She admits your physique is pleasant.”

Liu Qingge’s soul left his body for a moment.

He snatched Cheng Luan closer and snarled, “I don’t need your robe. Or your help.”

Tianlang-jun leaned in, entirely too close, ruby eyes bright with a predator’s curiosity.

“That,” he murmured, “echoed what the Northern prince said the first time he tried to fight me.”

Liu Qingge’s heart lurched.

No.

No.

Absolutely not—

“Su Xiyan,” Tianlang-jun said lightly, “I do believe we’ve found something very interesting.”

And Liu Qingge realised—

They were not here to kill him.

Not yet.

But they were far, far too interested.

Liu Qingge finished fastening the last frog-toggle of his damp robe, every movement stiff with impatience. The two strangers— no, not strangers, never strangers— watched him like hunters eyeing an evasive beast. The unnatural warmth rolling off the tall “wandering poet” was unmistakably demonic, heavy enough to haze the summer air. Tianlang-jun had shed all pretence of being mortal; he stood there fully relaxed, sash loose, hair spilling like liquid ink over his shoulders, golden eyes alight with wicked curiosity.

Su Xiyan stood just a step behind him, arms crossed beneath her coarse sleeves— warrior-steady, observant, impossible to fool.

“You’re awfully quick to leave after being gifted such good company,” Tianlang-jun drawled, as if Liu Qingge weren’t edging away from them like a cornered wolf. “Sit, chat. We’re all acquaintances of a sort.”

“We are not acquainted,” Liu Qingge said, curtly buckling his belt. His ribs screamed from the claw tear, but he refused to show it. “Pretend we never met.”

Tianlang-jun barked a laugh. “Is iciness a contagious illness? You’re as bad as the brat prince. Equally ungrateful.”

Su Xiyan elbowed him sharply. “Don’t provoke him.”

“Oh, I’m merely comparing temperaments,” Tianlang-jun mused. “You pulled strings for that little ice disaster to escape your terrible sect, didn’t you, Xiyan? A shame the boy is still half-feral and wholly unrefined—”

Liu Qingge froze mid-step.

Su Xiyan helped… who escape? From where? Huan Hua Palace—?

The demon prince?

The one who left him broken, who kissed him before darkness swallowed everything?

Su Xiyan stiffened at Tianlang’s side. “I told you to stop smearing me by implying I betrayed Huan Hua Palace.”

“Smear you?” Tianlang-jun blinked innocently. “Never. I merely observe. For instance—” He gestured lazily at Liu Qingge. “Young master Liu reacts rather strongly to the mention of that bratty prince. Interesting, isn’t it?”

Liu Qingge’s pulse hammered. His grip tightened on Cheng Luan’s hilt. “I have no interest in your internal demon politics.”

“Mm. But you do have interest in the prince,” Tianlang-jun said smoothly. “Given you smell like him.”

Liu Qingge nearly drew his sword.

Su Xiyan’s brows shot up. “Smell like— Tianlang, explain.”

“Oh, it’s very faint now,” Tianlang-jun said breezily. “But demons recognise scent-marking when we detect it. Similar to the mark I placed on you, my dearest Xiyan—”

Su Xiyan slapped a palm over his mouth. “Say one more stupid word and I swear I’ll sever your tongue.”

Liu Qingge turned to leave.

“Running off already?” Tianlang-jun called lazily. “You Bai sect boys truly have no manners. At least humour me with an answer before you flee—”

Flee?

Liu Qingge paused.

“—how and when did you meet the Northern Crown Prince?”

Nothing but wind answered.

Tianlang-jun hummed. “Silent again. Very well—let me guess.” He sauntered closer, stopping just within striking distance. “Perhaps you found him after Xiyan arranged his escape from Huan Hua’s dungeons. Or perhaps he found you and imprinted on you like a duckling.”

“Tianlang,” Su Xiyan warned sharply.

“What?” Tianlang-jun looked delighted. “It makes sense. The ice demons are territorial. That poor prince still young and feral. And clearly attached— he marked this boy so deeply it still lingers.” His voice dipped. “So tell me, Liu Qingge… did he chase you? Or did you chase him?”

Liu Qingge’s breath knotted in his chest. He kept his back straight, his tone razor-edged.

“None of this concerns you.”

“Oh, but it does,” Tianlang-jun said, eyes gleaming. “When a prince marks a cultivator, the entire North takes notice. And if the prince survived Huan Hua’s contraptions and traps on top of his court’s inner troubles, he’s growing. Changing. Becoming dangerous.”

Liu Qingge’s jaw clicked.

“Tell me, Liu Qingge,” Tianlang-jun murmured, leaning in just enough to test him. “What exactly did the little icicle do to you?”

Liu Qingge finally snapped his gaze to him— steely, lethal, wholly unafraid.

“Enough to make me want nothing to do with demons.”

“Liu Qingge,” Su Xiyan said softly, alarm creeping into her expression.

Tianlang-jun laughed again, soft and terrible. “Oh, little war god. That only makes me more curious.”

Liu Qingge sheathed Cheng Luan in one smooth motion and walked. Now. Before he did something irreversible.

Behind him, Tianlang-jun’s voice floated after him like smoke:

“I’ll tell the brat you left a word for him.”

So the ice demon bastard lives.

Those arrows, those assassins that day—

The fact that he never showed up again.

He thought the monster had perished.

Liu Qingge didn’t look back.

He would die before he ever left a word for that demon.

Chapter Text

“Next Morning, Cang Qiong Mountains”

Bai Zhan Peak greeted him with the familiar bite of dawn wind and the heavier, less welcome bite of stares.

He stepped past the main gate, boots crunching against gravel. His uniform—torn, stiff with dried blood, streaked with dirt and beast gore—drew eyes immediately. Whispering rippled through the line of disciples drilling in the yard.

