“Where are you going?!” Shang Qinghua demands, voice breaking on the very verge of hysterical.
Liu Qingge pauses in the door. “… Leaving.”
“To where?”
He glares over his shoulder at the An Ding peak lord. “A hunt.”
“No!” Shang Qinghua slams the scrolls in his arms down on the (rarely used) writing desk of Liu Qingge’s (also rarely used) office. His open palms slap loudly against the wood. “Liu-shidi, you can’t! There’s paperwork that you have to fill out for this quarter! Forms I need you to sign!”
Liu Qingge waves a hand dismissively. “Will do them when I get back.” He says.
Shang Qinghua blinks, watching as the taller man once again turns to leave. The An Ding peak lord clenches his jaw and releases a low growl, pushing against the desk. “No!”
A burst of qi enhances the movement, and sends the desk flying across the room to slam into the wall beside the door, barely an inch away from where Liu Qingge is standing. The scrolls and inkwell loll about but come to rest without being much disturbed.
Liu Qingge jerks back. His hand flies to the hilt of his sword, and he whips his head around to scowl incredulously over at his fellow peak lord, whose head is bowed.
“It’ll be too late then, we’ll already be well into the next quarter when you get back. Shidi has to go through the forms now.”
The words come out through gritted teeth. Shang Qinghua, head still bowed and shoulders tense, gripping at his own sleeves as he trembles, sits himself down on the cushion that had once been set before the desk. He lifts his head up, then, to stare at Liu Qingge expectantly, expression dull and flat.
“Shidi has to go through the forms now.” He says again.
“Okay,” Liu Qingge agrees, voice low. He removes his hand off his sword, even though he can still feel the tingling resistance of his fellow peak lord’s qi turning in the air of the confined space of the room.
He reaches out with a foot to prod at the desk that now sits beside him. Nothing happens, so he peers over at the silent Shang Qinghua warily before nudging the furniture a little ways over and sitting down beside it on the hard floor.
Liu Qingge eyes the assortment of scrolls and files with distaste, but he can feel the ceaseless stare of the An Ding peak lord boring holes into his back, so he grabs the first one of the pile and rolls it open.
It takes three hours to get through the whole stack. Shang Qinghua stays for the entire time, not once moving from his cushion, like he thinks that Liu Qingge will give up and leave without finishing the paperwork if he doesn’t stay and watch him to make sure. Which is ridiculous. Liu Qingge would never.
He glances down at the financial statement of the Bai Zhan sect allowance coffers for the last few months and curls his lip as he’s forced to dig around in the papers for the correct corresponding audit report, brush clenched tightly in the white knuckled grip of his other hand.
… Liu Qingge might.
Once he’s finished, he hangs his brush on its hook and glances regretfully at the window. The light of the day is already beginning to dim, giving way to the evening, and the optimal time for setting off on a journey has already passed. He might as well just stay the rest of the night in the sect and leave early the next morning for his planned hunting grounds, at this rate.
The Bai Zhan lord sighs, cracking the knuckles of his hand against his palm, and turns back to look at his uninvited guest. Shang Qinghua seems to have fallen asleep sitting up, somehow, while he was waiting for Liu Qingge to finish. He’s slumped down, head bowed toward the floor in a way that can’t be good for his spine, but nothing a little qi circulation won’t fix.
Liu Qingge climbs up from the floor and rubs the feeling back into his legs. They’re sore, after having been knelt upon for the past three hours without any sort of padding underneath him. Like a cushion. He leaves the desk where it is and crosses the room to nudge Shang Qinghua awake with his foot. He keeps one hand curled loosely round the hilt of his sword, in case the other man decides to blow up at him like he had earlier when Liu Qingge had suggested postponing the paperwork.
Instead, Shang Qinghua goes along with his nudge, falling almost bonelessly back against the cushion. He lifts his head drowsily, and looks up at Liu Qingge with some sort of confusion in his eyes. His gaze is distant, like he’s not quite seeing him yet.
“Did you forget where you are?” Liu Qingge asks coolly.
