Chapter Text
Shen Qingqiu was, all things considered, in a good mood.
Fanning himself lightly, he strolled the garden at a leisurely pace, enjoying the sound of birds mindlessly chirping about between lush vines and tree branches, laden with green leaves that rustled in the wind. The breeze carried with it the floral scents of flowers which, for the first time in a long while, did not carry with them the hazard of potential Fuck-or-Die scenarios involving yet another abandoned and clichéd wife-plot that rolled itself at Shen Qingqiu’s feet.
He indulged himself, breathing in the sweet rich scent of the new flora, not paying much mind to the grunts and huffs following him about as he leaned in the direction of a particularly pleasant aroma. Butterflies were occasionally floating about in the air, fluttering between the flowers with the deep irregular strokes of their thin wings. Shen Qingqiu did not know much about flowers or insects that weren’t particular magical flowers or specific demonic insects, so he took the time to familiarize himself with the local variety, easily distinguishable by their vibrant colours. The local butterflies had the added and charming benefit of seemingly being drawn to him, for an inexplicable reason – Shen Qingqiu found that if he stood still and offered up his index finger, a roaming butterfly would take him up on his offer to rest, setting its thin legs on Shen Qingqiu’s skin. Sensing no evil energy from the local butterfly population, Shen Qingqiu supposed it was their shared enthusiasm for flowers that made for such a strong connection between such different creatures, and found he could amuse himself in such a manner for quite a lengthy stretch of time.
As a personal challenge, he’d made a game for himself, to have a butterfly of every colour rest on his hand. It was only his fourth day in this peculiar world, and he was missing but a yellow one, a black one and a blue one to crown himself victorious.
“I think there’s a flower you missed right over there, my Lord,” a smooth, pleasant voice spoke behind him. “It would be remiss of me not to assist you in your goal of shoving your face at every bloody flower in this garden.”
Shen Qingqiu huffed a small laugh, pulling up his fan to cover his smile out of habit, before straightening his posture and turning to face his companion.
“Master Kingslayer is too kind,” he said, looking at the man, who, for some odd reason, almost seemed to flinch at the words. Another man that was bad at taking compliments, Shen Qingqiu thought, sighing internally. “If he could point this one to the flower this one had so carelessly bypassed?”
The knight huffed and shoved a finger in what was probably a random direction. Shen Qingqiu’s gaze followed it, falling on a rather lovely rose-like flower, its soft silken petals bright as pearls. Shen Qingqiu indeed hasn’t smelled this flower in particular. Only then, Shen Qingqiu became aware of the way his knees automatically locked up at the sight of a new, unknown flower. He assured himself that even if it wasn’t a regular rose as he’d suspected, it wouldn’t be some Broken Moonlight Beam Lotus (or Lily) that would burn through his meridians and qi quicker than one would be able to sneeze at it.
Turning to inspect the said flower, Shen Qingqiu thought the Kingslayer a rather odd man, who, funnily enough, reminded him a bit of Liu Qingge.
And not just because they were both annoyingly, frustratingly, unbelievingly pretty.
The Kingslayer, for the better part of the last four days that Shen Qingqiu had been spending in his company, was taciturn and prickly. But, like a lychee fruit, once you got past the thorny exterior, he was all sweet underneath. He radiated honesty, and honour seemed to pour from his exceedingly aristocratic bearing. Perhaps he was not too friendly, at times, but he was going around the gardens burdened by at least a dàn of metal armour on his shoulders and carrying a long sword on his belt. And this place was hotter and far more humid than Qing Jing Peak.
Sometimes formal wear could be pretty taxing, burdening one as much as their duties. Perhaps, Shen Qingqiu thought, looking at the pearly petals of the flower embracing each other softly, it was the knight’s indirect manner to call for them to make their way back into the castle, to rest between the cool stone walls, with servants quick to bring them refreshments.
Shen Qingqiu was glad it was the Kingslayer that was assigned to guard him.
Of course, officially, he was assigned to Shen Qingqiu for Shen Qingqiu’s own safety. Magic was all but gone from this world, it was claimed – word must reach the Citadel, and ask for their counsel on the peculiar event. The Maester (an old man named Pycelle, who did not pass Shen Qingqiu’s vibe-check and reminded him too much of Huan Hua’s Old Palace Master) would need to consult them and his books. Of course, Shen Qingqiu longed to ask to visit the library – he, too, wanted to search for a way back home, with the System being unusually silent and unresponsive – but that would’ve made for bad optics. Who else than Shen Qingqiu himself knew that libraries were sacred grounds – and that asking to snoop around at the library before being vouched for was of the same brushstroke that painted the word ‘SPY’ across Shen Qingqiu’s own forehead in a big red character.
Unofficially, the Kingslayer was assigned to him to make sure Shen Qingqiu was not up to anything nefarious, and Shen Qingqiu was a free-roaming prisoner of the Crown in all but name, not unlike when one was confined to a particular courtyard.
But Shen Qingqiu didn’t mind it all that much. A medieval fantasy world to explore, even if he was only given access to the Beginner’s Town! Flowers that were just bloody flowers to enjoy! Besides, being a free-ranging prisoner beat being in prison, hands down. He had his own room, with a comfortable bed and soft feathery pillow, rather than a ceramic one; he was given access to meals three times a day. And for the company – a real knight, a turn-key edition, complete with the accessories and a pre-installed chivalrous code!
And somehow, even when the architecture and fashion and peoples’ looks all pointed toward a European setting, everyone was speaking fluent Mandarin Chinese!
