Work Text:
It started with jealousy.
“Shizun,” he said, coming up from behind him and engulfing him in a hug. Shizun was sitting in front of a low table, holding an assortment of paper, all messily arranged. On his right hand, he held his brush in the air, ready to come down with endless amounts of criticism. Binghe always thought he looked endearing when correcting his fellow disciples’ essays. “Who wrote this essay, to have you this irritated?”
Shizun always froze for a moment when he hugged him, before relaxing into his hold. For a long time, Binghe feared he still held some lingering fear regarding him, even married as they were, but with time he came to understand Shizun just wasn’t used to close touch with other people.
“It’s not an essay,” he said, letting out a sigh. “But your Shang-shishu’s first draft.”
Shang Qinghua was a man Luo Binghe didn’t understand the appeal of. Neither did his Shizun, for that matter, but the man still seemed to hold him as some kind of friend, and enjoyed teasing him.
There was, of course, the matter of them both coming from the same world. That level of familiarity Shang Qinghua had with his Shizun still left him holding back his jealousy by the skin of his teeth.
He married me, didn’t he? Not him.
“I didn’t know he liked writing. What is it? Poetry?”
Shizun barked out a laugh like it had been pulled straight from his lungs. Luo Binghe felt a rush of glee and joy and pride for being able to pull that reaction out of his ever reserved husband.
“Poetry? Him? No way. That man wouldn’t be able to write that kind of thing in a million years.” He said, his chuckles dying down. He still held a small smile on his face that Luo Binghe could barely glimpse from his position, holding him from behind. “He writes prose. Badly written, at that.”
Luo Binghe hummed, “You seem to enjoy it though.”
And he did. The best way to measure how much Shizun enjoyed a book is how attentive he looked. Later, he would complain about all of it’s defects, it’s “plot holes” and such, but he would also talk about the things he enjoyed. Luo Binghe had long known that his husband much preferred tawdry novels, full of heroes and maidens falling in and out of love, with betrayal and adventures aplenty, than the cultivation treatises a master was supposed to enjoy. And he especially liked to complain about them, even suggesting how he would have written instead.
Luo Binghe, who loved when his husband was especially energetic and animated, loved to hear him talk about all of it.
“Me? Like that man’s work? Of course not! I have much better things to do. I’m just editing his story as a favor.”
“Alright, you don’t like his work.” Luo Binghe nodded in agreement, because helping his Shizun hold on to his face was also part of his duties as a good husband. Outside of moments where they were having sex, that is. “What is it about?”
Shizun stayed silent for a moment, reflective. “This time, he told me he would try to write a happy ending.”
The air seemed oddly solemn. Luo Binghe frowned in confusion at the tension filling his Shizun. “Didn’t he, last time?”
“Some would have considered that a happy ending, I suppose. I never did. In fact, the last thing I did before dying was complaining about the ending of that novel.”
Luo Binghe flinched and Shen Qingqiu caught it. He turned around and hugged him again, this time facing him. “Sorry, Binghe. I know you don’t like discussing my deaths.”
He didn’t. The trauma of his Shizun dying, always choosing to leave him, still hit him at odd times, and perhaps even in ways he hadn’t noticed yet. His mindscape had been badly damaged for a long time, both from the influence of Xin Mo and from his choice to self harm by killing his own dream constructs. The fear of him leaving still stayed deep in his bones, even as he gained more confidence in their relationship as time passed and as they got married.
“That death though… I’m not sure how I even died, really. And it was so long ago, for me. It doesn’t affect me.”
Luo Binghe was unsure about how true that statement really was. Maybe the death itself hadn’t harmed him, but sometimes he would talk about his family with a look of grief.
He remembered the first time he talked about them, and his words. I didn’t really think about them since my death. Didn’t allow myself to, I suppose. When hard things happen, why focus on what you’re unable to change, and not on what you can do?
His Shizun, Binghe knew, tended to avoid dealing with complicated feelings, always pushing them to the side. It was something he was trying to be better about, though.