Shang Qinghua blinks slowly. “… Shidi?” It comes out in a mumble.
“The paperwork is done. Leave.”
“… Mmh….”
Liu Qingge feels his brow tick in irritation. He reaches down and grabs the squirrelly man by the collar of his robes, roughly lifting him up and onto his feet. It’s a harsh but efficient method to wake someone up and have them become fully alert quicker. He uses it on his peak disciples all the time.
Except, Shang Qinghua does not become alert. The moment Liu Qingge releases his collar, the man’s legs buckle beneath him, and the swordmaster is forced to catch him around the waist before he can go sprawling in a heap on the floor. Shang Qinghua’s head falls forward limply, like a doll’s, coming to rest against Liu Qingge’s chest.
It’s in that second that Liu Qingge realizes that something is wrong. Beyond Shang Qinghua having a sudden temper that is incredibly out of character for him, he’s running much too warm. Liu Qingge only wears a modest four layers, but his robes are thickly and tightly woven, purposed for battle and sparring. They’re great for the cold months, as they trap heat in, and work well in the hotter seasons because it takes the sun a bit longer to seep through the weave.
So, Liu Qingge should not be able to feel the heat pulsing from Shang Qinghua’s forehead when the man’s face has only been pressed against his robes for barely a handful of moments.
He fists a hand in the back of Shang Qinghua’s robes and pulls the man back slightly in order to get a look at his face, and curses. Rivers of cold sweat bead down from the An Ding peak lord’s brow, which is creased in pain. His eyes are closed, and from the added weight Liu Qingge is registering, the man might actually have fallen unconscious in his arms.
Liu Qingge glares across the room at the stack of paperwork he’d just finished, as if they are at fault for all his current problems, and then reaches down to scoop up Shang Qinghua’s legs. He hauls the smaller and much lighter cultivator over into his private rooms and lies him out on Liu Qingge’s bed.
Shang Qinghua curls in on himself, a tiny, breathless whimper escaping his mouth as he pants and gasps into the sheets. The cold sweat decorating his face soaks the pillow almost immediately.
Liu Qingge turns on his heel and heads out of the house. He marches down the path until he catches sight of a gaggle of disciples likely wandering from one training ground to another. Or maybe the eating hall, how the hell would Liu Qingge know. What time is it, dinner?
“You!” He calls, and something inside him curls, pleased, at the way all five of them jump at the sound, scrambling to stand at attention the very second they realize it’s him. “One of you go and summon Mu Qingfang. Immediately.”
“Shizun?” One of them asks, confused but nonetheless hurrying to unsheathe his sword and climb upon it before the others have a chance to do so.
Quick wits, that one. Liu Qingge might have to take him out on a hunt sometime. He commits the boy’s face to memory, and turns back toward the house.
“Make it fast,” he throws over his shoulder as he climbs back up the path.
He finds himself standing over Shang Qinghua, staring down at his fellow peak lord as the man lies curled up on his side on top of the covers. Shang Qinghua has his arms wrapped around himself like he’s somehow cold despite the raging fever that’s coursing through his body. Now that Liu Qingge is getting a better look at him, he can see that the man is incredibly pale, paler than can be healthy, and there are smudges beneath his eyes so dark that Liu Qingge isn’t sure how he missed them before. It’s almost as if Shang Qinghua had dipped his finger in soot and drawn them under each eye himself, they’re so distinct.
It makes something uncomfortable twist in Liu Qingge’s stomach. Shang Qinghua looks weak, in this moment, and usually the thought would make Liu Qingge scoff at him, because that is par the course with the An Ding peak lord, but he’s never seen any of his martial family look so… sickly, before.
He’s kneeling stiffly beside the bed when the door is thrown open to admit a frazzled looking Mu Qingfang, who takes one look at them both before marching over and kneeling directly on the bed to hover over Shang Qinghua.
“What happened?” The doctor demands, searching the unconscious and listless peak lord for injuries, his fingers roaming from pulse point to pulse point in an examination of his qi.
