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The trip to the site of the old sect had been nearly two weeks long by carriage, and Shen Qingqiu is well ready to kill something by the time the village headman shows them the long-defunct entrance to the catacombs. Long ago it must have been a fine thing — stone arches and delicate carvings, oil lamp wall sconces and polished incense holders, with wide even steps descending into the earth. Now it is only so much rubble, and Shen Qingqiu must stand back and watch, fanning himself absently, as the headman and Shang Qinghua take a good ten minutes to move rocks, shift a fallen tree, and pry up the half-rotted wooden planks covering what remains of the stairwell.
"I suppose it would have been too much to expect the way to be cleared before our arrival," Shen Qingqiu mummers, just loud enough to be sure the headman will hear.
"Oh, many apologies, honored cultivator," says the headman breathlessly, folding into several hurried bows as he backs away from them. "We do not frequent the area, not for many years, it's unsafe."
Shang Qinghua laughs nervously. "Ha! No worries! Haha, you'll be perfectly safe when we're through. You just go wait for us back at the village, no need to stand out here!"
"Kind, honorable, and brave," the village headman calls Shang Qinghua. "Just as I expect from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. Ah, I have full faith in you!"
The village headman hurries away. Shen Qingqiu notes that he moves a good deal faster now that he's going away from the ruins.
"Let's get this over with," Liu Qingge grunts, which is the first thing he's deigned to say to either of them all day.
Shen Qingqiu, already studying the worn carvings for signs of intact arrays, ignores him — not that it would matter if he had acknowledged Liu Qingge because the man immediately takes the ruined stairs down two or three at a time right after he speaks, throwing himself down the incline like the eager, thoughtless fool Shen Qingqiu knows him to be.
Disappointingly, Liu Qingge fails to run face-first into any traps or barriers. Probably because there's no true justice in the world.
"So, I'll guard the entrance and make sure nothing sneaks up behind you!" Shang Qinghua suggests brightly.
Shen Qingqiu looks at him, sidelong.
"Um, or not," Shang Qinghua says, shoulders slumping. He obediently follows a step behind Shen Qingqiu.
The catacombs are dark and unstable. Six years past, Shang Qinghua had warned them when they rolled into town, there had been a large earthquake in this region. It's the most likely cause for the failure of the ancient sect's previously stable wards, although ultimately their mission out here isn't to repair or investigate the failure of any arrays. Shen Qingqiu, Liu Qingge, and Shang Qinghua have instead been sent to retrieve a tarnished silver diadem, a powerful relic that's no longer secure in its long term resting place and needs to be brought to Cang Qiong to be sealed away again.
Any other combination of Cang Qiong cultivators would probably have made a more functional group, but Shen Qingqiu supposes that the mission to the well had gone so poorly that their teachers had decided results could only improve going forward.
Liu Qingge is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, his sword already drawn, his back to the wall of the hallway. "There's something here," he says.
It's impossible to tell if he means he's sensed something farther ahead or if he means he's already found and stabbed something, but Shen Qingqiu isn't going to ask for clarification. He draws Xiu Ya and they proceed down the hall. It's not quite wide enough for them to walk two abreast and still have room to react with whatever Liu Qingge has seen or sensed, so Liu Qingge goes first, then Shen Qingqiu, and Shang Qinghua brings up the rear without even drawing his sword.
In his position between Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge, Shen Qingqiu carefully places himself in Liu Qingge's peripheral vision, though it brings him annoyingly close to the damp and filthy walls. In other circumstances he'd be very happy to drift as if by accident out of Liu Qingge's sight and behind his back, just to make his thoughtlessly suspicious martial sibling twitch and turn to keep eyes on him, but this situation is dangerous enough that Shen Qingqiu would rather Liu Qingge to focus only on stabbing whatever it is that's lurking down here. There will be plenty of time to provoke Liu Qingge on the way back.
The crypt itself is slowly succumbing to age and ruin, now that the arrays are broken. They follow the gently zig-zagging hall and pass by several doorways — or maybe intersecting hallways? — that are blocked by rubble and dirt, collapsed in on themselves and impassible. The side chambers that they can access are empty, inert to their intrusions even when they bully Shang Qinghua into entering alone to act as tempting bait.
