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All his life, Shang Qinghua understood that he was unlike his peers. Others were not burdened with a strange Gift.

It started off innocently enough, voices and whispers and flashes while he slept. Soon, his dreams grew more complex and vivid. Warnings. Promises of things yet to pass.

Visions of a towering ice palace amidst a desolate sprawling tundra landscape. The same large figure slowly walking up a dais. An icy throne covered in layers of beast skins. The figure’s back was also covered in a heavy black cloak made of thick animal fur. Heavy leather boots echoed in the large room as he ascended, one clawed hand stroking languidly on the frozen stair railing. The ice demon, Shang Qinghua would come to understand, dramatically swished out his cloak and sat down upon the throne, staring coldly down at the crowd below. 

Someone, another demon presumably, placed a silver crown atop his head that resembled ice fragments, harsh and sharp looking. It stood in contrast to the demon’s inky black hair. The demon locked eyes with Shang Qinghua in the crowd, his striking blue slitted eyes glowered fiercely with pride and authority before they softened the slightest fraction upon meeting his gaze.

“Long live Mobei-Jun, the King of the Northern Desert!”

The crowd below roared in applause and cheers, deafening and startling him awake.

When he was younger, this recurring dream frightened him. Sometimes he would refuse to sleep for days because of it. Shang Qinghua quickly found out that avoiding his dreams was but a fool’s errand. The visions would find him either way. Slowly, they bled into his waking hours, too. It was impossible, at first, to suppress the visions or predict their timing. 

The other disciples on An Ding Peak thought he was a freak. They complained that Shang Qinghua would go unresponsive for minutes at a time and then turn pale, as if he had seen a ghost. He would frequently give cryptic warnings that he shouldn’t have been privy to, things he said with such conviction and certainty that it was impossible not to believe him.

“Don’t patrol near the river today, shixiong. It’s dangerous. The bank will flood.” 

The older disciple reluctantly agreed, despite the lack of rain clouds overhead. But sure enough, later that afternoon, a freak thunderstorm rolled in and the reports of flash flooding in the area came in the morning. A deadly mudslide had pulled in some villagers on the exact same path as his patrol. 

“Stay vigilant. The beasts in the forest are more agitated than usual,” he told a supplies caravan before it set off. 

It was fortunate that he managed to convince some disciples from Bai Zhan Peak to accompany them at the last minute to handle the multitudes of large hairy beasts that stalked the caravan on the journey back.

One day he randomly pulled aside an older disciple about to set off for the markets with a frightful look on his face, “Shijie, do not descend the peak today.”

Shang Qinghua refused to offer any more information, but the female disciple was so unnerved that she decided not to run for supplies after all. It could wait another week.

Another younger disciple who had just got back from a mission was suddenly cornered by fretful Shang Qinghua. “Are you quite alright, shidi? Perhaps you should visit Mu-shixiong…” 

“But I feel fine, Shang-shixiong!” he chirped back, fit as a fiddle.

Shang Qinghua shook his head, feeling his forehead, and insisted he be sent over to Qian Cao for a diagnosis. Sure enough, the head disciple of Qian Cao peak found traces of a fast-acting parasite from foolishly ingesting contaminated water the young disciple was too lazy to purify. 

Word spread like wildfire around on An Ding Peak. 

“Shang-shixiong can see the future!”

Eventually, the An Ding Peak Lord caught wind that one of his disciples allegedly had the Gift of Foresight and Shang Qinghua was summoned at once to address the rumors. Even the Qian Cao Peak Lord was called to assess whether he was suffering from madness or psychosis or some other explainable ailment.

The inquisition lasted several hours, during which the two peak lords questioned Shang Qinghua about the contents of his visions, as well as the frequency. The Qian Cao Peak Lord asked him some seemingly odd questions and checked his pulse about five different times. 

“You talk a lot of demons, boy,” the An Ding Peak Lord observed nervously, stroking his chin and whiskers. 

“This disciple is simply relating what he sees most frequently, Shizun,” Shang Qinghua explained with a bow of his head. 

It was true. Besides the differently terrible calamities soon to befall his sect siblings, he mostly saw visions of demons. Especially that demon in the ice palace being crowned king. Mobei-Jun began to appear in more and more varied scenes lately. 

The demon looked younger, perhaps about his age, but Shang Qinghua could tell that it was the same person. He just couldn’t understand why he was plagued with visions of this particular demon.

The Qian Cao Peak Lord looked over his various notes taken over the course of this inquisition. All of the physical evidence and the boy’s own testimony was leading him to believe this was nothing more than an overactive imagination or a case of vivid daydreaming. 

“Mobei-Jun, you said? The Northern Desert?” he asked, fingers stroking his long beard. 

Last he heard, the old king of the Northern Desert had died and his son was acting as regent of the territory until he became of age…

But this gave him pause. There’s no way this boy should know anything of the Mobei Clan from the demon realm. And he could describe the ice palace like he had been there many times. The peak lords couldn’t deny that it was odd, but they could not dismiss the possibility that the boy was faking and had seen some manuscript with the titles or depictions of the palace in some library or forbidden scroll.

And lastly, they asked him to predict something on the spot.

Shang Qinghua had never been asked to predict anything before. Usually, the visions and dreams spoke to him at random. He’d never willingly tried to induce a vision before, but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to try. To prove his innocence if nothing else.

Shang Qinghua agreed and began concentrating on that feeling he got— a twist in his stomach and a pull on his brain— whenever a new vision revealed itself to him. 

The purpose of this exercise was not necessarily about extracting the contents of the boy’s vision, it was to observe the process and determine if he was faking receiving visions or actually possessed a Gift. Even if he could not force himself into Seeing anything right now, it would be better than him faking some elaborate prophecy for a spectacle. 

In other words, a test of character. 

The peak lords waited in silence, watching the disciple for a few minutes. Only the Qian Cao Peak Lord dared to get close. The An Ding Peak Lord’s eyes kept flitting all around, half-expecting a demon to appear right before their eyes.

The Qian Cao Peak Lord was about to console the boy and thank him for trying when all of a sudden Shang Qinghua’s eyes closed and his body went stiff. Beneath the boy’s eyelids, the peak lord could see the disciple’s eyes rapidly moving back and forth. The Qian Cao Peak Lord rushed forward and began examining the disciple. He was bewildered to find that despite everything he tried, Shang Qinghua was completely unresponsive to outside stimuli, even pain from the prick of a needle. Completely catatonic! 

The Qian Cao Peak Lord was now thoroughly convinced. This boy had the Gift of Foresight. If he was faking, his body would have betrayed his superior acting. It was the body’s natural response to flinch at pain, Shang Qinghua did not flinch, therefore something unnatural was happening.

When Shang Qinghua finally became aware of his surroundings again, the Qian Cao Peak Lord was hovering around him and holding up his wrist to check his pulse and meridians again. Shang Qinghua stumbled back, startled and panting. Sweat dripped down his brow and he yanked his hand away to wipe his forehead.

“What did you See?” the An Ding Peak Lord asked, frowning and breathless.

“T-There's going to be an attack,” he muttered, voice trembling. “An attack on the caravan. I-I don’t… In the mountains… I c-couldn’t see when or wh-where, but a d-demon! It was a massacre…!” 

He slapped his hand over his mouth, tears raining down his cheeks, and collapsed to his knees. Incoherent mutterings they could not understand filled the tense air.

The peak lords glanced back at each other, each wearing a grave expression. A wordless conversation between their eyes. They nodded silently. Both understood immediately that this boy was the real deal. 

He was a Seer.

“Shang Qinghua,” the An Ding Peak Lord started, feeling his skin crawl with disgust and anxiety. “You must keep these dreadful visions to yourself. Until the sect leader is informed, you will remain in seclusion here on An Ding Peak. Please understand that it is for your safety, not a punishment.” 

The other peak lord continued, “Seers are coveted assets in both the secular human realm and the demon realm. It is not a good sign that you have frequent visions of demons. If your identity is revealed, it could compromise your safety or even all of Cang Qiong.”

Shang Qinghua nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. 

Blood and carnage. The horrific neigh of a startled horse. Screaming. A wicked, fanged smile. Slitted cobalt eyes, familiar but somehow older. A demon, of course. Tearing out the throat of a faceless disciple. Flashing its tongue to lick its lips, tasting the blood splattered over his face. 

Shivers wracked the disciple’s body.

The peak lords had no idea how to proceed with this new information that one of their disciples was a Seer. The An Ding Peak Lord was almost ready to kick the boy out on his own, but the Sect Leader needed to be informed before any rash decisions could be made. When the Gift of Sight usually manifested, it was at a young age, and most Seers were quickly sent away to become monks in Buddhist or Daoist temples. It was practically unheard of that they were accepted into cultivation sects. 

Heaven spoke to Seers and revealed the path forward. What use did they have for cultivating their way to immortality when they were already connected to Heaven in a way regular cultivators could never hope to achieve? It seemed almost greedy.

Most righteous cultivators were envious of a Seer’s innate connection to Heaven.

Some especially strict sects even outwardly opposed the consultation of Seers, thinking it would taint their dao if they had Foresight. It was a worldly thing to covet the knowledge of what is to come. Seers were a temptation that could lead to an imbalance of self. 

But demons and kings and emperors highly sought after those that were Gifted with Foresight. Anything to give them a political advantage against those that would oppose them.

Truthfully, the An Ding Peak Lord thought the boy was a bad omen and hoped the Sect Leader would expel him or send him off to a Buddhist temple to practice under those that could better help him and cultivate his Sight. He even recommended it to the Sect Leader, trying to sway him in the right direction.

The Qian Cao Peak Lord pitied the boy, but was also immensely curious. He wanted to study the science behind the visions and understand how it worked and what it did to the brain and the body. Perhaps he could convince the sect leader to leave the boy in his care…

The Cang Qiong Sect Leader, once informed about the Seer on An Ding by his fellow peak lords, felt torn. His sect was probably not the best place for the boy. Of course, they could send him away, but the Sect Leader felt that it would be a little cruel to completely uproot the boy’s entire life. He could also be sent to Bu Tian Peak to study divination. This option seemed to be the most favorable to the sect leader, until he realized that perhaps the boy might receive some special favoritism because of his Gift.

“Perhaps, what is best for the boy, is to remain as it was before,” the Sect Leader decided. “Tell the boy to conceal his Gift. No one is to mention it. What becomes of it is up to him. Cang Qiao will remain neutral.”

The An Ding Peak Lord tried to argue against the decision, but was ultimately overruled.

Shang Qinghua spent several days in seclusion in the Punishment Hall. They prepared a hasty cover story. He was to pretend that it was all an act, from the very beginning. A practical joke. An overactive imagination. A frequent daydreamer. The older disciples were told to quash any rumors about the boy’s Foresight. Shizun was also being much harsher with him than usual. Shang Qinghua couldn’t do anything right.

The Qian Cao Peak Lord started concocting several prescriptions for the boy, trying to find something to suppress his visions at least in the daytime.

As the months and the years passed, it only made Shang Qinghua’s dreams at night even worse. As if his visions were punishing him for daring to suppress his Gift. Everytime he closed his eyes, he could see blood. 

Cobalt blue eyes glowing in the shadowy forest, waiting to strike, poised like a snow leopard.

But he was forbidden from warning anyone, even the peak lord. With no one else to turn to, Shang Qinghua started recording his visions into a small leather bound notebook. He kept it hidden on his person at all times, drawing pictures by candlelight of the starring figures in his visions, trying to make sense of the sequence of events that sometimes felt more jumbled up and tangled than an unruly coil of string.

Carrying the heavy weight of knowing his sect siblings were about to be massacred by a demon was a burden no one should ever have to bear alone, and Shang Qinghua felt very much alone. And increasingly anxious. Once it was revealed to everyone that he was ‘faking everything,’ everyone of his sect siblings kept their distance. For years, he was ostracized by the rest of his peak. Villainized.

Slowly, the only relief from the looping carnage behind his eyelids was when that same recurring dream from his youth would return. The familiar, the comfortable vision. It was a strange comfort to him, despite everything. That figure to be crowned “Mobei-Jun.” Shang Qinghua was almost happy to see the demon. 