“That novel,” Luo Binghe said, clearing his throat. He let go of the hug and instead sat on another mat. “What was it about?”
A fervor started to gleam in Shizun’s eyes. “It was about a young man from impoverished beginnings, who lost his beloved family and sought to improve his circumstances. He grew abused and mistreated by the world and those he was supposed to be able to trust. Later, he returns to the narrative with power, after discovering his hidden heritage, and seeks revenge on all of those who hurt him. He seeks power, and gains the status of Emperor, gathering a harem of women who love him.”
Luo Binghe thought for a moment that it didn’t seem like a very interesting story for him. The harem, for one, was especially a huge turn off, considering what he witnessed in that other Luo Binghe’s world. What a nightmare of a life to live. “What did you like about it?”
Shizun hesitated again, perhaps at the idea of admitting he liked anything at all about that novel. “I liked the monsters. Your Shang-shishu has a horrid naming sense, but he was always very creative when creating the fauna of his story. Besides that, I really liked his protagonist.”
“I know I’m not a very decisive person. I tend to put off things that are hard to deal with for later, procrastinating until they explode on my face. That protagonist, though,” he said, looking at Luo Binghe with shining eyes. “He knew what he wanted. He was smart, and cunning, and went after what he desired, no matter the obstacles on his way. He repaid kindness and cruelty dealt to him tenfold. At the time, it was satisfying. I looked forward to his revenge, to him finding someone he truly loved among all of those women. I wanted him to be happy, at the end of the story. And I didn’t think that ending would make anyone happy. Just settling? Now that he conquered everything, now that his harem is huge and he has hundreds of children, he just settles? What an unsatisfying ending.”
Luo Binghe felt oddly jealous of the passion in his Shizun’s voice. It was odd because it meant competing with a book character, not a real person, something even he shouldn’t stoop to.
Shizun then sighed again. “The problem with the story was that it also grew repetitive. At some point, the protagonist stopped progressing, stuck with the same storylines over and over again, with no character development. The story was full of plot holes too. It was immensely frustrating. Even more so because I could see the potential in there, something that could grow beyond the porn filled dumpster that it became. Alas, it ended like that. So much wasted potential.”
“So that’s why you’re helping Shang-shishu? You wish that his next work will be better?”
“Maybe,” he said, smiling at Luo Binghe. “I guess I just wish more stories had happy endings. The world is already full of hardships. Why not wish and work towards a better future?”
Later, as Luo Binghe went to feed the chicken he was raising, and work on his garden, he pondered. Was his jealousy towards the book character, who never existed, but still animated his Shizun so much? Or towards Shang Qinghua, for being able to inspire such strong emotions on his husband?
After Maigu Rigde, Luo Binghe stayed with his Shizun. Since the other man welcomed him again into his home, then he would stay. He would never leave him if he could. As he stayed and became more comfortable in his own skin, in his place in the world, Luo Binghe began taking on new tasks. He had learned how to build houses during those five years Shen Qingqiu was gone, so he built a new one, this time far away from Cang Qiong Mountain. They would visit Qing Jing Peak once in awhile, since his Shizun still had his duties there, but it was good to have their own place, where they were allowed to grow comfortable with each other again, learn each other new habits, without the shadow of the past constantly infiltrating a budding relationship.
Shen Qingqiu would teach at the city nearby, tutoring some students that desired to become scholars. Meanwhile, Luo Binghe built them a garden, filled with both mortal food and spiritual herbs, to make both a tasty meal and one good for their cultivation. He raised chickens, also fed with spiritual herbs, so that when he decided to kill them and make a meal, it would be an especially enriching one. He prepared to increase both his husband and his own cultivation levels, so that they could remain living and together for as long as they wished to live.
His Empire was mostly controlled by Mobei Jun and Sha Hualing, with him only occasionally intersecting in more important matters. It perhaps slowed down his war to take control of the south territories, but he didn’t much care. He had already achieved the life he wanted, besides the man he wanted to live forever with, so taking control of another territory was in part just to assuage his need for control, his desire to not let an unexpected enemy come back to bite him in the back later.