Perhaps Liu Qingge has once again imagined a threat where there isn't one, Shen Qingqiu thinks, but then they round the last curve in the long, long hallway and the familiar chill of danger thrums down Shen Qingqiu's spine.
The main burial chamber opens before them as they round the corner and a thick horde of ghosts is churning through the air there, centered on the altar at the back of the room where the diadem is most likely placed. The ghosts are wraiths with sharp fingers and mouths full of broken glass. They shriek with a sound like a knife scraping an empty plate, moving in swarms and sets that swerve around the room like schools of fish one moment and ink dropped in water the next. These hungry, unsettled dead have clearly swelled in number over the years, influenced no doubt by the lost of life that occurs during and after natural disasters.
"Finally," Liu Qingge mutters, and leaps forward immediately, landing on top of one of the intricately carved stone coffins in order to make as big of a target of himself as he can, providing every possible angle of attack to the ghosts.
Shen Qingqiu has no choice but to follow, even as he hears Shang Qinghua squeak and retreat back around the corner. As ever, Shen Qingqiu is annoyed that Shang Qinghua is so useless but relieved that he at least knows to stay safely out of the way.
Ghosts can't be stabbed by purely physical means, and there are so many of them that attempting to clear out the lot one by one with a tightly-held cover of qi over their swords would take days even if Shang Qinghua did advance into the burial chamber with them to pull his own weight. Every strike Shen Qingqiu makes at first is like daring to reach into a pit of knives, the room is so thick with wraiths, but as the room thins out it becomes clear that the wraiths are weak on their own, and cling together for strength. Casting arcs of spiritual energy with his blade mows down a crowd of them at a time, allowing for slow amounts of discernable progress as he and Liu Qingge turn in tightly-controlled circles that allow them to keep an eye on each other as much as on the creatures they're exterminating.
It's a long fight, and taxing, but it slowly becomes easier for Shen Qingqiu to see what he's doing and where he's going, allowing him to plan ahead and place his feet with confidence instead of moving more on instinct and qi-sense. The increased visibility at first seems to be a result of his and Liu Qingge's spiritual energy attacks. Then he assumes that Shang Qinghua has done something useful by producing a few night pearls to light the battle — a foolish mistake to make, as Shen Qingqiu has never known An Ding's head disciple to do anything useful in combat except under the most dire of circumstances.
When the last wraith is vanquished, Shen Qingqiu turns to glance around the room and finds that the excess light filling the burial chamber is seeping from the top of the altar, lighting the diadem from below with a soft glow that makes visible motes of dust still swirling through the air, the room not yet settled from his and Liu Qingge's last spiritual attacks.
"A trap." Liu Qingge says.
Shen Qingqiu stays silent, unwilling to guess before inspecting the altar more closely. It doesn't seem to have anything to do with the diadem, whose great and terrible powers had reportedly involved more fire and death than convenient lighting effects.
Behind them, Shang Qinghua peeks his head around the corner. "Great job! I knew you two could handle it, I would have just gotten in the way" he says, offering his excuses without even waiting to be criticised. Then there's a pause while he takes in the sight of the burial chamber. Then he says, "Oh no."
"Do you know what it is?" Shen Qingqiu demands.
Shang Qinghua gives a strangled sound, smothering his usual nervous laughter and looking a little like he's going to pass out. "It's really good I stayed back in the corridor."
"What is it!" Liu Qingge demands, taking several steps towards Shang Qinghua.
"Bro, your wrists!" Shang Qinghua yelps, throwing his hands up as if to defend himself and ducking back around the corner until he's half-hidden by the wall.
The first thing Shen Qingqiu notices when he looks down is that his outermost later of sleeves — the standard Qing Jing robes that he wears over the pieces of his wardrobe he's personally altered — are in tatters. The Qing Jing robes have protections on them, but not very good ones, not the kind meant for a fight like this one had been. No one had expected so many wraiths in the catacombs.
The second thing he notices is that his sleeves are a little flecked with blood. It's not a substantial amount, and Shen Qingqiu's skin has already healed, but annoying that his rushed entry into the fight had indeed had negative consequences. Annoying to see real, undeniable proof that he's bled for Liu Qingge now, irrevocably, an action and a sacrifice that he can't take back and that won't be appreciated.