How silly did that sound? Happy? To see a demon? He was surely going mad. 

But it was the truth. 

The demon called Mobei-Jun’s appearance in his dreams was the one thing that kept him from trying to stop sleeping altogether. Shang Qinghua would try to notice more and more details about the demon or the palace or the crowd every time, trying to memorize everything. 

He tried over and over again to draw that prideful but strangely soft gaze in his notes. A page drowning in blue eyes, trying desperately to get the expression just right. 

There was something about the way that the ice demon looked at him towards the end. It took him a while to notice it, but Mobei-Jun made eye contact with him in the crowd. 

Eye contact.  

Usually, in Shang Qinghua’s visions, he was an invisible bystander. No matter how hard he screamed or called out to his sect siblings that something was waiting for them in the forest, they could not hear or see him. 

But Mobei-Jun could see him. 

Really see him. 

His eyes softened the slightest fraction when he did so. 

What could that mean? It sent shivers down his spine just thinking about it.

Shang Qinghua had many theories about this and tried to put them into practice the next time he had this dream. He wanted to try and move around and see if the ice demon would notice it. Shang Qinghua quickly found out that no matter what he tried, he could not move or speak while in this particular dream. It was different from the rest, it seemed. 

But why?

Shang Qinghua also found it somewhat comforting that it did not change and that he could not influence the outcome. Like it was set in stone. Not just a possibility, but an assurance.

In his other visions, like the caravan massacre, sometimes the details shifted or certain people were missing, or perhaps the demon would appear from the woods in a different direction, or perhaps it would be snowing.

But this dream of Mobei-Jun’s coronation never changed. 

Not once. 

Every single detail was exactly the same.

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Shang Qinghua could feel it, deep within his marrow. The way that he’d had almost the same nightmare about the caravan everyday for a whole week. The entire peak of An Ding was getting ready to ship a large amount of goods to another cultivation sect in a neighboring province called Bixia Sect. 

It was happening now. 

The demon was going to attack the caravan. 

Soon.

Despite not originally being assigned to escort the caravan, Shang Qinghua was unlucky enough to be called for as a replacement for an older shixiong that was sent on an emergency mission for their shizun. 

It was torture knowing that it was very likely everyone was about to get brutally massacred but being forbidden from warning anyone beforehand. Worse, because it was such a routine trip for An Ding, and mostly younger, less-experienced disciples were assigned to escort the caravan– to familiarize the new recruits with the general supply routes and other logistical duties.

The caravan wasn’t even supposed to be taking a route this close to the borderlands. Shang Qinghua tried to warn against it subtly, not enough to cause suspicion, but no one ever listened to him anymore. And it was so much colder here than back on their peaks. Shang Qinghua’s nose was running and his boots were soggy. Truly a miserable experience, doomed to die cold and wet.

“It’s just a little detour through the mountains,” the senior-most disciple in the carvan encouraged everyone. “The route we normally take to Bixia Sect will be nearly impassible because of the mud from the rain a couple days ago. Sure, it’ll add a couple of days to the trip and it’s a little cold, but nothing us cultivators can’t handle. I’ve gone this way loads of times during the rainy season. I’ve already marked it out on the map.”

A younger disciple, not even a year since he joined, spoke up, “But Pei-shixiong, we’re from An Ding. We’re not strong or sturdy like Bai Zhan or even clever like Qing Jing. We’re just losers.”

Pei-shixiong laughed nervously. “Have a little faith in An Ding, Xiao-shidi,” he said. “We’re just as capable as Bai Zhan or Qing Jing, even more so. Who told you that we were losers?”

“Shang-shixiong,” Xiao-shidi said, pointing directly to Shang Qinghua in the back.

“Shang-shidi? Why would you say that about your own peak? An Ding is the lifeblood of Cang Qiong.”

Shang Qinghua got a bit startled when he heard his name mentioned. Suddenly all eyes were on him. He was momentarily taken out of his growing paranoia and into the present moment. He glared at the little Xiao-shidi that sold him out and tried to defend himself, “B-but it’s true! Everyone thinks so. Everyone looks down on An Ding. It’s no use denying it, Pei-shixiong. You know what they think of us An Ding disciples.”

“Then we have to prove them wrong, Shang-shidi,” he scolded gently, shaking his head. “Rise above, not sink below.”

“Yes, Pei-shixiong,” he replied robotically, not really meaning it. Shang Qinghua would rather sink as low as it took than to ever stand out again.

The caravan continued crawling at a snail’s pace through a narrow mountain pass surrounded by thick pines. At least the scenery was nice, he thought vaguely. Better to die here than somewhere with a worse view.

No one had brought clothes fit for the mountain journey except Pei-shixiong who probably planned on taking this route earlier. Most of the younger disciples were huddling together, trying to keep warm with their thin sect robes. The wind was blistering, but eerily quiet. Not even a birdsong or a rustling in the woods. 

And it was much too cold for the late spring. 

Shang Qinghua looked around at his sect siblings. No one else looked worried. No one else looked even remotely concerned at all. They looked cold and miserable, but an attack was the furthest thing from anyone’s mind.

As the caravan slowly turned into a deeper thicket of the piney wood, Shang Qinghua’s stomach dropped. He recognized this place from his dreams.

It happened in the next moment.

The lead horse whinnied, riling up and refusing to go forward. And then it screamed. Not a normal, startled sound, but one born from primal, instinctual terror.

The temperature plummeted. Snowflakes started falling in thick, clumpy pieces in a sky that had been clear not five seconds ago.

“Form up! Defensive circle!” Pei-shixiong shouted to the older disciples, unsheathing his sword at once. “Something’s coming!”

Shang Qinghua barely had enough time to grab his sword before the screaming started.

A figure emerged from the treeline, quiet, fluid, slow as snowfall, and more merciless than the frost forming on the dirt in his wake. Tall and pale, with a curtain of dark hair, dressed in thick, midnight blue robes with a cloak made of a snow leopard’s skin. The taxidermied head acting as a shoulder pauldron for the demon. Cobalt blue eyes, the color of glacial ice, curved in an amused glare at the cute little cultivators who hoped to defend themselves against him. It smiled, or perhaps it was baring its fangs for all to see.

The demon didn’t speak, but it was like the nature around him creaked and whined from the sheer amount of power he commanded. Ice cracked outward from his feet, the wind howled, whipping his hair in wild, monstrous tendrils.

The assemblage of An Ding disciples were entirely out of their depth. There were only three or four disciples older than eighteen in the bunch, Shang Qinghua included. 

This wasn’t just any regular borderlands demon. This was a demon noble. 

A red firework popped into the air, a distress signal. But they weren’t on their normal route! No one would be looking for it here in the mountains!

Someone screamed, but Shang Qinghua couldn’t see what happened from his vantage near the flank. He felt frozen in place. A tug to his robes nearly had Shang Qinghua striking his youngest sect sibling on instinct, but he caught himself just in time to halt his sword.

“Shang-shixiong, what do we do?!” the little Xiao-shidi whispered, cowering behind Shang Qinghua. His bright, candlelight-amber eyes were brimming with thick tears.

He couldn’t think of any way out of this. The way he Saw it, the survival rate was basically zero. The best he could do was say, “Hide.”

Shang Qinghua picked up the little shidi and threw him into the nearest cart, trying to cover him up with as much stuff as possible in the short amount of time before the inevitable massacre. If he could save one, just one person, maybe he could feel like his Gift wasn’t entirely useless.

The defense circle was in shambles as the demon pounced, disciples falling one after the other. It was way too fast, moving like fog and mist in the sudden blizzard. It wasn’t even carrying a weapon, but something told Shang Qinghua the demon wouldn’t even need one.

Pei-shixiong swung his sword down, only to have it parried by the demon’s bare fingers, ends dipped with fierce and deadly claws. The metal of the sword instantly was covered in frost. It shattered like glass, like it wasn’t hardened steel forged by the masters of Wan Jian Peak.

Within the time it took Shang Qinghua to blink, his shixiong was on the ground with claws digging into his heart, spurting blood. The arm that was holding his sword was completely encased in ice up to his shoulder.

Another disciple sent a flurry of fire talismans towards the ice demon, but they just sputtered out in midair, each one dying with a pathetic hiss. 

The aura of frost around the demon devoured any warmth in its wake.

They were truly fucked. Pei-shixiong was by far the strongest fighter of the whole caravan and he was already dead. Why hadn’t anyone from Bai Zhan been assigned to protect the caravan?!

Someone cried out into the frigid air in a desperate last-ditch effort to save their hides, “We’ll give you whatever you want!” 

A couple of other voices agreed with him. A group of disciples had fallen to the ground, throwing their swords down and started pleading for their lives.

It wasn’t going to work. Shang Qinghua had seen this before, countless times. The demon didn’t care about treasures or wealth or whatever they possessed in the caravan. He hadn’t attacked for loot or riches like a regular highwayman, he did it for fun. Because killing weak cultivators was amusing to him. A hobby.

Shang Qinghua’s legs refused to move. Maybe he really was frozen to the spot.

“We have gold! A-And wine!” another offered up. “And a tribute box! T-Take it all! Spare us, please!”

A chuckle that sounded like the cracking of a glacier as it moved rumbled through the air. 

“What could puny little cultivators have of value to someone like me?” the demon hissed. “What are the lives of ants to a tiger?”

The demon looked around, gazing at all the pathetic disciples kneeling down that had abandoned their swords. 

All except one.

Shang Qinghua’s breath hitched as the demon slowly made eye contact with him. It stared at him, a little surprised that there was one brave enough not to grovel.

The demon was holding him up by the throat before he could recognize the change in elevation. Shang Qinghua’s sword dropped to the ground, the claws around his neck burning his skin from how cold the demon’s fingertips were.

“You’re different,” the demon mused, curiously. 

“W-What?” 

“You don’t scream or grovel.”

Shang Qinghua wanted to scream. So badly. And to grovel for his life. He wanted to hug the leg of this demon and beg and plead. But he knew it wouldn’t work. 

Nothing he could do or say would spare them.

“Shang-shidi!” someone blurted out. “Sh-Shang-shidi is a Seer! You can have him!” 

Shang Qinghua visibly panicked, trying desperately to shake his head, to deny it, but it was difficult in the air.

“No, I’m— This disciple isn’t—”

The demon tilted his head playfully, looking deep into the eyes of Shang Qinghua with a piercing cobalt gaze that left him choking and breathless.

“A Seer?” the demon mused, eyes flickering with intrigue.

“Yes, he is!” the one who blurted it out first continued, babbling in an attempt to save everyone. “Shang-shidi can see the future. He predicted a mudslide on my patrol that I would’ve gotten caught in! And, and… he also saw that one of our shijie was going to get murdered or something!”

“And Li-shidi had that mysterious parasite he somehow knew about!”

“Oh yeah, that too!”

“All of An Ding knows about it, but we’re not allowed to talk about it! They said he was making it all up, but no one really believes that!”

A chorus of disciples started mumbling their agreements.

Someone else piped up, “And… And he has a notebook! I’ve seen it! He writes his dreams down in his notes! T-take him instead! And spare us!”

How could they all sell him out so fast?! His own sect siblings?!

“St-stop!” Shang Qinghua begged, tears filling his eyes. “I don’t! I’m not—”

“A notebook, you say?”

And almost as if life was playing a huge practical joke on him, Shang Qinghua’s very notebook spilled out of his thin disciple robes that had been tucked into his belt.

The demon looked languidly down at the book that had fallen open to a drawing. The demon’s amused grin dropped instantly. He let go of Shang Qinghua, who fell to the ground unceremoniously, in favor of picking up this little notebook, gaze intense and furious.

“Do you know who this is?” the demon hissed, turning the page his way.

The picture was a portrait of Mobei-Jun from one of his dreams about the coronation. Sitting on the throne with an air of regality, silver crown atop his head.

Shang Qinghua was told before that if his identity was revealed, that he would be a coveted asset to kings and demons. He had to deny everything and make it convincing. His entire life depended on it.

“N-No, no I don’t!” he insisted, hot panic coursing through his veins. “It’s no one! A character I made up! I-I just have an overactive imagination, I swear! It’s just a recurring dream—”

The demon flicked through a couple more pages and showed him another page, the one covered with different sets of eyes. “How do you know this person?”