Yes, a prisoner who could cover so much ground, with a full stomach after a good night’s rest – Shen Qingqiu did not mind it much. It was nothing like the Water Prison – the sun was bright, the air was fresh, and no one shackled him with Immortal Binding Cables, which this world probably didn’t even have.
And the Kingslayer – Ser Jaime Lannister (though he was rarely called by his name by others, but to his face) – was an interesting man to spend time with, idly or otherwise. Shen Qingqiu did not consider himself a particularly personable person, but the Kingslayer suited him well. The Kingslayer did more muttering than talking, unaware of a cultivator’s keen ears. Oftentimes, his sharp, biting comments about a wayward knight or a shifty-eyed spy amused Shen Qingqiu. Much like the Original Goods, The Kingslayer, too, held an air of arrogance around him, making snide comments and keeping a pristine, blank mask in the face of jeers or slights from others. Those, Shen Qingqiu’s ears picked as well. Though the Kingslayer hadn’t introduced himself by his title, it was how all referred to him, though only behind his back. Shen Qingqiu was puzzled, but set the matter aside. He decided, until he would gather more information, he would enjoy his days. For all of the Kingslayer’s effort, he had nothing on Shen Qingqiu’s thick face, when Luo Binghe was not there to peel its layers off one by one with embarrassing comments and grandiose gestures.
The thought of his husband stirred an ache in Shen Qingqiu’s chest, but he forced himself to set the pain aside as well. Binghe was probably ripping the realms apart and slashing dimensions into Swiss cheese trying to find him. There was not much to be done about it – Binghe would find him soon enough, and he would cry and probably crack some of Shen Qingqiu’s ribs when he’d hug him too tight and –
“My Lord?” The Kingslayer’s voice cut through his thoughts, and Shen Qingqiu blinked back into reality, finding himself staring at the rose-like flower without really taking in its smell.
‘Oh,’ Shen Qingqiu realized.
Well, maybe he did worry about Binghe.
Just a little.
“Apologies, Master Kingslayer. This one was lost in thought.” He fanned his face, and turned from the Kingslayer’s sharp green gaze to spot the closest flower he could shove his face at as a distraction.
The sun was still high in the sky; smelling a few more flowers before going back would not be too much of a hardship, surely.
A movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention, making him turn his head; he thought it another butterfly, but as he turned, a lovely tree in full bloom beckoned to him invitingly with its lush bright colours, just a few dozen stairs over.
“This one finds himself in need of some shade,” he said, “would Master Kingslayer be kind enough to join him underneath that tree over there?” He gestured to the tree with his chin.
“Delighted, my Lord.” The Kingslayer responded drily, and Shen Qingqiu could tell he was doing all he could to avoid rolling his eyes.
‘Three more flowers before we’d break for the midday meal,’ Shen Qingqiu decided, as they made their way, the Kingslayer’s armour rattling as he climbed down the stairs, though his breathing gave no indication of effort. There was only so long a knight could bake himself in the sun, wearing their full gear! Wasn’t it like being locked inside a car with its windows all rolled up? Voluntarily?
True, they wore less layers here, but when some layers were made of metal – !
‘Two more flowers,’ Shen Qingqiu amended, since the tree counted, too.
A child was roaming in the halls, unsupervised.
This, by itself, was not a terribly unusual thing. The palace did have servants of varying ages. But Shen Qingqiu could just about gauge from the fact she was not dressed in a particularly shabby coarse garments that this child was the offspring of a person of some standing in court.
“Young Miss,” he called to her as he made his way down the stone hall, causing her to freeze in her place, “you seem to have gotten lost.”
When Shen Qingqiu approached her, stopping at an appropriate distance, the child turned out to be a small thin girl with sharp features and dark brown hair, who looked like social niceties did her ill.
“Hardly, my Lord,” she gritted her teeth at him with a grimace that was probably meant to pass as a smile, “I am just making my way to my quarters.”
“Lady Arya,” the Kingslayer unexpectedly spoke up from behind Shen Qingqiu, making the pair both turn to look at him. “Shouldn’t you with your Septa? For your needlework lesson, if one is not mistaken?”
“Well, you are mistaken – “
“Needlework?” Shen Qingqiu said, eyes gleaming in excitement. Needlework was always something he wanted to try his hand at. But when he was sick, he was too dizzy to concentrate on the stitches, vision unsteady and fingers constantly pricked by the needles that slipped from his grip like water. And it wasn’t like Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu could ask for remedial classes and still keep his front as a supposed Master of the Four Arts! Qi Qingqi will never let this one go once she caught word of it. She’d hold it over his head like the Sword of Damocles.
What a nice Side Quest! Shen Qingqiu was sure this was not a Random Event.
“Young Miss,” he offered her a small smile. “This one would be ever-thankful to you, if you were to grant this one the pleasure of your company and the knowledge that you hold. Would you be so gracious as to teach this one to do needlework?”
The girl was giving Shen Qingqiu an incredulous look.
“Needlework is for girls.” She said, slowly, as if he was addled-minded.
“But knowledge is meant to be shared,” Shen Qingqiu replied. “And this one would very much like to learn how to embroider.”
“You want to learn to do needlework,” the Kingslayer repeated after him, sounding similarly flummoxed by Shen Qingqiu’s request. “That’s women’s work.”
Shen Qingqiu was puzzled. What an unexpected hurdle and dialogue options for a voluntary Side Quest!
“Is it forbidden for men to learn?”
“… No.” The Kingslayer said, still looking at Shen Qingqiu like he was an incredibly odd man.
That is to say, his eyebrows were only slightly more pinched than usual. His green eyes were as sharp as ever. Eh, perhaps it was improper for a grown man to seek the company of such a young girl. The thought was an odd one – his mind didn’t wander in this direction for many years, when he had taken to carefully explain things to Ning Yingying, in order to keep both of their reputations in the clear.
But the Kingslayer would be there to chaperone them, a proper knight, so surely it wasn’t that big of a deal?
“What do you say, Young Miss?” Shen Qingqiu turned to the girl, who lost her fake pleasantries to a rather embarrassed disposition. Shen Qingqiu belatedly realized she was cornered by two grown men she didn’t know all that well (– and in his case – not at all –), at a time she must have been skipping her classes.
“I am sure Lady Arya merely lost her way,” the Kingslayer responded in her stead, looking down at the girl. “She has only been in King’s Landing for the past six months, after all. Surely not enough time to accommodate for making one’s way from their rooms to their daily lessons.”
“Surely not,” Shen Qingqiu easily agreed, smiling at his companions, and let the Kingslayer lead on.
“Why are you dressed so weird?” the girl asked as they were walking the halls.
Shen Qingqiu hummed, amused by her bluntness and taking his time to consider his response. He was still wearing his Peak Lord’s robes, though he was offered period-appropriate garments from his hosts. But years living under xianxia social standards left their mark, even on a man born to the modern world; while he wasn’t bothered by everyone’s state of dress, he couldn’t imagine wearing so few layers and having his body so clearly displayed for everyone to see.
What would Binghe think, when he’d finally come for him, if he’s caught his husband in such a state?! Ah, there’d be a lot of tears spilled by Binghe for his husband’s tarnished honour, and perhaps (most certainly) a fair amount of bloodshed.
And where would he store his qiankun pouch when everything had such narrow-fitted sleeves?
“Force of habit, this Lord supposes.” Shen Qingqiu fanned himself, hoping his blush was not too apparent. “It might look weird to Young Miss, but it would be weirder for this Lord to wear anything else.”
“And your hair? She challenged.
“What about it?
“It’s long. Like a girl’s!”
Shen Qingqiu hummed, and pleasantly explained the various traditions involved with keeping your hair, honouring your ancestors and the like, losing the girl’s interest in his fashion choices quickly enough.
The Septas – two stern-looking Older Sisters, dressed like some variation of nuns, and responsible for conducting the needlework lessons – were less accommodating than Shen Qingqiu was expecting.
“This is most inappropriate, Ser Jaime,” one of the Septas told the Kingslayer, while the other was berating Arya, pulling her by the ear, as she did so in what was certainly too harsh a treatment on such a young child.
Shen Qingqiu disapproved.
“I see,” The Kingslayer responded. “Apologies, Septa Eglantine. We have no choice, then – “
“Forgive this one of his ignorance, Older Sister,” Shen Qingqiu intervened, noting the Septa’s annoyance. Behind her, half a dozen young girls set with their threads and their fabrics, doing their best to seem as if they were intent on their needlework and not raptly eavesdropping for the juiciest gossip material in town.
“But what would make this inappropriate? Surely, a knight of the King’s own guard is beyond any ill-repute?”
The Septa gave him the coldest, chilliest glare she could muster. Her mouth thinned so much, it almost looked like a black hole collapsing on itself.
But Shen Qingqiu knew Mobei Jun.
He was hardly impressed.
“Of course, The Mother tells us to forgive other people’s ignorance, and whichever foolish things they say or do unknowingly,” she said with all the kindness of an icy river frosting over. “But to have an unmarried man sit here, with all these young maidens – it would be unseemly.”
Shen Qingqiu smiled, easily. He did see her point – and as a teacher himself, he approved of her taking care before letting a stranger – and a man at that – near these young impressionable girls.
“The Mother sure is wise,” He nodded. “There is no need for concern, then, Older Sister. For this one is had long since been wed.” He inclined his head forwards, to bring her attention to the intricate, ostentatious and incredibly expensive hair crown holding his hair in place. Encrusted in rubies and made out of gold, Binghe’s eyes gleamed in pleasure each morning when he fixed it into Shen Qingqiu’s hair, and each night, when he helped him remove it. “This was one of the wedding gifts this one received on this one’s most fortunate day, when this Lord was wed.”
The Septa’s lips thinned even further.
“Still – “
“Can you tell us about her?” A voice peeped up, before the Septa could rebuff him further. Shen Qingqiu’s looked over the Septa’s shoulder into the room to see a young girl, with bright golden hair and wide jade eyes. Even though Shen Qingqiu was sure he hadn’t seen her before, she looked somewhat familiar, though he couldn’t quite place her face.
“About whom, Young Miss?” He asked.
“Your Lady Wife, My Lord.”
‘Ah,’ Shen Qingqiu thought, apprehensive. ‘I’ve walked right into this one.’
Shang Qinghua did tell him Shen Qingqiu couldn’t keep from talking about Binghe for more than a kè.
(Shen Qingqiu did lose that particular bet – so sue him! That was his husband! He could talk about him as much as he’d like, Airplane! There was a lot to talk about, wasn’t it?! Who had written 6666 chapters about him in the first place, eh?!)
Being married to a man couldn’t be such a big deal in a highly religious Medieval setting, now could it? And even if it was – well, those people have not seen Luo Binghe, now have they? If they did – they’d understand. Shen Qingqiu was only human, and he got to him first – so they shouldn’t get any ideas!
So all Shen Qingqiu had to do was indulge in one of his favourite past times – talking about his husband – without acknowledging Luo Binghe was a man.
Could he dance around this small fact?