He desired for a simple life, unlike the dreams of his youth, when he still called another man his Shizun. Now, he knew that as long as you held power, you could have freedom, and wasn’t that the most important thing? To be free to love and be loved. More than accolades, than thousands of servants, wasn’t it better to share a bedroom, to share their journey as cultivators until they either grew old and died, or perhaps ascended?
In the end, he had time to contemplate things like hobbies. And if Shang Qinghua could write a novel and inspire that much passion in his reader, couldn’t he also? There was no doubt in Luo Binghe’s heart that he was a better scholar than his martial uncle. Would Shizun be happy, reading something and loving it, and then discovering it was actually written by his disciple?
Luo Binghe washed his hands of dirt, and started to make a plan.
Perhaps, things started much earlier.
Maybe with a little boy, bullied by the young master of the family he served, because he would never grow beyond his station. His failing mother, grieving because she couldn’t prepare him for better things, because she also grew poor and with little education. She knew she was close to death, and the only thing she taught him was how to cook and clean, never something that would make him climb socially. Oh, how she had wished he would go and become a grand cultivator, someone who wouldn’t fall for this kind of illness, someone well learned and educated, with power to change his fate.
Reading and writing were always symbols of power and status.
Maybe it was with a young man, taken by a jealous man, who refused to let him learn. His cultivation manual may have been fake, with harmful instructions, but it had filled him with purpose at the time, the desire for knowledge burning in his veins. It was the basis of his childhood friendship and short time crush on Ning Yingying, who enthusiastically tried to help him learn. She wasn’t the best at it, often distracted and wanting to play instead, but she still helped him.
Maybe it was with his Shizun, who truly introduced him to other books, and he learned there was a whole world out there, and the more knowledge he held the better. Knowledge is power, Shen Qingqiu once said, looking him in the eyes, so I hope my disciple will never stop learning, that he will never consider any information wholly useless.
Maybe it was all of it.
“What are you doing, Luo-shidi?”
Ning Yingying wasn’t exactly a quiet person, but she could be surprisingly sneaky when she wanted to be. Maybe it was the sight of a quiet Luo Binghe for once, not busily running around, helping take care of the bamboo house, but instead leaning against a tree with a portable desk on his lap.
Luo Binghe also spooked for a moment, because he had been a little too distracted. Then he calmed down and found himself thinking about Ning Yingying. Once upon a time, she used to call him A-Luo. When she found Shen Qingqiu’s dead body, she called him Luo Binghe. Now, at least, she called him Luo-shidi. It was an upgrade, but it still bothered him, faintly, the distance. He shook his head, affirming to himself again that, honestly, he only needed Shizun in his life.
“I’m trying to write a book.”
Ning Yingying’s eyes widened in surprise. “You? I didn’t think you were interested in this kind of thing. I never see you reading for pleasure.”
It was the truth. Luo Binghe used to think fiction books were for rich families, and thus frivolous. Shizun, of course, loved reading, so his opinion changed a bit. But he still didn’t get into the habit of it, much preferring to spend his free time studying and improving his cultivation.
“Yes, I thought about trying my hand at it.” He scowled at the paper.
“It’s not going well, is it?” Ning Yingying looked sympathetic. “The first time writing is always bad, Luo-shidi. Don’t mind it. Just keep trying.”
“How would you know?” Luo Binghe said, his voice sharp. He didn’t want pity.
Ning Yingying scowled. “You think you're the only person to try writing a story? We’re on the scholar peak, Luo Binghe, don’t underestimate us.”
Luo Binghe tried to breathe in and out, the momentary anger flowing out of him. “Sorry. I’m just frustrated.”
Ning Yingying looked at him silently and nodded. “Alright, I’ll let it go. But show more respect to your shijie next time.”
She sat down beside him, neither looking at each other anymore. Instead, they gazed at the bamboo forest, their fellow disciples passing by, a butterfly that flew and landed on a flower.
“I never understood what happened, you know. Why you left and let us think you were dead, why you came back with Huan Hua Palace, why Shizun died for you. Neither you nor Shizun clarified what happened. But since both you and him seem happy, I thought the only thing I could do was show support of your presence here.”
“I can leave,” he said with a scowl, even though he knew he couldn’t. Shizun wasn’t like him, easily satisfied with a single person. He needed the presence of other people around him to flourish.
“That’s not what I’m saying! I’m saying that you never really integrated with the disciples of Qing Jing Peak. That’s not your fault. But there are traditions we have that you never learned.”
Luo Binghe scoffed. “You mean the clubs? I helped to implement them.” Maybe Ning Yingying forgot that he had been the de facto head disciple for a number of years.
Ning Yingying shook her head. “Shizun helped to make them official, and implemented support for them, time that we could use to spend exclusively on them. The number of clubs grew. But we always had them.”
Luo Binghe froze. He hadn’t known that.
“The fiction writing club is only a small club, enfolded in the larger writing club, that has more of a focus on creating manuscripts. Still, it’s plenty fun. There are many disciples of different peaks as well.”
“Do you participate in it?”
Ning Yingying nodded, looking shy. “I don’t have any big aspirations or anything. I just enjoy sharing stories with the people in the club. I met Liu Mingyan there, and we became good friends through it. The three nuns that visit once in a while are also nice.”
Ning Yingying had always missed having more female friends. Sometimes, she had the faint thought of regret at not entering Xian Shu Peak, but then she shook the thought away, because Shizun had always been good to her. Even if it was only since that one day of qi deviation that he started to give her access to more advanced cultivation material.
Before, she had been more spoiled than anything, allowed to learn the basics and then placated with trinkets. Sometimes she thanked that qi deviation for coming and changing her master’s mind about her potential.
“Do you want to go to the club? It would be nice to have more people there.”
Luo Binghe wasn’t sure. From what she said, in the club you need to show your writing to others. He wasn’t comfortable showing people his soft spots.
“I’ll think about it.” He said, after a moment of silence.
When Luo Binghe thought about what to write about, he found himself stuck. Maybe it was his lack of experience with fictional stories, but everything he wrote sounded terrible. They also sounded remarkably similar to certain aspects of his own personal story.
The one where the protagonist sucked the life out of the people around him with his mere presence, but then found someone who cared for him despite the dangers to his life.
Or, the one where the protagonist was a young human cultivator that was pushed into the demon realm at a young age, and ended up being taken in by a kindly older demon, who became his teacher.
Or, the one where a boy discovered his mother was sick, so he went on a journey to find her medicine. In the process, he met the love of his life. In the end, he found the medicine, and depending on the ending Luo Binghe chose, she either was still alive when he arrived and was cured, or he found her already dead. His pessimism pointed towards the second option, but Shizun’s desire for a story with a happy ending pointed towards the first.
He made scribbles and scribbles, trying to think of names and characteristics each character would have. He thought about how they grew up, and found himself appealed by the idea of protagonists who grew in poverty but rose above their stations, becoming masters of their fate.
Inevitably, all the stories had romance in them. It was, Luo Binghe believed, necessary for achieving a happy ending.
“Why did you decide to come, shixiong?” Liu Mingyan looked at him quizzically.
Luo Binghe didn’t know either. Maybe he wanted someone else to tell him they liked his story. He wasn’t sure this was the right audience for it.
For some reason, Ming Fan chose the exact same date as him to come for the first time. The reason was obvious, just another pathetic attempt at seducing Ning Yingying.
The man was glaring at him rather fiercely. Luo Binghe allowed an amused smile to cross his face. Ming Fan glared harder.
He no longer had any illusions about Luo Binghe’s possible feelings towards Ning Yingying, but he still didn’t like him or the way he was obviously interrupting Ming Fan’s long standing plans.
Ming Fan had liked Ning Yingying since he first started to find girls attractive. He tried to date other girls after being rejected a few too many times. However, his heart still beat faster when he was around her.
So he began to be subtle. He didn’t want to be pushy and lose her friendship too. He swore that he would be there for her. And maybe, maybe… she would see how dedicated he was and she would find that attractive.
Luo Binghe was just wondering if he should leave.
“He came because I convinced him, of course!” Ning Yingying said, brightly. She was the only one that looked wholly welcoming of his presence.
Liu Mingyan tilted her head, her veil fluttering in the air. She was the perfect example of what cultivators considered a “fairy”, an elegant, beautiful cultivator. However, she was a sword cultivator, unlike other “fairies” that tended to prefer messing with spell chains.
Luo Binghe didn’t much like her because Shizun had always been a little too interested in what was under her veil. He knew it was just curiosity, but…
“Well, today we’re going to be reading a few Bingqiu stories. Are you sure you want to stay?”
“If that’s the case, then it’s better for me to leave,” Luo Binghe said, voice light. He liked stories about him and his Shizun, even if they were wildly out of character, because they were fun to read with his husband. His reaction was always funny. Also, sometimes they gave him interesting ideas.
But that was them reading it together, and alone. He had no interest in reading about himself around a group of whispering disciples, none of them discreet.
Ming Fan also started to look queasy. It was one thing to read literature besides his crush, but to read about his shishu?
“What are you talking about, Mingyan? Weren’t we planning to talk about our stories?” Ning Yingying asked, surprised.
Liu Mingyan froze and then looked resigned. “Right. I guess I forgot.”
Usually the club included ten members: Liu Mingyan, Ning Yingying, five girls from Xian Shu Peak and three other disciples from Qing Jing Peak, disciples that usually spent more time in the library than around other people. Conveniently, if Luo Binghe and Ming Fan hadn’t decided to come today, Liu Mingyan would have been able to spend some time alone with Ning Yingying.
Ming Fan didn’t notice this detail, of course, but Luo Binghe did. It amused him and made him relax a little around Liu Mingyan. There were, of course, people who liked all genders, but that she liked a girl was a good sign that she didn’t have an interest in his Shizun besides that of playing with his image like he was a doll.
“If that’s it, I don’t mind staying.” Ming Fan said, brightly. Then he turned towards Luo Binghe, glaring, “What about you, Luo Binghe?”
“I’ll stay as well,” Luo Binghe said, smiling. Honestly, he would prefer leaving, but like hell he would give in to Ming Fan.
“Alright,” Ning Yingying said, and clapped her hands. “Let me start.”
Ning Yingying’s story was about a female cultivator, born from a mortal family, that had to run away from a marriage ordained by her parents in order to take a test and enter a cultivation sect. After entering, she had to go through many trials in order to obtain her goal: becoming the sect master.
“That’s the idea, anyway,” she said, blushing. She looked a little uncertain. Liu Mingyan reached for her hand and gave a quick squeeze.
“I think it sounds good. At what stage of the writing are you on?”
“I’m in the middle of my first draft. I could share it with you when I finish it?”
“I would like that!”
“I!” Ming Fan said, looking panicked. “I would love to read it as well!”
“Oh!” Ning Yingying said, “Okay. You can read it after Mingyan, then.”
Liu Mingyan: 1 / Ming Fan: 0.
“What about yours, Mingyan?”
Liu Mingyan started to explain. A sword cultivator swore revenge against a demon that destroyed his family. As they fought through the years, the demon always won, but let the cultivator leave. Not only that, they ended up in situations where the demon saved his life many times. This left him with conflicting feelings, because on the one hand, it was: 1. a demon; 2. the demon that destroyed his family, so he needed to respect filial piety and avenge them. On the other hand: 1. Life debts were a serious thing; 2. his family apparently had imprisoned this demon for years before he escaped, and he was also just searching for revenge; 3. if it wasn’t for all this past between them, they actually would be people that got on rather well.
