Chapter Text
“I’m done with this,” Mobei-Jun snarls, as he stomps past Shang Qinghua, his robes covered in a thick blue muck. He’s in a foul mood today, after travelling all the way down to the boundaries of his land just to deal with those infernal slime demons again. It’s downright humiliating how ineffective his efforts have been. While it wasn’t like the demons were causing trouble, the fact of their existence was troubling enough. How could he be taken seriously as the king of the north if he can’t suppress just one stupid cowardly group of gelatinous trash ?
If he were a weaker man, he’d cry with frustration. But he isn’t a weaker man, and he’s tired of overextending himself for something so stupid. After a moment of deliberation, he thrusts a scroll at Shang Qinghua and says, “Deal with it.”
He doesn’t wait for Shang Qinghua’s stammered, “M-my king?” before he’s out of the room, storming over to his private quarters.
--
After it’s handed off, Mobei-Jun forgets about the matter entirely. It’s maybe a week or two before Shang Qinghua shows up again, looking a bit haggard but altogether more or less in a good mood. Mobei-Jun finds him with the warehouse manager, pointing at a heavy-looking trunk. The warehouse manager looks a bit flummoxed as Shang Qinghua explains, once again, what it is.
It isn’t until Mobei-Jun strolls up the cobbled path that both of them notice him and scramble to greet him properly. “My king!” they both cry in unison, bowing low out of respect. Mobei-Jun waves his hand and they both stand up painfully straight.
“What’s the matter?” he asks, eyeing them both.
The warehouse manager glances at Shang Qinghua and then up at Mobei-Jun and back again. “Well, your, ah. Assistant, he. He seems to have somehow acquired a trunk full of Stones of Blessed Dawn,” he says, looking down at the box doubtfully.
Stones of Blessed Dawn? Those things were worth a fortune a piece. Not that Mobei-Jun couldn’t afford the box-full himself, but it definitely would’ve made a handsome cut into his funds. And yet, Shang Qinghua had acquired an entire trunk of them? His eyes drift over to his assistant.
Shang Qinghua froze in place with a squeak. “M-my king, the negotiations you sent me to handle seem to have gone quite well!” he explains, as Mobei-Jun wracks his brain for just what “negotiations” Shang Qinghua was talking about.
“This servant hopes that it isn’t too presumptuous of him to have offered up that abandoned quarry in the southern sector for our negotiations. It turns out, that clan of slime demons will be happy enough to offer up the same amount of stones as a yearly tribute in return for the land there.” Oh. He’d forgotten he’d sent him to deal with them. Huh. “Apparently, they like the taste of limestone. Calculating out the costs against the value of the Stones of Blessed Dawn… This servant can confidently say that their prolonged cooperation is definitely worthwhile!” he said, his hands gesturing quite wildly as he spoke. Mobei-Jun was much less interested in his explanation as he was with the movement of those knobbly fingers. “They don’t need much in the way of protection or care, as anything liable to split them apart only serves to help them reproduce.” Mobei-Jun, unfortunately, knows that fact very, very well. “And as long as we don’t bother them and they don’t cause trouble for us, this servant believes we’ve lucked into a quite beneficial relationship!”
“Mn,” Mobei-Jun says, nodding stiffly. “Good work. Get the apothecary to confirm their quality, then count and inventory them.”
“Yes, my king!” they both say, bowing again as Mobei-Jun turns and walks away. It’s only when he finds himself in the safety of the palace halls that he allows himself to freak out, just a little. It had been two(?) months since Mobei-Jun had begun having conflicts against this slime demon clan, and Shang Qinghua resolved it in, what, two weeks at most?
Moreover, it wasn’t just this incident - now that he thought about it, Shang Qinghua actually had power over… well, everything in Mobei-Jun’s life, didn’t he? Hadn’t he cut down on assassination attempts by at least half with the last staff restructuring? And he hadn’t had to kill a single soul (and thus incur the wrath of surviving family members, etc. etc.). And he’d managed to reinforce the security around the palace town, cutting down employee losses and increasing morale tenfold. And when he smoothed over the negotiations at the borderlands, hadn’t he won over the diplomats from the air and water clans with just a few of those novels he somehow pulled out of thin air? Wasn’t that… wasn’t that an incredible show of power? Clearly, Shang Qinghua, even without Mobei-Jun’s influence, could hold his own and live relatively comfortably.
Shang Qinghua could survive without Mobei-Jun’s protection. Mobei-Jun would be ruined if Shang Qinghua were to leave. The thought sends a shiver down his spine.
The thought had been niggling at the back of his mind quite a bit lately. He wasn’t showing Shang Qinghua proper obeisance, was he? They’d grown so comfortable in their roles - Mobei-Jun as Shang Qinghua’s king, and Shang Qinghua as his dutiful servant - that they hadn’t thought to… stop. It was how it had always been. But things were different, now, weren’t they? They’d been different for a long time now. To ignore that wasn’t proper.
That stops now, Mobei-Jun decides. His ancestors would be rolling in their graves to see him ignore the proper rites of courtship - the fact that he and Shang Qinghua were already mated besides. He was not raised to be some kind of country rube, as much as being sequestered so far up north might imply otherwise. Shang Qinghua was his partner, and, with all factors properly calculated, the more powerful of the two. It was only proper that Mobei-Jun display an appropriate level of submission to his better.
…The only problem is that, he doesn’t quite know… how to do that. Given their initial relationship, Shang Qinghua had always looked to him for guidance and direction. Shang Qinghua rarely asked for anything outside of what was necessary to complete his duties. What did he even like…? They’d been working together for years now, and courting for months besides. How had it come to be that he didn’t know anything important about his constant shadow? The thought troubled him. He resolved to make the effort to fix it.
--
“You haven’t completed your paperwork,” Mobei-Jun observes, sliding a hand down the back of Shang Qinghua’s chair.
Shang Qinghua thrashes in his seat, nearly punching Mobei-Jun in the face as he pinwheels and tries not to fall. “M-M-M-My King! You, you startled me!” he stammers, throwing his hands over the pile of papers before him. “I, ah, I definitely was working! I was doing my paperwork! I totally wasn’t daydreaming or writing or wasting precious resources on folding paper airpl-- er, birds - or anything hahahaha.” He giggled shrilly, his eyes darting about the room.
With a grimace of a smile, he crossed his legs, settled his elbow on the desk (pointedly over a splotch of ink that looked vaguely like Mobei-Jun) and fluttered his eyelashes winningly up at Mobei-Jun.
Mobei-Jun blinks slowly. “Bring your things and follow me to my study,” he says, his voice carefully level. Shang Qinghua is so lovely; it’s hard not to stare as he scrambles to grab his things. His hair was perpetually a mess, but charmingly so. His eyes were dark as the ink splattered over his fingers, his cheeks constantly rosy from the cold. His skin had gotten a bit paler, now that he was spending more time here in the North than at his peak, and it had a lovely, alluring translucence about it. At the moment it was so pale it nearly looked blue.
They walk in silence to the study; the only sound in the hallways is the steady click of Mobei-Jun’s shoes and the quick shuffling step of Shang Qinghua right beside him. Mobei-Jun means to open the door for Shang Qinghua, but the man is much too quick, bowing at the waist (and nearly dropping some of his paperwork in the way) in reverence. “Mn. Thank you,” Mobei-Jun says, stepping inside. Out of the corner of his eye, he manages to catch Shang Qinghua looking up at him, his eyes wide and mouth slack.
Mobei-Jun takes a seat at the head of the table and reaches over to grab some of the documents he himself needed to complete. As he prepares his desk for his task, he realizes that Shang Qinghua hasn’t even sat down yet. Indeed, when Mobei-Jun glances up, Shang Qinghua is still standing in the doorway, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
When he notices Mobei-Jun looking, he startles and says, “M-My King?”
Mobei-Jun makes a motion toward a nearby chair. “Sit.”
Shang Qinghua squeaks as he rushes to comply. He all but spills his papers all over the table and spends a good minute or two rearranging it into stacks and glancing at Mobei-Jun out of the corner of his eye. Mobei-Jun doesn’t know what that means. Is there something on his face? He runs a hand over it, but it comes away clean; in doing so, he completely misses the way Shang Qinghua flinches, as if expecting some sort of punishment. When Mobei-Jun only proceeds to work on his documents, Shang Qinghua tilts his head and pulls his brows down into an almost-frown. Mobei-Jun doesn’t even notice this until he glances up, a few minutes later.