The third thing he notices is that there's a cool jade bracelet around his wrist, a solid piece of white jade that circles his wrist like a manacle. It peaks out between the ruined shred of his sleeve and it's too tight for him to slide it off, even if he takes drastic measures, but not quite tight enough to be painful. He can feel it, cool and threatening on his wrist. When he tries to touch it with his other hand, it's insubstantial.
The fourth thing he notices is that when Liu Qingge had stepped forward towards Shang Qinghua, he had stepped forward as well, without thinking about it. His knees now brush against the coffin in front of him, fabric catching on the stone.
Shen Qingqiu feels suddenly unwell, like something stretched thin. Or something trapped.
"Explain," says Liu Qingge. He has a matching jade bangle around his wrist.
He still has his sword out.
There's nothing left to stab except each other.
"It's a spiritual marriage altar," Shang Qinghua says. His lips twist in a grimace. "A ghost marriage altar? Or something like that, I think it's got a flowery name four or five words longer than that but..." He shrugs. "Anyway, uh — maybe the sect can break it."
"I can break a stone altar," Liu Qingge says.
"No!" Shang Qinghua yelps, sounding truly alarmed — so alarmed he steps completely back into view instead of continuing it hide. "Nope! You'll probably die! Definitely probably!"
Dying might be worth it, Shen Qingqiu thinks. With crisp, purposeful motions he approaches the altar so he can look down at the diadem and, under it, an array glowing with a soft, persistent light. It's carved into the surface, undamaged and pristine. There isn't even any dust on it, although the rest of the altar and the diadem they're actually here to retrieve both have a thin layer of grime.
It does not escape Shen Qingqiu's notice that Liu Qingge has also come over to the altar, but he tries not to read into it. Perfectly normal for his martial sibling to come over to see the array. Speaking of which...
"Get over here," Shen Qingqiu snaps at Shang Qinghua.
Shang Qinghua reluctantly enters the room and trots over, at which point Shen Qingqiu picks the diadem up with a handkerchief. He has to wait for Shang Qinghua to fumble in his sleeves, but eventually he withdraws the special containment pouch that will allow the diadem to be safely transferred to whatever vault An Ding will be sealing it into.
Shen Qingqiu drops the diadem in and then returns his attention to the array. The altar is clear, but losing its glow rapidly at this point. Shen Qingqiu needs longer to study it. He pulls out paper and charcoal. Shang Qinghua hovers nervously at his left elbow after that, babbling everything he knows about the marriage altar: sometimes used to calm restless cultivators after their untimely deaths, originating from the time when clans of cultivators held smaller territories, able to bind two restless spirits together in unbreakable union.
"What are you doing?" grunts Liu Qingge. He's standing behind Shen Qingqiu and to the left, just close enough that a shiver runs up Shen Qingqiu's spine when he talks.
"A rubbing," Shen Qingqiu says shortly. He makes two. He keeps one, and he hands one to Shang Qinghua.
Liu Qingge doesn't get one.
"You're taking this and the diadem back to the sect," Shen Qingqiu says as he presses the rubbing into Shang Qinghua's hand. "We'll take the carriage back."
Shang Qinghua mumbles something in protest.
"Too dangerous for us to fly ourselves," Shen Qingqiu manages to explain, and then he's leaning against the altar, his eyesight blurring and his knees giving out.
Liu Qingge's arm snakes out and grabs his shoulder so he collapses to the floor instead of braining himself on the altar, but Liu Qingge doesn't bother lowering him to the floor. Laying on the disgusting, dusty floor Shen Qingqiu decides that, in retrospect, he should have expected the wraiths to poison him. Considering everything else that's also going wrong, it was careless to assume that the scratches on his arms would be fine.
"Shouldn't we all travel back as quickly as possible?" Shang Qinghua crouches down to flutter his hands uselessly over Shen Qingqiu, panicked. "Together? For safety?"
Ridiculous. Useless. Maybe a little satisfying to see someone so distressed over him, but ultimately it's an unhelpful reaction. "Go," Shen Qingqiu demands from the floor, and then passes out.
He wakes up in a room he doesn't recognize, laying on a thin bed. Liu Qingge is meditating, kneeling across the room. The jade manacles are still around their wrists. Shen Qingqiu isn't sure he can sit up under his own power, so he stays horizontal.