It surprised Luo Binghe to know that she wrote things other than porn, but she did seem an experienced writer.
“And then?” Ning Yingying asked, her eyes wide and fascinated.
“He’ll fall in love with the demon, of course.” Liu Mingyan said, shrugging. There was a smug smile on her face. “It’s another source of conflict in his heart. One of the people the demon killed was his fiancee. How could he betray his white moonlight by falling in love with her killer?”
“This cultivator seems very unrighteous to me,” Ming Fan said with a frown. “How could he give up on avenging his family?”
“I haven’t decided if he gave up or not yet,” Liu Mingyan said. “I’m still debating if I’ll end it with a happy or a bad ending.”
“I rather like the idea of them ending up together,” Luo Binghe said, pondering. “But I can imagine how difficult it would be to justify such an ending.”
“Yes, that’s the question. How do I write him in a way that makes the happy ending acceptable?”
They left off at that, and moved on to Ming Fan. The man stammered, and then admitted that he didn’t really have any ideas for a story. “I tried and tried to think of something, but nothing concrete came. Only some images and ideas that appealed to me, but nothing that would form a complete story.”
“That’s normal, actually,” Liu Mingyan said.
“Really?”
“Yes,” said Ning Yingying, “I started like that as well. The important thing is to write down when you have new ideas, and then slowly consolidate them over time. People who are writing for a long time, like Mingyan, consolidate their ideas fast, but beginners can take a long time. Just don’t reject any ideas, even if they seem dumb. You can do that when you have a more complete plan and in the editing phase.”
Ming Fan looked relieved. Luo Binghe could almost imagine the man agonizing about coming to this meeting with nothing to talk about.
“What about your story, Luo-shidi?” asked Ning Yingying.
Luo Binghe decided to talk about the story with the boy with a sick mother. It was, he admitted to himself, the one with the most chance of his Shizun liking. His Shizun didn’t like him putting himself down, and he got embarrassed when talking about their status as master and disciple now that they were married.
“I like it!” Ning Yingying said, her eyes gleaming. “Will the boy be able to heal his mother?”
“I don’t know,” Luo Binghe said, slowly. “I kind of feel like he shouldn’t be able to.”
Home should change, after you went through such a long journey, through such suffering. He knew, after all, from personal experience. The times of his childhood, spending time in the Bamboo House with his Shizun would never come back. That didn’t mean they couldn’t make something new that was just as good.
“It depends on what kind of tone you want to end your story on,” Liu Mingyan said, “Do you want to end it in a bittersweet tone? Or with wish fulfillment? Or, you could have the mother alive but with another type of consequence, one just as serious.”
He could. He already had an idea. The realization got him smiling.
“That could work,” he said, wonderingly. “Thank you.”
“You weren’t home when I came from the meeting,” Shizun said, after they kissed each other as a form of hello. “Did you go somewhere?”
Luo Binghe smiled radiantly, always happy around the man he loved. His Shizun proved himself to be a stickier man than he imagined, back when they were fighting and misunderstanding each other. He kind of loved it.
“I’m working on a project. But I want it to be a surprise.”
“Oh?” Shizun asked, clearly curious. If he was less restrained, he would be vibrating out of his skin. “I’ll wait for you to show it to me, then.”
And he would, even though the idea of waiting killed him. Luo Binghe laughed.
“Thank you. I’ll cook you something you especially like as a thank you for your patience.”
“I’ll want your congee, then.” Shizun said, and Luo Binghe beamed. He liked to think his Shizun liked his congee so much because it was the first food he ate from his hands.
With the first draft finished, he brought it to the writing club.
Ning Yingying tended to praise it too much, and Ming Fan tended to be too critical, clearly biased against him. Only Liu Mingyan was ruthless in her criticisms but also fair in her compliments. He trusted her with the second draft, and she edited with every attention to detail.