“He came to make me do paperwork,” Liu Qingge begins gruffly. “Stayed to make sure I’d do it. I did, but he fell asleep while he was waiting, and when I woke him up…” The swordmaster glares down at his knees, hands clenched in the fabric of his pants.
“What, shixiong?” Mu Qingfang asks, impatient. He’s got his palm pressed over Shang Qinghua’s heart, and the expression on his face isn’t a reassuring one.
“He couldn’t stand,” Liu Qingge grumbles, glare becoming more fierce for all that it doesn’t have a target other than his own hands. “He fainted, so I laid him on my bed and sent a disciple for you.”
Mu Qingfang sits back, both hands now pressed against Shang Qinghua’s chest. The low glow of his qi encircles them as it pours forth and into the An Ding peak lord’s channels.
“Did he seem at all off to you, before that? Was he perhaps acting in ways he normally does not?”
“… Yes.”
Mu Qingfang frowns at him, distracted as he is by his examination of his patient. “That doesn’t really give me any information, shixiong.”
“….” Liu Qingge shifts, like he’s some sort of junior disciple kneeling in punishment for disobedience. It’s what it feels like, almost. “He threw the table at me with his qi.”
The doctor actually pauses. His hands lift off Shang Qinghua as he stares over at Liu Qingge in surprise. The unconscious peak lord groans, and Mu Qingfang quickly returns to channeling him qi, but he still stares at Liu Qingge in shock.
“He… threw furniture at you? Why?”
Liu Qingge clears his throat. He turns his glare back to his knees. “I was leaving, for a hunt.”
“But didn’t you say he had paperwork for you?”
“… Yes.”
Mu Qingfang frowns in confusion. “Then what—” His eyes widen. “Liu-shixiong! You were going to leave without doing it?”
The Bai Zhan lord scowls defensively. “I would have done it when I got back!”
“From what I can recall, it’s almost time for the quarterly reports. If you’d left without doing your share, you would have made Shang Qinghua have to finish it all for you.” Mu Qingfang pins him with a narrow-eyed look. “How irresponsible of you, shixiong, trying to foist your duties off on our already clearly overworked martial brother. No wonder he reacted so violently, especially if…”
The doctor trails off, glancing down at Shang Qinghua as the man shifts under his hands. The An Ding peak lord whines softly into the pillow that’s been soaked in his own sweat, twisting under the covers as if he’s in pain. From how he’s been acting since Liu Qingge woke him up, he… probably is.
“If what?” Liu Qingge demands, rising up part way from where he kneels, eyes locked on the man currently taking up his bed.
But Mu Qingfang’s surged to his feet, distracted now. His patient is waking.
Shang Qinghua blinks up at them with bleary eyes. He only takes the time for a single, confused, wheezing breath before he’s trying to sit up. Both peak lords place a hand on either of his shoulders and guide him back down to the bed. Immediately, the An Ding peak lord looks stricken.
“No, no,” he says, eyes wide and face pale. “No, no, no, no! I need to — I need to go work! I don’t have time to… I—I’m gonna fall behind!”
“Lay down, shixiong,” Mu Qingfang gently insists.
“I’m gonna fall behind,” Shang Qinghua whimpers, tears leaking out of his eyes.
He takes a shuddering breath and brings both hands up, as if he’s contemplating fighting the both of them off, but then he scrubs at his face with them instead and releases another sad, hurt sound that makes Liu Qingge’s stomach tie itself in a knot.
“I’m gonna fall behind,” Shang Qinghua repeats, voice cracking. His eyes are glazed over and tearful.
“Shh, shixiong,” Mu Qingfang soothes, brushing back their martial brother’s sweat-soaked bangs with his hand. “It’s going to be okay.”
Liu Qingge is useless, helping to hold Shang Qinghua down and watching helplessly as the Qian Cao peak lord does his best to comfort him. It doesn’t really work, but Mu Qingfang does eventually manage to coax Shang Qinghua back into a fitful sleep.
Liu Qingge crosses his arms over his chest. His hands shake with intensity, and so he clenches them into fists so tight that his knuckles turn a mottled white. He turns to stare at the doctor as the other man finishes tucking the blanket securely around a quietly sniffling Shang Qinghua’s shoulders.