And he turns his face away from Liu Qingge. He doesn't want to acknowledge that this is really happening. Not the manacle, not being stuck traveling alone with Liu Qingge for days, and especially not the way outer robe has been removed while he slept. Better to practice his own meditation, even if this isn't the best position for it.
Eventually, the sun creeps across the sky, shadows shift, and Liu Qingge stirs. "Shang Qinghua went," he says.
"Good," Shen Qingqiu says. With great effort, he forces himself to sit up. His hair has been taken down, and falls lose down his back and over his shoulder. "Is the carriage ready?"
Liu Qingge looks at him, lips pressed thin, face tense. Shen Qingqiu thinks he's going to start a fight, but he just says, "I'll check," and leaves the room exactly as Shen Qingqiu wanted.
Shen Qingqiu does not, at the very least, feel the need to get up immediately and follow him. Maybe the false bond has settled while they're asleep. Maybe it can sense that they'd murder each other if they were trapped within a few yards of each other at all times.
On the table next to the bed, what's left of Shen Qingqiu's ruined Qing Jing overrobe is folded carelessly next to a pristine Bai Zhan robe. Shen Qingqiu has left his extra clothes locked securely in the An Ding carriage and he isn't wearing ruined clothes or his under layers in public any more than necessary, so he reluctantly levers himself up out of bed and dresses.
It's strange that Liu Qingge would provide it, but now isn't the time to look this kind of gift horse in the mouth.
The next consideration is his hair. Shen Qingqiu travels with several options for his hair on him, but the simple hairpin he'd really prefer to use is unfortunately packed away in the carriage with his extra clothes. At the time it had made sense to not take all of his spacial storage pouches with him into the ancient sect crypt, but Shen Qingqiu is regretting it now — especially when Liu Qingge walks in on him still struggling with his hair crown.
"Carriage is ready," Liu Qingge says as he enters. And then after a beat of silence, he adds, "Need help?"
He sounds so smug — he's definitely laughing at Shen Qingqiu, and not even trying to hide it — but Shen Qingqiu can't leave the room with his hair down. It's bad enough that Liu Qingge has seen him so disheveled. And really, is putting his hair up any worse than knowing Liu Qingge had taken it down the night before?
Shen Qingqiu closes his eyes, wishes Shang Qinghua had been the one struck with wraith poisoning down in that crypt, and says, "Yes, if you're certain you can handle the task without turning it into a fight to the death."
Liu Qingge gives an annoyed huff and crosses the room to pluck Shen Qingqiu's comb and hair crown from his hands. He doesn't rise to the bait, though, only silently beginning to gather Shen Qingqiu's hair up into an approximation of his usual style, although no doubt with less concern for what the end product looks like than Shen Qingqiu would have.
Every swipe of the comb across Shen Qingqiu's scalp tingles like contact poison, and when the back of his hand brushes the nape of Shen Qingqiu's neck it feels like he's been lit on fire. With every touch, Shen Qingqiu's awareness of the jade ring around his wrist becomes clearer and clearer, until the jade and Liu Qingge's touch are the only things he can feel. Until Liu Qingge is the only thing that exists, the only thing that matters, the only thing —
And then Liu Qingge steps away. The haircrown is in place. Shen Qingqiu is swaying on his feet.
"If you're going to pass out again, do it in the carriage," Liu Qingge advises. He hands the comb back.
Shen Qingqiu decides he'll do exactly that.
The carriage ride back to Cang Qiong is more than a week, and Shen Qingqiu meditates alone inside the carriage the entire way. Lacking Shang Qinghua, it falls to Liu Qingge to drive the carriage and this separation works for them — the time passes quickly when they don't have to interact or, indeed, even look at each other.
By the time Liu Qingge opens the doors to the carriage to let Shen Qingqiu know that it's time to get out, Shen Qingqiu has shoved aside the memories of how it felt to have Liu Qingge put his hair up. It had just, he'd decided, been a lingering effect of the wraith poisoning. He's in control and much more stable now, and steps out of the carriage with confidence.
They're at the base of Qian Cao. Shang Qinghua and Yue Qingyuan are hovering in the shade of the entrance gate at the bottom of the stairs. Yue Qingyuan looks like he's ready to swoop in and personally carry Shen Qingqiu up the stairs. Shang Qinghua looks like he's hoping someone will run up to him with news of some catastrophic disaster on An Ding that requires his immediate attention.
