Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“This is all your fault.”

Almost everything about Shen Qingqiu was perfectly manicured – his body language, his tone, his smile – but his eyes drilled into Shang Qinghua’s, and his fan was swatting aside the humid air as though it had personally offended him.

Rolling his eyes, Shang Qinghua stuffed another handful of peanuts into his mouth and deliberately began his response before it was empty. “Isn’t it always?”

Closing his fan with a snap that caused three nearby monks from Zhao Hua Temple to flinch from their seats, Shen Qingqiu stared incredulously at his companion.

“Yes. It is. On account of…” Shen Qingqiu gestured around himself, the fingers of his free hand stretched far apart  “...everything, really. But this especially. What sort of self-respecting writer would dream up a triennial teenage Royal Rumble with added monsters?”

Shang Qinghua shrugged, unconcerned. “The cultivators seem to like it. It was the other three Great Sects that pressured Yue Qingyang into restarting the Immortal Alliance Conference.”

“And of course,” snapped Shen Qingqiu, “you were happy to assist with the logistics. After it all turned out so well last time.”

A complicated mix of hurt and irritation shivered across Shang Qinghua’s eyes before he angled his body away from the table, turning his attention to his food while Shen Qingqiu wrestled with his memories.

The location this time was a rainforest basin, but too much remained the same for Shen Qingqiu to completely avoid thinking of Jue Di Gorge. He and his fellow peak lords were once again at the top of a tall tower guarding the entrance to the Conference hunting grounds. All around him, cultivators in robes of various hues were mingling and gambling, waiting for the action to begin. Far below, under the dripping canopy, disciples of great sects and of sects so minor that even Airplane probably didn’t know of their existence toyed with the gold wires around their wrists.

With an effort, Shen Qingqiu pushed away the last of his unease; his system had been silent for years, and his husband was far away in the demon realm dealing with business of his own. Across the low table, Shang Qinghua was rolling a peanut between his fingers and pouting. Shen Qingqiu stifled a sigh; the Conference was going to be trying enough without his frie— fellow peak lord sulking. Looking around for inspiration, his attention was drawn to the screen in front of him, dimmed and fogged until the hunt began. He rapped a nail sharply on its flat surface to get Shang Qinghua’s attention.

“Did I ever tell you how much I hated the embellishments surrounding the Alliance Conference? Spirit eagles, crystal rings with broadcasting powers… You really are a hack writer.”

Visibly relaxing, a smile played over Shang Qinghua’s face. Bickering about Proud Immortal Demon Way was familiar ground for both of them.  

“You’d never specifically mentioned it,” replied Shang Qinghua, “but I’ll add it to the extensive list of complaints you have about my story. You know, the same story that allowed you to be reborn into an immortal body with cool superpowers. The one that facilitated you falling in love and marrying the man with the biggest co—”

“Liu-shidi!” Shen Qingqiu exclaimed, beckoning over the nearby Bai Zhan peak master and consolidating his interruption with a kick to Shang Qinghua’s ankle. “Have the preparations gone well?”

“Of course,” snapped Liu Qingge. “The disciples are trained and prepared; they are ready for any monster that comes their way.” He paused and looked at Shang Qinghua who was using his outer robes to clean salt from his fingers. “Well, the ones from Bai Zhan are, at least.”

“Excellent,” replied Shen Qingqiu, studiously ignoring his embarrassing table companion. “We can we expect a Cang Qiong victory, then?”

Tensing, Liu Qingge’s expression turned murky like the dormant crystal screens. “We could have,” he spat from between twisted lips, “if it wasn’t for those…”

“Those…” Shen Qingqiu prompted, his tone carefully neutral.

“...demons. Those demons.” Liu Qingge met Shen Qingqiu's eyes steadily, as though daring him to object.

“Everyone agreed, Liu-shidi. It’s only fair; these days, Luo Binghe and his allies command as much power and influence as any of the great sects. We couldn’t leave them out.”

