Fortune has looked kindly on Liu Qingge this morning; either that, or Luo Binghe is being indulgent with him.

He can’t quite believe it. Two and a half years of fruitless struggle, and he has left Huan Hua Palace with Shen Qingqiu’s body in tow.

Not much earlier, Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe had been locked head-to-head in a duel for the ages—so, a typical morning. Liu Qingge made it into the inner sanctum of Huan Hua Palace, which was somewhat rare, but Luo Binghe repaid him with a prodigious blow that sent Liu Qingge crashing into the wall. Undeterred for more than a few moments, Liu Qingge leapt back into the fray, and between one thing and another, they found themselves clashing blades close to the pedestal on which Luo Binghe was keeping Shen Qingqiu’s—remains.

Luo Binghe brought his accursed sword down a hair’s breath from Liu Qingge’s throat—Liu Qingge spared a second’s thought that if this really was the end, at least dying by Shen Qingqiu’s side was as good as he could hope for—but then everything took a turn for the strange. Luo Binghe’s hand seemed to tremble. Liu Qingge was unsure whether it was part of an elaborate feint of Luo Binghe’s—he did favour unscrupulous tricks of the mind, as though his brute strength wasn’t enough—but Liu Qingge’s body moved ahead of him to seize the window of opportunity.

In the literal sense: he crashed through a window on Cheng Luan, holding Shen Qingqiu’s body by the collar. The sound that Luo Binghe made as he left raised hairs on the back of Liu Qingge’s neck.

Even so, the Bai Zhan Peak Lord knew that his prospects of successfully absconding with Shen Qingqiu’s body all the way to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect were hopeless, so he chose an uncharacteristic strategy, and hid. He carefully tucked Shen Qingqiu’s body in an unobtrusive area of the ancient crypt he’d flown to, not far from Huan Hua. He blocked off the entrance with as many stone slabs as he could manage in the handful of minutes he’d had ahead of Luo Binghe. He couldn't have been said to have a plan; if he was in a clearer state of mind, perhaps he would have signaled to the rest of the sect somehow, but for now, he stands, Cheng Luan at the ready, as the ground shakes in a way that foretold Luo Binghe’s inevitable entrance.

He tells himself the same thing he’s been telling himself since the first time he was humbled by Luo Binghe: it will make him stronger for it. He will benefit even from these losses. It's rare for any mortal to prove a challenge for Liu Qingge; Yue Qingyuan isn’t really one for rough-and-tumble scraps in the practice yard, and rare beasts are considered rare for a reason. He can’t spend literally all of his time off the peak. So there are silver linings to this wretched situation with Luo Binghe, he concludes. Liu Qingge wouldn’t deserve his title if he let his skill with the blade stagnate, and he’ll deserve it even less if he shies away from dueling an upstart, degenerate, lying, demonic little beast.

This speech is effective at soothing his bruised pride, which is all he needs it for; it's not necessary for him to reassure himself in the face of fear. He knows that Luo Binghe is capable of killing him; that has been made clear many times over. Luo Binghe has not. That fact is not comforting in the least; though Liu Qingge does not fear for his life, the part of his mind devoted to battle instincts and analysis of opponents (in other words, the vast majority of it) feels nothing but unease.

Thankfully, battle itself is enough to make the unease go away, at least for a while, and return life to its proper balance. There are Evildoers, such as Luo Binghe, and Vessels Of Righteous Authority, such as Liu Qingge, and as long as the two are clashing, all is right with the world.

Liu Qingge’s hasty barricade cannot withstand a single swipe of Xin Mo’s sickly, blazing force. Luo Binghe saunters through the blast hole in a sedate manner that he probably thinks makes him look cool. His grip on Xin Mo is almost loose, careless, like it’s a wooden practice blade, even as the blade and the demon mark on his forehead both glow ominously.

Liu Qingge braces himself, but Luo Binghe appears disinterested in taking him head-on. Just outside of the range of Liu Qingge’s sword, Luo Binghe cocks his head. “Hiding away in the ground like a mole? How brave. Very fitting of the Bai Zhan Peak Lord.”

Liu Qingge doesn’t deign this with a reply. He saves his disdainful lip curls for moments such as these.

Luo Binghe is undeterred. His eyes roam around the room. “Where is he? Not that it matters whether or not you tell me. I’ll find him. I always will.”

“Leave. This is your last chance.”

Luo Binghe snorts. “Do you understand now, Liu Qingge? It’s pointless. You will never take him from me, and you will never win.”

“You liar.”