Words failed Shang Qinghua. “I don’t… I… It’s just—” 

The demon knelt down, grabbing him by the hair, yanking his head forward. “Why are you drawing my nephew?”

“Ne-nephew…?”

Shang Qinghua stopped mumbling, mouth still hanging open in shock. Somehow that made sense in his mind. He could see the family resemblance between the two as well as the ice motif that followed them in all of his dreams.

The demon watched the boy connect the dots in his mind and snarled under his breath. 

So the stupid cultivators weren’t lying to save their skin. This kid was the real deal. What a pain in the ass. The boy was struck speechless, not even coherent enough to form words to deny it anymore. There was not a single thing he could say that would even remotely satisfy the demon at this point. So, he reluctantly let go of the Seer’s hair, forming a large, black icicle in his hand.

“Wait here for a moment, boy,” the demon said menacingly, tucking the notebook into his thick robes. “We have much more to discuss.”

He rammed the ice pike down with inhuman strength into Shang Qinghua’s foot, effectively nailing him to the ground. 

Shang Qinghua’s screams pierced into the howling blizzard, harmonizing discordantly with the shrill cries from his sect siblings as they were massacred before his eyes. He tried desperately to escape, pulling and tugging and yanking at the ice pike lodged into his foot, but he couldn’t get it out before the world went quiet. Only the howling of the wind and his pathetic whimpers filled the air. Tears froze into his eyelashes before they even had a chance to slide down his cheek.

The demon approached him again, about to address Shang Qinghua, but before he spoke, he sniffed into the air.

“Seems like I missed someone,” the demon realized, a wicked smile spreading his face in two. “Hiding, are we? Come out, come out, wherever you are, little cultivator! I promise to kill you quickly.”

No! Not Xiao-shidi! Shang Qinghua couldn’t bear to think about it. He struggled even harder against that stupid icicle that pinned him to the ground.

“No, please!” he cried, thrashing and pulling even harder against the pike. “Please, don’t!”

The demon stalked around the caravan, sniffing his way around until he came across the cart where the little boy was stashed under several boxes. The disciple screamed and started thrashing wildly as the demon caught him by the scruff and dragged him out of the cart.

“Thought you could hide from me, little one?”

“Please, Shang-shixiong! Help me!” Xiao-shidi cried out, begging and pleading for his life.

“Don’t! Please, don’t! He’s just a kid!” Shang Qinghua shrieked, still desperately trying to work out of the ice pike. “He doesn’t… Please, don’t kill him! He’s innocent—”

“Shang-shixiong, please,” he whimpered, struggling with all his might. “Shang-shi—”

The demon growled as he tore into Xiao-shidi’s throat. Shang Qinghua couldn’t force his eyes away, watching in surmounting horror as the bright little spark grew dull as the candle extinguished behind Xiao-shidi’s amber eyes. His body was discarded haphazardly in the accumulating snow, a dark pool of blood staining the white underneath. 

The demon licked his lips, baring his fangs, tasting the warm blood splattered all over his face.

“Now, where were we, Seer-boy?”

Shang Qinghua screamed a horrible, gut-wrenching cry that made his whole soul shudder and ache.

How could this have gone so much worse than he originally Saw?

⋆⋅❅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ⌯⌲ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•❅⋅⋆

Shang Qinghua didn’t remember blacking out. One second there was blood and Xiao-shidi lying dead on the ground and frost climbing up the boy’s skin like a creeping vine. The next, only darkness. 

He woke up screaming again, haunted by those glassy eyes of his sect sibling, gasping awake. His breath was stolen by the cold, sharp and immediate. 

Shang Qinghua didn’t recognize any of his surroundings as he sat up. He had been lying down on a bitterly cold stone, roughly the size and shape of a small cot. The walls around him were black ice, not carved ice, but conjured. Cultivated and purposeful. Crystalline patterns like little frost flowers and snowflakes etched into who-knows-how-thick ice along the walls. A single, flickering oil lamp was lit in the corner of the room, struggling to keep itself warm in such a frigid place. The room was barely bigger than the size of the stone, with a little bit of room to walk in front. Frosty metal bars stood sturdy over on the opposite side of the bed. It was mostly silent, but strangely alive with the sound of creaking, like a glacier settling.

A singular pelt of some unknown beast lay across his lap. 

Shang Qinghua tried to stand up, but instantly was reminded why that was a terrible idea. A hole in his foot from where the ice pike had been embedded was bandaged over neatly, his boots discarded somewhere he wasn’t privy to. His other ankle burned. A shackle made of pure ice circled around his ankle, sending pulses of cold through his nerves.

“You’re awake.”

That voice, smooth and low and deceptively calm.

Shang Qinghua twitched toward the sound. 

The demon opened up the cell door and stepped inside. He looked completely composed, tranquil even, as he thumbed through a small leather bound notebook. Like someone who knows they’re perfectly in control.

Shang Qinghua shuddered, realizing what the demon was reading.

“You’re a Seer.”

It wasn’t a question.

“No, I’m n-not—”

“Don’t try to deny it now, boy,” the demon said, baring his fangs. He thumped the book a couple of times against his palms. “And it seems you have a particular fascination with my nephew. Mobei-Jun, you call him. Over and over and over again…” The demon looked like it left a bad taste in his mouth, to call his nephew that stupid title. It should be his title.

Shang Qinghua blinked. “That’s… It’s not real. It’s all dream nonsense. I don’t know him—”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” the demon interrupted smoothly, tossing the book back to its owner. “And I’ve read your notes. You know things you shouldn’t. Names and titles. Fates of your comrades. Kings yet to be crowned…”

Shang Qinghua scrambled to grab his precious notebook that clattered to the floor, clutching it tightly to his chest.

“It’s none of m-my business. I’m sorry—”

“Oh, do not be sorry, boy,” the demon said, smiling brightly. The white of his fangs glinted in the lamp light, making Shang Qinghua swallow uncomfortably. “I think it’s fortunate that we crossed paths. That your little friends pointed out your Gift to me.”

Shang Qinghua sucked in a harsh breath. His gut sank into the floor from the bitter taste of betrayal. Somewhere, he understood what they were thinking, giving him up like that. He probably would have done anything it took to spare himself if he didn’t know any better. But it still stung. 

What’s done is done. They were gone and he was not. Maybe he should be grateful that he was still alive…? Perhaps not…

The demon leaned down, looking Shang Qinghua in the eyes with a wicked grin.

“With you, I can accomplish anything. Take the throne from that spoiled brat nephew of mine.”

“I don’t have anything to do with your family or kings—”

The demon’s expression didn’t change. He reached out, ice creeping from his clawed fingertips, tracing up Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, up his neck, and over his cheek, like a lover’s caress.

Shang Qinghua bit his lips, trying to placate his trembling mouth and the burning cold left in the wake of the demon’s fingers. 

“You will See for me,” the demon insisted with an eerily calm expression. “Or I will make you. Let’s make this an amicable arrangement, shall we?”

⋆⋅❅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ⌯⌲ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•❅⋅⋆

He learned later that the demon currently holding him captive was called Linguang-Jun, and the demon that appeared in Shang Qinghua’s recurring visions was Linguang-Jun’s nephew. And Linguang-Jun vehemently refused to call him Mobei-Jun. Only ever referring to him as “spoiled brat” or “nephew.”

Shang Qinghua could sort of fill in the blanks. The former king had died, and the king’s brother, Linguang-Jun, expected to be handed the throne. However, it was passed down to the king’s son, his young nephew instead. Linguang-Jun was extremely bitter and was now trying to usurp the throne in any way possible. Which is why he needed Shang Qinghua’s visions. To give him the upper hand.

Time felt different here, in this glacial prison. With no windows or way to tell the time of day, just that eternally burning oil lamp, Shang Qinghua could not tell if he had been here for months or days. He was even fed on irregular intervals (whenever the guards remembered), and only about half of it was ever edible for humans. 

The ice shackle around his good ankle was a little bit overkill, he thought. He couldn’t even walk more than a few agonizing steps with the damage done to his foot being left to heal on its own. The iron gate that kept him inside the black ice prison wasn’t even locked. That’s how futile Linguang-Jun thought it was for him to even try to escape. And it was another kind of torture knowing if he could only break free of this ice shackle, Shang Qinghua could just limp out at any time.

One or two demon guards stood nearby at all times, waiting and watching for him to have another vision. He felt a little like a fortune teller in a freak show. The guards even threw things at him, trying to get him to do something interesting when they were bored.

Without the prescriptions from Qian Cao, Shang Qinghua’s visions during the daytime returned. The guard would leave momentarily whenever he noticed Shang Qinghua trying to hide a vision or when he woke up from a nightmare. And like clockwork, Linguang-Jun would show up not long after, demanding to know the contents of his visions.

At first it was mundane things, like the caravan being discovered by scouts from Bixia sect. An Ding and Bixia collaborating, sending out a search party in the mountains to check for any survivors. 

These visions were easy enough to convey, much to the disappointment of Linguang-Jun. Beaten to a bloody pulp every time he didn’t See anything remotely connected to the North, Shang Qinghua eventually adapted, learning how to focus the contents of his visions to a specific area or person. Mostly out of necessity and survival rather than by choice. And he could even sort of control or at least induce a vision if needed, just to have something to report to the cruel demon whenever he came knocking.

Despite having no tangible loyalties to either demon, Shang Qinghua found himself silently rooting for Mobei-Jun. If Linguang-Jun was despicable enough to keep him in prison, forcing him to See, beating him till he passed out and then some, Shang Qinghua hoped that the demon that he’d seen all his life, that looked at him softly, would be a better king than this monster that kept him in captivity.

When he became aware of this inherent bias, Shang Qinghua made it his mission to try and sew little lies into his prophecies, true enough but never the whole picture, in hopes to throw off Linguang-Jun’s progress.

He didn’t even know how, but somehow the demon found out about it, and nearly killed him for his insubordination.

“You belong to me! Your visions belong to me! You’re supposed to be helping ME! Not HIM become king! You filthy fucking worthless human traitor! Disgusting rat!”

“Long… live… M-Mobei-Jun,” Shang Qinghua sputtered, coughing up blood on the ground of his cell. “King of, of t-the Northern… D-Desert!”

Linguang-Jun broke several of his ribs, kicking him so hard over and over again that Shang Qinghua nearly died. A rib had punctured into one of his lungs. It was so bad that they had to send for a demon healer to fix him immediately.

After that incident, it lit a fire in Shang Qinghua’s belly. He refused to spill the contents of visions anymore. And Linguang-Jun was becoming impatient. He’d almost killed his Seer once, and he couldn’t afford to do it again.

Moves were happening behind the scenes in the court of the Northern Desert very soon. He needed everything to go perfect. His Seer would literally See to it. If the boy would just tell him! What he Saw!

Finally, at the end of his rope, and without any other options, Linguang-Jun stood across from Shang Qinghua suspended into the air with icy chains around his two wrists. The temperature in the room felt well into the realm of frostbite. Shang Qinghua wanted to fall asleep, to give in to hypothermia, but he was forced to stay awake.

“Tell me,” Linguang-Jun demanded. “What do you See?”

“No.”

Linguang-Jun raised a hand and Shang Qinghua flinched. But this time, he didn’t strike. 

He touched.

Sharp, clawed fingertips gliding along Shang Qinghua’s bruised ribs, deceptively gentle for a demon. And then the frost followed, stinging beautiful patterns into his skin. Not enough to bleed, but just enough to burn.

Shang Qinghua swallowed. “I… I won’t See anything for you.”

The demon hissed, “You will give me your Sight. I will have it. You belong to me, rat. Tell me, is there one who plots against me?”

He pressed harder, and the frost deepened with it, sinking into the layers of Shang Qinghua’s skin and into his veins.

Shang Qinghua writhed pitifully in the chains, struggling against his restraints. The cold, so sharp it became fire. Eating away into his skin. His breath shuddering, eyes wide, heart pounding. But still, he said nothing.