Ignore them.

Liu Qingge kept walking.

At the far end, his Shifu stood like an immovable pillar, arms crossed, gaze sweeping across the trainees. Huang Wenming did not often rest his eyes on anyone for more than a breath—but the moment Liu Qingge entered the yard, that flinty gaze locked on him.

Liu Qingge stopped several paces away and bowed, hands clasped before him.

“Shifu.”

Huang Wenming looked him up and down.

Once.

Expression unreadable—a stone face shaped by countless battles.

“You are injured,” his Shifu said. Not a question. A judgment.

Liu Qingge kept his hands steady. “This disciple is fine.”

“No,” Huang Wenming corrected, voice like a boulder grinding against ice, “you will see to your wounds first. Training can wait.”

A simple order. A trust that he would obey it without argument.

Liu Qingge bowed again. “Yes, Shifu.”

Huang Wenming did not question why his head disciple returned looking like he’d fought a small war.

He did not ask where Liu Qingge had gone after the mission.

He did not ask why Liu Qingge’s sword sheath was nicked, why half the boy’s sleeve had been clawed off, why the faint cold bite of demonic qi clung to his left arm.

Bai Zhan Peak Lords did not pry.

If their disciples bled, they bled.

If they fought, they fought.

If they survived, that was enough.

Good, Liu Qingge thought, turning away. Let him assume the well-ghost did this.

Better than explaining beasts, borderland wandering, the flirtatious demon emperor, and the revelation that a Northern demon prince had “marked” him like some territorial spirit beast.

He walked through the barracks path, ignoring the turning heads. Some disciples shuffled aside quickly; others stared too long, wondering what kind of fight could reduce the Bai Zhan prodigy to this state.

His door loomed ahead.

Liu Qingge pushed it open, already planning how to wash, bind his ribs, and meditate before anyone else came sniffing—

He paused.

Inside the room, the air carried a faint, familiar cold.

Not strong enough to trigger Shen Qingqiu’s talismans.

Not intrusive enough to indicate a presence.

Just a memory of winter lingering within the stone walls.

His jaw tightened.

He closed his eyes briefly. 

No, it’s just my imagination. 

Yes, there’s none of that bone chilling qi here. 

He’s not here. Good.

Liu Qingge stepped in and shut the door behind him.

He set Cheng Luan aside with a soft click, unfastened the ruined outer robe, and exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Today… will be exhausting.

He had to change, clean up, then head to Qing Jing Peak for the evening cleansing session.

And, beyond that—

He would eventually need to face Shen Qingqiu.

Clarify the misunderstanding from yesterday.

And determine how much Shen actually knew.

Liu Qingge rubbed at the wound on his ribs, hissing quietly.

At least, for now, his Shifu asked nothing.

At least, for now, he could pretend everything was still under control.

“Sparring With Gong Wen”

The desolate yard was quiet— always quiet. No one came here unless they wanted to tempt misfortune or tempt death.

Liu Qingge stepped into the packed dirt, Cheng Luan already in hand, though he didn’t intend to draw the blade. Gong Wen was already there, stretching his arms, looking every bit the dependable Qiong Ding disciple he was—solid stance, sharp gaze, and annoyingly perceptive.

They bowed briefly.

Then they moved.

Gong Wen struck first— lightning-swift, a perfect Qiong Ding opening stance that targeted both balance and breath. Liu Qingge blocked, pivoted, and countered with a heel-sweep that would have flattened anyone with lesser training.

Gong Wen leapt over it.

“Tch.”

Liu Qingge lunged forward, elbow cutting toward Gong Wen’s ribs.

It was caught.

With two hands.

“Honestly,” Gong Wen grunted, twisting and sending Liu Qingge stumbling back a half-step, “we should start using another yard.”

Liu Qingge didn’t answer. He reset his stance, expression flat, then launched into a flurry of close-quarters strikes. Gong Wen blocked every one— barely, but he did. Sweat gathered at his temples.

“You know—” Gong Wen continued, ducking one blow, countering with a palm strike that grazed Liu Qingge’s shoulder. “This place is cursed.”

Liu Qingge’s brow twitched.

They exchanged a storm of blows— fist meeting palm, forearm clashing forearm, feet carving sharp lines into the dirt. The sound of impact echoed off the abandoned stone walls.

“Especially after that incident last year,” Gong Wen went on, tone matter-of-fact while parrying a vicious strike aimed at his jaw. “You nearly died here. Shot by demons. Fought demons on your own. Massive trauma. Horrific blood loss. Spiritual damages.”

“That was then,” Liu Qingge snapped, sweeping forward with a low kick that Gong Wen managed— barely— to evade. “Keep your guard up.”

“I am keeping my guard up! You’re the one trying to knock my head off!”

“That means your guard is weak.”

Gong Wen barked a laugh, breathless. “No, that means you’re overcompensating for something.”

Liu Qingge surged forward again.

Hand-to-hand, Gong Wen matched him blow for blow— strong, tactically minded, with a foundation so solid that Liu Qingge had to actually try to push him back.

If not for Yue Qingyuan’s terrifying brilliance overshadowing everyone, Gong Wen would have been Qiong Ding’s head disciple, Liu Qingge thought. Maybe even the next sect leader.

It’s hard to find a peer that can make him wary like Gong Wen.

They broke apart for a breath.

Gong Wen didn’t hesitate— he dove back in with a shoulder feint, spinning into a high kick. Liu Qingge blocked with both arms—

And froze.

A warm wetness spattered down his side.

Gong Wen stopped immediately.

“Hey— hey, hold on.”

He reached, grabbed Liu Qingge’s wrist, and pulled his arm up. The fabric across Liu Qingge’s right ribs was soaked through with blooming red.

“Liu,” Gong Wen said, all joking gone. “You’re bleeding pretty badly.”

Liu Qingge’s jaw tightened.

His teeth clenched.

“It’s nothing. Keep going.”

“Nothing?” Gong Wen stared, aghast. “That’s not from me. I didn’t hit you there.”

Of course he didn’t.

The beast’s claw strike from yesterday must have reopened— Liu Qingge could feel the warm trickle gathering again, seeping past the poorly re-tied binding beneath his uniform.

He cursed silently.

The dizziness that followed was faint but unmistakable.

Gong Wen dropped his stance entirely.

“Oi, stop. This is serious.”

Liu Qingge turned away, grabbing the edge of his robe, hiding the wound.

“It will close on its own.”

“No, it won’t,” Gong Wen snapped— rare anger. “You just refused to get cleared by Mu Qingfang yesterday! And now you’re tearing your ribs open in this cursed yard—again! Are you trying to prove something? To who?”

Liu Qingge didn’t respond.

Because he didn’t know the answer.

Only that pushing himself harder felt easier than thinking.

Gong Wen exhaled sharply. “Come on. We need to get you re-bandaged. If you collapse again like last year—”

“I won’t.”

Liu Qingge stepped back, breath shallow.

Gong Wen’s expression softened— just slightly. “Let me help you to Cian Cao.”

“No.” Liu Qingge’s tone sharpened, slicing clean through the air. “I’ll handle it.”

Gong Wen opened his mouth— closed it.

Then nodded.

“Fine.”

But his eyes followed the blood on Liu Qingge’s ribs with deep concern.

Liu Qingge turned away, steadying his breath before the pain could show on his face.

He had survived worse.

He would not fall here.

Not again.

Liu Qingge hissed when the sharp sting of the standard issued Bai Zhan ointment seeped into the gouged claw mark along his ribs. He kept his jaw locked, breath steady, kneeling by the low table he’d dragged nearer to the window. A bowl of water, blood-tinged rags, a small knife, and scraps of gauze were scattered across the surface. His upper robes lay discarded on the floor, and sweat streaked down his bare back— half from pain, half from irritation at Gong Wen hovering like a mother hen.

“Four claws,” Gong Wen said, leaning forward in the creaking chair. “Whatever you fought nearly filleted you. And don’t give me that Bai Zhan face— this grazed bone.”

“It didn’t kill me,” Liu Qingge muttered, cleaning fresh blood with a steady hand. “That’s all that matters.”

“No, Liu. It matters because you nearly bled all over the yard earlier.” Gong Wen slid a new strip of gauze toward him. “And I know that isn’t from a ghost. You were supposed to be dealing with a well spirit. Why are you back before Shen-shixiong and Shang Qinghua? They haven’t even reported to Qiong Ding yet.”

“I didn’t want to travel with that rat,” Liu Qingge said dryly. “So I took a detour.”

“‘Detour,’ he says,” Gong Wen sighed, long-suffering. “Next time you go on an illegal beast-killing rampage somewhere, at least get permission so I can come along. I swear, Bai Zhan people are not right in the head.”

Liu Qingge ignored him, dipping two fingers into the ointment pot. The sting burned up his side and into his spine. He grunted. Gong Wen winced in sympathy.

“You really hate Shang,” Gong Wen remarked idly. “You don’t get along with Shen-shixiong but you tolerate him. Shang… you openly call him a rat.”

“He is a rat.”

“I know he schemed his way into the head disciple position before this one, but you hate him for more than that.” Gong Wen raised a brow. “And you won’t tell us why.”

Liu Qingge didn’t answer. He simply pressed another smear of ointment along the wound and breathed through the burn.

Gong Wen looked away, scanning the things on Liu Qingge’s shelves— and then froze.

“What’s this?” he asked, standing before Liu Qingge could stop him. A small black lacquered pot sat tucked in the corner, unassuming yet terribly out of place. “You have another ointment? Higher-grade than that rubbish you’re using? Why not use this instead?”

“Don’t touch that,” Liu Qingge barked—too late.

Gong Wen had already uncorked it.

A thin curl of frost escaped the rim.

He sniffed.

His eyes widened. “This— this is not just expensive. This is— this is specialised. Frost-root, marrow lotus, refined snow-jade. Where did you get this? This is enough to heal a cultivator from burns or deep blade wounds in a day.”

Liu Qingge’s stomach dropped.

He had forgotten about the demon’s gift. Forgotten it was there because he refused to acknowledge it existed.

“Throw that away,” Liu Qingge said sharply, voice flint-hard. “Don’t touch it.”

Gong Wen blinked. “Why? It’s incredible quality. Who gave you—”

“Don’t touch it.” Liu Qingge snapped, rising so quickly the chair nearly toppled. His hand slammed the pot closed before Gong Wen breathed in too deeply. The lacquer was freezing beneath his palm. “It’s dangerous.”

Gong Wen swallowed, unsettled. “Liu… this isn’t from that— is it?”

Silence.

Cold crept under Liu Qingge’s skin— not from the pot, but from the memory of the demon’s blood dripping onto him, of a cold mouth pressing against his before darkness swallowed him.

Liu Qingge shoved the lacquered pot away as if it might bite.

“Throw. It. Away.”

Gong Wen didn’t move for a long, long breath.

“…Alright,” he finally said softly. “I won’t ask. But… whatever this is, you’re not alone. If something dangerous is still tied to you—”

“I said it’s nothing.” Liu Qingge turned back to his wound, refusing to meet his friend’s steady eyes. “And leave it.”

Gong Wen exhaled, defeated.

“Fine. Have it your way. But I swear, if you die, I’m going to drag your corpse back from the afterlife and throttle you.”

Liu Qingge almost— almost— snorted.

But the black pot sat like a silent threat between them.

Liu Qingge slid into a clean white inner robe with deliberate, taut movements— anything faster tugged at the freshly bandaged gash across his ribs. Gong Wen helped him  just now and tied the ends, hands gentle in a way that always irritated and comforted Liu Qingge in equal measure.

The lingering sting from the reopened wound still pulsed, but Bai Zhan training meant ignoring pain was easy. Almost instinctive. Liu Qingge reached for the ointment jar to push it deeper into the shelf— out of sight and out of mind— when Gong Wen moved faster.

Steel glinted.

Before Liu Qingge could so much as inhale, Gong Wen cut his own palm with a short knife.

“Gong Wen—!” Liu Qingge snapped, reaching forward— but Gong Wen only grinned, blood gathering in the cup of his hand.

“Watch.”

He flipped open the black lacquered pot— the demon’s frozen ointment— and dipped two fingers inside. The salve glimmered faintly, unnaturally cool even in the warm afternoon room.

Gong Wen spread it over his self-inflicted wound.

The flesh knitted. Not fully, but fast— fast enough that no human medicine should achieve.

Gong Wen flexed his fingers. “I feel fine. No poison. No numbness. This is top-grade stuff, Liu. Use it the next time you change bandages.”

Liu Qingge reached to snatch the jar away, but Gong Wen twisted aside like an eel with too much free time.

“Gong Wen,” Liu Qingge growled. “Give it.”

“No.”

They scuffled— nothing serious, just a tangle of trained reflexes and stubbornness— but when Gong Wen’s elbow bumped Liu Qingge’s ribs, sharp pain seared under the bandage. Liu Qingge hissed despite himself.

Immediately, Gong Wen’s expression softened.

“See? This is why you’re using that ointment,” he said firmly. “I want to spar again soon. I refuse to fight you if your wounds still threaten to tear open.”

Liu Qingge was about to shove him away, but Gong Wen’s hands had already caught his elbows— steady, warm, grounding. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to pain and breath and the familiar scent of Qiong Ding resin oil clinging to Gong Wen’s sleeves.

Liu Qingge exhaled shakily.

He didn’t hide pain from these two. They’d seen him at his worst— bleeding, dying, demon qi coursing through his veins. They were the ones who dragged him back to life.

“I’m fine,” Liu Qingge muttered.

“Yes, yes,” Gong Wen said, easing him forward until Liu Qingge’s brow rested against his shoulder. “Of course you’re fine. You’re the toughest glutinous rice cake on this peak.”

Liu Qingge stiffened. “I am not a rice cake.”

“You are,” Gong Wen said solemnly. “Tough, chewy, impossible to kill—”

The door slammed open.

Both boys jolted apart.

Jing Liu stood in the doorway, hair a wind-tangled mess, chest heaving as if he sprinted across the entire mountain.

He took one look at them— Liu Qingge shirtless under an open robe, Gong Wen’s hands still half-supporting him— and gasped dramatically.

“Oh heavens, Sister Liu!” Jing Liu pressed a hand to his forehead like a tragic concubine. “How dare you use your top tier beauty to ensnare Lord Gong in my absence? Hmph! I am betrayed— betrayed!”

“Shut up and come inside,” Gong Wen snapped, face pink. “Close the door.”

Jing Liu shut it with a click and immediately whistled low at the sight of Liu Qingge’s bandages, the scattered supplies, and the faint smear of blood on the table.

“Liu— what did you do? You look like you wrestled a tiger and headbutted a cliff.”

“Something like that,” Liu Qingge muttered.

Jing Liu leaned in conspiratorially. “More importantly— Shen-shixiong is back. And he sent me here with a message.”

Liu Qingge froze.

Gong Wen raised a brow.

Jing Liu lifted a finger like a gossipy aunt. “Shen-shixiong says: ‘Tell Liu Qingge not to come for the cleansing session today. I will send for him when necessary.’”

That landed like a punch to Liu Qingge’s sternum.

Shen Qingqiu never skipped a session. Never postponed one. Never once tolerated Liu Qingge missing or delaying treatment.

Jing Liu crossed his arms. “So. What did you do to upset our dear shixiong? Because he looked… well…” Jing Liu grimaced. “Like someone who stepped on a rake. Twice.”

Gong Wen glanced between them. “Liu?”

Liu Qingge didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know.

The demon.

The fight.

The unspoken things between him and Shen Qingqiu.

The brothel talk.

The mission.

His abrupt abandonment afterward.

Too many things could have triggered Shen Qingqiu.

Jing Liu poked him in the shoulder. “Well? What happened?”

Liu Qingge stared at the ointment jar Gong Wen still held… the jar that shouldn’t exist in the human realm.

His heart thudded.

“…I don’t know,” he finally said. “But I will find out.”

Jing Liu and Gong Wen shared a look.

And for the first time in a long time, Liu Qingge wasn’t sure if he was saying it for Shen Qingqiu’s sake—

—or for his own.

“The Steps of Qiong Ding Hall”

The next day, Liu Qingge had barely reached the bottom of the Qiong Ding Hall’s broad stone steps when Gong Wen came barreling down after him.

“Liu! Wait!” Gong Wen skid to a stop in front of him, breath slightly uneven.

Liu Qingge stiffened. “What?”

Gong Wen leaned forward, palms on his knees. “I heard Yue-shixiong giving you that mission— you are not going to Huan Hua Palace alone. I’ll go with you. Let me just get his approval—”

“No.” Liu Qingge adjusted the strap of his sword, prepared to walk. “I can do this simple thing on my own.”

Gong Wen planted himself in front of him again. “Liu. This isn’t a normal extermination. To deliver that letter, that scroll— you’ll be requesting an audience with the Palace Master. Alone.”

“I have recovered enough.”

Gong Wen narrowed his eyes. “You used that ointment?”

“No.” Liu Qingge’s tone sharpened. “I meditate.”