“I lie?” Luo Binghe laughs: a deep, melodious, evil sound that made Liu Qingge’s extremities tingle, for some reason. “Do tell me how.”

“You let me go. You let me take him.”

Something in Luo Binghe’s eyes changes. “I would never,” he hisses. “To let a worm like you take Shizun—”

“I saw it in your face!” Liu Qingge hears a crumbling of rocks on the other side of the crypt from the sudden flare of his qi. He needs to steady himself. He scarcely remembers what being steady felt like. These past few years, it’s like the qi deviation never really ended, but lay in wait to reverberate through him in slow-motion. “You could have struck me down, but you hesitated. Why?”

Luo Binghe smiles, but it’s crooked and barbed and plainly malevolent. A far cry from the way people describe the silver-tongued head disciple of Huan Hua Palace. For the thousandth time, Liu Qingge wonders what Shen Qingqiu could have ever seen in him, to think Luo Binghe worth what he gave.

“I think Great Master Liu is getting senile. Perhaps he needs his eyes checked.”

“Don’t taunt me!”

“I’ll taunt you as much as I like. You make it very easy.”

“You—” Liu Qingge feels like he’s going to do—something, he must do something, something violent—when he hears the crumbling sound from across the crypt again. This time, he’s sure he hasn’t triggered it, full of killing intent as he may be. Luo Binghe's brows furrow, as well, and he turns partway around to face the cave wall as it disintegrates away, revealing what’s left behind.

Things then begin to get very strange.

A skeletal woman, who somehow still has a full head of hair and what appears to be a skeletal bosom (Liu Qingge is not familiar enough with women’s breasts to confirm or deny, but it is his impression they are largely fleshy and did not in fact contain bones at all; curious…) emerges from what appears to be a hidden chamber at the back of the tomb. The demonic energy is obvious; less obvious, but not missed by Liu Qingge's keen senses, is an ominous cloud of strange-smelling vapour that wafts along with her as she steps, clackily but oddly sensually, out of the rubble. Liu Qingge waits, frozen, to see if she will somehow instinctively ally herself with Luo Binghe in unholy partnership, but she simply tosses her hair over her shoulder and glances between them with a smouldering, or perhaps just confused, expression.

“At last, a suitor has arrived at my chambers. Two suitors!”

Both Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe interrupt her to disagree, but the demoness ignores them entirely. She seems to have a speech prepared just for a moment such as this, which is odd, but Liu Qingge supposed she hasn’t had much to do in here all this time. It is, however, convenient for her that the intruders she faced were indeed worthy challengers, as her main interest seems to lie in harvesting the… essence… of only the most virile of men (Liu Qingge's lip curls again, at the same moment that Luo Binghe's nose wrinkles.)

The room gets more uncomfortably hot by the second, but naturally, neither Liu Qingge nor Luo Binghe has time for any of this, and between the two of them, the wretched creature is swiftly brought to what will hopefully be a more permanent end than whatever had happened to her previously.

If Shen Qingqiu was here—well, here and alive—he would probably have some airy philosophical comment to make about death, or at the very least would have provided some endearing little crumb of insight about which aspects of demonic energy can produce buxom bone plates in skeletal women. Liu Qingge truly misses him every day.

By the end of their (admittedly short) cooperative attack, however, it is impossible to ignore the "sensations." They are twofold: Liu Qingge feels rage well beyond the habitual hatred he associates with Luo Binghe; rage of a like he hasn’t felt since the day he saw Shen Qingqiu die. On the other hand: he has a very obvious erection.

A quick glance proves that Luo Binghe is suffering similarly in at least one respect. Liu Qingge had felt lightheaded even before noticing that, he is sure. He is pretty sure.

“Liu Qingge,” Luo Binghe says, his voice strangely soft and controlled. “You need to leave immediately.”

“What are you talking about?”

“How much of an idiot are you? You can feel it, don't you?"

"Feel what?" Liu Qingge responds, though he well knows what Luo Binghe means. He’s gone on enough quests through untold danger to have encountered similar hazards, though in his experience they’ve usually made one either want to kill everything in sight or to… engage in unsightly activities, not both at the same time.

"These things don't always break when the one who set them in motion dies," Luo Binghe replies, like he's talking to a child. He's panting, but it's more pronounced than Liu Qingge is used to seeing after a fight.

“What’s the difference, then? You came here to do battle with me. So do it.”

“You have no idea how much danger you’re in, you pathetic fool.”