Linguang-Jun’s expression stayed the same, but inside he felt a little disappointed in his pet Seer. He thought he had trained this pitiful rodent to be better than this. He was becoming annoyingly defiant lately. On a rebellious streak. And that would simply not do.

“You don’t want to tell me? Then, See something else.”

“I refuse.”

Shang Qinghua didn’t scream at first. Well, it was more that he couldn’t scream even if he wanted to.

It was like being submerged in ice water, suffocating, while being completely dry. His lungs shrinking smaller and smaller with every breath, freezing the very thoughts in his head. Lines of pain, winding down his arms as his very veins crystallized for a heartbeat at a time, only to thaw just enough to do it over again.

“How do I kill him? Tell me.”

“Stop!” Shang Qinghua choked, voice cracking. “I don’t… I can’t… Not that!”

“But you can,” Linguang-Jun whispered. “And you will.”

It was involuntary. He’d been trying to resist the visions, but this one managed to slip through. That same twist in his stomach and pull on his brain… His eyes closed and his body went limp as flashes spilled into his mind.

A palace made of snow. A low, rumbling voice saying, “Seven days.” Mobei-Jun surrounded by a ring of white, hot fire. A silver crown clattering against a blood covered marbled floor. A figure falling down a ravine.

Shang Qinghua gasped, pulling himself out of the vision, “No! No, no! I don’t want to See—”

Linguang-Jun leaned in closer, voice low and precise, “Tell me.” 

Shang Qinghua shook his head vigorously back and forth, but Linguang-Jun froze all of the veins and arteries in his body again, blood turning into an icy sludge. So cold… He couldn’t feel anything other than freezing fire, couldn’t even think clearly. His eyelids weighed tons, he could barely keep them open.

“I-I can’t…” he choked, teeth chattering so violently, he could barely force words past his teeth.

“You can,” Linguang-Jun assured him.

“You’ll kill… him…” Shang Qinghua’s voice broke as a hot tear slid down his cheek.

“Hmm. Yes, but I’ll keep you alive,” Linguang-Jun insisted. “Isn’t that what you want? You should really worry about yourself, first. Or would you prefer me to kill you along with my stupid nephew, since you seem to love him so much? Because it would be all too easy to kill you, boy, if you refuse to tell me. And where would the fun in that be? If you’re a good little pet and tell me what I want to know, just think of the possibilities! What we could accomplish together! I’d appoint you my Kingmaker, boy. You’d want for nothing. Money, women, whatever you want. I could even let you roam free in my palace. Don’t you want to be free of this prison, boy? …All I ask in return, is for you to tell me how to kill him.”

Shang Qinghua didn’t answer. 

Freedom… but at the cost of being leashed to this horrible tyrant for the remainder of his life. A glorified birdcage. What was a gilded cage to a prisoner? It was still a prison, after all… That was no freedom.

Another pulse of cold slammed into him. His back arched involuntarily, a sob tearing from his throat.

“I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you! I’ll do it!” he cried. “Just-just stop!”

The cold eased as a wicked glint appeared in Linguang-Jun’s eyes.

“Good,” he said. Not pleased, or gloating, or triumphant. Just inevitable.

Shang Qinghua dropped to the ground, panting, when the chains around his wrists melted in an instant, pooling into a small puddle at his feet.

“Well, get on with it, rat.”

Linguang-Jun kicked Shang Qinghua’s shoulder up with the edge of his boot.

Without even a moment to recover or take a breath, Shang Qinghua was forced to start recounting the contents of his visions in as much clarity as he could possibly remember, which honestly, wasn’t much considering the stressful circumstances that induced the vision.

Linguang-Jun’s brows shot up curiously, understanding something that Shang Qinghua didn’t have the capacity to at this moment from only the contents of his vision with zero other context.

Seven days. A snowy palace. A silver crown . This was all in reference to the Ascension Ceremony of the Mobei clan, Linguang-Jun deduced immediately. A ring of white hot fire. He’d heard of something like that in relation to a spell called the Black Sun Immortal Fire. This was exactly the golden finger he needed to get the upper hand on his nephew!

The only problem was, the Ascension Ceremony was years away. His stupid nephew wasn’t even of age yet. Linguang-Jun was too impatient to wait. He could begin preparations now and launch a sneak attack against the unsuspecting brat before he became of age. Perhaps he could even pin the blame on this human Seer boy that had given him the idea if he ended up needing a scapegoat.

⋆⋅❅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ⌯⌲ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•❅⋅⋆

Linguang-Jun kept telling Shang Qinghua he could only make good on his lofty promises once he was actually king. So until then, everything was much the same. Days and weeks and months trapped in that frigid cell turned into years. Years of brutal beatings, of pitiful defiance, of icy torture, the constant threat of dying from hypothermia, of new schemes Linguang-Jun would try and ultimately fail, only to take it out on his Seer that he needed to keep somewhat alive and coherent enough to still relay visions. 

His foot, along with many other broken bones, had never healed right. He hadn’t been able to stand or walk in months at this point. He couldn’t even remember what it was like to feel his toes. And he had no hope to ever escape on a crippled leg. 

Shang Qinghua’s only solace was his dreams. He saw Mobei-Jun every night. Whether it was a vision or just a normal dream, he could barely tell at this point. But any glimpse of those handsome features, that sharp jawline, those strong arms, was enough to put his mind at ease. He even dreamed often of Mobei-Jun coming to rescue him, but that was just a pipe dream at this point. His subconscious getting carried away with itself in a desperate attempt to cling to hope.

Linguang-Jun would check in with his Seer whenever he felt like tormenting something to boost his ego. Shang Qinghua felt fiercely, eternally loyal to someone he had never even met before. Linguang-Jun, try as he might, attempted to beat and freeze that loyalty out of him, but Shang Qinghua was a stubborn little thing.

With preparations almost complete for his ultimate assassination attempt, Linguang-Jun just needed a couple more ingredients in order to be able to cast that fire spell.

“So, tell me boy,” Linguang-Jun began smugly. “Do you still see that stupid nephew of mine ascending that dais, being crowned King of the Northern Desert?”

Shang Qinghua didn’t even hesitate to answer, “He will become king.”

Linguang-Jun frowned, scowled even. He crossed his arms and said, “Check again. The final steps of my plan are falling into place. My reign is almost upon us now.”

Shang Qinghua closed his eyes. Flashes behind his eyes for a moment.

“There is no change. He will become king.”

The demon scoffed. It wasn’t even worth it to beat him personally. He would order a guard to do it for him later. There was much to be done.

“Nothing you can do will ever change the fact that he will become king,” Shang Qinghua said with the confidence of a Seer who had seen every other vision change slightly, but this one never did. “It is an unchangeable fact, and working against Fate can only lead to your inevitable downfall!”

“You little—”

Linguang-Jun ripped open the iron bars, throwing all composure out the window and letting anger consume him. He wailed on the poor, wretched Seer, pounding mercilessly into his throughly bruised body.

“Just you wait, you little shit!” Linguang-Jun shouted, teeth gnashing in fury. “Just you wait! I’ll fucking kill that undeserving, spoiled brat! And then, when he is nothing more than ashes under my boot, we’ll see who becomes king!”

He only ripped himself off the boy until he was sure one more punch would kill him. Linguang-Jun fixed his robes, straightening them and adjusting his cloak that had gotten off-kilter from his frenzy. 

Walking out of the cell, he called back just to add the twist to the knife for the pitiful little rat, “Thanks, by the way, for the tip about the Black Sun Immortal Fire, rat. I’ll be sure to give your king regards when he’s burning because of you.”

Shang Qinghua, numb and barely conscious anymore, felt a tear slide down his cheek, but not from the pain.

⋆⋅❅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ⌯⌲ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•❅⋅⋆

The rumor that his uncle was keeping something secret in a vault under his estate he had overheard from a servant, barely a whisper.

“It’s not a weapon,” the servant choked out, looking around for anyone else in the vicinity. “It’s a person.”

The heir to the Mobei clan and Regent of the North hadn’t really intended to do anything about it originally. His uncle had more secrets than he had hairs on his head, all of them selfish, cruel, and not especially worth investigating. And if he was keeping someone in custody, that had nothing to do with him. He made motions to keep on his way.

“I heard it’s a Seer,” the servant continued.

He stopped in his tracks.

A Seer? Now that was worth investigating.

Something in his blood stirred at the thought of his uncle hiding a Seer in the vault. He knew Linguang-Jun was a scheming, ruinous person, trying to vie for his claim to the throne— but a scheming, ruinous person, trying to vie for the throne, and with access to Foresight? Now, that sounded like bad news all around.

And so, he opened a portal leading to his uncle’s estate in the mountainous region in the south of the Mobei Clan territory, close to the borderlands. This Seer needed to be disposed of before he could provide anything of value to his uncle.

He stepped through the portal with a flick of his cloak. The air was colder here in the mountains, but pleasantly so for an ice demon. Guards were easy enough to slip past for someone like him who could fade in and out of the shadows at will.

Making his way down to the vault, where his uncle kept the supposed Seer, his heavy boots crunched through the frost-etched stone underfoot. There were a couple of normal stone cells, but with nothing especially interesting in them. A couple of prisoners were in chains or frozen to death, so he kept going until he saw two guards standing outside a cell at the end of the hall.

One of the demons was laughing stupidly, flicking little knuckle bones into the cell. The other was also giggling and cheering the other one on.

It was easy enough to distract them. He summoned a large chunk of ice and threw it down another corridor, watching as it shattered in a most-satisfying fashion into a million pieces on the stone.

“Hey, what was that?!” the knuckle-bone guard asked, looking up from his game.

“I dunno… You go check,” the other insisted.

“O-okay…”

He knocked out the guard, silent and efficient, dragging his body into an open cell. And did the same with the other when he went to check on his friend that hadn’t returned.

Dusting off his robes and straightening his cloak, he finally went to check the contents of this last, guarded cell. The end of the hall was much dimmer than the rest of the vault. Only a singular light flickering from somewhere up ahead.

And as he turned the corner, he saw that this cell looked different from the rest. It was made entirely of black ice. Peering through the iron bars, he found what could only be the supposed Seer. Hidden up the sleeve of his thick robes, he readied a thin ice sword.

A young man, probably around his age, slumped against the wall, wrapped in some kind of beast skin. He looked in frightful condition, pale and barely more than skin and bones. His face was bruised and a little bit of blood was leaking from his mouth. Perhaps he’d been beaten or tortured recently. But that wasn’t the most surprising thing…

The Seer that Linguang-Jun has been secretly keeping… is a human?! he thought, trying to keep his face from betraying his surprise.

Knuckle bones that the guards had been flicking into his cell gathered into a pile next to the Seer’s leg that was chained to the wall with ice. His clothes were ragged and probably hadn’t been changed in years. Caked with layers of blood and grime. His hair was no better than a rat’s nest. Old and new blood was frozen to the floor, stained in the stone grout floor and along the walls.

At the sound of footsteps approaching, the young man’s eyes startled open, or one of his eyes opened all the way. The other was almost swollen shut.

The human’s face scrunched up in confusion for a moment. 

And then… he smiled. A genuine, too-bright smile. His whole face changed, eyes lighting up like a dying ember catching flame. 

Mobei-Jun winced, seeing the human bare his teeth. He snarled back, hackles rising in provocation.

“My king!” the human said, as if it was the most natural thing ever. “Or, well, I guess that hasn’t happened yet…” he continued. “Mobei-Jun! That’s your name, right?”

The demon’s expression went from baring his teeth, to staring wildly at the stranger. 

Well, it wasn’t his name YET, but he nodded stiffly anyway, accepting the title from the complete stranger. Technically, he was still the Crown Prince and Regent of the North, but most servants called him “king” since his father passed. Usually out of fear.

“Is… is this real? Am I dreaming? I’m not dreaming, right?” the young man whispered, shifting in his seat. He slapped himself a bit, wincing and blinking over and over again. But Mobei-Jun was really there. If he could walk, he’d have clung to the bars of the cell to get a better look. “Are you… You’re really here? I thought… I thought that maybe one day… I kept hoping. Dreaming…”

“My uncle has been keeping a human Seer…” he said, unimpressed. 

Mobei-Jun couldn’t fathom why. This pathetic looking, weak human that dared to bare its teeth before a demon? How had his uncle tolerated it for so long?