Shen Qingqiu ignores both of them as well as Liu Qingge and starts up the stairs under his own power. He feels fine. He's fine.
Sixteen steps up the stairs the air is suddenly a tight, leaden weight. At eighteen steps, it's hard to even take in a breath from the pressure of the air on his chest. Shen Qingqiu turns around and looks back.
Liu Qingge is standing in exactly the same place he had been before, but after Shen Qingqiu has looked at him for a few minutes he takes three steps from the carriage, immediately alleviating the resistance in the air around Shen Qingqiu. He scowls at Shen Qingqiu and at Shang Qinghua in equal measure.
"I told you!" Shang Qinghua wails, and then he's scrambling up into the driver's seat of the carriage and hurrying away, presumably to either return the horses to An Ding or to go live in the woods as a hermit.
You told him what? Shen Qingqiu thinks in his direction — but asking now wouldn't do any good. He continues up the stairs. Liu Qingge stays nearly precisely 15 steps below him, walking shoulder to shoulder with Yue Qingyuan.
Later, sitting in a bed on Qian Cao and knowing that Liu Qingge is lurking in the other room probably having exactly the same conversation, Shen Qingqiu finds out what:
The spiritual marriage altar has linked his qi with Liu Qingge's; it's a result of flinging so much power around near the altar and it was probably exacerbated by Shen Qingqiu bleeding in the middle of it all. The sect cannot break the bond. They're stuck like this, although as the bond settles they'll be able to spend more and more time apart. Especially if they have sustained physical contact.
"You'll just have to decide if you want to live on Bai Zhan or Qing Jing," he's told.
Shen Qingqiu asks, delicately, if death would sever the bond.
"Probably not," says the Qian Cao healer. "It was meant for ghosts."
So.
Shen Qingqiu has a husband.
At the very least, Liu Qingge is probably more upset about this than he is, but that's a hollow victory. They'll both have to make compromises, and Shen Qingqiu doesn't expect he'll come out on top of those negotiations — he has, after all, absolutely no support to speak of besides Yue Qingyuan's guilt and his shizun's spiteful amusement at leaving someone like him in charge of Qing Jing.
"I'm not living on Bai Zhan," is the first thing Shen Qingqiu says when Liu Qingge enters. He won't live in a place where he has to dodge a physical fight every time he steps outside.
Liu Qingge crosses his arms. "Fine," he says.
Shen Qingqiu waits, expectant. There must be a catch to this easy acquiesence.
Eventually, Liu Qingge says, "We have to visit my family before yours."
Ah. "Very well," Shen Qingqiu says. He's not sure yet if it's amusing or infuriating that Liu Qingge seems to think that they both have families to tell, but he imagines he'll have plenty of time to decide.
The Qian Cao disciple, packing his instruments and medicines away into his bag, clears his throat. When they both turn to look at him, he says, "Ah, I don't think the sect will approve travel any time soon. At least, I wouldn't recommend it." And, it went without saying, if Qian Cao wouldn't recommend something for a recent patient, then that thing certainly wouldn't happen.
Liu Qingge scowls, but apparently knows better than to argue. He's silent as they follow the Qian Cao disciple out of the treatment room, until he sees Yue Qingyuan — who is, of course, lurking outside the treatment room — at which point he respectfully requests permission to invite his parents to the sect in a way that implies that the legendary Liu Yingjie and the equally peerless Madame Liu will no doubt be arriving as soon as they hear the news no matter what Qiong Ding has to say about it.
Yue Qingyuan purses his lips for a moment, likely processing that this request means that the sect won't be able to break the ritual marriage, and then nods. "Yes, Liu-shidi, I think that you're right that that would be for the best," he says. Then he throws a lingering glance at Shen Qingqiu — which Shen Qingqiu studiously looks away from — and departs, presumably to make arrangements.
"You're not going to ask about your family visiting?" Liu Qingge prods as he watches Yue Qingyuan go.
Shen Qingqiu folds his arms. He's not going to answer that. Liu Qingge can figure it out on his own. "Do you need to retrieve anything from Bai Zhan?"
