Chapter 49

Shen Qingqiu crouched on the vast, desolate plain that had grown all too familiar, releasing a deep, weary sigh.

"Why?" he muttered to the empty air. "Just tell me why I've been dragged in here again?"

The system's voice chimed in his mind. 【Current Location: Luo Binghe's Dream Realm.】

Shen Qingqiu buried his face in his hands. "I feel like I've asked this before, but I'll ask again. The 'where' doesn't matter. The 'why' does."

Fine. He pretty much knew the reason already.

Whenever Luo Binghe's consciousness grew unstable, fluctuating wildly, those around him often got caught in the undertow, sucked into the immense, whirlpool-like depths of his dreams.

Or, to put it less poetically, victimized by the guy's bottomless pit of mental baggage. The whole Dream Demon incident was a prime example.

Having survived one tour through Luo Binghe's subconscious, Shen Qingqiu figured he was now a repeat customer. Like connecting to a Wi-Fi network for the second time—no password needed. The best course of action now was to find a quiet spot and wait for the kid to wake up on his own.

He pushed himself to his feet, his movements sluggish. A hand rose to touch his own face.

Here in the dream, his original features had returned. After getting used to the beard, the smooth skin beneath his fingers felt strangely alien.

A breeze whispered through a stand of bamboo, carrying a familiar, crisp chill.

Shen Qingqiu didn't need to see another inch of the place. One corner was enough.

Cang Qiong Mountain. Qing Jing Peak.

He'd holed up here for most of his life. How could he not recognize it?

Disciples in pale robes drifted along the paths in twos and threes. He knew every face, every shade of those uniforms.

An intruder from the outside world, Shen Qingqiu existed on a different frequency from these dream-people. He watched them like a ghost. Their expressions were a touch wooden, but they all had distinct features—noses, eyes, faces. He could even name a good number of them.

Even the Dream Demon couldn't maintain a massive dreamscape and give every inhabitant such detailed faces. Yet Luo Binghe had managed it. The level of craftsmanship was unnerving.

Past the small bamboo grove stood the Qing Jing Bamboo House.

Under the elegantly tiered bamboo eaves, a spring cascaded down, its droplets catching the sunlight and scattering it into a rainbow. The sound was a clear, rhythmic chime.

Light footsteps crunched through fallen leaves. A boy of fifteen or sixteen, dressed in pristine white, emerged.

His skin was fair, flushed pink from what must have been a jog. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. The lines of his eyes and brows were clear yet soft, radiating an innocent, youthful charm.

Shen Qingqiu couldn't help a wave of nostalgia. It's been so long since I've seen this pure, sunlit version of Luo Binghe.

During his training on Qing Jing Peak, the boy had favored white. After his rebellion, the chaos-incarnate Luo Binghe wore only black, inverting everything about his past. This tender, green-sprout version had vanished completely.

The young Luo Binghe straightened his robes as he approached, bowing his head. "Shizun."

Shen Qingqiu knew the greeting wasn't for him. Turning slowly, he saw a figure in azure robes standing amidst the emerald leaves.

That face… it was none other than his own.

This dream-born "Shen Qingqiu," standing tall and slender among the vibrant bamboo, truly resembled an elegant bamboo stalk himself. His expression was serene, his aura cool and detached. To the naked eye, he really did look the part of an aloof immortal.

Observing from the sidelines, even the real Shen Qingqiu had to concede.

Now that's some Grade-A posturing. Masterful.

That Luo Binghe could recreate every minute detail so perfectly… he really was the Dream Demon's prized pupil.

The Shen Qingqiu in the bamboo grove tilted his head slightly, as if pulled from a reverie. "Finished your run?"

Luo Binghe nodded. "Ten laps… all done."

A memory clicked into place for the observer.

The "ten laps" meant running the perimeter of Qing Jing Peak's fencing. A task Shen Qingqiu had personally assigned.

This wasn't some sadistic punishment for the protagonist. It was an act of desperation.