“No,” Liu Qingge replied at length. “I don’t suppose you could.” Silence fell around the table, lingering to the point of discomfort.

“Think of it as a chance to foster cross-species alliances.” Shang Qinghua was beaming cheerfully as he chimed in, happy not to be the focus of his shidi’s ire, for once. “And what better way to cement relationships than partaking in a bit of light-hearted slaughter?”

Whipping around so fast that his hair hissed through the air, Liu Qingge glowered at Shang Qinghua, who squeaked and sank down as if to become one with the floor. With a final glare towards Shen Qingqiu, Liu Qingge whirled and stalked off, muttering under his breath.

“That went well,” remarked Shang Qinghua, sitting upright once more and allowing his whole head to reemerge from the neck of his robes. “I wonder if Liu-shidi will make it through the entire competition without attacking any of your husband’s representatives? Whose idea was it to have him on the forest floor anyway?”  

“Zhangmen-shixiong’s,” replied Shen Qingqiu. “He said that if we were going to change the rules to allow senior cultivators within the grounds, then we might as well use the one most likely to be able to actually deal with any catastrophes.”

Shang Qinghua nodded easily before stiffening where he sat, eyes wide. “Wait. Then who did your husband pick to monitor the young demons? I hope it’s not—”

Further discussion was halted by an earsplitting boom and the sky above the tower erupting in glowing red sparks. All around the room, crystal screens flickered to life. Huge ranking boards appeared, suspended magically in the air opposite the tower. The background chatter of the nearby cultivators intensified as last-minute wagers were placed before the scoring began and Shen Qingqiu had to strain to hear Shang Qinghua’s next question over the commotion.

“Who have you bet on this year?” he asked, then laughed as Shen Qingqiu’s face twisted in distaste. “Don’t try to pretend you’re above such things. By all accounts, Yue Qingyuan’s expression was a picture when he heard what you wagered on Luo Binghe last time.”

“That was different,” sniffed Shen Qingqiu, ignoring the way Shang Qinghua’s lips quirked in amused disbelief. “No doubt you’re up to your elbows in such uncouth pastimes; in fact, I’m surprised you’re not running the whole gambling ring.”

“Who says I’m not?”

Shen Qingqiu chose to ignore Shang Qinghua’s response and its accompanying eyebrow waggle in favour of motioning over a nearby server with a tray of tea. “Well then,” said Shen Qingqiu, pouring a cup and pushing it none too gently across the table. “If you know so much about it, you’ll be able to tell me who’ll win.”

“Well. Liu-shidi was right about one thing: any other year and Cang Qiong would have this sewn up. He’s got a disciple competing – Qian Jiayi – who is fucking terrifying. This year, though…” Shang Qinghua tailed off, sipping at his tea.

“This year what?” snapped Shen Qingqiu, clattering his cup into its saucer in irritation. “Don’t sit there looking smug about knowing something I don’t, it's rude.”

Somehow, Shang Qinghua’s smile became even more self-satisfied. “This year, my money is on Twenty-three.” He settled back more comfortably on his cushion, radiating an infuriating sense of magnanimity.

Shen Qingqiu pinned Shang Qinghua with a venomous stare. “Twenty-three what? Species of insects with a higher IQ than you? Paperback novels fished out of airport garbage bins with greater literary merit than anything you could hope to write?”

“Touchy, aren’t you?” retaliated Shang Qinghua. Shen Qingqiu noted, however, that he had the good sense not to laugh. “Twenty-three is what they call the demon who is going to win this year’s competition.”

“That’s a name?” Shen Qingqiu paused, a thoughtful expression moving over his face. “I suppose I can’t be too surprised; it’s a level of attention to detail and effort about on par with what you put into naming demons. They learnt from the worst.”

As he opened his mouth to bleat in protest, Shang Qinghua was interrupted by a rising murmur of excitement; Shen Qingqiu turned his attention to the ranking boards. Qian Jiayi’s name was on the gold board. Twelve. The same score as Gongyi Xiao had once accumulated in a similar amount of time. Airplane had finally been right about something – the disciple was frighteningly good. Shen Qingqiu looked at the screen closest to him.

Qian Jiayi was standing in a clearing, the bodies of several smallish monsters piled around him in a gruesome tangle of limbs, claws and dripping ichor. The disciple flicked the gore from his sword and sheathed it in one showy movement, spinning and dropping into a fighting stance as the thickets of vegetation behind him began to quiver with the impending arrival of another, no doubt hideous, creature.

Before Shen Qingqiu was able to see what was about to attack, the picture on his screen dissolved and shifted to another part of the jungle. This time, the view pitched and yawed in a way that made Shen Qingqiu’s stomach churn as the spirit eagle captured footage while weaving among the broad leaves. The bird steadied momentarily, and Shen Qingqiu caught a glimpse of a powerful young demon, presumably Twenty-three. He was as tall as most adult demons Shen Qingqiu had seen, though he must have been around seventeen to be participating in the Alliance Conference. He was also surrounded by bloody corpses despite appearing unarmed.

As Shen Qingqiu watched, a squat, sinewy creature scrambled around a thick tree trunk, gouging great chunks of earth with its claws and angling straight for Twenty-three. The air around him darkened and, with a flick of his hand, a dozen black spirit daggers erupted from inside the monster, splitting it apart. Its momentum carried its remains skidding to the feet of the young demon, who sidestepped them neatly before stalking off into the jungle. Shen Qingqiu glanced up at the gold ranking board to see Twenty-three’s name, now in first position with a score of eighteen. He looked sharply at Shang Qinghua.

“How is that possible? He was trailing Qian Jiayi by four beads; there’s no way he killed ten monsters in less than a ke.”

“More new rules,” replied Shang Qinghua. “Now there are seniors on the ground to ensure everything doesn’t go to shit, it’s been deemed safe to release more powerful beasts which are worth more than a single bead. That,” said Shang Qinghua, gesturing vaguely at the diced remains of Twenty-three’s latest kill, “was a Howling Sable Badger. Vicious little fuckers. Worthy of ten beads at least.”

As the day and the competition wore on, the images on the monitors rarely strayed from the leaders, alternating between them as they accomplished feat after feat of artful violence. As sunset tinted the sky and tea was swapped for liquor, one thing became clear: brilliant as he was, Qian Jiayi was not going to regain the lead. Twenty-three was a force of nature and the Bai Zhan disciple would need a miracle in the days to come to catch up.

As true darkness fell, the sky lit up once more with familiar red sparks, and Shen Qingqiu’s cup paused on its way to his mouth. “More changes?”

“More valuable, and dangerous, monsters mean no hunting between sunset and sunrise,” explained Shang Qinghua. “Apparently piles of dead disciples ruin morale. I’m counting it as another universal sign of a developing civilisation: agriculture, complex written language and the existence of a health and safety executive. And,” he added, raising his drink towards Shen Qingqiu’s, “it means we can get drunk with fewer distractions.”

“For once,” said Shen Qingqiu, draining his cup, “we are in complete accord.”

*

The next morning dawned with a singular lack of urgency. With the rule changes in place, the cultivators in the tower no longer had to scramble to catch up with overnight scoring or casualties. Shen Qingqiu was feeling a little sluggish, and he imagined, as he engaged his breakfast in a grim staring contest, that the disciples below would take advantage of their break. He and Shang Qinghua – who sat across from him and appeared to be holding onto the floor to steady himself – would have plenty of time to regain their equilibrium before the day’s action began in earnest.