The Seer’s face dimmed. Was his savior just going to use him like his uncle? Shang Qinghua almost feared the worst.

“If you’re only here for a prophecy, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, my king,” he offered. “But you should know. Your uncle. He’s trying to kill you.”

Mobei-Jun didn’t even flinch at the news. He knew that his whole life. That wasn’t as shocking as the young man probably meant it to be. It would’ve been more surprising to hear his uncle wasn’t trying to kill or scheme against him.

“You would give away my uncle’s plots?”

Oh shit. He shouldn’t have said that. 

“I… It’s just that… This lowly one doesn’t think Linguang-Jun should become king.” 

He also probably shouldn’t have said that. Shang Qinghua flinched, waiting for something to be thrown at him.

Mobei-Jun narrowed his eyes. Considering the current condition of this human, his uncle hadn’t kept him in good condition. Perhaps it was only fair that the human resented his demon captor.

“Who, pray tell, does one such as you deem worthy of the crown, then?” Mobei-Jun asked sharply, a test.

The Seer laughed nervously, ragged and weak, like he’d fall over if he laughed too hard. He scratched his head awkwardly and said, “Who else but you, my king?”

“How do you know who I am?” Mobei-Jun said flatly, still incredibly confused. He clutched the ice sword behind his back. Perhaps this was another assasination attempt… He needed to keep his guard up.

“I’ve Seen it. Thousands of times, I’ve Seen you crowned King of the Northern Desert. And I’ve tried to give him false leads and throw him off the right path to make way for you. Because you were meant to be king.”

Mobei-Jun didn’t reply. His brows shot up in surprise, but the rest of his face remained suspicious.

The human kept smiling brightly, still in utter disbelief at such a fortuitous encounter. It was weirding Mobei-Jun out. “And now you’re really here. It’s really you, my king!”

Mobei-Jun frowned. “We’ve never met.”

“Maybe not yet,” the young man answered immediately, an earnest glimmer in his tortured eyes. “But I know you. I’ve known you my whole life.”

Mobei-Jun studied the boy in silence. He didn’t look like he was lying. He probably didn’t have the energy to deceive, from the state of him. And Mobei-Jun had a feeling he wouldn’t be particularly good at lying even if he could. But he still couldn’t rule out that this was all a ruse, or a ploy to plant a spy in his court.

But something in Mobei-Jun wanted to believe this silly human. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered hearing that when humans bared their teeth, it was a friendly gesture. And that only further confused the demon. His uncle tortured this Seer for years, it looked like. Forcing him to use his Gift. And yet, he still smiled at someone like Mobei-Jun. How could the Seer be so sure that the demon wasn’t here to kill him?

“Are you not afraid of this king?” Mobei-Jun asked, tilting his head curiously.

“If anything, I’m happy to have finally met you!”

Mobei-Jun scoffed. He threw open the iron bars with a loud creak. He hadn’t meant to make such a loud noise as it slammed open, but the cell door wasn’t even locked. He expected to break the lock open with force, but it just flew open. What the hell? He watched as the Seer flinched at the loud noise, but his expression remained controlled.

The demon shook his head and pointed the sword made of black ice in his hand, directly at the Seer’s throat. 

“How about now?”

The Seer swallowed uncomfortably, eyeing the deadly weapon. And he locked eyes with the demon he’d been Seeing his whole life. The ghost of Linguang-Jun was carved deep into his features. But where Linguang-Jun was harsh and wicked, Mobei-Jun carried none of that malicious edge. Just handsome, ocean colored eyes under a thick brow. He was guarded and cautious, but Shang Qinghua could tell he was not a ruthless murderer.

Shang Qinghua smiled up at him unconsciously again, still not completely sure if this really was a dream or not. Even if this was the last thing he’d ever see, he could die happy gazing at the handsome demon before him.

“You’re not like your uncle.”

Mobei-Jun felt irrationally angry at this reaction. Because what human in their right mind would ever not be afraid of a true-blood demon noble pointing a sword at their throat?! He had half a mind to just run the incredibly stupid human through with his sword. But part of him knew he could never do that. Not when he looked up at him like that. 

Reverence. Affection. Relief. Like he was some kind of savior.

No one had ever smiled, really smiled at Mobei-Jun. Which was not very surprising. Smiling wasn’t very common in demon culture, especially not demon nobles. The gesture didn’t make sense to him. Baring your teeth to someone in the demon realm usually meant someone’s throat was about to be torn out, but from what little he knew about human culture, it meant a human was being friendly or a sign that it was happy. 

Had anyone ever been happy to see him before? Not his father, and certainly never his uncle. Linguang-Jun would only be happy to see his corpse. And most of the servants were either terrified of him or helping in plots to kill him. 

Somewhere, lost to his memories, he could imagine his mother’s eyes looking down on him with something like affection, but she had died before he could even feel some sort of attachment to her memory. 

“How can you be so sure?” He forced the sword closer towards the Seer’s throat, scowling harshly.

Shang Qinghua blinked up at him and said honestly, “Because I know you, my king. I’ve followed you each and every day of my life… and I would already be dead if you were like your uncle.”

Mobei-Jun stared down at the young man shackled to the ice. He didn’t even know his name or why he was calling him ‘my king’ and his not-yet-bestowed official title ‘Mobei-Jun’ or why it was like this human had known him for years. 

Mobei-Jun couldn’t understand why his chest suddenly felt tight. Something told him that his uncle had made a huge mistake. That this Seer— No, this person… This person was his, Mobei-Jun’s. And he didn’t know what that meant just yet, but he knew he needed to save this person from his uncle and keep him close, not eliminate the potential threat. 

He closed his eyes, as if accepting this answer, and the sword melted into a puddle on the floor.

⋆⋅❅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ⌯⌲ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•❅⋅⋆

Shang Qinghua couldn’t walk, that much was certain. Mobei-Jun roughly bundled the Seer up in his cloak after dissolving the ice trapping his ankle. But for whatever reason, Mobei-Jun didn’t mind carrying the human through the portal back to his chambers. And it sort of made him vaguely irritated that he didn’t feel annoyed about it. 

It was a strange thing, to be free again after so long in the icy prison. Shang Qinghua did feel a little nauseous from traveling through a shadow for the first time. 

“You will stay here,” Mobei-Jun announced unceremoniously.

Shang Qinghua didn’t really know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this.

The room was cold, but ten thousand times more bearable than the frigid conditions of the black ice prison. 

It was a big room. A bedroom, luxurious and expensive. Clean and cold and spacious. Marble and velvet, carpets, curtains, and beast pelts strewn around. And also empty and lifeless. There were no books or cushions, paintings or any homey touches. Just lacquered wooden furniture and a grand, exquisitely carved hearth that looked like it had only been used once. 

The windows were tall and arched, frosted over and glinting in the sunlight. Shang Qinghua almost cried from how beautiful the sun looked streaming in through the curtain.

The demon sat him on a large, midnight canopy bed. Shang Qinghua tried to protest that it would get dirty, but Mobei-Jun ignored him, muttering something about the servants changing the sheets.

And that’s when it clicked. This was Mobei-Jun’s bed. The king’s personal chambers. 

“I can stay… here?” he asked hesitantly, not wanting to offend.

Mobei-Jun replied bluntly, “My uncle has spies in the palace. If a servant were to prepare a room, and he were to find out…”

Shang Qinghua could imagine the rest. So in the king’s bedroom it was then.

“No one would dare look for a human here.”

It was lucky that Mobei-Jun’s wing of the palace was far removed from the bustling palace halls and the war room. Even before rescuing the Seer, he only let a few trusted servants that had taken care of his mother enter and serve him. When he opened the door leading into the hallway and called for a bath and some food— quickly clarifying a warm bath and warm food— no one even questioned it. Not even when he asked the hearth to be lit.

Shang Qinghua flinched when the door shut.

“A bath and food will be made.”

What else would a human need? Warmth, food, shelter?  

What else was he forgetting? 

Oh, of course! Clothes!

He rushed over to a wardrobe and picked out the smallest inner robe he owned, something that would surely drown the starving human on his bed, and offered it out.

Shang Qinghua flinched again, holding his hands up this time, like Mobei-Jun might throw it at him.

They stared at each other in silence in the seconds that followed. Mobei-Jun shook the robes impatiently, offering them again. Shang Qinghua took them once he realized what was happening, laughing nervously.

“Oh, sorry…”

“No harm will come to you here,” Mobei-Jun stated, matter-of-factly. He would make sure of that.

Shang Qinghua flinched a third time when there was the lightest tap on the door. A servant had come to tell them that a warm bath was already prepared. Mobei-Jun grunted in response and looked back at the Seer sitting on his bed. 

“You cannot walk.”

Shang Qinghua stifled another nervous laugh, scratching the back of his head. “That I cannot.”

“You need a bath.”

“That I do.”

They stared at each other again.

“…This king will carry you into the bath.”

Before Shang Qinghua could refuse, he was already being scooped up in the thick fur cloak, clutching tightly to the white inner robe that was just offered to him.

“M-My king!” he started, blushing a little. “There’s no need—”

“Silence.”

Shang Qinghua shut his mouth on instinct, but Mobei-Jun’s words didn’t have any bite, not the way Linguang-Jun’s voice did. When Linguang-Jun was angry, the temperature in the room dropped. But with Mobei-Jun, he felt warm inside. Giddy, even. 

The Seer stared up at Mobei-Jun’s perfect face, the face he’d seen his whole life, and like he was hypnotized, he reached out to touch it.

Mobei-Jun’s eyes sharply locked onto the pathetic little Seer as he slowly caressed his face. His grimy, calloused hands exploring a rigid jawline and padding over plush but cold lips.

“You’re real,” he said, mystified. “This isn’t a dream…?”

“It is not a dream,” Mobei-Jun gruffed, glaring down suspiciously at the Seer in his arms. Was this another human custom he was unaware of?

Suddenly, Shang Qinghua retracted his hand like something had burned him, remembering his manners. This was a future king! A crown prince! Of the demon realm! And he was touching his face! He was lucky the demon didn’t bite his hand off!

The bath chamber was only two doors down the hall. Warm, like a balm to his cracking and eternally dry skin from being cold and wet for so long. It was a wonder that he never suffered from serious frostbite or died of hypothermia and still had all of his limbs and extremities attached. He suspected the cell had been enchanted with some sort of array to keep him from really freezing to death. He never questioned it at the time because he was focused on not dying or freezing to death.

Mobei-Jun set him down on a bench he normally used for changing, not far away from the large bathing pool. The demon stood around awkwardly for a few moments before taking his exit without another word.

“Thank you, my king!” Shang Qinghua called after him, jumping a little when the door slammed shut.

Now alone in the pleasantly warm air of the bathroom, he allowed himself to shed the cloak that was graciously placed around his shoulders by Mobei-Jun. He folded it up neatly as he could and set it to the side. 

I guess it’s time…

The only time Linguang-Jun ever let him “bathe” was when he was forced to strip naked and then some guards threw freezing cold water on him that turned to ice on his skin almost immediately.

Shang Qinghua swallowed uncomfortably as he started peeling off his old disciple robe that he’d had since the day the caravan was attacked. Soaked and stained with years worth of beatings. He folded it up and placed it on the ground, not even dignifying it with a spot on the bench next to the cloak and the new inner robe.

The mosaic work on the bath was exceptional and he found himself getting lost in the frost patterns. The water itself looked especially clean and comfortable. He imagined there was some sort of heating stone or fire or possibly some warming talisman hidden somewhere he couldn’t see. 

He was stalling… Shang Qinghua swallowed again and clenched his fists. It was only a bath. And it wasn’t too far away. He could do it. He could do this.

Shang Qinghua tried to stand up, he really did. But his legs just felt like numb weights attached to his hips, refusing to bear any weight. He sat back on the bench, immediately faltering. What was left of his ass slapping back against the cool marble of the bench.

He tried again, breathless. And he even tried to steady himself on the wall with his hands, but this time, instead of falling back on the bench, he collapsed to the floor.

So, he’d have to get used to crawling like a snake, it seemed. But even his arms didn’t have the strength to carry him just a little bit to the edge of the pool.