"I'll never run from you," replies Liu Qingge. His voice is raspy after Liu Binghe choked him so, but it adds further gravity to his words, so he finds himself almost pleased with it.

"I will not tell you again." Luo Binghe looks like he's grinding his teeth.

"We've faced each other in battle countless times. Why do you resist it now?"

"If I strike you now, I will kill you." Luo Binghe’s face is somehow even more of an open wound than usual, a sight that perhaps should make Liu Qingge feel victorious, but instead fills him with foreboding.

"Then try!"

"I don't want to kill you," Luo Binghe spits, with possibly the most hatred that Liu Qingge has ever heard in his voice.

"Why not?" Liu Qingge cries, and despises how close the words sound to a plea. "Don't insult me with your idea of mercy. This master would not have become Bai Zhan Peak Lord if he was afraid of death by the blade."

It is the only way he has ever imagined he will die, and though it would obviously be preferable for it to happen after thousands of years of immortal mastery, he will settle for thirtyish if it's epic.

There is nothing less epic than being spared by Luo Binghe, except for being spared by Luo Binghe every day for the past two and a half years.

Being spared might not even be the right word. He’s being left alive out of pity, he thinks, or something even less altruistic. If Luo Binghe didn’t have Liu Qingge to fend off, what would he do with himself? Liu Qingge likes to tell himself that his diligent daily assaults on Huan Hua Palace must drain Luo Binghe of enough energy that he can only muster up half the amount of evil tricks he could otherwise, but as even as he barricaded himself in the cave, Liu Qingge had solemnly admitted to himself that even in their most vicious fights, he hasn’t scratched the surface of what Luo Binghe is capable of.

So what is it? Would he be bored otherwise? If Liu Qingge were in Luo Binghe’s position—which he would not be for a variety of reasons, but if he was—he thinks he could understand that. It doesn’t make it feel any better to be on the receiving end.

Enough of this, Liu Qingge decides, and he draws Cheng Luan in one swift motion. "You will defeat me, one way or another, or I will defeat you. This is the only way."

The sound when their swords meet each other is such that Liu Qingge briefly worries they will cave the entire crypt in around them. His first thought is that he better make sure it doesn't crush Shen Qingqiu to death, before he remembers.

"One way or another?" Luo Binghe laughs, now looking completely deranged, and he sends Liu Qingge's teeth rattling with a wave of demonic energy from Xin Mo. "Careful, shishu. You'll make me think you mean something other than what you do."

Unfortunately, it is at that moment that Cheng Luan‘s tip slashes close enough to Luo Binghe’s skin to cut a surgically precise tear through his robes, from upper thigh to breastbone. His robes are already scuffed and torn in several places from their bout at Huan Hua Palace, so this puts Liu Qingge unfortunately face to face with the extent of Luo Binghe's gleaming muscles, from his pectorals to hip flexors. He feels so acutely lightheaded that he might float to the top of the cave.

They make eye contact, then. Straining against one another, body and soul. He is a little desperate for something to come of this, Liu Qingge thinks; he, and Luo Binghe, both. Something, anything, besides this tedium of keeping each other alive.

The things that happen after that are too humiliating for Liu Qingge to be willing to recount. He would like to say he nobly suffered through it, but in truth, it was not particularly noble on his part, nor involved as much suffering as he would like.

Afterwards, he and Luo Binghe lie, studiously not touching, on the cold stone floor amid the rubble, and as self-consciousness gradually flows back into him in tandem with the flow of Luo Binghe's... essence... out of him... Liu Qingge spares a moment of feeble gratitude that he'd stashed Shen Qingqiu's delicately preserved body out of their line of sight.

"I'll never let you have him," Liu Qingge murmurs. "I won't stop keep coming back until one of us makes an end of it."

"You better not," Luo Binghe replies. It sounds like mockery, in the way that everything he says sounds like mockery, but Liu Qingge thinks he means it. It is the first time he's believed something Liu Binghe has said at face value in many years, and if he wasn't unfortunately still very post-orgasmic, he would rue this fact more deeply.

“And if you try going easy on me again, I’ll—”

“You’ll what, shishu?” Luo Binghe gets to his feet, his face hard to make out in the dimness. He reaches down, and pulls Liu Qingge standing with a fist in his robes. Liu Qingge manages to steady himself on his feet, but only just. Luo Binghe looks at him with an indecipherable expression; the usual ridicule isn’t gone, but it’s been joined by the ruddy flush of a different kind of exertion. His eyes shine; it might be from that, or it might be from tears, though that would make no sense. “What will you do?”