“So?” He demands.
Mu Qingfang is silent for a moment, gazing down at his new patient with an unreadable expression. Slowly, he shakes his head, and Liu Qingge unclenches and clenches his fists as he waits for a response.
Finally, Mu Qingfang sighs and runs a hand through his hair, disrupting its previously neat style. “This should not have happened,” he says quietly. “This should not have been able to happen.”
“What shouldn’t have?” Liu Qingge grits out.
“Any of this!” Mu Qingfang exclaims, and sits back down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb its sleeping occupant. “He should not have even gotten to this point! His workload shouldn’t be heavy enough to cause any of this, and yet…”
“It has,” Liu Qingge says, and uncrosses his arms in order to wrap his hands around the hilt of his sword. “He’s doing his own workload, in addition to much of the work of the other peaklords, including…” He struggles not to unsheathe his sword, because the only enemy in this situation is himself. His voice lowers a pitch out of shame. “Including me.”
“And me,” Mu Qingfang is quick to add, looking down at his fitfully slumbering patient with a sorrowful expression on his face. “I cannot deny that I have also pushed some of my own responsibilities onto his shoulders, upon occasion. Alone, it wouldn’t be much, but if I and ten other peak lords are doing it, then…”
“The workload grows exponentially,” Liu Qingge finishes, scowling. He gestures with his chin at the unconscious peak lord in his bed, and says, “What else, then? He’s been shouldering it for decades now. If he was going to break under the strain it would have happened before now.”
Mu Qingfang gives a slow nod, reaching out to press the back of his hand against Shang Qinghua’s forehead to check on his fever. The grimace that decorates his face makes Liu Qingge glare at the floor, especially when the doctor gently grabs Shang Qinghua’s too-thin wrist and once again begins circulating qi through the connection.
“His cultivation level is much too high to allow for any natural sickness. His core would flood his immune system and destroy any disease that attempts to take hold. For him to even get sick in the first place, let alone this terribly — his core would have had to face a tremendous imbalance.”
“A qi deviation?” Liu Qingge pushes off the wall and begins to pace furiously. “Impossible. We’d have noticed.”
Mu Qingfang turns his head away, passing qi into his patient in silence.
Liu Qingge stops, and glares at the man. “Someone would have noticed,” he says tightly.
The doctor doesn’t respond. The tenseness of his shoulders, however, speaks for him.
Liu Qingge turns on his heel and storms out of the house.
I-- I am in need of more Mushang or more platonic cucumberplane that leads to misunderstandings, that's my jam this month -sobs- plus I binge-read all your prompts and I'M IN LOVE AND NEED MORE
I’m happy to hear I have once again led another to the blissful paradise that is the MuShang ship. It’s a bit of a wasteland here, but I think with some tender love and care we can cultivate it into a lush garden of fluffy kiss fics and adorable hand-holding dates and maybe even sunset-watching cuddling…. Wouldn’t that be grand?? Help me, join me in my endeavor…. We are burdened here with glorious purpose…
Cucumberplane deserves more fics hands down and I will be yelling this from the rooftops to kingdom come. Let’s get it TOGETHER people!! WHERE are my idiots in love?? Where are my dumbasses who are too shy to hold hands but not too shy to kiss to shut each other up when one is ranting about something stupid?? My numbskulls who both can’t cook to save their lives, literally, and have to eat take out or find a middleman to cook for them, and maybe it evolves into a threesome bc they’re both absolutely pathetic and imprint on people who take care of them like they’re ducklings.
Mushang has infected my mind, I just think there is so much space for them to interact. SQH constantly collecting scraps from his spy work under MBJ and MQF helping him let at night… maybe they kiss <3
“For a few beautiful seconds, Shang Qinghua dared to hope that he’d been completely forgotten. He hoped that his unmemorable face had been permanently put out of mind as soon as he had fled Mobei-Jun’s sight all those years ago.
And then, fuck, Mobei-Jun’s eyes went wide with recognition. Fuck!”
vol4ntis asked:
