Chapter Text
3) There are categories of touch (of which hitting is not one-unless you are Bai Zhan Peak)
“He is still afraid,” Mobei Jun stated. He was once again back at the residence of Junshang and Consort Shen, much to Junshang’s continuing dismay.
(“Just one week, Shizun. I just want one week where no one bothers us!”
“Binghe, Mobei Jun needs us. Shang Qinghua is too dense to work anything out by himself and I’m pretty sure Mobei Jun is the same. At least he’s trying…”
“It’s not just them! Shizun is bothered by everyone. Liu Qingge was here just yesterday bothering us!”
“Liu-Shishu, Binghe. And he was bringing us more meat as a gift.”
“I can do that, Shizun. Whatever you want to eat, just tell me and I will get it!”
“Binghe, that’s not an issue. Binghe, Binghe watch your hands!”)
Shen Qingqiu sipped at the tea that his husband had poured out for him. In his mind, he couldn’t help panicking a bit, wondering why of all people, Mobei Jun had chosen him to ask for relationship advice. What about him screamed ‘I know how to seduce you dream man and can guide you to your happy ending’?
System, why is everyone I know terrible at interpersonal relationships?, he thought. Then he stopped and remembered just exactly who the author of this shitty world was.
Ah. In all his time reading PIDW, Shen Qingqiu could tell you that Airplane had some hang ups.
“In what way is he afraid?” Shen Qingqiu asked.
“He flinches when I am near.”
“My martial brother is fairly skittish. I don’t think you can be blamed solely for his reaction when is surprised,” Shen Qingqiu offered. And this wasn’t a bad explanation. Airplane tended to flinch and jitter for odd reasons, such as Shen Qingqiu snapping his fan closed, Liu Qingge unsheathing his sword, and Yue Qingyuan walking anywhere near him with a smile on his face and paperwork in his hands. “Might I suggest just making more noise when appearing near him?”
“He flinches even when he knows I am there,” Mobei Jun explained, his frustration becoming more obvious in his voice. “After our trip to the Grove of Thistled Fruit, I tried to remove the spines of a blood cactus from his robes. He flinched so hard that he fell into another thicket.”
At this, Luo Binghe finally placed his own cup down on the table hard. Shen Qingqiu and Mobei Jun looked over, surprised at the noise.
“Mobei Jun, I will give you what advice I can from my own experiences. I feel that I owe this to Shang-Shishu for the advice he gave me when I had my own problems expressing my affections to Shizun,” Luo Binghe intoned.
“When I was younger, before I knew Shizun’s true kindness and empathy, I had similar reactions as Shang-Shishu. The older disciples had decided that I was unworthy of their own kindness and often made sure that I knew of their disregard. Often, I would be unable to sleep due to the fear that the disciples would find me and…punish me for my laziness. The sound of slamming doors, the sound of many footsteps….those sounds…even now sometimes I have to remind myself that I am no longer a child and no one has the right to punish me for things I never could control,” Luo Binghe said. His eyes seemed far away for a moment, perhaps lost back to old times where a small child really could not trust anyone around him.
Then he smiled.
“Well,” he smirked, “Shizun can punish me as he knows when I deserve it.”
Shen Qingqiu, who during his small speech had looked so regretful, suddenly choked, his face burning red. He still didn’t interrupt.
“But Mobei Jun,” he continued, “I learned what kindness truly meant. I learned it from my Shizun, and from him, the other disciples learned how to be kind. It became easier.”
Luo Binghe paused again in thought.
“You’ve already realized what you were doing wrong, correct? Humans don’t operate the same as demons, they don’t appreciate violence as proof of strength. He doesn’t need you to hit him three times a day to show you care about him. The opposite! Shang-shishu once told me to be sticky to the person I wanted to understand my feelings to. But I think Shang-shishu is more like me than like Shizun. He doesn’t need someone to be clingy and pushy. He needs someone to let him know….that things are allowed to move at his pace.”
“You’ve already showed you’re willing to change for him. Let him know that you actually mean it.”
“The 3rd infantry destroyed the southside wall of the training field again, my King. If they keep doing this, I want to start sending them out into the woods to train because pricing brick and mortar for this stupid wall is going to put us in the red. I mean, not really, you can absolutely afford it BUT IT’S THE THOUGHT THAT COUNTS here! Don’t punch the walls! Punch each other! That’s what the training is all abou-…my King?”
Shang Qinghua looks up from his writing when Mobei Jun says nothing.
On the desk, Mobei Jun has laid his hand out, palm up. He doesn’t say anything, just looks calmly back at Shang Qinghua.
Shang Qinghua stares at the hand, confused (and mildly alarmed).
He places the brush he was writing with in the hand.
Mobei Jun picked the brush up and placed it to the side gently, before setting his hand back down in the same position. On his face, there was a small frown, almost as if trying to concentrate.
Shang Qinghua picked up the inkwell and placed it in Mobei Jun’s hand, only to be met with the same process.
His papers, his ledger, the royal seal stamp (“It’s not forgery if I was given permission”), the small bag of snacks he hid in his draw (“I have no other contraband!”), and even a small flower vase decoration all met with the same end. Placed gently to the side or on the floor before Mobei Jun’s hand returned to its position on the desk, palm up, resting.