Liu Qingge picks up clothes, paperwork that's piled up during the mission, and his sword rack. Shen Qingqiu sits outside for twenty minutes while Liu Qingge meets with the Bai Zhan Peak Lord, who says nothing directly to Shen Qingqiu at all. Shen Qingqiu didn't particularly want to talk to him, but he still takes offense at being ignored. It's not that he even has any illusions about what the Peak Lord who chose Liu Qingge as his succeeding disciple probably thinks of him, but the blatant disrespect of it bothers him.
"My shizun is in seclusion," Shen Qingqiu says when they step off the Rainbow Bridge and onto Qing Jing at last. He leads Liu Qingge to the Bamboo House even still, because as succeeding disciple Shen Qingqiu has been granted residence in the spare room.
It's a small blessing, but Shen Qingqiu is glad that he and Liu Qingge won't have to cohabitate in a dormitory.
Grudgingly, Shen Qingqiu makes room for Liu Qingge inside his room: rearranges his clothing so that Liu Qingge can unpack his, and tucks away an easel and corresponding half-finished painting so that Liu Qingge can set up his freestanding sword rack, which holds not just Cheng Luan but also several practice blades. Moving the easel at least gives Shen Qingqiu the chance to hide his unfinished work, which he usually doesn't let anyone see.
Then there is, of course, the problem of the bed. It's evening already, the sun laying low below the mountains but still casting that grey twilight across Qing Jing, just bright enough that they hadn't needed to light any lamps to rearrange the room. Liu Qingge looks around the room once Cheng Luan is set up and says, "Not enough room for a second bed. We'll share."
You sleep on the floor is the solution on the tip of Shen Qingqiu's tongue, but for once he holds it back. Liu Qingge has very likely not slept at all since the night before they entered the catacombs. When would he have slept after that — while waiting for Shen Qingqiu to wake up from wraith poisoning? While driving the carriage back to Cang Qiong for more than a week?
The thought of sharing a bed makes Shen Qingqiu's skin crawl, but he can't argue Liu Qingge doesn't have a right to it. The only way to avoid it would probably be...admitting that the thought terrifies him. Admitting that it makes his skin crawl, that he would almost rather die. But the only thing worse than sharing a bed would be exposing his vulnerabilities to Liu Qingge in such an unambiguous, shameful way! No, Shen Qingqiu doesn't have enough face to be honest about it. Absolutely not.
He says, "If you insist," because this is a challenge Liu Qingge didn't know he was issuing but a challenge nevertheless.
They take turns getting changed into sleeping clothes. Shen Qingqiu stores the borrowed Bai Zhan robe with all of Liu Qingge's other clothes.
The bed isn't big enough for the two of them to lie on it with a significant distance between them. It's full dark by the time they've settled, and they're kept company only by the rustling of the bamboo forest outside. It's an unending susurrus of leaves brushing against each other, like the mountain wind is shaking each bamboo leaf with single-minded precision. It's a familiar sound, one Shen Qingqiu usually finds comforting, but it can't cover up the soft sound of Liu Qingge's breathing as Shen Qingqiu's bedmate falls asleep.
Shen Qingqiu would have guessed, if he'd thought on it at all previously, that Liu Qingge would be one of those people who sleeps rigidly on his back. It's certainly how he falls asleep, the both of them staring at the ceiling and ignoring each other, carefully not crossing the several inches of space that separate them. But then — suddenly —
Liu Qingge rolls onto his side.
He crosses the distance between them.
His slow, even breaths ruffle the hair by Shen Qingqiu's ear.
His arm slips down and falls across Shen Qingqiu's chest.
It should be terrible. Shen Qingqiu would have thought it'd make him spring out of bed and across the room. But...the marriage bond thrums between them, suddenly. Not painful the way it was on the steps of Qian Cao, but instead more like that fire it'd tried to light under Shen Qingqiu's skin more than a week ago when Liu Qingge was helping him put his hair up. It feels like Liu Qingge has taken a brush and painted all of Shen Qingqiu's insides with warmth. It's a tender, delicate feeling. It puts a lump in Shen Qingqiu's throat and makes his eyes sting.
The only thing he can do is turn away, roll onto his side and face away from Liu Qingge. It immediately feels like a mistake, because now Liu Qingge's breath is caressing the back of Shen Qingqiu's neck and his touch is gone, leaving Shen Qingqiu desperately, almost painfully cold, but Shen Qingqiu is nothing if not stubborn. He's been cold before. He's been in pain before. Better that, come by honestly, than the cruel lie of the bond between himself and Liu Qingge.