Binghe was a Stallion Protagonist, but there was much more to him than that! If all Shen Qingqiu had to do was dance around this fact, then surely —
Several hours later, throat dry from overuse, it became apparent that Shen Qingqiu could definitely dance. He could breakdance, tango and tap-dance around it – he was that good! He was the embodiment of the Dance Dance Revolution made flesh!
As long as he did not directly talk about his relationship with Luo Binghe by using “Husband”, “Wife”, or any gendered language or terms, which was so very easy and came so very naturally to him, not at all causing him to bite his tongue or lip ten-times-per-fēn.
All he had to do was crown Binghe with the mortifyingly embarrassing title of “My Beloved”, and dance around with his words until his feet fell off and his tongue twisted out of his mouth.
A child’s play.
The attending children themselves did not seem to notice. Perhaps he didn’t actually spit out blood – just tactfully edited the appropriately rated facts about his husband.
One of the children, a pretty Younger Sister with bright red hair, seemed starstruck by Shen Qingqiu’s tales. Her big blue eyes glittered as she pleaded with Shen Qingqiu to tell her more of his beloved, her earnest expression softening his heart further.
The facilitation of her propensity towards romance, Shen Qingqiu mused, would be aided by the fact she would certainly grow up to be a beauty. Young men would surely line-up to have a chance to try and win her soft, maidenly heart!
Arya, the young miss they’ve met in the hall earlier that day, did not seem very involved with Shen Qingqiu’s tales, unlike the other girls, who gazed at Shen Qingqiu with a wistful expression and twinkle in their eyes.
Rather, she seemed bored and broody, stabbing at the fabric with her needle in jerky movements, without much care.
The Septas, too, did not seem overly impressed with Shen Qingqiu’s tales of his beloved.
Well, romance was not for everyone.
“You put a lot of faith in your beloved,” the Kingslayer almost sneered at Shen Qingqiu as he escorted him back to his room, when the lessons were done for the day, and after the girls politely all but pleaded for Shen Qingqiu to attend their following lessons.
Shen Qingqiu was somewhat surprised – The Kingslayer apparently had very keen ears, as he was standing outside the door during Shen Qingqiu’s impromptu story-time, as was proper. Or perhaps Shen Qingqiu’s voice carried further than he’d thought.
“My Beloved would come for me,” Shen Qingqiu replied, evenly. “It shan’t be too long, now.”
“Would she, now.” The Kingslayer said through clenched teeth.
“I look forward to meeting her.”
(Shen Qingqiu did not correct his misconception.)
(The Kingslayer may be an honest man, but Shen Qingqiu was not.)
(And it was a Medieval fantasy setting, after all.)
Not only Shen Qingqiu was allowed back to the needlework lessons – he was surprisingly adept at the craft.
After the first lesson, in which Shen Qingqiu have not learned to use a needle and was instead cross-examined by six pubescent girls, it proves a pleasant surprise.
One of the Septas – Septa Eglantine – even warmed up to him some, perhaps when she realized his interest in pursuing needlework was sincere. While her expression did not soften, she demonstrated to Shen Qingqiu how to thread the needle, how to hold it properly, and demonstrated to him how to execute basic stitching.
By the second day of Shen Qingqiu’s newfound hobby, he sat with young Lady Arya by his side, merrily stabbing at the practice cloth with his needle, and patiently encouraging her through her sulking.
Arya did not like that the new student outperformed her. It seemed to strengthen her view that pursuing needlework was a hopeless venture for her.
What she failed to acknowledge was the fact she was also about twelve years old.
“This one is older than the Young Miss, and had years of practice in different arts. This Young Miss has boundless potential – if she invests herself in and goal or pursuit, this one is sure she would do well.”
And while Lady Arya was jealous of Shen Qingqiu’s effortless skill with the needle, she earned the jealousy of her peers by commandeering all of Shen Qingqiu’s attention to herself – without even having the decency to needle further information about his beloved Lady Wife!
Lady Sansa, Shen Qingqiu found, was Arya’s older sister by blood, and did everything possible within the limits of politeness and courtesies to shove herself into their one-on-one needlework lessons, stinging her sister with harsh words and the harsher reality that Lady Sansa was indeed much better than Lady Arya was, when concerning the delicate craft of the needle and the thread.
“Come now, Young Miss,” Shen Qingqiu tried to soften Arya’s sullen expression and clear the air. “This talented Young Miss had much more years to her name to have had the fortune to learn under the tutelage of these talented Older Sisters,” Shen Qingqiu nodded at the Septas, which had Septa Mordane glare at him in return. “Surely, no one is born with a needle and a thread grasped in their hands. Skill may come more easily to some, but only hard work and dedication develop into a true talent.”
And being the Protagonist with the Golden Finger, Shen Qingqiu silently adds in his mind, missing Luo Binghe, who would probably be a seamster prodigy in under a day if he spared it a second thought. Perhaps if Shen Qingqiu told him he’d like Binghe to make his wedding gown, or –
Well, Binghe was looking, Shen Qingqiu told himself, as he threaded another thread through the needle, in just the right shade of sandy-ash.
Not much else to be done about it.
“But I am trying,” Arya muttered under her breath, pulling Shen Qingqiu from his thoughts. What a fussy sentimental old man he was! Letting himself get so carried away in the flow of his thoughts, when a child was sitting right next to him, needing a kind word and a guiding hand.
“Let’s try together, shall we?” He smiled at her. “Some things are easier if you do them together.”
“How can we sew together?” Arya sulked. “That’s stupid.”
Time to change tactics, then.
“To this one, it seems that needlework is about intent.” He tried catching her eyes, and when he failed, turned to look at his own piece sat across his lap. “One should see their goal clearly before them, before making a move. To have the final piece already fashioned in their mind’s eye. If one’s mind is clear and focused, the hands shall help facilitate the vision of the mind, and have this vision come to be.”
The child leveled him a sullen stare, and Shen Qingqiu knew he had been had as the heck he was.
It’s been years since he encountered a child who was not eager to eat up whatever he spewed at them.
Shen Qingqiu pondered that his lofty, bullshit explanations worked with considerably less efficiency when there wasn’t an assigned smarter person around the room to follow his bullshit up with an actual sensible explanation.
Ah, Ming Fan, he thought, fond. He hoped the boy wasn’t too worried about him. Ming Fan tended to be a worrywart about the strangest of things, always wanting Shen Qingqiu to eat, even when he was perfectly fine when practicing inedia
“How about this,” he lowered his voice, dropping his formal manner of speech while making sure the Septas’ attention was elsewhere. “Think of someone you’d like to poke with a needle. But try poking them in a particular pattern.”
The child startled, her eyes darting side to side, making sure others hadn’t overheard.
“Poking a person with a needle is unladylike,” she challenged, but did so quietly, so as to not draw attention.
Shen Qingqiu did not pinch her cheeks, but it was a close call. He nearly succumbed to the urge to pet the top of her head, but tightened his grip on the needle in his fingers, instead.
“Most certainly, Young Miss,” he responded, voice light, “but you would do no such thing, now would you?”
The child picked her own needle, and stared contemplatively at the fabric in her lap for a long moment.
By the end of the lesson, the bright red pattern that bloomed under her hands could almost be mistaken for a rose in full bloom, with quite a bit of squinting and tilting of one’s head, and perhaps some cataract, for good measure.
The lessons had proven to be a nice, peaceful manner to spend one’s time.
Lady Arya’s strength was indeed not well-reflected through the art of needlework, but she had made a worthy effort. Persistence, too, was a skill! And was worth acknowledging.
Moreover, children were ever-curious. While she indeed did not share her peers’ interest in Shen Qingqiu’s “Lady Wife”, she did share Shen Qingqiu’s own enthusiasm towards the wildlife, and magical creatures in particular.
Her frank, open expressions and reverent attention were additional boons as Shen Qingqiu regaled her with his most memorable encounters throughout the years. And there were quite a few!
The Green Bellied Four Tailed Warthog of the Qiǎn Zhǎozé Swamps; the Sun Tipped Badger Carp of the Mǎn Hé River; the Black Legged Howling Sparrows of Gāoshān Mountain. Each story had her asking for one more, and Shen Qingqiu did enjoy sharing his knowledge about magical creatures, more so to such a keen audience.
Binghe, for all his many, many virtues as a person and as a husband, did not care much for the wildlife. Sure, he’d acquire the necessary knowledge to kill this or that Magical Creature of The Week, be it one terrorizing a village or another burning down fields – but hid Binghe was too pragmatic to enjoy their existence by itself. Besides, being a “native” of his own world, Binghe never knew any different – any magical creature, rare as it was, was just part of the natural way of things for him.
Binghe’s passion was towards cooking – and while Shen Qingqiu sure delighted in being able to eat his husband’s exemplary meals or listen to him talk extensively about this or that recipe or exotic new ingredient or spice, he personally didn’t see the appeal.
Of course, most of the stories under Shen Qingqiu’s belt involved Luo Binghe, in one way or the other; and as such, the other girls were drawn in, with Sansa at the forefront. Shen Qingqiu was still blushing when calling Binghe his “Beloved”, but it gradually became easier. He kept the stories to ones that ended favourably. When the villagers did not suffer or die; when the creatures were not needlessly slaughtered for greed; when the lost children safely returned home to their loving parents.
Those were always nicer to share.
“Do they really exist? The creatures in your stories.” One of the girls asked. She was a nice looking girl, with brown hair and eyes and a round face.
“Of course.”
“How come we’ve never seen any, then?” she challenged.
Ah, a critical thinker! Shen Qingqiu smiled to himself.
“Do you have to see something for it to exist?”
The girls pondered for a moment.
“Someone has to have seen it.” Another girl, one with a longer and darker hair, responded. “Someone other than you, that is.”
“True.” Shen Qingqiu hummed. “But I would assume there are many creatures that exist without anyone seeing them at all. Every creature needs to be seen for the first time. And they exist before that, do they not?”
‘And that wasn’t even counting fungi, bacteria and viruses’, Shen Qingqiu added, mentally.
“No one seen a dragon for three hundred years, but dragons did exist,” another girl, who had lovely braided hair and a smattering of freckles across her face chimed in.
Shen Qingqiu perked up. “Oh? You have dragons, here?”
“Do you not have dragons where you’re from, Lord Shen?” A fourth girl interevened, a blonde with bright green eyes.
Shen Qingqiu took a moment to think about it. There were some dragons in ‘Proud Immortal Demon Way’, but they were Asian dragons, rather than Western ones. Both had an appeal, of course. And it made sense that a Medieval World would have an appropriately Medieval Dragon. Besides, the appearance of a dragon in ‘Proud Immortal Demon Way’ was, unfortunately, one of the Special Exclusive chapters where the ferocious dragon terrorizing the villagers was really the misunderstood wife #602 (with an appropriate human form, of course!). After the wife-plot was done with, Airplane didn’t see any need to expend on the whole new species he just introduced, because Airplane was not familiar with the concept of following through his worldbuilding.