Shang Qinghua felt his heart rate pick up. There was nothing else on the desk that Mobei Jun could possibly want handed to him. ALSO, why couldn’t he just say what he wanted, huh? Besides, how silly did Shang Qinghua have to be to think that what his King really wanted to hold was- was- was- AH he couldn’t even think it.
Obviously, Shang Qinghua was failing something very important to his King. There was no way the Mobei Jun would just want to- to- hold his hand? Mobei Jun was cold and collected and practically oozed the aura of untouchability. When Shang Qinghua had squeezed his thighs all this time, Mobei Jun was quick to kick him off so OBVIOUSLY (!!!) he would never want to be touched in such a casual way.
Ah, my King, you’ve really killed for less! Please just tell me the answer, Shang Qinghua thought to himself.
Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Shang Qinghua looked up and met Mobei Jun’s eyes. His breath caught. Mobei Jun blinked slowly, completely unbothered by Shang Qinghua’s descent into self-inflicted panic, as if this was all just another day in the Northern Palace.
Finally, after staring at each other for what felt to Shang Qinghua like hours, Mobei Jun slowly flexed is fingers like an invitation.
“Qinghua,” he uttered. Not demanding, but what truly felt like an invitation.
Swallowing thickly, Shang Qinghua broke eye contact and looked at his own hand, which he had unknowingly been cradling close to his chest.
He glanced once more towards Mobei Jun as if looking for one more clue that this was what he wanted.
And then he placed his own hand into the open palm of the other.
Mobei Jun closed his fingers around his retainer’s smaller hand slowly, not squeezing, but encompassing.
His hand was cold, but Shang Qinghua felt hot at the touch, as if every nerve in his hand was being electrocuted. The feeling intensified when Mobei Jun brushed is thumb over the back of his hand multiple times. Shang Qinghua almost felt that he would stop breathing at the touch.
And then he felt droplets hit his outstretched arm. Somehow, and for some reason, Shang Qinghua had tears running down his face.
“Ah, I’m sorry! Ha, ha, I really don’t…I don’t know why my face is doing this,” Shang Qinghua stammered. He raised his other hand to wipe at this face, trying to stem the tears as they fell.
“I have done you a disservice,” Mobei Jun said, not long after Shang Qinghua was able to collect himself. His face was still puffy, and he felt more tired than he had before, which was saying something considering his line of work. “And I’ve done it for a long time.”
“My King, you’ve done so much for me! I could never- I couldn’t complain,” Shang Qinghua started, still sniffling a bit.
“No. In our time together, I have made you fear me. Rightfully so,” Mobei Jun responded. “I will not use our culture as an excuse. At any time, I could have easily seen how unhappy you were in our interactions. My actions were selfish. I cared only about my own feelings and comfort.”
“I could have said something at any time”
“To what response? How were you to know how I would react? And even then, back then, what would I have cared?”
Mobei Jun stared at their hands, still combined, even though they had moved over to one of the other lower tables to sit closer together.
“What a hypocritical creature I am,” Mobei Jun mused.
“My King?”
He paused for a moment, once again dragged down into his thoughts.
“The last kind touch I remembered, before you, was my Mother,” Mobei Jun stated. “I don’t remember her well, as she passed early into my childhood. She would rest her hand on the crown of my head and brush her finger over my own demonic mark. I had thought she was proud of what I was- strong enough that my blood would create a mark of the Mobei clan. Much later, I think she felt sorry for me. Of what having this mark would mean for me.
Shang Qinghua shifted his body more to look directly at Mobei Jun. His clasped hand squeezed gently, a silent offering of support. This was the most he had heard his King speak in a long time. For him to talk like this, everything he was saying now was important.
“After she passed, I thought that my Uncle and my Father must still care for me. But you know what my Uncle had done to me as a child. Even if I wanted to believe it was a mistake, I knew in my heart that I couldn’t trust anything he ever said or did. My interactions with my father only went as far as training me for kingship. What kindness was to be found there?”
Mobei Jun lifted their hand and held the back of Shang Qinghua’s hand to his lips, in some semblance of a kiss, though he just rested it their for a moment.
“Qinghua,” he said then, “I’m sorry.”
Shang Qinghua took a quick breath, willing himself to stay silent.
“I trusted no one. I looked out for myself for so long, that I had no consideration of what my actions would do to others. I told you I am selfish….but I want to change that.”
“Tell me what I need to do to show you that,” he finished. Mobei Jun looked wrung out.
He lowered Shang Qinghua’s hand away from their face, his eyes clenched tightly for a second, before willing himself to relax.
Shang Qinghua remained silent, his thoughts seeming to run a mile a minute. He swallowed thickly again and again, unable to catch his own breath.
Finally, Shang Qinghua reached out his free hand and, when Mobei Jun opened his eyes upon feeling him move, cupped Mobei Jun’s cheek in his hand.
“I know, my King,” he rasped. “I know you are.”
Shang Qinghua smiled at Mobei Jun, removing his hand. Mobei Jun almost chased after the warmth, missing it so soon. Shang Qinghua simply used his hand to sandwich Mobei Juns hand between his both of his.
“Go slow, my King. I’m trying too, you know!” he said, looking seriously into Mobei Jun’s eyes. “I mean it, too! Sometimes…I see you move towards me too fast….and my mind just runs away with me.”
“I understand,” Mobei Jun answered. “You have my word.”