Biting his lip, and trying to hold back panicking tears, he at least tried to sit himself upright, that much he could accomplish, however with great difficulty.

A knock on the door startled him and he let out a strained gasp. He turned to face the door as Mobei-Jun entered, looking stoic and perfect and… surprised. His eyebrows looked alarmed at the pitiful creature unable to move on the floor. The demon took an unconscious step forward, ready to reach out and help.

“Do you—”

“I’ll manage,” Shang Qinghua forced himself to say. Mobei-Jun stopped in his tracks. “My king, you needn’t debase yourself by helping one such as me…”

Mobei-Jun didn’t answer him immediately and he didn’t know where to look, either. 

Shang Qinghua pressed his lips together and stared at the edge of the water. It was so close. It was right there. And he wanted it so bad. Clean and warm water! The thought of getting in, of washing off all the traces of abuse and frost and fear…

Mobei-Jun watched in silence as the human tried again to scooch himself over to the edge of the pool before his own arms collapsed under the weight, chin hitting the cold, tiled floor. 

Shang Qinghua felt worthless, less than pathetic, like a worm. Shaking and helpless. It was another type of torture, to be seen in such a state. And by a king, no less. But he couldn’t do it on his own. Physically, he couldn’t. His body was too deteriorated.

Mobei-Jun knelt beside him in an instant, hovering just out of reach.

“Let this king help,” the ice demon insisted, voice low and calm. He wanted to help and he didn’t understand why. He had half a mind to just pick the human up by the scruff and toss it in the bath. 

But Mobei-Jun also understood pride and dignity. If he just did it without asking, how was he any different than his uncle?

Shang Qinghua bit his lip again, gnawing on it as he slowly realized that the only way he was going to get into that bath was to accept help from a demon.

No one had ever waited for permission. That was new. Not Linguang-Jun. Not the guards. They just did things without asking and either beat him up or laughed at him afterwards.

“My king…” he began, trying to stall for time to think of the proper way to ask such an embarrassing thing. “C-Can you help this lowly one… into the bath?”

“Mn.”

“J-Just, don’t look…” he added softly.

Something flickered in Mobei-Jun’s gaze, but he nodded, “I won’t.”

Mobei-Jun scooped the pitiful Seer up in his arms with all the gentleness of a mother swaddling a newborn, gentleness Shang Qinghua would never have expected from a demon. His arms were steady and powerful and Shang Qinghua found himself clinging to the demon’s silky robes.

His toes were dipped in first, and it felt like fire against his frozen skin. He hissed, but he couldn’t even lift his foot out of the way.

Mobei-Jun, as slowly and gently as he could, lowered him into the pool and rested the Seer’s back against the side so that he was comfortable. Humans were fragile things. He didn’t want to break it accidentally.

Shang Qinghua’s shaking rippled the water as he tried to hold it together. It felt so good, but incredibly hot. A shock to his system that had gotten used to a semi-permanent state of the early stages of hypothermia. He whimpered and squirmed around as he slowly adapted to the heat.

Luckily, Mobei-Jun didn’t say anything. He turned around and sat down against the wall with one knee lifted, looking away from the bath. A silent promise to be there whenever Shang Qinghua needed to get out.

Shang Qinghua tried to relax. He really did. The warmth was starting to seep into his muscles and waft into his crusty nose. A halo appeared in the water, surrounding him with dirt and grime as it washed off without him even trying to scrub it away.

Slowly, he felt himself break apart. Quiet, exhausted sobs, now more of relief than of pain, choked out of his mouth as heat coaxed his weary body back to life. For the first time in years, Shang Qinghua could feel the ends of his toes again.

“I’m sorry,” he found himself saying to fill the silence. “I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t know why—”

“Don’t apologize,” Mobei-Jun ordered, firm and deliberate.

The way Mobei-Jun saw it, this human had no reason to apologize. If anything, it was because of him that Linguang-Jun had done everything to this poor Seer. It was new for him, feeling pity for somebody else. He didn’t feel like this was particularly a good development…

Shang Qinghua broke down even more. Not being punished for crying? He couldn’t even remember the last time he felt safe enough to cry. He let out more than he intended. Until his face ached and his throat felt sore.

Safe. I’ll be safe here… right?

Shang Qinghua closed his eyes comfortably, letting the word ripple around his brain like a throwing stone that just kept bouncing.

Hesitantly, Mobei-Jun forced himself to ask after a long while of silence, “What… What should this king call you?”

He hadn’t even introduced himself! Shang Qinghua could’ve spit up blood from how embarrassed he felt, and he gave over his name immediately. It felt strange on his tongue after so long only being referred to as “boy” or “pet” or “rat” or insert whatever derogatory nickname Linguang-Jun wanted to call him that day.

“Shang Qinghua…” Mobei-Jun repeated. A strange name to a demon, but he thought it sounded nice.

Shang Qinghua shivered a bit when he heard that deep monotone call him for the first time. Tingles traveled up his spine and formed a smile on his lips, hidden from the demon behind him. 

“Shang Qinghua. Tell this king, what do humans eat?”

The kitchens had brought up some hot delicacies fit for a demon, but he wasn’t too sure a human could eat it.

The Seer looked back at the demon, who had the most serious face he could’ve imagined, and stifled a laugh. A real laugh. But only for the tiniest moment.

Mobei-Jun scowled and crossed his arms, offended that a human was laughing as such a genuine question. But inside, hearing that bright laughter come from someone in such a wretched state… it warmed up his heart. Just the slightest bit. 

He didn’t like it.

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The first few days were hard.

Shang Qinghua still startled at every little sound, even in the mostly quiet wing reserved only for the crown prince. 

He kept calling the prince, “my king,” but Mobei-Jun wasn’t about to stop him. He sort of fed into it, if anything. Getting used to calling himself “this king.” It was nice hearing it come from such an earnest mouth.

After he finally pried an answer from the human and presented him with warm, edible options brought from the kitchen, Shang Qinghua couldn’t eat a whole lot, much to Mobei-Jun’s confusion.

The human picked around at the plate sparinging, bringing his head close to the food instead of bringing it to his mouth because he was afraid of dropping anything. There was a noticeable tremor in Shang Qinghua’s right hand, even when he was calm. It made it difficult and slow to eat with the utensils provided, but he never asked for help. And the Seer never mentioned it or complained.

Mobei-Jun scowled behind him, hovering menacingly. “You eat like a bird,” he said flatly. 

As much as he wanted to scarf down the soup and rice, Shang Qinghua had to restrain himself. The tremor actually helped, to be honest.

“I’m reintroducing food to my system, my king,” the human insisted. “If I go too fast or eat too much, I’ll get sick. It just takes a long time to get used to eating again.”

“Inefficient...” mumbled Mobei-Jun. His scowl deepened, but he didn’t say anything further. It would be easier if the human would let me help him more.

And as soon as he thought that, he got angry at himself for even having such thoughts. He couldn’t understand his own reaction to this weak, pitiful human. Why did he want to give it aid and watch over it constantly?

Mobei-Jun mostly just observed the Seer silently. Never far enough away that he wasn’t out of the human’s peripheral in case he needed help. And he needed a lot of help, as much as both were loath to admit. 

Shang Qinghua tried to insist every time that he should find another servant to help him so that Mobei-Jun himself didn’t have to constantly babysit and debase himself by helping him out with every little thing, but Mobei-Jun wouldn’t hear any of it. But he also didn’t seem to be too pleased about their arrangement, either.

It was best to keep the people that knew of Shang Qinghua’s presence in the palace to as few people as possible. And if that meant he had to take care of the Seer in such a wretched state, it was what had to be done. Or at least that’s what the demon convinced himself of.

Part of Mobei-Jun felt extremely possessive over this Seer, felt personally responsible for his condition. But he couldn’t understand why.

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Sleeping proved to be another difficult challenge. Mobei-Jun’s gigantic canopy bed was big enough for about three demons of his stature, so size wasn’t really an issue. But to give him proper space to recover, Mobei-Jun let the Seer sleep in the bed alone, no matter how much the human insisted it was too much. Mobei-Jun didn’t seem to sleep very well on the plush sofa he pushed away from the hearth either.

Even still, Shang Qinghua couldn’t sleep. Despite being in the most comfortable bed this far north of the demon realm.

The room was too warm with the hearth burning, even for an ice palace. He was used to shivering all night. Not to mention the bed was way too comfortable, unlike the stone he’d gotten used to sleeping on. And the room was too quiet. The sheets too clean. There wasn’t a freezing shackle around his ankle. There wasn’t any misty exhale when he breathed in the air. No itchy, matted beast pelt over his lap. No screams from whatever other prisoners Linguang-Jun kept locked up down there.

And it terrified him to sleep in the comfortable silence.

The only thing that was sort of the same was the eyes that watched him at all times. Mobei-Jun, always a breath away when Shang Qinghua would wake up with a start, gasping and screaming, heart pounding.

At first, he expected Mobei-Jun to be mad. Expecting some sort of punishment for waking him up. But Mobei-Jun just stood at the end of the bed, somewhat menacingly, within reach if needed, and stayed there until he calmed back down. He never said anything, but his presence was enough of a comfort.

In the mornings, Mobei-Jun would stand over him as he ate shaky spoonfuls of warm congee. Making sure he ate a satisfactory amount.

And after, Shang Qinghua would practice walking. Or rather he practiced standing first. He used the backs of chairs, the corners of furniture, and the corner posts of the canopy bed to practice standing for incrementally longer periods of time.

Progress was slow, but the Seer’s condition gradually began to improve.

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The prince was spending lots of time in his room lately. And at night, the servants could hear crying and screaming coming from deeper within. With all the strange requests about warm baths and cooked food and lighting the hearth, the servants to the crown prince thought perhaps he was keeping a warm-blooded lover a secret in his room. He even ordered some different clothes to be made for the lover.

“Good for him!” cried one of the old servants, an older, arctic fox demon. She had served the prince’s late mother and helped raise him since he was an infant. “Our prince has finally found someone suitable to his tastes! I was worried he’d never find someone…”

“I wonder, how many times is the prince beating his lover a day?” dreamed an arctic hare demon servant, wistfully. “If it’s more than three, that means the prince is serious about his intentions.”

“Hmm… This old servant hasn’t heard many beatings…” mused the older servant. “But they sure do get rowdy at night. You can hear the screaming from all the way down the hall!”

The two servants snickered in delight, wondering what type of lover their prince would choose. It was a small demon, from the measurements he supplied to them for the clothes to be made. They knew better than to pry or to try and sneak a glance, but secretly hoped the prince would make the relationship public if it was going so well. The lover had stayed a whole month and counting!

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The crown prince had to attend court during most days, but sometimes he could skip out if he was feeling particularly bored or clingy to a certain Seer he kept hidden in his room. He’d offered Shang Qinghua several books from the palace library to keep him company and to help pass the time when he wasn’t practicing how to stand.

Today, Mobei-Jun dismissed court around midday, already irritated with the mundane politics. His thoughts had drifted… Consumed by what his Seer was getting up to in his absence. Had he eaten lunch? Was he practicing standing or taking a step? 

Had he fallen…?

That last thought had Mobei-Jun opening up a portal in the middle of walking down the hallway into his own room just at the slight chance he’d find the poor human struggling and squirming like an insect on the ground like he’d seen in the bath that first day.

“Q-Qinghua.”

That voice, just appearing out of nowhere in the quiet bedroom, startled Shang Qinghua beyond belief. A nerve misfired in his right hand that tremored. The soup bowl that he was currently eating immediately was sent flying directly into Mobei-Jun’s lap.

Mobei-Jun hissed from the sudden boiling temperature on his torso and involuntarily bared his fangs, a low growling noise rumbled in his throat.

Shang Qinghua’s eyes went wide with fright and he tried to take a step away, but fell against the back of the chair. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he gasped, suddenly breathless and spiraling. “I didn’t mean— I didn’t know— I’m sorry—”

Shang Qinghua’s arms shot up in front of his face to try and block any potential blows. He tried to move backwards again, but he tumbled out of the chair as he tried to back up into a corner of the cell and disappear.

A hand caught his wrist.