With his third draft in hand, he went to Shang Qinghua. He would use his own competition as a resource.
“My lord!” The man said, scurrying back the moment he saw Luo Binghe enter his office. “What can this one do for you?”
“You won’t tell Shizun about what I’m showing you,” Luo Binghe threatened, “if you know what’s good for you.”
“Alright! No need to worry! Just, what do you want to show me?” Shang Qinghua said, by the end clearly curious.
“I wrote a book. I want to know if it’s ready for publication, and if you think Shizun would like it.”
“You wrote?!”
“Yes,” Luo Binghe said, and tilted his head forward, the perfect angle to look especially menacing, his red eyes glistening. “Why, do you think this lord in incapable?”
“No, no, of course my lord is capable of anything he sets his mind to.” Shang Qinghua said, clearly trying to appease him. Luo Binghe, who just found it funny to mess with the other man, let it go. He tossed the manuscript on top of the man’s desk.
“Then get to reading.”
Shang Qinghua cleared his throat and then grabbed the manuscript. He paged through it with fascination in his eyes before he started reading it seriously. Soon enough, he completely forgot about Luo Binghe’s presence.
They spent the whole afternoon like this, Shang Qinghua reading and Luo Binghe watching his every reaction. When the other man reached the final page, Luo Binghe finally asked, “What do you think?”
Shang Qinghua jumped, clearly shocked at the presence of someone else there. “Ah! My lord. You’ve been here the whole time?”
Luo Binghe’s face darkened. “Get on with it.”
“Right, right. Well. I liked it! It was well written.”
It was. For Shang Qinghua, it was almost like watching his child following on his path, and it made him feel oddly proud. How much of Luo Binghe’s writing prowess was on him and his own writing abilities? For a while, Shang Qinghua just spent some time congratulating himself on his brilliance.
“Whatever. I’m not interested on if you liked it or not. Would Shizun like it or not?”
Shang Qinghua was, as always, miffed that Peerless Cucumber got better treatment from his protagonist. But, he supposed, the other man also had to deal with having sex with Luo Binghe’s massive dick in return, so he supposed it was fair.
“I think he would.” He said, sincerely. “Shen-shixiong likes stories where there are schemes, and plot twists, but also where all the holes are neatly filled. I didn’t see any obvious plot holes, so I imagine that would satisfy him. Maybe he would think the romance was tacked on, however.”
Luo Binghe frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, why does the protagonist even need a romantic partner in this kind of story? This is an adventure story. Their romance isn’t even in focus. It looks a bit tacked on.”
When Luo Binghe began to look a bit thunderous, Shang Qinghua backtracked. “I mean, that’s just this one’s opinion, my lord! You shouldn’t take it seriously.”
The thing was, Shang Qinghua wasn’t the only one who thought so. Liu Mingyan agreed.
“Unless they’re both essential to the plot, or their romance is the plot, I don’t think this story should have a romantic plot line. The fact that you can take out all the romance scenes and barely change a thing says a lot.”
But Luo Binghe refused to remove the romance, so he went on to work on his fourth draft. And his fifth. And his sixth.
It was a mixture of his innate perfectionism and the need to receive positive reviews from two (quasi) professionals on the field. Shizun only deserved the best of himself.
He was on his eighth draft when Shang Qinghua told him to publish it already.
“It’s not perfect, but it’s never going to be. My lord is going to be reworking on this thing for the rest of eternity, and Shen-shixiong is already complaining to me that you’ve been distant lately. Don’t leave him in suspense for too long.”
The first comment was easily ignored, but the second wasn’t. He hadn’t noticed any distance between him and his husband, but if Shizun was complaining, it was time to let this go.
Luo Binghe let out a breath. “Alright. How do I go about printing it?”
Few people knew about An Ding Peak’s many miscellaneous side jobs. One of them was the peak’s printing press.
Shang Qinghua personally operated it, and soon enough he had a complete book on his hand.