Is he… is he upset that Mobei-Jun is ignoring him? They do both have paperwork to do. Mobei-Jun had only thought that Shang Qinghua wouldn’t mind the company, but if Shang Qinghua had other expectations, he wouldn’t exactly say no.
However, by the time Mobei-Jun comes to this conclusion, Shang Qinghua’s head is down and he’s focusing intently on his paperwork. At first, it’s quiet enough that Mobei-Jun could practically hear the snow falling outside. However, as Shang Qinghua approaches the accounting, he starts muttering under his breath. It’s only math at first, but as he finishes the accounting and starts in on the correspondence with various demonic diplomats, his muttering just - doesn’t stop . No wonder Shang Qinghua chooses to do his paperwork in his room; if he were in any of the public areas, he probably would’ve annoyed just about everyone.
If it were a few years ago, Mobei-Jun would also include himself in the group of people who would be annoyed by Shang Qinghua’s constant noise. But now, it was just a stream of white noise, interspersed with a few gems like, “cordially invite you to kiss my ass ,” “just put up a sign, you egg,” and “Why yes, I am stupid enough to believe you. Just let me bend on over and let you screw me ass ways to sunday! Fucking prick.” The last one had the corners of Mobei-Jun’s mouth quirking up. No doubt, it was that condescending ass from the Wolf Clan trying to get Mobei-Jun to expand his hunting territories. Give an inch and they’d take a mile. Shang Qinghua was good at not only giving exactly zero inches, he was also good at making it seem like they were better off for it, too.
Of course, if he was aware that Mobei-Jun was listening in, he would’ve shut up immediately. Mobei-Jun might not be the best with words, but he wasn’t socially inept; he understands the privilege of being allowed to listen in on Shang Qinghua’s mindless rantings. It means Shang Qinghua feels safe enough in Mobei-Jun’s presence to talk shit about beings significantly more physically powerful and socially connected than he, many of which were Mobei-Jun’s allies. It’s a good feeling, being trusted like this.
They spend perhaps an hour or two working, before Shang Qinghua’s attention starts to wane again. To be fair, he’s cut through a vast majority of his work, significantly more than Mobei-Jun would be capable of in as much time. The thing that saves him this time, however, is the grumbling of his stomach, loud enough that even Mobei-Jun puts down his brush and stares.
Shang Qinghua turns a violent shade of red and shrinks in on himself. “I, ah, this servant apologizes, my king, but I have not taken my lunch; perhaps I should go and - ” he freezes, looking at Mobei-Jun.
Mobei-Jun blinks at him slowly and says, “Mm, no. Stay here.”
Shang Qinghua’s eyes go wide, before a fragile smile pastes itself on his face. “Ah. Yes, you’re right. I should. Finish my work. Before I go… so that.... My king is less burdened.”
Mobei-Jun shakes his head and gets up from his seat. “I will be back soon. Do not leave.”
He himself isn’t actually all that hungry, but if Mobei-Jun will be honest, he was getting pretty tired of navigating petty conflicts between the clans under his power. Anything would be better than that at this point - even menial labor. Besides, bringing food to Shang Qinghua would most certainly be a clear indicator of his esteem.
There are private kitchens that serve Mobei-Jun and his personal guests specifically, seperate from the kitchens that serve the mess hall. It isn’t often that Shang Qinghua properly dines with him, often being too busy with his duties for their schedules to line up. However, he does know what the man tends to prefer - sweeter savouries, salt, and fat. He very much does not like anything raw or rotten, and he does not especially have a sweet tooth. He is picky about pickles.
When he reaches the kitchens, he decides on bringing up what’s already around: roasted fowl, mantou, spicy pickled radish (NOT cucumber), and tea to share. He pointedly does not pick any of the readily available demonic fare; Shang Qinghua is strange about what he will eat and what he will not (why South Sea Furred Lobster, but not Head-Spider? Why Carnivorous Opal-Scale Goat-Snake, but not Shrieking Pine Cat? Mobei-Jun just doesn’t get it.) and he wouldn’t want to displease him. The head chef hastily prepares a basket for what he asks for, curiously wondering at the proportions. “Is my king entertaining guests?” she asks, her four eyes blinking.
“No. Shang Qinghua was hungry,” Mobei-Jun explains, taking the basket from her hands.