“P-please don’t—” he squeaked. “I won’t do it again—”

Not tight, not cruel. Just firm.

Shang Qinghua flinched away, face refusing to look at that cobalt gaze that haunted his nightmares.

But it was Mobei-Jun’s voice that greeted his ears. Low, even, and calm. Careful. 

“Qinghua is not in trouble.”

Shang Qinghua shook like a leaf, but finally looked up and made eye contact with Mobei-Jun.

There was no rage, no disgust. And Mobei-Jun’s blue eyes were like a brewing storm over the sea. Just a furrow in his brow, looking curiously down at the Seer.

Shang Qinghua swallowed. “I… This one hurt my king.”

“It was soup.”

“Yeah, hot soup! You… My king is an ice demon! He should be furious…!”

“It was only soup.”

“Your robes are ruined! You should hit me—”

“This king won’t.”

“But I dropped it… I ruined it—”

“Another bowl will be brought.”

“But your robes…”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You think this king is lacking in spare robes? The servants will clean this one.”

Shang Qinghua’s breath caught in his throat and he felt a tear slip past his water line. He let out a sound in between a laugh and a sob. He couldn’t understand such a calm reaction. 

Mobei-Jun finally let go of his wrist, realizing it probably wasn’t helping anything.

“I… This one thought my king was going to…” Shang Qinghua couldn’t finish the sentence.

Mobei-Jun shook his head. “This king is not like his uncle,” he promised. “But… this king startled Qinghua,” the demon continued, trying to form an apology. “This king… apologizes.”

Now, that really broke Shang Qinghua.

“What…?” he mumbled, not understanding why he was the one being apologized to. “But I… I spilled it on you? My king should… should at least shout? Right?”

Mobei-Jun frowned. “Do you want this king to shout at you? You, who jumps at every little noise?”

Shang Qinghua shook his head frantically.

“This king will not shout at Qinghua for nothing.” 

But even if he did have a reason to yell, Mobei-Jun didn’t know if he’d be able to.

Shang Qinghua lowered his arms, slowly processing that he wasn’t about to be punished. He was safe. Mobei-Jun wouldn’t hurt him.

And that was the end of it. Only a wardrobe change and a fresh bowl of soup sent up ten minutes later. Mobei-Jun sat next to him, this time, ready to catch the bowl in case it dropped again. It didn’t. But the panicked shaking in Shang Qinghua’s hands took a lot longer to calm.

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The first attempt to walk was a complete disaster.  And it was entirely Shang Qinghua’s fault. He woke up from a nightmare as silent as possible, still shaking. Heart beating fast. 

Shang Qinghua peaked over the quilt and didn’t see Mobei-Jun standing at the edge of his bed like usual. So he hadn’t woken him up, that was good. Maybe he was learning how to not be so freaked out by his nightmares and not wake up screaming bloody murder!

He’d been getting better at standing and taking small steps (with plenty of aid from all of the furniture, of course). Mobei-Jun had even acquired a cane for him. Sanded smooth for handling from a large piece of ivory, it was surely very expensive. Shang Qinghua, feeling grossly unworthy, was almost afraid to use it. 

To make it feel more personal, he tried whittling a strangle symbol into the handle that he’d seen in a dream once. He had sketched it many times in his notebook back in An Ding. It looked like some sort of animal made from folding paper. Now with ample free time, he whittled the symbol he fancied into the handle when he wasn’t using it to walk. He also wanted to try and bring it to life with real paper. He had several failed attempts of folding it during his free time in the prince’s chambers where he had an endless supply of paper, but finally got it to look like what he’d seen. 

Shang Qinghua found that this strange paper folded up could fly if thrown across the room, which he only realized after tossing it in frustration. He made a little game out of it, tossing the thing across the room and then seeing if he could hobble over to pick it up. It was a charming thing, like a bird. He liked to watch it fly high into the air. He even sent a couple off of the prince’s balcony, shooting them straight up towards the sky only to watch them crash down or get whisked away by the blustering wind.

Presently, the cane was resting against the edge of the bed. And the window wasn’t too far away… perhaps he could walk over… gaze out of the window to calm himself down?

In the back of his mind, he knew it was a terrible idea. He hadn’t walked much on his own without the aid of strategically placed furniture to help him along. But he was getting better with that silly little paper throwing game. Surely, he could at least take however many steps it was over to the window and then sit down. Right?

As silently as possible, so that he wouldn’t wake up the demon in the room still sleeping on the sofa, Shang Qinghua threw his legs over to the side of the bed and firmly planted them on the floor. Reaching for the cane, he held it on the side opposite of where Linguang-Jun had rammed an icicle through all those years ago. Both legs weren’t super great at walking and pretty weak, but that one was much worse than the other.

Gathering up momentum and courage, he stood up. He wobbled a little bit, but caught his balance. He looked out over to the window with the plush divan underneath. Suddenly, it felt as though he were at the end of an endless corridor. How could something so close look so far away?

No, you can do this. You can do this, he thought, trying to hype himself up.

Shang Qinghua took two steps, slow and methodical. And then, with the confidence of someone having taken two steps perfectly, misjudged his balance and the cane slid out from under him on the slick, polished floor. 

He braced for impact.

Mobei-Jun was not asleep, hadn’t been since he heard the change in the human’s breathing. And the Seer in his bed tried his best to be very quiet, but never quiet enough for a demon’s heightened senses. He wanted to see what the human would do if he were to not come to the end of the bed for the first time. 

However, he was not expecting Shang Qinghua to attempt walking. The human couldn’t even do that in the daytime without help or at least supervision?! He almost got up when he realized what the Seer was about to do, but restrained himself. Perhaps he would call out if he truly needed help. After all, Mobei-Jun couldn’t be next to him forever, right? At some point, when all this business with his uncle was finished, he could release the Seer back into the human realm.

Why did the thought of letting the Seer go taste like vinegar? 

As much as he wanted to keep the human trapped here where he could keep a close watch on him, wasn’t that exactly what Linguang-Jun had done? Would the human come to resent him, too?

But before the demon could process all these feelings, Shang Qinghua had fallen.

Mobei-Jun’s body acted before his brain caught up.

Shang Qinghua expected to crash to the cold, hard, marble floor. However, instead he landed directly into Mobei-Jun’s ample chest with a yelp.

Shang Qinghua froze, it all happened so fast. He blinked up, still incredibly confused why he wasn’t on the floor. Mobei-Jun was glaring at him, blue eyes glimmering slightly from the reflection of the moon in the window. 

“You… My king?”

Mobei-Jun’s jaw was tight, and his expression wasn’t his normal blank stoicism. 

He looked furious.

He lifted Shang Qinghua up like he weighed nothing and carried him back to the bed, neither gently nor roughly. Like a controlled force.

“What are you doing?” Mobei-Jun’s voice growled in his ear.

Mobei-Jun clutched his shoulders firmly, keeping him trapped on the bed. Shang Qinghua’s breath caught in his throat. Not in pain, just from the proximity. He tried to shrink back, not because he was afraid, but because he didn’t know how to answer that.

“I’m… I’m sorry…” Shang Qinghua whispered. “This one thought he could—”

“You can’t.”

“I didn’t want to bother you, my king,” he stammered. “This one thought you were asleep—”

“I wasn’t.”

Mobei-Jun’s eyes flicked over Shang Qinghua’s face, analyzing his expression, eyes briefly glancing down at his throat, his lips, and then back up. He wanted to smack this stupid human upside the head for being stupid. He wanted to… he wanted to hit him for other reasons, too. His heart twisted in his chest, trying desperately to hold himself back. He’d promised no one would ever hurt him. But how did humans show affection if not through physical means?

Looking down at the Seer lying on his bed, violence raged inside his body, from the tips of his pointed ears to the sharp ends of his claws. He wanted to absolutely pummel this weak little creature that had managed to weasel his way into a portion of his heart.

It didn’t make sense. No strategic or logical sense. This stupid human was weak and frightened and pathetic and always falling. And yet, Mobei-Jun kept picking him back up. Every time. He didn’t even want to help, but his body moved before he did. Fast, automatic, and protective. Possessive.

Shang Qinghua stared up at Mobei-Jun, who hadn’t let go or spoken a word in a minute. “My king… Why… Why are you angry…?”

Mobei-Jun’s mouth opened like he was about to snap something, but he held himself back. Instantly, his hands were removed from Shang Qinghua’s shoulders, like he remembered how fragile the human was underneath.

In his world, the demonic realm, affection was force. Love was violence. Dominance was devotion. Care was control. And he wanted to do all of that to this weak little thing and more, shaking on his bed. 

But he’d break him. The human couldn’t even walk without assistance. Climb into the bath without help. He still startled at every little noise. And Mobei-Jun had promised that he wouldn’t hurt the human like his uncle had.

He wanted to throw him down on the bed, roughly. To bite him, mark him, make him understand that he was safe here. Because to Mobei-Jun that was comfort, that was affection. But he couldn’t do any of it. Not to him.

“This king is not angry.”

Neither of them believed that. 

Turning away, Mobei-Jun said softer, “Not that Qinghua fell.”

“That my king had to catch me—”

“That Qinghua didn’t call for this king.”

Shang Qinghua blinked.

He turned around, right back to Shang Qinghua, who was still frozen on the bed. Mobei-Jun picked up the fallen cane that had clattered over to the wall and placed it back in the Seer’s hand.

“Try again,” Mobei-Jun ordered. 

⋆⋅❅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ⌯⌲ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•❅⋅⋆

Shang Qinghua rarely received visions during the day anymore, but mostly they came in the form of nightmares of Linguang-Jun searching for him. And sometimes, he still got that reoccurring dream of Mobei-Jun finally being crowned king of the Northern Desert.

Except tonight.

This nightmare was so much worse.

Like usual, he woke up screaming, except he was screaming Mobei-Jun’s name, ragged and desperate. The images clung to his mind like frostbite, sharp and deep and bitterly cold. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t even breathe. 

Mobei-Jun was at the side of the bed in an instant, hovering just out of reach. 

And the moment they locked eyes, unharmed, alive, and real… Shang Qinghua tossed the blankets off of his legs and threw himself into Mobei-Jun’s arms.

Shang Qinghua, despite his pitiful state, hadn’t allowed himself to cry all that often in the presence of Mobei-Jun. But the sheer amount of terror and relief he felt, broke him. He clung desperately to Mobei-Jun’s half-tied sleep robes and wept.

Poor Mobei-Jun froze, unsure where to put his hands. There was a helpless look in Shang Qinghua’s eyes before he saw Mobei-Jun, like he’d been hit by something, not physically, but something heavy nonetheless. 

“This king is here. It was a nightmare,” Mobei-Jun said flatly, not really knowing the right words to say to comfort. “It’s not real.”

Shang Qinghua shook his head. “It wasn’t a nightmare,” he explained. He wiped his nose and eyes with his sleeves and looked up at Mobei-Jun. “I Saw my k-king die. Your uncle… H-He’s going to… to kill you.”

Mobei-Jun’s stomach dropped. He said it with such horrified assurance…

“This… This king would never let that happen.”

And for the first time, when Shang Qinghua tried to imagine that scene of Mobei-Jun’s coronation, he couldn’t see it clearly. Like it was slipping away. Like it was no longer set in stone.

It took a long time for Shang Qinghua to recollect himself. And Mobei-Jun just stood there, letting the human cry and sob and cling to his sleep robes for however long he needed. Finally, the Seer peeled himself off of Mobei-Jun and sat down on the bed. Hiccuping a little and wiping the snot and tears from his face.

Shaking his head, “This has never happened before… You don’t understand…” 

“What did you See?” Mobei-Jun asked, voice warbling with emotions he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Up until now, Mobei-Jun had never asked about his visions or nightmares. Shang Qinghua had given up a little bit of information voluntarily, but for the most part, the demon didn’t care to inquire about the Seer’s Gift. After having been tortured for so long, Mobei-Jun didn’t want to touch on this sore subject. Shang Qinghua was grateful for that, especially grateful to not have another demon try to exploit him for his Gift. 

The Seer patted on the bed next to him, inviting the demon to sit close. It took several seconds before Mobei-Jun allowed himself to move and take a seat beside him.