(If Airplane’s worldbuilding was an actual structure, it would have have every possible building violation in existence and be deemed a public hazard.)
“Perhaps there are. This Lord had yet to encounter any, though.”
“Oh,” the girl slumped in her seat.
“But,” he smiled, “this Lord did read some interesting accounts of those who had met them.”
The girl perked up with interest, and Shen Qingqiu took the opportunity to launch into a detailed account of each and every one of the four legendary dragons, omitting his rant of their idiotic connection to some poorly conceived wife-plot.
“Lord Shen sure is imaginative,” Septa Eglantine muttered to Septa Mordane, giving Shen Qingqiu the side-eye, but Shen Qingqiu was too invested in his rant to care.
The children dutifully acted as if they were still doing their needlework, and were not staring at Shen Qingqiu wide-eyes, as the rant turned from PIDW lore to more personal, first-hand accounts.
“– as one does, when meeting a Foamy Tailed Topaz Salamander,” Shen Qingqiu carried on, looking at Arya, who was looking gradually more and more dejected by the minute, hoping to lift her spirits. “They’re not very big, about the size of a cat, but they can spit some smoke if they’re upset. They were accidentally setting the rice fields of a small village on fire, while the villagers were sure there was an arsonist on the loose, trying to burn down their crops. That or a vengeful spirit or a ghost. But it was nothing of that sort. It turned out that a nearby dam dried up their pond, and sent them searching for a new home to settle themselves in. But no one saw them moving about. See, they’re quite difficult to spot, due to the foam they produce and cover their skin with. This Lord almost stepped on one, actually –”
He worked the needle repeatedly into the fabric, pulling the coloured thread back and fro, with the small Lady Arya by his side, making half-hearted attempts at not-stabbing-a-person into an identifiable pattern, as he recalled the full tale aloud. Binghe made him a roasted chicken dish, using some of the local herbs, surpassing his already own unbeatable culinary skills. Vagually, it looked as if the children were trying to take notes on a recipe Shen Qingqiu didn’t have, hanging onto each one of his words.
“You're making a silly face again,” Arya sniped, which was fair. Anyone who couldn’t eat Binghe’s cooking was allowed to pout about it.
“Arya!” Her sister scoffed at her. “Forgive my sister for her ill manners, my Lord –”
“Not at all.” He waved it off easily.
“I’ve heard men make silly faces when they’re thinking of their lady-love,” the round-faced girl, who not too long ago questioned if Shen Qingqiu wasn’t just bullshitting all of them, whispered conspiratorially to the others.
“Love makes fools of us all,” Shen Qingqiu acquiesced with a smile, and pointedly did not hear six young girls utter dreamy sighs as one.
By the fifth lesson, some days later, the handkerchief is done. All the girls were staring at it with glittering eyes, clearly wanting to ask for it.
But it was not made for them to have.
“This one thanks these esteemed Older Sisters for their guidance”, Shen Qingqiu bowed to each one of the Septas in turn. “This one is indebted to them in gratitude. These Young Misses are indeed fortunate to have the guidance of such wise and talented Older Sisters. They would surely bloom to embroider and thread the most incredible pieces across the land.”
Qiankun pouches were useful.
From within his billowing sleeves, Shen Qingqiu produced two intricate, beautiful paper fans. One has two koi fish painted on it in white, red and black, spread across its surface as if leaping out of the water. The other is painted with smokey-soft clouds in grey hues, with a glimpse of snowy mountains peaking in between them.
“This one hopes these tokens of gratitude could be of use.”
King’s Landing, apparently, never got around to inventing hand fans, despite its climate, which would call hand fans to mind.
The pair of Septas quickly came to acquire the most coveted pieces of Air Conditioning in the entire kingdom.
(Shen Qingqiu might have infused these fans with a talisman or five, as a token of his thanks. Waving paper fans can only have so much effect, when one is dressed like a nun.)
(It’s not like these guys have magic, anyway. It’d be fine.)
Shen Qingqiu gave his gift to the Kingslayer as they are walking back through the gardens, as it so happened they took the long way around to go back to Shen Qingqiu’s quarters.
Or at least, he had tried to.
Some people were not proficient at receiving gifts.
It’s an acquired skill. The man was already so bad at receiving compliments, so it did not come as a surprise he was bad at receiving objects, too.
Oh well.
That man was going to get Shen Qingqiu’s gift, whether he liked it or not.
“I’m not interested in your frivolous embroidery nonsense”, the Kingslayer said, even when Shen Qingqiu could tell that he was intrigued.
The man spent the past five days hanging by the doorway (supposedly “guarding” it) when Shen Qingqiu stitched and sewed to his heart’s content, and did so with the same dedication that reminded Shen Qingqiu of his stubborn Liu-shidi. He had heard the gasps and the general muted uproar of excitable young ladies who were scolded for their presumptuousness by their sanctimonious Septas after they’ve laid eyes on Shen Qingqiu’s work.
Shen Qingqiu would bet his second-favorite fan the Kingslayer was dying to see this “embroidery nonsense” Shen Qingqiu imprinted upon this handkerchief.
Which he was about to hand to him.
Curiosity appeases, handkerchief delivered.
If only the Kingslayer wasn’t so damn prideful.
“Begging Master Kingslayer’s ear for a moment,” Shen Qingqiu nodded at him behind his fan, keeping his face from smiling only through utilizing the original Shen Qingqiu’s capabilities of holding a thick face through muscle memory. “This one would like to thank Master Kingslayer for his company.”