“Ah. That human you keep around? His diet’s terrible - he’s always eating nothing but noodles. The girls in the mess hall sometimes give him extra meat because he looks so pathetic and scrawny. You know, he won’t last long out here if he doesn’t build up more strength. You can’t always be there to protect him,” she tutted, but there was a smile on her face.
Mobei-Jun nodded, though a faint frown made its way onto his face. “I will keep that in mind. Thank you,” he said.
“Oh, wait, my king! Please, take this as well; it’s thanks for that last shipment of ingredients. He said once that he liked these,” she says, dropping a parcel into the basket. From the rich smell, he could tell they were freshly roasted chestnuts.
“Mm. He’ll enjoy them,” he says, readjusting his hold on the basket and walking back at a quick clip.
When he kicks open to the door to the study, Shang Qinghua jumps, abruptly turning away. In front of him is a stack of his paperwork, all complete. However, Shang Qinghua does not turn back to look at him. Had… had he upset him, somehow?
“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun prompts, willing his subordinate to look at him. Shang Qinghua sucks in a shivery breath, but does not turn around. Mobei-Jun sets the basket down on the table and walks over to him. He sets a hand heavily down on his shoulder, making him jump yet again and turn around on instinct.
Shang Qinghua’s eyes are red and swollen, and his lips were bitten raw. He looks miserable . “Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun prompts again. “What happened?”
He squawks and scrambles to cover his face with his hands. “Nothing, my king! Absolutely nothing! This servant was just, I mean, I didn’t - I,” he sniffs pathetically, his nose making an ugly wet rattling sound. “Um. After I finished my paperwork, I, ah. I… read a very sad story?”
He’s a terrible liar. But Mobei-Jun isn’t quite sure how to broach the topic; he’s never been good at figuring out which of Shang Qinghua’s tears are serious and which aren’t. Hearing those ugly sniffles always sends a shock of adrenaline through his system, worse than any assassination attempts or invaders.
Rather than clumsily trying to address the topic and inevitably failing, he tugs the basket closer and nudges Shang Qinghua around. “Come, eat,” he says, taking a seat beside him, in a position down from the head of the table.
Shang Qinghua’s eyes trace the line of his arm, before growing wide at the sight of the steam wafting out of the basket. His eyes shoot back to Mobei-Jun’s face. “F-for me?” he stammers, and Mobei-Jun dips his head in the barest of nods.
And then it starts. A fresh drip of saltwater comes down from the corner of Shang Qinghua’s eye. And then another. And then another. He makes a pathetic moan as he opens up the basket and looks at the spread. Mobei-Jun is frozen to the spot.
Shang Qinghua looks back up at Mobei-Jun, stricken, and hurriedly scrubs at his eyes, sniffling loudly. The tears keep coming, but he’s laughing now, his smile ugly from the tears. Mobei-Jun loves him, but he can definitely acknowledge the fact that Shang Qinghua is an ugly crier. “T-thank you, my king. I - thank you ,” he manages between sniffles. “My king is so, so good to me.”
Mobei-Jun’s chest fills with a pleased warmth. He almost wants to preen; here, his love, his partner, his better half, is acknowledging his service. He can’t believe it’s working already.
With a frightening efficiency, Shang Qinghua quickly sets the plates, pours tea for him, and immediately tears a mantou in half and stuffs it in his mouth. It’s fascinating, watching him eat, but honestly kind of gross. He eats like a lesser demon, tearing into his food with relish, and even worse, he lets his tears drip on some of it. He gets lost in his meal, so much so that Mobei-Jun gently nudges his teacup toward him in case he chokes.
It takes a while before Shang Qinghua slows enough to realize that Mobei-Jun hasn’t touched more than the tea.
“My king…?”
Mobei-Jun shakes his head. “Eat. I’m not hungry.”
Shang Qinghua looks down at the half-decimated spread, eyes wide, and immediately pushes the remains of the fowl toward Mobei-Jun. Mobei-Jun blinks down at it, before taking a small bite. It's enough to pacify Shang Qinghua, who goes back to eating, though with less of a stray dog's fervor, and more of the grace worthy of Mobei-Jun's right hand man. The sauce on his cheek notwithstanding.