Gong Wen groaned into his hands, muttering something about stubborn Bai Zhan lunatics. Then clearer: “What? You don’t want to travel with me?”

“It’s unnecessary.” Liu Qingge glanced back at the hall. “You already have your duties. Your paperwork. Mission sortation. I will not trouble you.”

“Clerical work? Anyone in Qiong Ding can do clerical work.” Gong Wen threw his hands up. “But not everyone can keep you from walking into danger like a suicidal goose in mating season.”

Liu Qingge scowled. “There is no danger. Why would I have to ‘watch my back’ in Huan Hua Palace?”

Gong Wen stared at him as if he had swallowed poison.

“You haven’t heard the rumours about the Old Palace Master?”

“I don’t care about rumours.”

Gong Wen pressed a hand to his forehead, defeated.

“Liu, have you forgotten— you’re beautiful. The Old Palace Master has a… history with favouring pretty young things. You should not go there alone.”

A hot spark of irritation flared up Liu Qingge’s spine. Beautiful. Pretty.

As if he were some ornament.

He was about to snap when a soft click of a fan snapped open behind them.

Both boys froze.

Shen Qingqiu stood a few steps above them, one hand resting elegantly on his fan, expression pulled into a disdainful arch.

“Well,” Shen Qingqiu drawled. “What is this delightful conversation? Injuries? Huan Hua Palace? And being beautiful?”

Liu Qingge clenched his jaw hard enough to hurt.

Beside him, Gong Wen straightened so fast he nearly bowed twice.

“Shen-shixiong.”

Shen Qingqiu flicked a glance at Gong Wen— acknowledging him in the loosest, faintest sense possible— before his sharp gaze pinned Liu Qingge.

“Injured?” Shen Qingqiu said icily. “When? You were perfectly functional when we sealed that damn well.”

Liu Qingge remained silent. He didn’t want to discuss this. Not in public.

Not with Shen Qingqiu’s eyes— bright, sharp, intrusive as needles— fixed on him like he was an unruly child caught misbehaving.

Shen Qingqiu stepped closer, tapping his fan against his shoulder.

“Liu Qingge,” he said lowly, “do not make me repeat myself. When— exactly— did you sustain an injury?”

Gong Wen winced.

Liu Qingge kept his face impassive.

“It’s nothing.”

“Nothing.” Shen Qingqiu repeated, voice frosted. “You? Injured? Without telling me? Without reporting? Without having your cleansing sessions for three days?”

Gong Wen gave Liu Qingge a sidelong, you’re dead look.

Have Shen Qingqiu conveniently forgotten that he was the one who told Liu Qingge not to come?

Shen Qingqiu’s lashes lowered, voice dropping to dangerous softness.

“Answer me properly, Liu-brute— before I drag it out of you myself.”

Liu Qingge’s chest tightened with equal parts annoyance, guilt, and something else nameless and sour.

The courtyard fell utterly silent, watching the three of them.

Liu Qingge inhaled slowly.

This is going to be a problem.

Of all the people to overhear Gong Wen’s nonsense, it had to be him. Shen Qingqiu’s fan snapped open with a disdainful flick, pointed directly at Liu Qingge’s abdomen.

“Injured?” Shen Qingqiu repeated, eyes narrowing. “Show me.”

Liu Qingge’s jaw locked.

“No.”

That single syllable was enough to make Shen Qingqiu’s expression darken.

“Then you do admit you’re injured,” Shen Qingqiu pressed, stepping closer, fan tapping once against Liu Qingge’s ribs, far too near the bandages underneath. “Is it because of your old problem returning?”

Gong Wen blanched. Liu Qingge nearly growled.

“It’s not the demon,” Liu Qingge snapped. “This has nothing to do with—”

Gong Wen tried to step between them, hands raised.

“Shen-shixiong, Liu isn’t—”

“Quiet, you noisy ornament,” Shen Qingqiu said without looking at him, flicking the fan upward so sharply that Gong Wen physically recoiled as if he’d been slapped. “This is between me and Liu-brute.”

Gong Wen muttered under his breath, wounded pride dripping off each syllable.

Before things could combust further, the great hall doors opened.

Yue Qingyuan stepped out.

His calm presence washed over the courtyard like a tide. His eyes moved from Shen Qingqiu’s bristling posture, to Liu Qingge’s tense shoulders, to Gong Wen half hiding behind them, and finally back to his two unruliest disciples.

“…I heard raised voices,” Yue Qingyuan said mildly, though his gaze sharpened. “Is there a problem regarding the mission I assigned, Liu-shidi?”

Shen Qingqiu answered before Liu Qingge could open his mouth.

“Yes. There is a big problem,” he said, snapping his fan shut in Liu Qingge’s direction. “You intend to send this idiot to Huan Hua Palace alone?”

Liu Qingge bristled. “I am not an idiot.”

“Fine, then you are an idiot with injuries,” Shen countered.

“I am healed enough.”

“You are not.”

“You’re not my—”

“Brother-in-law?” Shen Qingqiu cut him off viciously. “Good. Because I would not accept such a reckless family member.”

Gong Wen made the noise of a strangled chicken.

Yue Qingyuan blinked. “Shidi… that is not… quite the analogy…”

Shen Qingqiu ignored him entirely and thrust the fan in Liu Qingge’s direction again.

“I will accompany him.”

The air froze.

Liu Qingge stared. Gong Wen’s jaw dropped. Yue Qingyuan’s brows rose a fraction— the closest thing to shock he ever displayed.

“What?” Liu Qingge managed.

Shen Qingqiu sniffed. “I refuse to let a fellow head disciple— however thick-skulled— walk into that den of cultivation-deviating degenerates alone. Not when he’s half-injured and apparently too proud to admit it.”

Gong Wen whispered behind his hand, “He’s worried about you.”

Shen Qingqiu whipped his head around.