That illusion, and the relative peace of the tower, was shattered by a squall of excited chatter. The eyes of every cultivator in the room turned to the ranking boards. Qian Jiayi was in first place. Shen Qingqiu stared at the monitor in front of him. The view cycled rapidly as it changed between eagles, but none of them were showing the Bai Zhan disciple, only flickers of movement, the edge of black robes, the swish of a high ponytail as it disappeared into the foliage.

With an effort, Shen Qingqiu tore his gaze from the screens and ranking board to interrogate Shang Qinghua. “Whatever Qian Jiayi just killed was worth fifty points. What the fuck was it?”

Shang Qinghua shrugged helplessly, his expression announcing that he was as stunned as anybody by the development. His eyes widened as he caught sight of something on his crystal viewscreen. “Look,” he hissed. The eagles had clearly given up on catching Qian Jiayi and focused instead on his latest victim. “That,” Shang Qinghua continued, “is a Sabre-toothed Cu Sith.” He paused. “Or, at least, it was. A disciple of his level shouldn’t even know of their existence, let alone how to kill one.”

“Well, however he managed it, he's back in the lead, and there’s no way the demon can —” This time, the change in the ranking board was met with dumbstruck silence. The images had caught up with the action quickly, and every viewscreen showed a glimpse of the retreating back of Twenty-three, his midnight blue robes stained black with blood, newly risen sunlight glinting from the gold wire hanging loose around his wrist.

“A Thorned Cave Bear,” Shang Qinghua stated flatly. He was peering at the monitor as if the weight of his regard could allow him to follow the demon into the trees, his expression more suspicious now than awestruck.

“Indeed.” Shen Qingqiu tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the table. “Cleanly decapitated, as well. He’s almost too good, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would,” agreed Shang Qinghua. “And do you know what else? I swear Twenty-three has grown overnight.” He paused, concentrating. As Shen Qingqiu was about to ask if his brain was overheating, Shang Qinghua spoke again. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking? You don’t suppose…”

“No. Surely not. I mean, who knows what goes on inside the heads of demon lords, but our shidi? Zhangmen-shixiong would kill him. Or, at least, be very, very disappointed in him, which might actually be worse.” Shen Qingqiu steepled his hands under his chin, contemplating. “For the moment, let’s just keep an eye on what happens. If there have been any…unfortunate breaches of the rules, it can’t be kept hidden for long.”

As the day wore on, the lead changed hands repeatedly between Qian Jiayi and Twenty-three, with increasingly outlandish and dangerous beasts dispatched in ever more gruesome and proficient ways. The competitors themselves, however, remained elusive; the briefest glimpse of robes or the flash of a blade was the most that the spirit eagles could catch amidst the dense jungle. The other disciples, based on the evidence of the ranking boards, had long since given up, and were probably either watching on in awe or, if they were pragmatic, retreating to a safe distance. The throngs of cultivators in the tower seemed, with few exceptions, oblivious to Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua’s concerns; they were too preoccupied with lauding each felled target and gambling an unthinkable number of spirit stones on the eventual victor.

The final straw came shortly after lunch when ‘Qian Jiayi’ killed not one but two Five-horned Crusted Cave-diggers from a place of concealment by controlling a very familiar sword with his qi. “I think it’s about time we put a stop to this,” said Shen Qingqiu, climbing to his feet.

“Agreed. Their luck in avoiding the spirit eagles can’t last forever, and it’s better if we step in before the other sects figure out for themselves what’s been happening.” Shang Qinghua joined Shen Qingqiu and they began to move with studied casualness towards the exit. When Shang Qinghua spoke again, he pitched his voice low to avoid being overheard. “You know there’ll be repercussions? The penalty for cheating is clear: both Cang Qiong and your husband’s demon sect will be banned for the next three conferences.”

Shen Qingqiu paused to look around the tower before leaving the tower. “Personally, I’m more worried about the hundreds of armed cultivators who’ve bet thousands of spirit stones and are now about to discover that their wagers are void and nonrefundable. A lot of them have started drinking again already. This could get ugly.”