When he's finally finished, he looks down at the basket and heaves a long sigh. “My king… this servant apologizes. I doubted your intentions and got upset,” he says, looking up at Mobei-Jun with doleful eyes.
Mobei-Jun frowns, tilting his head in confusion. He knows that if he waits long enough, Shang Qinghua is liable to tell him everything eventually.
Shang Qinghua worries his lower lip, tangling his fingers together as he says, “I've just been so busy trying to catch up with my duties between the peak and the palace, and I was just a little emotional because I haven't eaten since maybe 4 in the morning, and it’s a really fucking stupid reason to have a breakdown because I don't actually need to eat or sleep or anything but it's nice and I've been really unfair to you and I'm just - I'm just tired.” His eyes have gone watery, and the breath he sucks in sounds suspiciously shaky.
Ah. Mobei-Jun lifts a hand up, and Shang Qinghua instinctively shrinks back. Mobei-Jun's brow creases, as he reaches over to gently brush some hair out of Shang Qinghua's eyes. “Come with me,” he says, offering him his hand. Hesitantly, Shang Qinghua takes it and lets Mobei-Jun help him out of his chair.
They walk in silence to Mobei-Jun's bedroom, where Mobei-Jun tugs at his outer robes. Shang Qinghua lets him, mouth open and eyes wide, too confused to protest. When he's done, he gently pushes him backward toward the bed. Once Shang Qinghua realizes his intentions, he begins to resist, his arms pawing uselessly at Mobei-Jun's chest as he blabbers in weak protest. Mobei-Jun has to actually push a bit to get him to go.
“Rest,” Mobei-Jun says firmly, sitting him down on the edge of the bed. Shang Qinghua gapes at him for a long moment, before snapping out of it.
“But my king - ” Shang Qinghua makes a move to get up, but Mobei-Jun sets a hand on his shoulder and he goes down easily. “ Rest ,” he says again.
Shang Qinghua looks like he wants to protest, but knows better than to waste his time trying. With a beleaguered sigh, Shang Qinghua bends down to pull off his boots and slowly pulls his feet up under the (more-or-less decorative, but apparently relatively warm) blankets. Satisfied, Mobei-Jun moves to leave the room, when he hears a confused sound from Shang Qinghua.
When Mobei-Jun glances back at him, Shang Qinghua’s eyes are elsewhere, his cheeks reddened. He laughs, a bit nervously, and said, “Ah, I’m sorry, this servant had… had presumed that, perhaps, his king might join him? These are your personal quarters, after all, and it would be improper of me to - to, um.” He looks embarrassed, but doesn't elaborate further.
“...mn,” Mobei-Jun hums, walking over. His paperwork could wait an afternoon. Besides, indulging Shang Qinghua would surely be a proper show of respect to his partner. Shang Qinghua scooches to the side to give Mobei-Jun more room on the bed. Despite it being a rather large bed in its own right, Mobei-Jun himself is a rather large person and takes up just a bit more than half.
When he sits down, Shang Qinghua coughs loudly and gives him a pointed look. Mobei-Jun looks back at him, tilting his head in confusion, until Shang Qinghua flicks his eyes down. Mobei-Jun followed his eyes down to the boots on his feet, and looks back up. Out of the corner of his eye, Mobei-Jun notices Shang Qinghua’s toes wiggling under the blankets, and finally it clicks. He sloppily kicks his shoes off (Shang Qinghua nods with approval) and swings his legs up onto the bed.
Mobei-Jun looks over at him, noticing that his hair is still up. He’s not sure how Shang Qinghua can stand it; he himself doesn’t do more to his hair than braid it on occasion, and even that’s too much effort. Without warning, he leans over and pulls the simple jade pin out of Shang Qinghua’s bun. The ribbon comes next, and before long, Shang Qinghua’s hair is falling over his shoulders. Mobei-Jun ignores the wide-eyed look Shang Qinghua gives him in favor of running his fingers through the tangles. His hair’s all bent and kinked from being put up all day, and it doesn’t look comfortable in the least. In the long quiet it takes Mobei-Jun to get through it, Shang Qinghua gradually melts into a contented puddle beside him, happy enough to lean against Mobei-Jun’s shoulder as he works. By the time Mobei-Jun has it in a loose braid, Shang Qinghua's eyes are closed, his breath coming in the long, even sighs of sleep. Mobei-Jun smiles.