He’d only meant to tell Mobei-Jun the most crucial details about the nightmarish prophecy he’d just seen, but he ended up going one crazy tangent after the other. And the demon just let him speak. Explaining the recurring vision of the king being crowned, how it never changed, not until this very night. About all of the times he’d seen Mobei-Jun as they grew up, together but in separate worlds. How he’d Foreseen Linguang-Jun’s attack and was forbidden from warning his peak. How his sect siblings sold him out before the inevitable massacre. He didn’t go into much detail about his time in captivity, but he did mention that he’d seen this prophecy once before, under duress.

A palace made of snow. A low, rumbling voice saying, “Seven days.” Mobei-Jun surrounded by a ring of white, hot fire. A silver crown clattering against a blood covered marbled floor. A figure falling down a ravine.

It was a relief, to get it all off of his chest. How the dream had comforted him in the darkest days of his life. How he relished in the rigid assurance the dream brought him. 

Mobei-Jun listened to all the Seer had to say. His eyes flickered with a smug satisfaction when Shang Qinghua talked about how comforting that coronation dream had been to him during his years of imprisonment. But his eyes widened in surprise once more when he recited the contents of this nightmare.

Shang Qinghua didn’t know much context, but from Mobei-Jun’s face, he could tell it didn’t seem like especially good news.

Mobei-Jun tried to avoid the topic of his uncle around Shang Qinghua, but he felt it necessary given the circumstances. Court had been a bloodbath earlier the previous day. His uncle caused quite the uproar.

“My uncle has made a proposition to move up the date of the Ascension Ceremony. The council has agreed considering the North has had but a regent for ten years. The clans grow desperate for a real leader. A king. This is what you have Seen,” Mobei-Jun explained. “It seems my uncle plans to ambush this ceremony. He will not succeed.”

Shang Qinghua’s eye’s grew wide with panic and he grabbed onto Mobei-Jun’s arms, babbling, “You don’t understand, it’s not just any ambush. He’s going to use a spell… Oh, what was it called? Black…? Black Sun Immortal Fire.”

Mobei-Jun’s eyebrow raised up in alarm. Now that was news to him.

“This king will…” and for once, Mobei-Jun’s words failed. 

“We will make a plan,” Shang Qinghua finished for him, taking a large, clawed hand in his own. “I will not let this come to pass. You will be king. No matter what it takes.”

Mobei-Jun felt a shiver snake up his spine emanating from the warm palm of the Seer’s hand. He thought about ripping himself away from the bed in haste, but let himself enjoy this delicate touch for a little while longer.

“Mn.”

They spent the rest of the night formulating and scheming. Shang Qinghua, though his body was still weak, his mind was exceptionally sharp and innovative. 

The Seer ended up falling asleep, leaning up against Mobei-Jun’s shoulder. The demon carefully rested the human back on the bed and pulled the quilt back up to let him rest. 

A rare smile curved on the demon's lips. He was becoming more familiar with the gesture.

⋆⋅❅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ⌯⌲ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•❅⋅⋆

Of course, the Seer’s plan worked. 

Linguang-Jun ambushed the Ascension Ceremony, except they were prepared. Laying a trap for his uncle instead.

Mobei-Jun ended up pushing Linguang-Jun down a ravine in penance for all his crimes against the crown, but secretly and more importantly, for his crimes against Shang Qinghua. 

After the usurpation problem was taken care of, Mobei-Jun returned to the snowy palace and absorbed the full power of the Mobei clan. Like he was always meant to. 

The coronation date was set, and that meant that his Seer could return home soon. Now that he was free from being pursued and captured again by Linguang-Jun. 

Mobei-Jun pushed back the coronation day another week.

⋆⋅❅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ⌯⌲ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•❅⋅⋆

Shang Qinghua made sure to get into the throne room early, wearing a set of fine robes Mobei-Jun had commissioned especially for the ceremony. He shuffled around on his cane until he found the perfect vantage point. The same place he’d been watching from since he was little, making sure the field of view lined up exactly right.

Except this time, he lived it instead of imagining it.

Mobei-Jun, that handsome figure of his dreams, slowly walked up the dais. An icy throne covered in layers of beast skins. He was wearing the finest midnight blue robes that exposed his impressive chest, silver embroidery glinting in the light of the crystal chandeliers. His back was covered in a heavy black cloak made of thick animal fur. Heavy leather boots echoed in the large room as he ascended, one clawed hand stroking languidly on the frozen stair railing. But it was gentle, measured, and controlled. The ice demon Shang Qinghua had come to know, dramatically swished out his cloak and sat down upon the throne, staring coldly down at the crowd below. 

Eyes searched through the crowd as another demon placed a silver crown atop his head that resembled ice fragments, harsh and sharp looking. It stood in contrast to his silky, inky black hair. Mobei-Jun finally locked eyes with Shang Qinghua in the crowd, his striking blue slitted eyes glowered fiercely with pride and authority. And they softened the slightest fraction upon meeting his gaze.

“Long live Mobei-Jun, the King of the Northern Desert!”

The crowd below roared in applause and cheers, deafening Shang Qinghua, but he was cheering along with them this time.

Shang Qinghua’s heart felt so full in that moment, wiping the tears catching in his eyes. A prophecy finally fulfilled. His king, finally able to fulfill his destiny. 

But what would that mean for the Seer?

⋆⋅❅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ⌯⌲ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•❅⋅⋆

It was much later that night, after the banquet had ended and Mobei-Jun had escorted the Seer out to a balcony nearby to rest in between the walk back to the newly crowned king’s chambers. The demon placed the thick cloak over Shang Qinghua’s shoulders to block out the blustery winter evening.

“Where will you go now?” Mobei-Jun asked, forearms resting on the marble railing. Tense, with pinched brows. 

Shang Qinghua looked up from the bench where he rested, catching his breath. His heart stopped for just a moment, fearing the worst. Today, the cold felt sharper somehow. Like a storm was gathering in the distance.

“What do you mean, my king?”

“You are well enough to leave soon.”

“Leave?”

“This king will drop Qinghua off anywhere he wishes to go.”

“Go…” echoed the Seer, defeated.

Mobei-Jun couldn’t meet the Seer’s gaze. He stood, facing out into the black of the night, stiff. “Back to your home before… your sect. Anywhere.”

Shang Qinghua’s mood completely changed, expression dimming across his face in obvious disappointment. He never felt at home in the sect, not since they all ostracized him for his Sight. And it had been his own sect siblings that had given him up to Linguang-Jun, too. He didn’t feel any particular fondness for going back.

“There is nowhere for me to go… Nothing to go back to. My sect probably thinks this one is long since dead. I guess, if I must go, anywhere is fine…”

Mobei-Jun stared down at the Seer and his ashen expression, sharp, cold, and unreadable. “Arrangements can be made for you to start over. If you are worried about—”

“My king needn’t trouble himself with one such as me any longer than he wishes…” Shang Qinghua replied bitterly. 

So was that it? Mobei-Jun becomes king and now suddenly he is useless? He doesn’t wish to put up with a pesky, weak, human any longer? 

“I can… This one can still be of use to His Majesty! I can See—”

Mobei-Jun held up his hand to silence the Seer. “This king does not require a Seer for his court.”

Shang Qinghua felt his lip quiver, feeling frustrated with the way this conversation was heading. 

“Do you not… want me to stay?” he asked, turning his head away. “I just… This one thought that…? Am I not useful to you anymore, my king? I helped with L-Linguang-Jun, I can still… My body isn’t… But my brain is… and my Sight…”

He let his voice trail off, grasping at straws. Anything to plead his case.

“This king doesn’t need a Seer,” Mobei-Jun repeated, firm and final.

He couldn’t do that to Shang Qinghua, force him to See for a demon’s own benefit. Wouldn’t he be just like his uncle if he asked him to stay?

Shang Qinghua’s breath caught. A burning betrayal filling his stomach with deep-seated bitterness.

“Forget it. Forget this one said anything, my king.” Shang Qinghua shook his head and turned fully away. “If my king wishes me to go, this one will go…” 

Standing up from the bench, he started hobbling away, a lump in his throat becoming increasingly hard to swallow. His shaking grip on the cane was hard enough that the ivory might snap under any more pressure.

The Seer crashed into a solid brick wall of a demon, not paying attention to anything but the ground and trying not to cry. Of course, it was Mobei-Jun who appeared right behind him.

“Qinghua.”

The Seer looked up, biting his lip. “What is it, my king?”

“Does Qinghua… wish to stay?” 

Why did his voice sound… soft? Hopeful, even.

Shang Qinghua blinked up at him, trying to decipher that look in his eyes. It was that same expression he’d seen in the coronation ceremony. That he’d seen in his dreams almost every night.

“Not if you don’t have a use for this lowly one—”

“Qinghua thinks so little of himself. This king doesn’t need you to be useful to him. Weak little human. What use does a king have for something like you in his court? You’ve been nothing but a burden. And yet, has this king kicked you out even still? This king finds your presence… agreeable. It is not a matter of usefulness,” he explained, taking a slow breath to pause and collect himself. “If Qinghua doesn’t have anywhere to go, he can stay. Not to be of use. This king will not ask you to See for his court. But if you want to stay…  This king has come… has come to enjoy Qinghua’s company.”

Shang Qinghua stared up at Mobei-Jun like he had a third eye, trying to process such a strange turn of events. And of course, as if on command, his legs gave out before he could stop them. 

And immediately, Mobei-Jun caught him halfway. 

Their faces were close. Too close. And the look in those ocean eyes felt piercing and paralyzing.

When Shang Qinghua didn’t answer, Mobei-Jun tried again. “Will you stay?” he pleaded, in a small voice, very unbefitting of a demon king. “Will Qinghua stay with his king?”

Shang Qinghua’s heart felt like it was going to burst. He nodded immediately, feeling hot tears prickle in the corner of his eyes. Finally placing what emotion lurked behind that demon’s eyes. 

Desire.

“This king would grant you a title. Anything. And a real room would be prepared in the palace, not far away. With a hearth to keep you warm and as many books as you want, and a new wardrobe, if you desire to stay. Tell this king, name your price.”

Shang Qinghua’s mouth moved before he realized what he was asking, “Noodles! I mean, I want… This one wants noodles…” 

He regretted it almost immediately.

“Noodles?”

“Hand-pulled. I haven’t had them since before I was…” His voice trailed off. He couldn’t look up. He didn’t want to know what expression was on that handsome face.

“Noodles will be pulled,” the king agreed immediately, not really understanding what that would mean for him. “Will Qinghua stay if this king makes you noodles?”

“Wait, what? You’re going to…?”

“Does Qinghua want someone else to—”

“No, no! It’s fine! It’s great! I’ll stay. I’ll stay,” he said, trying desperately not to stare into those eyes or he’d surely melt.

Mobei-Jun finally let himself breathe. 

Shang Qinghua’s words bubbled up straight from his heart, “If this one may be so bold… This one has come to enjoy my king’s presence as well…”

Shang Qinghua finally looked up to meet those ocean blue eyes and found a purplish color blooming on the demon’s cheeks and the tips of his ears. Demons could blush? He breathed a little bit of a laugh at the revelation, bringing a shaking hand up to cup the side of Mobei-Jun’s face. 

It felt warm to his touch.

The demon’s hands on Shang Qinghua’s arms tightened slightly from where he had caught him. His eyes dropped, straight to Shang Qinghua’s lips, and then up again just as quickly. Like he didn’t trust himself. 

Shang Qinghua’s breath shuddered, heart pounding in his chest.

Leaning in ever so slightly, “My king…”

He never got the chance to finish that sentence. Mobei-Jun leaned in to meet him halfway. Not fast or desperate, just steady and inevitable. Foreheads touching, noses brushing against each other. Their lips finally met and it was soft. Shy and uncertain. A kiss that left more questions than it answered. It only lasted a few heartbeats, but when they pulled apart, neither moved away. In fact, Mobei-Jun pulled him closer.

“Qinghua is warm,” he muttered, slightly annoyed.

Shang Qinghua laughed, a real hearty and breathy laugh. “You’re warm, too.”

Indignant and pouting slightly, “This king is not warm.”

“You are, my king. Right now, you are.”