Shen Qingqiu falls asleep like that, pointedly alone.
When he wakes the next morning, in Qing Jing's false dawn, there's a line of heat pressed against his back and Liu Qingge's muscular arm laying over his waist. Shen Qingqiu gives an involuntary shudder, but this time he can't move away. He doesn't want to.
Liu Qingge hates him, but they're stuck together. They're stuck like this for the rest of their very, very long lives. Even if one of them dies, the other will be haunted. They're inextricably linked, entangled in a permanent knot. Liu Qingge can never get rid of him, not in any meaningful way.
Eventually, Liu Qingge stirs. His breath stutters, the hand laying against Shen Qingqiu's stomach shifts and clenches in the fabric, and then Liu Qingge is perfectly, completely still. He must feel the way Shen Qingqiu's shoulders are shaking and hear Shen Qingqiu's uneven breathing, but for once Shen Qingqiu can't reign it in. Can't hide it. What's the point? Even if this somehow makes Liu Qingge hate him more, nothing will change.
First Liu Qingge removes his arm, then he pushes himself up to lean over Shen Qingqiu and look at his face. Shen Qingqiu looks away, pointedly, not wanting to make eye contact, and therefore he's surprised when Liu Qingge reaches out and brushes the back of his thumb over Shen Qingqiu's cheek before another tear can roll off his nose and onto the pillow.
It makes Shen Qingqiu's breath hitch. It makes him freeze, like a panicked deer. Has anyone ever even touched his face before, except maybe to slap it?
"I won't make this difficult for you," Liu Qingge says quietly. It's absolutely the last thing Shen Qingqiu would have ever expected him to say.
Shen Qingqiu means to snap at Liu Qingge for touching him, but the words get caught in his throat. He settles for swatting Liu Qingge's hand away and sitting up so that Liu Qingge can't loom over him with that horrible look in his face. "You hate me," he says.
Liu Qingge's lips thin. "Does that matter now? What's done is done."
"Does it matter, asks the man in my bed." Shen Qingqiu stifles a humorless laugh because he thinks it might come out as a sob. "You think I tried to kill you. How do you expect to introduce me to your family, hm? 'Here's the murderer I'm bound to, this wretched mistake who never should have been let into the sect, who I should have killed when I had the chance—'"
"Stop," Liu Qingge interrupts. "Stop. Shang Qinghua told me. While you were unconscious, before he went back to Cang Qiong. He told me that I was mistaken. That you saved my life."
Shen Qingqiu has nothing to say to that. He can only stare and Liu Qingge. At the look on his face, this painful and sincere thing.
Very carefully, Liu Qingge clasps a hand over Shen Qingqiu's shoulder. He squeezes gently, like he's trying to be reassuring, and he leaves it there as he says, "With you permission, I'll introduce you as my husband. They'll probably bring my grandparents' ancestral tablets, if you'd like to complete our bows." His lips purse. "They'll want to add you to the Liu clan roll, but we haven't talked about your family yet. We could wait for them to arrive before deciding anything."
Very briefly, Shen Qingqiu is stunned into silence. It had seemed funny to let Liu Qingge make assumptions, but that can't continue, clearly. And it's probably best to not have to admit it in front of Liu Qingge's family. "I," he says, and then falters. "There's no one to wait for on my account, Liu-shidi," he settles for.
Liu Qingge's brow furrows. "I'd have thought Yue Qingyuan would send word to them for you."
Shen Qingqiu closes his eyes briefly and then gets out of bed. He can't do this. He can't say, There's no one but Yue Qingyuan, and how could I have the face to ask him to act as my brother when he set down that burden years ago, never looking back? so there's nowhere else for the conversation to go. Better to start thinking about getting ready for the day, to go get his comb and hair oil and ignore the problem.
"I see," Liu Qingge says quietly when minutes have passed and Shen Qingqiu has already begun combing his hair out. Then — to his surprise — Liu Qingge gets out of the bed, crosses the room, kneels behind him, and asks, "Want help?"
Shen Qingqiu studies the fine woodgrain of the floor. The way his and Liu Qingge's shadows overlap there.
He hands the comb over and lets Liu Qingge help him.