“I am NOT worried. I am protecting the reputation of Cang Qiong. If Liu-brute gets kidnapped by the Old Palace Master for being stupidly pretty—”

Liu Qingge’s ears burned.

“I AM NOT PRETTY.”

“—then it would reflect terribly on our sect,” Shen finished, ignoring him. “Someone must ensure he does not start a war.”

Liu Qingge’s internal reaction tangled itself into a knot:

Resentment that Shen Qingqiu assumed he couldn’t handle himself.

Confusion at why Shen would volunteer at all.

A reluctant, unwelcome flicker of relief that he might not be going alone into Huan Hua Palace’s territory— where shadows of last year still crawled under his skin.

Yue Qingyuan let out a small sigh, accepting the inevitable.

“Very well. Shen-shidi, if you wish to accompany him, I approve. Travel safely.”

Shen Qingqiu lifted his chin triumphantly.

Liu Qingge tried to glare a hole through the ground.

Gong Wen mouthed: “You’re doomed.”

And Shen Qingqiu, with the smugness of a python who’d just devoured an entire chicken coop, turned to Liu Qingge.

“We leave at dawn.”

Dawn had barely scraped over the ridges of Bai Zhan Peak when Liu Qingge stepped out of his quarters— only to stop short at the sight before him.

Shen Qingqiu stood at the foot of the stone steps like a wronged bridegroom, fan snapping open with disdain. His robes were pristine, his hair immaculate, his expression thunderous.

“Finally.” Shen Qingqiu flicked the fan once— an unmistakable gesture of accusation. “You will make us late. The horse carriage is waiting. I specially hired one from the town below. Not a single novice An Ding drone will be touching the reins this time. I refuse to experience Shang-rat’s abysmal driving ever again.”

Liu Qingge blinked at him. “…We can fly to Huan Hua Palace.”

Shen Qingqiu clacked his fan shut and arched a brow.

“And miss my chance to stare at your pretty face the entire journey? Waste the qi I donated to you? Absolutely not.”

Liu Qingge rolled his eyes and marched past him toward the path.

The snake fell into step beside him with infuriating smugness.

Shen Qingqiu had, in fact, procured a very fine carriage— lacquered wheels, reinforced canopy, horses with glossy coats. The sort of carriage someone would rent when trying very hard to prove a point.

Inside, the space was small. Too small. Nearly all of Liu Qingge’s shoulder and arm brushed Shen Qingqiu with every jolt of the road.

It was… uncomfortable.

Shen Qingqiu, of course, made it worse.

“You will tell me how you were injured,” Shen said, already reaching for Liu Qingge’s wrist.

“I’m fine,” Liu Qingge muttered, pulling back.

“So you admit you are injured,” Shen Qingqiu said triumphantly, grabbing his wrist anyway. “Is it because of your old problem coming back? Did that ice demon return to finish what he started?”

“No,” Liu Qingge snapped. “It wasn’t—him.”

He should never underestimate Shen Qingqiu’s cleverness. He never told the snake outrightly about the ice demon but Shen pieced together the pieces himself. 

“Then what?” Shen Qingqiu demanded.

Liu Qingge exhaled sharply. “I hunted beasts. Before returning to Bai Zhan.”

Silence.

Then—

“Because the rat and I got on your nerves?”

Liu Qingge grimaced internally. 

“Just the rat,” he clarified. 

“Oh…”

“Hn.”

“…And you didn’t bring anything back for me?”

Liu Qingge stared at him, unable to determine whether Shen Qingqiu was serious or simply making trouble. Shen Qingqiu’s expression, as always, was impossible to read in moments like these— half-mocking, half something else Liu Qingge refused to decipher.

Shen Qingqiu resumed cleansing his meridians in the cramped space, criticizing everything.

“Hold still. Do you cultivate with your brain off? Why is your qi like this today? Did you get hit on the head again? Your circulation is dragging like a corpse’s— did you even sleep last night?”

Liu Qingge bore it all with a tightening jaw. The warmth of Shen’s qi seeped into his arm, steadying, soothing—but he hated how easily his guard dropped under that familiar touch.

He stared out the small window instead.

Hours passed. The mountains flattened. The road widened.

And soon—

Gold came into view.

The gates rose like a painted illusion: gilded beams, carved phoenixes, waterfalls cascading behind white stone courtyards. Everything glittered obscenely in the sunlight.

Typical Huan Hua arrogance.

Liu Qingge stepped out of the carriage, scroll pouch at his waist, posture stiff. Shen Qingqiu emerged beside him, expression instantly sharpening at the sight of the palace guards approaching.

Politics. Pretension. Schemes lurking under polished marble.

Shen Qingqiu shot him a sideways glance— irritated, imperious, and strangely alert.

“Remember,” Shen said quietly, “these people smile with their teeth. Stay close, Liu-brute.”

Liu Qingge bristled.

“I don’t need—”

“I don’t care what you think you need.” Shen Qingqiu stepped forward, robes sweeping like a blade unsheathed. “I am not letting anyone in this place get their claws into you.”

Liu Qingge froze.

Confusion. Resentment. A reluctant, unwelcome flicker of relief.

All tangled together.

He squared his shoulders and followed Shen Qingqiu through the golden gates.

Ready— whether he liked it or not— for the politics of Huan Hua Palace.

Chapter Text

“The Old Palace Master”

The audience hall of Huan Hua Palace was drenched in gold— sunlight caught on every carved pillar, every lacquered relief, every strand of hanging silk. Liu Qingge disliked it immediately. Too bright. Too gaudy. Too exposed.

He and Shen Qingqiu stepped into the hall in their respective Cang Qiong Mountains sect peak colours. The whispering started at once.

“Is that him? Bai Zhan’s prodigy…”

“The very one who defeated our best.”

“The last Immortal Alliance Conference Champion!”