“Ah!” crowed Shang Qinghua, then slapped his hand over his mouth when Shen Qingqiu glared and pressed a finger to his own lips. “Sorry!” he whispered. “Sorry. I think I know how to sort that.”

“You know how to pacify a bunch of angry wizards who’ve been told they are now penniless?” asked Shen Qingqiu, suspicion etched deeply into his face.

“Yes.”

“While simultaneously driving two of the most frighteningly skilled fighters in this universe or any other out of hiding?”

“Yes,” said Shang Qinghua, nodding so enthusiastically that his head was in danger of detaching from the rest of him.

“All without us all getting us both killed?”

“Trust me, Cucumber bro. I’m a writer – I could come up with six plotlines more challenging than this before breakfast.”

With a croak of disbelief, Shen Qingqiu turned on his heel and marched towards the jungle floor. Whatever madness Shang Qinghua had come up with, he had the feeling it’d be best to get it over with quickly.

*

“This isn’t going to work.” Shen Qingqiu had been waiting deep in the shade of dripping leaves for over a shi. His reserves of patience had run out shortly after they’d arrived, and now all that was stopping him from throttling Shang Qinghua was the niggling feeling he would miss having someone to reminisce with about fast food.

“Have a little faith, bro. They’ll come; they’re far too competitive not to. It’s going to take a little time for the ripples of the rumour I spread of a particularly valuable creature to reach them, that’s all.” As he spoke, Shang Qinghua’s eyes were trained on a small figure perched on a rock a few zhang from their hiding place.

“What is that thing anyway?” asked Shen Qingqiu, squinting at the little biped. “It doesn’t seem threatening at all.”

“Goes to show what you know. It’s a Powrie, and…Does it even really matter? What’s important is —” Shang Qinghua broke off abruptly and crouched further into cover as the sound of faint rustling came from the opposite side of the clearing and a demon edged into view.

“Mobei-jun,” breathed Shang Qinghua.

Almost immediately, the fronds of an enormous fern to Shen Qingqiu’s left began to part as a figure pushed through to the open.

“Liu Qingge,” murmured Shen Qingqiu.

Both figures stopped dead when they caught sight of one another. For the space of a few heartbeats, silence reigned. The quiet was fractured by the ring of Cheng Luan being drawn. Opposite, Mobei-jun growled and the air around him thickened with his demonic aura.

“Gentlemen.” Shen Qingqiu strode into the centre of the clearing and snapped his fan open theatrically. “We have been waiting for you.”

Chapter Text

“This is all your fault.”

Liu Qingge stalked the boundaries of the storeroom like a restless big cat, snarling an accusation or insult each time he passed the corner where Mobei-jun crouched in silence. So far, he’d ignored every barb Liu Qingge had sent his way. On his next circuit, Liu Qingge stopped a judicious distance from the object of his displeasure, fists clenched at his side.

“You don’t say much, do you demon?”

For a long moment, Mobei-jun remained motionless. Then, slowly, he raised his eyes to meet Liu Qingge’s. “I will speak when I am given something worth responding to.“

Liu Qingge gritted his teeth and pushed the crescents of his fingernails even harder into his palms. He turned to begin another lap of the room.

“And,” rasped Mobei-jun, “this is not my fault.”

“It is.” Liu Qingge stopped dead and spoke with his back to Mobei-jun, not trusting his hold on his temper to withstand facing the demon in the corner again. “If you hadn’t turned up uninvited to the Immortal Alliance Conference – for the second time – then none of this —”

“I was invited, this time. You put us here. You cheated. I responded.”

“Cheated?” Liu Qingge turned his head to the side and spat loudly into the dirt at his feet. “There’s no such thing as cheating in war, in combat.” He moved to the opposite corner of the room and slid his back down the wall until he faced Mobei-jun across the floor. “I saw an opportunity to win, and I took it.”

It was difficult to tell, but Liu Qingge swore he could hear a note of agreement in the grunt he received in response. He glared around at the four walls for the umpteenth time since his arrival; they revealed nothing new. Carefully, Liu Qingge looked at Mobei-jun from under his lashes. Even while perfectly still in his corner he seemed to vibrate with power. Very seldom did Liu Qingge meet an opponent worthy of the name. It was hard not to be intrigued. And a prudent fighter takes every opportunity to learn more about his rival.

“Why did you agree to their plan?” Mobei-jun lifted his head at the sound of his voice, so Liu Qingge knew he’d been heard.  At length, the demon responded.

“Junshang.”

Suppressing the instinctual grimace the title brought, Liu Qingge continued to probe.

“What about him?”

Even with his eyes hidden in the deep shadows, Liu Qingge could tell Mobei-jun was staring right at him, and he fought to remain still under the scrutiny.

“The tall one is married to Junshang; he made it clear he would tell his husband that I had displeased him.”

Liu Qingge leant closer, trying to pierce the gloom in which Mobei-jun sat. “I didn’t think you’d be so easily frightened.”

Mobei-jun growled, his eyes momentarily gleaming ice-blue in the dark. This one was dangerous. Liu Qingge liked that.

“And you, human? What were you threatened with?”

Closing his eyes, Liu Qingge thought back to the conversation in the jungle with his shixiong.

You get to keep the points in Bai Zhan’s name and, who knows, perhaps even win the tournament. You get to retain your reputation as an honourable peak lord. Shen Qingqiu had paused then, as if unsure of what he could afford to promise. And I will owe you a debt of gratitude. All you have to do is give back the gold wire and stay out of sight during the …finale.

“Everything I want most.”

Outside the rough-hewn walls of the storeroom, a commotion had slowly been building, and now it erupted; a deafening bellow which startled both men to their feet, followed by a percussive thud which shook the earth beneath them.

Approaching the wooden wall, Liu Qingge pressed his eye to a gap in the boards. “The finale.” Liu Qingge wasn’t aware he had spoken aloud until a response came from barely a chi to his right.

“Black Moon Python Rhinoceros. A fitting climax.” Mobei-jun was close enough for Liu Qingge to feel the chill the demon carried with him prickle across his skin. He swallowed and refocused his attention outside.

“Yes. Shang Qinghua has a taste for the theatrical.” The monster’s roars were closer now, and its every footstep could be felt thrumming through the ground. During any moment of quiet, the swell of excited voices could be heard – an audience of cultivators, their wagers now riding on the killing blow of this last fight. It was close; Liu Qingge could almost taste it.

He risked a glance to the side. Mobei-jun was rapt, following the shadow of the huge beast as it periodically blocked what little sunlight filtered into the storeroom. His breath was coming fast, chest straining against his robes, mouth parted to reveal the tip of his sharp canines. He looked…hungry. Liu Qingge understood. His blood sang with it too – the feverish anticipation of battle. It simmered under his skin, built until he was sure it must be audible in the stagnant air. With a start, Liu Qingge realised he could hear something – a soft, low rumble from Mobei-jun. He turned fully to the demon, eyebrows raised in question.

“I should be out there,” Mobei-jun forced through teeth bared in frustration. “We should be out there.”

“We?”

“You are a worthy opponent.” Mobei-jun remained facing forwards, his eyes flickering over the walls of the shack, tracking the sound of the Python Rhinoceros. “In the jungle, we spurred each other to greater feats.”

As Mobei-jun spoke, the huge beast outside had drawn closer. There were no details to be made out, only dark bulk and the hot reek of it. Still, it goaded the demon’s resentment. He reached out and rested his fingers on the timber and, every time the creature passed, he dug his black claws a little deeper into the wood. Liu Qingge stared, transfixed, at Mobei-jun’s finely-veined hand, a contrast in elegance and brute force.

As the Python Rhinoceros came closer yet, splinters began to form around Mobei-jun’s talons, and the entire plank groaned. Liu Qingge moved to take the demon’s wrist before he disintegrated the wall only to find himself pinned against it, arm above his head, with Mobei-jun’s fingers wrapped around his forearm like a vice. The demon’s other hand slid slowly up his neck, a motion which could almost have been a caress if it weren’t for the claw grazing the line of his thyroid cartilage and moving up to press a point of bright fire into the skin under his jaw.

Breathing through the heat in his gut, Liu Qingge battled to suppress his body’s reaction to the push of Mobei-jun’s thigh against his. With an effort, he steadied his heartbeat and his voice. “Peace, demon. I simply want to ensure you don’t smash through our hiding place. If I wanted to fight you, you would know.” Liu Qingge shoved him away hard enough to make his point, leaving Mobei-jun steadying himself in the centre of the room.

Drawing himself to his full height, Mobei-jun prowled forwards, his eyes sweeping up and down the length of Liu Qingge's body. Liu Qingge readied himself, sinking his weight into the balls of his feet. He couldn’t read Mobei-jun’s intentions. Did the demon want to fight him or fuck him?

Before Liu Qingge could get his answer, a raucous cheer rose from outside. Mobei-jun swept straight past Liu Qingge without pause, once again taking up his station at the wall. The tell-tale sounds of combat could now be heard – the ring of a drawn sword, the detonation of demonic power. Qian Jiayi and Twenty-three had arrived.

A wave of anger washed over Liu Qingge; a fury so sudden and genuine he could feel it filling his mouth. The hot taste of outrage that Mobei-jun had chosen neither option, and, instead, had breezed past him like he’d ceased to exist. Stronger though, was the bitter tang of shame. He’d wanted Mobei-jun to reengage, to pin him, to touch him.

Propelled by the force of his emotions, Liu Qingge closed the gap between himself and Mobei-jun in a single stride, spinning the demon and pushing him against the wall, a mirror image of their previous position. Mobei-jun pressed back momentarily – just enough to test the boundaries of Liu Qingge’s grip – before settling back, apparently content to find out which direction Liu Qingge would take them in.

With a demon lord wedged beneath him, Liu Qingge’s well of ideas ran inconveniently dry. A fight was a stimulating prospect, even more so as the outcome would be uncertain at best. The walls of the storeroom were flimsy though, and he’d promised his shixiong he’d keep a low profile – obliterating an entire shack and rolling onto Qian Jiayi’s battlefield in a cloud of dust and blood would not be prudent. More than that…Liu Qingge no longer wanted to deny his desires. Mobei-jun was quiet beneath him, watchful, but he had made no move to break free. Perhaps, Liu Qingge didn’t need to deny them.

Moving forwards slightly, Liu Qingge pushed his body against Mobei-jun’s in an unbroken line, testing the theory. Again, the demon made no attempt to struggle. Beneath him, Mobei-jun was all muscle and contained power. Fighting to remain motionless, Liu Qingge waged war against his instinct to move, to drag their bodies together, to seek his pleasure against the demon. They were both breathing hard now, almost panting. Liu Qingge shifted his face towards Mobei-jun’s, close enough that the demon’s cool breath fanned across his heated cheeks. He tilted his chin, presenting his lips to Mobei-jun in an unmistakable offer.

The demon did not move.

Uncertainty gripped Liu Qingge. Had he miscalculated? He couldn’t stay as he was, mouth hovering doubtfully in the air; that would look foolish. Likewise, he couldn’t retreat: that was never an option.  The decision was taken out of his hands. Mobei-jun’s eyes brightened in the dim light, and he pushed his leg deliberately between both of Liu Qingge’s, dragging his thigh upwards. When he nudged the thickening length of Liu Qingge’s cock, he paused, lips pulling back from his teeth. Liu Qingge’s whole body tensed. Was the fucker laughing at him?