The Kingslayer’s handsome face made a slightly puzzled expression. They were standing in a secluded corner of the gardens, surrounded by lush greenery and deep red flowers that did nothing other than pollinate and rot. Some of the vines climbed over a wooden archway, encircling it like thin boa constrictors.
Such wonderful native flora, Shen Qingqiu sighed momentarily, ever-appreciative, before he turned his eyes back to his companion.
The look in the Kingslayer’s eyes seemed to aim at prompting Shen Qingqiu to speak further on these alleged ‘thanks’ he was about to be bestowed with.
Why, emotionally challenged men were native to Proud Immortal Demon Way.
Shen Qingqiu was sure he’d be able to navigate this, no problem. He lowered his fan before speaking.
“Master Kingslayer–” Shen Qingqiu noticed a muscle on the Kingslayer’s face spasm, seemingly involuntarily “– has been diligent in taking this one under his care, and had been nothing but courteous and accommodating, doing everything in his power to assure this one’s comfort and ease his heart. This one is thankful for being fortunate to have such a chivalrous knight assigned to him as Master Kingslayer.”
Shen Qingqiu gave a small, sincere smile to seal the deal.
“As such –” Shen Qingqiu reached to his sleeve, about to hand the man his gift.
“What are you playing at.” The Kingslayer almost growled in response, brows furrowed in an unflattering frown. Instead of looking appropriately flattered, it was as if Shen Qingqiu just badmouthed his mother to his face.
(Maybe – maybe some problem.)
(A reasonable amount of it.)
“This one is playing at nothing. This one is in a foreign land, with foreign people. This one –“ he paused, swallowing. “This one misses His Beloved. But this one is glad to have made a friend.”
“We are hardly friends.” The Kingslayer scoffed. “I could lop your head straight off your pretty neck.” He snapped his fingers, his hefty, polished armour glinting in the sunlight as he moved. “Just like that.”
Shen Qingqiu raised one of his eyebrows at him before waving him off.
(Somewhere, Shang Qinghua’s lament of Shen Qingqiu’s overly-causal manner in regard to the prospect of dying plays in the back of his mind. Shen Qingqiu smothers it with a pillow while justifying it with being roped into a fair amount of Wife Plots that led Shen Qingqiu to an overexposure.)
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“Wouldn’t I.” The Kingslayer challenged, but his right hand was nowhere near the pommel of his sword, and neither was his left. Was he ambidextrous, Shen Qingqiu wondered. Could’ve been an awfully handy trait, for a knight.
“How can you be so sure?” The Kingslayer challenged, cutting off Shen Qingqiu’s distracted musings.
“This one is unarmed. And you’re a man of honour.”
The Kingslayer, inexplicably, seemed grimmer.
“Quit mocking me.” He seethed. His face, while still handsome, twisted into an ugly thing.
Shen Qingqiu blinked back at him, confused.
It was one thing to have misunderstandings with Luo Binghe – that was – that was a whole can of worms not to be approached, for now – but the Kingslayer was fairly uncomplex so far. He was courteous, chivalrous and, while snarky, not outright mean. And it was not just towards Shen Qingqiu – he nodded at maids, he acknowledged some of the page boys that gave him notes from time to time, he was kind to his adorable niece and tolerated the gossip that lurked around and about him with grace and poise. Not that the Kingslayer called his niece as such, but a cultivator’s hearing picked quite a bit when strolling in the gardens, as people’s mouths always ran, hidden from view or in plain sight. He thought he figured most of this world out, yet Shen Qingqiu couldn’t see the invisible mine he clearly stepped on, even as he felt the upcoming blast.
“This one meant no offense.” He tried, speaking slowly as he attempted to crack this peculiar development. “But this one apologizes for causing it. This one only wanted to give Master Kingslayer a token of his appreciation.”
He quickly pulled the embroidered handkerchief out from within his sleeve and held it, neatly folded, with both of his hands, like how one would hand out a business card, presenting it to the Kingslayer -
- Who scoffed.
(Somewhere, in the back of Shen Qingqiu’s mind, a grandmother’s voice rang like the voice of God, saying that if he’d keep making this expression, his face would get stuck like that.)
“Is that a favour?” The Kingslayer eyed the handkerchief from where he stood, voice a touch scandalized.
“… No?” Shen Qingqiu said, confused. “It’s a handkerchief.”
“Do men usually give other men – handkerchiefs – where you’re from?” The Kingslayer had an odd drawl to his words, as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Probably?” Shen Qingqiu said, further puzzled by the Kingslayer’s almost scandalized expression, as his speech dropped to an informality without his notice. “Some of them? My shixiong and shidis – my martial brothers, that is – give me fans, most of the time.” He took a moment to think about it. “Mu-shidi would probably like handkerchiefs. He’d go through them pretty quickly. Maybe I’d make him one, too.”
Shen Qingqiu thought of patterns Mu Qingfang would like, not registering the Kingslayer’s response.
True, Mu-shidi would probably use them for field bandages, but anything of the material world was bound to disintegrate, anyway, and Mu-shidi was so hardworking. Shen Qingqiu hadn’t had tea with him for quite a while, thinking about it, ever since that incident with the grounded petals, and was anyone making sure he was getting enough sleep –
Lost in thought, Shen Qingqiu almost missed the motion of the Kingslayer plucking the handkerchief from his hands.
“Might as well look,” the Kingslayer jeered at Shen Qingqiu’s face, before snapping the handkerchief open with a sharp snapping motion of his wrists.