“And Qing Jing Peak’s Shen Qingqiu— look, they came together—”

“Aren’t they rumoured to be ‘involved’?”

Liu Qingge’s jaw twitched.

But all whispering faltered when the Old Palace Master descended the steps of his dais.

His gaze landed first on Liu Qingge— and blatantly stayed.

It was hungry, oily. His wrinkled eyes gleamed with greedy interest, sliding down Liu Qingge’s form with the kind of appraisal reserved for objects, not people.

Liu Qingge felt his qi stir sharply— hostility creeping up his spine.

Before he could react, a sleeve brushed in front of him, unmistakably deliberate.

Shen Qingqiu stepped forward, fan snapping open with crisp precision. His posture was immaculate, manner graceful, every line saying: You will look at me instead.

“Honoured Palace Master,” Shen Qingqiu said, his voice dipped in silk and poison. “Cang Qiong Mountains conveys its greetings. We bear Sect Leader’s official reply.”

He plucked the scroll straight from Liu Qingge’s grasp— so smoothly that no one could call it discourteous— and presented it with a perfect bow.

The Old Palace Master’s focus jerked toward Shen Qingqiu, the shift in attention almost physical.

“And this,” Shen added, “is Bai Zhan Peak’s head disciple, Liu Qingge. I trust Huan Hua Palace will treat him with the respect appropriate for a valued alliance guest.”

There was razor in those words. A warning dressed as courtesy.

The Old Palace Master’s smile wobbled.

Around them, disciples whispered more boldly now:

“Look, Shen Qingqiu stepped in front—”

“Ooh, and you know— we specifically requested for Liu Qingge but Shen Qingqiu came too.”

“They really are ‘that sort’ of partners, aren’t they?”

“No wonder they travel together…”

“Look at them— the god-tier perfection. We don’t stand a chance.”

Liu Qingge’s ears burned, though he kept his face iron-stiff.

That was when the Old Palace Master cleared his throat and finally addressed the scroll’s purpose.

“Cang Qiong’s assistance is most timely. As was stated in the missive we sent… there is a matter requiring utmost secrecy.” His voice dropped theatrically. “A dangerous demonic artefact has resurfaced, one capable of stunning demons and extracting their innate power.”

Liu Qingge felt something cold settle in his gut.

Shen Qingqiu only arched a brow. “A secret mission,” he said lightly, “yet your hall is filled with disciples who have not been dismissed. Some of whom are whispering behind us as though this is the marketplace.”

Several disciples paled. A few snapped their mouths shut.

The Old Palace Master’s face strained, embarrassment showing for a heartbeat before the mask returned.

“This matter is delicate,” he insisted, “but not forbidden to my sect. And your assistance— particularly from such a promising strategist—” his eyes slid to Shen Qingqiu with clear disdain now, “—is a gesture of unprecedented goodwill from Cang Qiong.”

Shen Qingqiu smiled.

It was a terrible smile.

Liu Qingge stepped forward swiftly— before Shen could turn the jab into a sect war.

“What is required of us?” he asked. Voice steady. Practical. Neutral.

That steadied the room.

The Old Palace Master coughed lightly. “My head disciple will lead the expedition. She is not yet returned from her field assignment— but upon arrival, she will personally brief both of you. For now… rest. A welcoming banquet will be held tonight in honour of Bai Zhan’s genius. Qing Jing’s Head Disciple Shen is, of course, invited as distinguished guest.”

The way he said distinguished sounded like tolerated nuisance.

Shen Qingqiu seemed deeply satisfied by that.

Liu Qingge felt the faintest pressure of Shen’s sleeve brushing his.

A reminder they were no longer merely rivals.

A reminder that this mission was going to dredge up everything— politics, demons, old wounds— and he had brought Shen Qingqiu with him into whatever this is.

And Shen… came willingly.

“Shared-Room Debacle”

Liu Qingge followed Shen Qingqiu out of the great hall with a stiff jaw. The moment the gilded doors shut behind them, Shen was already snapping open his fan like a blade.

“Ridiculous,” Shen Qingqiu murmured, eyes sliding over the corridor’s towering pillars wrapped in gold leaf. “Vulgar. Gaudy. Who paints dragons gold? Dragons are majestic, not… tableware.”

The Huan Hua disciple escorting them twitched. Liu Qingge kept his expression fixed forward, though inwardly he compared it all against the Liu Clan estate: strict austerity, clean stone halls, weapons displayed plainly, nothing ornamental unless it could kill someone.

No politics. No pompous nonsense. Efficiency over elegance.

A part of him wished he were back there instead of navigating this scented, whisper-infested palace.

The disciples trailing behind them whispered just loud enough to hear:

“—Liu Qingge the Bai Zhan prodigy…”

“—heard he and Shen Qingqiu are cultivation partners…”

“—meridian cleansing every week, isn’t that basically intimate—?”

Liu Qingge’s hand tightened on Cheng Luan’s hilt. Shen Qingqiu’s brow twitched, but he didn’t turn around— too practiced at ignoring gossip.

They arrived at a pair of lacquered doors carved with phoenixes. Their escort bowed.

“Honoured guests, your room. We were informed only one would come. Unfortunately, all other guest quarters are occupied.”

Liu Qingge’s stomach dropped.

Share a room.

With Shen-snake.

Absolutely not.

Shen Qingqiu frowned sharply, clearly preparing to eviscerate someone with words, but Liu Qingge acted first.

“You take the room,” Liu Qingge said, stepping back. “I’ll find my own place.”

The disciple blinked. Shen Qingqiu froze.

“Brute,” Shen said warningly, “where exactly do you plan to sleep?”

Liu Qingge shrugged. “Outside. I camp often.”

Their escort perked up, eyes gleaming in excitement. “Is this… a quarrel between partners?”