Letting out a snarl as bestial as anything Mobei-jun could have produced, Liu Qingge lurched forwards, intent on driving his forehead into Mobei-jun’s face, wiping the smile straight off his lips. Effortlessly, Mobei-jun ducked, leaving Liu Qingge to smash his own jaw into the top of the demon’s skull.

Losing his grip on Mobei-jun and reeling back, Liu Qingge felt himself caught and held around the waist. Through the burn of his split lip, he could feel blood trailing from his mouth and beginning to drip from his chin.

With a muted growl, Mobei-jun surged closer. His tongue fell hot and wet on Liu Qingge’s skin, starting at his jaw and moving up, following the line of blood. Mobei-jun paused for a moment as he reached the corner of his mouth, and then the demon’s tongue was there, pushing insistently at the seam of his lips. Liu Qingge eagerly opened up to let him in. The kiss was a feral thing, all want and heat.

Each frenzied movement stung, pulling at Liu Qingge’s wound, only to be swept away by the feel of Mobei-jun licking into his mouth. The cycle of pain and pleasure intensified until Liu Qingge could no longer distinguish between the roar of the crowd and the pulse of blood in his temples.

Dimly, Liu Qingge was aware of being lifted from his feet, spun around and thrust against the wall, the impact of his back on the timber drowned out by a booming discharge of qi from the arena outside. Mobei-jun wound his claws into Liu Qingge’s hair, tugging his head to the side and exposing his throat.

Mobei-jun mouthed a burning line down the column of Liu Qingge’s neck, pulling him flush against his body, pressing his thigh once again between both of Liu Qingge’s. Outside, the Python Rhinoceros was bellowing in pain; the end was near and the crowd were euphoric. Liu Qingge began to thrust with the rise and fall of their voices, pleasure building molten in his gut with each drag of hard muscle over his length.

The thunder of cheering and howls of pain from the arena masked the whimpers falling from Liu Qingge’s lips, and Mobei-jun swallowed the rest with his mouth. The noise, the hot wetness of Mobei-jun’s tongue, the scrape of cloth and muscle against his cock – Liu Qingge's hips stuttered and slowed as the sensations overwhelmed him.

With a dissatisfied growl, Mobei-jun grabbed Liu Qingge’s ass, the points of his nails digging into the flesh. He urged Liu Qingge’s hips back into motion, flexing his strong hands and relentlessly driving their bodies together. As the ground trembled from a colossal impact, Mobei-jun increased the pressure and Liu Qingge tensed and gasped, dropping his head to the demon’s shoulder as he pulsed against him.

When the roar in his ears cleared, Liu Qingge found that the cacophony from outside had diminished to a low murmur. The contest was over, and someone had won. It had all seemed so vital less than a shi ago, and now Liu Qingge found himself struggling to muster any concern for the outcome – he had more pressing matters to attend to. He lowered his fingers to the sash of Mobei-jun’s robes, snatching at them roughly, ripping the fabric when the knot defied him.

Over the low rumble building in Mobei-jun’s chest, two voices became discernible as they detached from the general susurrus of the crowd and approached the storeroom. The voices were bickering. Liu Qingge snorted in frustration and pushed himself away from the wall, adjusting his spoiled robes as best he could and motioning for Mobei-jun to do likewise.

“My shixiongdi,” explained Liu Qingge, waving a hand at the door and moving to put as much space as possible between himself and Mobei-jun. “Here to tell us which of our charges was victorious. If they can stop casting barbed insults for long enough to deliver the information.”

With a sneer, Mobei-jun gestured, a flare of light engulfing his palm. The door, and much of the adjoining wall, was encased in a sheet of ice. A very thick sheet of ice, if the muffled volume of the approaching conversation was anything to go by.

“Leave them to their tourney,” rasped Mobei-jun. “There is better sport to be found in here.”

Human and demon faced each other across the packed dirt floor, and smiled.