The Kingslayer was looking up to be more and more like his Liu-shidi, who was also very awkward with gifts. Some people were just in the habit of getting snappish when embarrassed, Shen Qingqiu supposed. If anything, he wondered why he had found it rather endearing. It wasn’t as if the Kingslayer was a tsundere –
Regardless, Shen Qingqiu enjoyed making the handkerchief. He might’ve fluffed-up his compliments a bit for the sake of the Kingslayer’s ego, but he wasn’t being disingenuous; the Kingslayer really made for good company. And, even nine days into this strange medieval land, Shen Qingqiu was still excited to be in the presence of a true knight. The armour must be a bitch to wear, but Shen Qingqiu inner five-year-old-boy wanted to wear one so very much. If only it wouldn’t risk possible offense to his already touchy hosts. Internally, he sighed yet again.
He let the Kingslayer take the pattern in as he himself enjoyed the warm breeze and the flowery scent carried by the wind. He saw a bee buzz through and quickly moved to get a closer look, crouching next to the flower she picked – how long it had been since he’d seen normal, everyday bees! Well, it’s been a few days, probably, but before that, it’s been too long. Oh, the joys and wonders of these gardens truly never ceased. Shen Qingqiu was so moved!
“You’ve said you never embroidered anything in your life.” The Kingslayer said, somewhere over Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder.
Shen Qingqiu hummed in response. The bee was on her third flower, and her dark back legs were slowly turning yellow from the pollen.
It was adorable.
And even if she would sting Shen Qingqiu for whichever reason, the worst her sting could do is mere anaphylaxis shock! No qi deviations, no Fuck or Die scenarios!
That made the bee even more adorable.
A precious, buzzing, chubby little bundle of joy, as sweet as the honey she made.
“Are you taking me for a fool? The notion this was made by a novice might even be more of an outrageous lie than your foolish spewing about magic or the ridiculous tales you’ve spun these past five days!”
The Kingslayer was clearly taking this gift-giving a bit too seriously.
‘Maybe gifts were different here,’ Shen Qingqiu thought, as the bee was rubbing her hind legs against each other, taking a moment to rest.
He said as much.
“Maybe gifts are different here,” he said, still looking at the bee, appreciating the delicate patterns of her wings. “But this one meant nothing by it other than to express his gratitude. He enjoyed learning how to use a needle properly and how to embroider by such experienced Older Sisters. And he could not have done it without the Kingslayer’s support.” Reluctantly, he turned away from the bee, looking up at the Kingslayer’s blank expression. “This Lord is not a fool. This Lord knows he is an unknown trespasser in your lands. This Lord knows Master Kingslayer’s obligations are towards his people – otherwise, Master Kingslayer would not have taken the burden of any oaths upon himself. But this Lord could have easily been received with much less courtesy. Is this land without conflict? Are there no dungeons in these halls? No prisoners among its walls?” Shen Qingqiu’s lips thinned, as the memory of the acrid fumes of the Water Prison tingled at the back of his nostrils.
“Yet this Lord is roaming in the gardens alongside an esteemed member of the King’s personal guard. He is given three meals each day. A bed to sleep in each night. And leave to do as he’d wish, within reason. He was given knowledge by two kindly Older Sisters, and kept in the good company of pleasant young misses. But one cannot accept such courtesy and give nothing in return in good conscious. The fabric and the threads from which this was made – “ Shen Qingqiu indicated with a tilt of his head towards the handkerchief, which was clenched in the Kingslayer’s left fist, “– they are not this Lord’s. If he were to collect a bouquet of flowers – they would not be of this Lord. He would be merely stealing the gardens’ treasures for his own means – paying a kindness with a falsehood. So what else has this Lord to give, but a small token of his regard, as he enjoys this hospitality but cannot honestly pay his dues with honest work?”
The Kingslayer had remained silent all throughout Shen Qingqiu’s impressively long rant.
Shen Qingqiu himself was surprised; voicing his burdens shaped them into a concrete burden and concerns. He was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for this fortune he was unaccustomed to – to twist and bite him in the ass. By trying to express it, he unknowingly caused offense. Really, what else could he offer? He didn’t have enough fans to hand out to all of them!
The silence hung in the air, as Shen Qingqiu felt himself being measured by the knight.
The bee, invigorated, merrily buzzed away to a destination unknown.
“I haven’t been to the practice yard for a fortnight.” The Kingslayer finally said.
Shen Qingqiu perked up.
“Master Kingslayer,” he said, as he got up from his knees, casually dusting the fabric off. “Would you be so kind to let this one attend the practice yard with you?”
“I’d have to clear it with the captain of the guard,” the Kingslayer responded, “but this could be arranged.”
“This one thanks Master Kingslayer for indulging him.”
Honestly, Shen Qingqiu thought, nodding at his companion before making off with no particular destination in mind, eager to leave the bizarre atmosphere behind them, with the Kingslayer’s footsteps following his own.
He spread his fan, exasperated. The practice yard was either an olive branch, or an attempt to get back at Shen Qingqiu’s social misdeed using “training” as a façade.
He was lost at trying to find what could have possibly made the Kingslayer upset. The children were rather impressed with the handkerchief, and Shen Qingqiu thought it was decent enough, considering it was his first attempt at embroidery. Fine! He thought to himself as he stalked off. See if Shen Qingqiu sewed that medieval tsundere any personified handkerchiefs now!
After night fell and dinner has been had, before bed, Shen Qingqiu carefully removed the martial hairpiece from his hair. It looked fine in the mirror, but felt wrong on the top of his head, crooked – eh, Binghe really is much better at this than this old man, he lamented – and realized the Kingslayer, for all his fuss, never gave the handkerchief back.