Liu Qingge nearly reached for his sword.

Before he could turn away, a hand hooked the back of his uniform and yanked him backward. Shen Qingqiu dragged him into the room with alarming strength.

“We will take the room,” Shen Qingqiu told the disciple coldly. “Together.”

The disciple almost squealed in delight before bowing himself away.

The moment the door shut, Liu Qingge jerked to pull free. “Let go. I can sleep elsewhere.”

“Stop squirming,” Shen snapped. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Liu Qingge glared. “This is unnecessary.”

“On the contrary.” Shen Qingqiu’s fan snapped shut with a crack. “If you go camping like a barbarian outside this den of snakes, it reflects terribly on Cang Qiong. And worse—”

His eyes cut across the room, then to Liu Qingge.

“—you saw the Old Palace Master’s face. What do you think he’ll do if he learns that you’re alone?”

Liu Qingge grimaced. He had seen the way the old man looked at him.

Not unlike a butcher assessing a prime cut of meat.

Shen Qingqiu nodded at his silence. “Exactly. The moment you step out alone at night in this palace, he will appear like a shameless ghost. You staying here is a strategic necessity.”

The room was large— far too luxurious— with high ceilings draped in gauze and a bathing pool separated only by an ornate lacquered screen. Polished golden incense burners shaped like lotus buds. Everything smelled faintly of ambergris and arrogance.

Liu Qingge eyed every corner with suspicion.

Shen Qingqiu caught the look and sighed through his nose.

“You owe me for this,” he said with crisp finality. “Sleep on the floor if you must. But you are not sleeping outside.”

Liu Qingge exhaled through his teeth, resigned.

He would rather fight ten demons than share a room with Shen Qingqiu— but the snake was right.

He owed him.

He always owed him.

And tonight, that debt meant staying exactly where Shen told him to.

Shen Qingqiu exhaled sharply, flicking his fan open as if it alone could ward off Huan Hua’s ostentation.

“Gaudy,” Shen declared. “A palace should not resemble a merchant’s dowry chest. This is what happens when aesthetic choices are left to men with more coin than taste.”

Liu Qingge ignored him and studied the great round bed dominating the center of the room—bigger than any bed he had ever seen, absurdly large, four adults could lie on it and still not touch. It made him suspicious. Why did a sect need a bed like that?

He folded his arms, expression flat.

“I’ll sleep elsewhere,” Liu Qingge said. “Outside.”

Shen Qingqiu shot him a withering sideways look. “This again— outside where? In that courtyard over there? What will you do— curl up under a shrub like an abandoned wolf pup?”

Liu Qingge did not dignify that with a reply. He moved toward the door.

In one fluid motion, Shen Qingqiu snapped his fan shut and snagged the back of Liu Qingge’s uniform, dragging him backward a full step.

“Stay,” Shen ordered. “and I repeat, if you think I’ll let the Old Palace Master prowl freely while you bunk alone like an idiot, you are gravely mistaken.”

Liu Qingge stilled. The reminder soured his stomach.

Shen Qingqiu pointed his fan at him. “You sleep on the left. I’ll sleep on the right. There is enough space between us to house a small village, so stop overthinking.”

Liu Qingge eyed the ridiculous bed again. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like this place. He especially didn’t like how Shen Qingqiu was right.

“…Fine,” he muttered.

Shen Qingqiu tossed his outer robe over a chair and marched toward Liu Qingge.

“Sit,” he ordered.

Liu Qingge stiffened. “For what?”

“Aren’t you injured.” Shen Qingqiu’s brows lifted with poisonous sweetness. “I thought your earlier squirming was due to your usual irritability plus your broken body. Show me.”

“No.”

Shen Qingqiu’s expression darkened. “Liu Qingge, if you do not sit down right this instant—”

“It’s nothing,” Liu Qingge insisted.

“It is always nothing with you until you’re half-dead somewhere,” Shen snapped.

They glared at each other in a familiar, combustible stalemate.

Gong Wen’s words echoed in Liu Qingge’s mind—

Shen-shixiong never lets you skip a session. What did you do?

Slowly, resentfully, Liu Qingge sat.

Shen Qingqiu wasted no time. He pushed aside Liu Qingge’s outer layers, fingers pausing when he saw the bandaging.

And then— explosion.

“Liu Qingge.” Each syllable dropped like a blade. “You absolute, utter, brainless brute. This is not from that ghost!”

Liu Qingge scowled. “I hunted beasts. I told you.”

“Hunted—? Hunted?! Just because Shang Qinghua got on your nerves?!”

Liu Qingge tensed, jaw locking. 

Shen Qingqiu clicked his tongue and dug into his storage pouch, throwing cloths, ampoules, salves, and gauze onto the table with unnecessary force.

“Then what should I do?” Liu Qingge snapped, temper cracking. “You lecture, you sneer, you—”

“Yes, yes,” Shen Qingqiu cut him off. “And yet you still show up to my peak at night like a lost wolf pup. Clearly I can’t be too unbearable.”

Liu Qingge bit the inside of his cheek— hard.

Shen Qingqiu dabbed ointment on the wound with sharp precision.

“You want to kill Shang Qinghua? Just say so,” Shen said dryly. “We can at least bury the body together.”

Liu Qingge snorted. Shen Qingqiu sneered. The air somehow felt lighter, but only barely.

“Trouble Brewing”

That night, lanterns glowed gold and red against the marble halls. Perfume hung thick as mist. The music was too delicate, the laughter too fake.

Liu Qingge did not like it.

Shen Qingqiu sat beside him, fan hiding half his face, looking bored enough to commit murder.

Across the hall, the Old Palace Master watched Liu Qingge like a starving boar watching a ripe pear.

Shen Qingqiu’s fan twitched.

When the banquet ended, the Old Palace Master rose from his throne with oily grace.