“I bought a book for you, Shizun,” Luo Binghe said, when they returned to their own home, away from Cang Qiong Mountain.
Shen Qingqiu smiled, “Thank you, Binghe. This is a rather nice afternoon for reading.”
The weather was a little cold, but the sun was shining. They weren’t in the mood for cultivating, and Shizun had no classes to teach. Later, Luo Binghe would make dinner, and feed the chickens. Then they would go to bed, and maybe Shizun would be in the mood for sex, even though it’s only been two days since their last time.
They spent the afternoon together.
Later, when they ate, Shen Qingqiu started talking about the book, as usual.
“I loved it! The protagonist was smart and he did everything for his goal, but also had his bottom line. I liked how important the romantic lead was as well, that he wasn’t useless.”
“You didn't think he was tacked on?” Luo Binghe asked tentatively.
“A love interest is better when they have their own story arc,” Shizun said, shrugging. “I liked the initial conflict between them in the beginning and how they came to resolve it. I especially like seeing how they supported each other through the final conflict.”
“I also thought the ending was rather smart. His mother survived, but making her have amnesia as a remaining symptom of her illness feels like a proper consequence of spending so long on his journey. It’s about not having the money to fix it when it was the optimal time, and how society fails people by not providing them that support.”
Luo Binghe hadn’t much thought about the role society played in the ending. “I just thought that her being completely cured in the end with no consequences for such a serious illness was a little too unrealistic.”
Shizun shrugged. “That may have been the ending you intended, but the reader may always read differently.”
Luo Binghe started to nod then he froze. “The ending that I intended? How did Shizun know…?” Did that rat Shang Qinghua tell him? Or was it Ning Yingying? She was never the best with secrets. Maybe Ming Fan, trying to curry favor with his Shizun?
Shen Qingqiu reached towards his husband and squeezed his cheeks. He thought that bug eyed look of surprise was rather adorable. “Stop fretting. I figured it out on my own. You think I don’t know your writing style, after all these years? I’m just curious what made you want to write. Especially a fiction book! I know you’re not into those.”
Luo Binghe kissed one of his hands, making Shen Qingqiu let go in surprise and embarrassment. “I just saw how animated you were reading Shang Qinghua’s novel and I got…”
“Jealous?” Shizun asked, in disbelief. “Of that guy? You know you don’t need to worry about that. This master wouldn’t sink that low.”
“It’s not about romance.” Luo Binghe explained, trying to formulate his thoughts in a more comprehensive way. “It’s the effect he had on you. I wanted to affect you the same way.”
Shizun went silent for a moment and went back to his food, contemplative. “If it’s something you did because it brought you some pleasure on its own, I’m happy to see you doing it. But I would rather you not do it solely because of me.”
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe said, “Truth be told, you’re not my first reader. I went to the fiction writing club, and many other people read my first drafts. I also showed some of them to Shang Qinhua, and he helped with publishing that volume. But in the end, the only reader I care about pleasing is you.”
“I did like it. It was hard, and sometimes unpleasant, but it was nice to see it grow and to see the final product. But I can’t disconnect you from this.”
Shizun smiled, “did you make friends, in the club?”
“I wouldn’t call it friendship,” Luo Binghe said, “Ning Yingying still calls me Luo-shidi, but it’s nice to see how much she grew, and she seems to have relaxed around me a little. Liu Mingyan is good at editing, and I prefer her criticisms to others. Ming Fan…” Luo Binghe scowled. There was no hope with Ming Fan, and he wouldn’t want a friendship with him anyway.
“Well, that’s a good start!” Shen Qingqiu said. Luo Binghe shrugged. He didn’t mind never having friends. But, it had been nice to have that moment for them to just talk about their writing and their progress. It was fun.
“I would love to read more of your writing in the future, if you wish to continue.”
Luo Binghe smiled. “It would make me very happy.”
And so they finished their night, another day in their life, peacefully, after four hours of enthusiastic sex, since Luo Binghe was very enthusiastic about the compliments his writing received.