After taking Luo Binghe under his wing, Shen Qingqiu had figured that, as a teacher, he ought to impart some actual skills. That way, if they ever fell out later, he wouldn't blush with shame at the mention of "a master's guidance and a teacher's kindness."

Step one was fixing the boy's chaotic footwork and sloppy movement.

The results, as previously noted, were dismal. The most significant achievement was Luo Binghe crashing into his chest for a solid half-month.

"Again," the dream-Shen Qingqiu said. "Get it wrong this time, and it won't be just ten laps."

Obediently, Luo Binghe tried again. This time, he didn't crash into him. Instead, his foot slipped, and he ended up wrapping his arms around Shen Qingqiu's waist.

"…"

"Shizun," the boy said, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "This disciple is useless. My legs gave out after the run."

Shen Qingqiu sighed.

Luo Binghe volunteered, "This disciple understands. Twenty laps."

"Laps? Forget the laps. Go back to your room and rest."

Shen Qingqiu truly had no desire to bully a child. He'd just given up. Do whatever you want!

No more teaching. Zero sense of accomplishment. He felt like throwing the manual.

Oblivious to his master's despair, Luo Binghe brightened. "Thank you, Shizun! I'll definitely make up the twenty laps tomorrow! Is there anything you'd like to eat tonight?"

The real Shen Qingqiu, watching from the side, wiped an imaginary sweat from his brow.

The Luo Binghe back then… was honestly kind of adorable.

Willing to work, endure scoldings, get ridden and kicked, and still cook meals… Ahem. Of course, Shen Qingqiu hadn't done most of those things.

A new thought occurred to him, stirring confusion.

In a dreamscape of his own creation, Luo Binghe would naturally select memories he found pleasant. If Qing Jing Peak held a place, shouldn't it involve Ning Yingying?

Why this particular scene?

Dreams reflect the most honest parts of the heart. They don't bother with false pretenses.

A notion Shen Qingqiu had never seriously entertained began to surface.

It might sound presumptuous, but… perhaps, maybe, just possibly, this master-disciple bond held a slightly higher place in Luo Binghe's heart than he'd imagined.

One other thing, however, he could say with certainty:

Luo Binghe was absolutely, without a doubt, a masochist!

Who in their right mind would specifically preserve a memory of being punished with ten or twenty laps in their personal dreamscape?!

As Shen Qingqiu contemplated stepping into the eerily accurate replica of the bamboo house, a creeping chill crawled up his neck. A gaze, both icy and scorching, pinned him in place.

He whirled around.

There, leaning casually against a green bamboo stalk with arms crossed, was Luo Binghe—dressed in black, watching him.

Shit. The real deal.

Shen Qingqiu's first instinct wasn't to run. It was to freeze, smoothing his expression into one of perfect neutrality.

This was Luo Binghe's domain. Running was pointless. Speed wouldn't solve anything.

That dual-natured gaze hadn't been an illusion or a poor choice of words. Luo Binghe's eyes truly held both ice and fire—a piercing cold and a smoldering heat—locked firmly onto him.

Steeling himself, Shen Qingqiu met that stare head-on.

After a long moment, it was Luo Binghe who sighed first.

"Being able to dream… is a good thing," he murmured, voice soft.

Hearing that, a fraction of Shen Qingqiu's tension eased.

He'd taken a gamble, and for now, it seemed to have paid off. Luo Binghe, lost in his own thoughts, had mistaken him for a product of the dream.

Seeing him lean against the bamboo, staring vacantly, alone and solitary… Shen Qingqiu remembered him sitting stiffly in the main hall during the day. Compared to the original story's protagonist, surrounded by admirers and living in splendor, the sight evoked a pang of pity.

Not a single wife to fuss over him. How tragic.

For a stallion novel protagonist to fall to this state… it was a sight no man could bear.

"Shizun," Luo Binghe said quietly. "Say something to me."

Filled with sympathy for the protagonist's unfortunate plight, Shen Qingqiu softened his tone. "Alright."

To his surprise, the moment he spoke, Luo Binghe jolted upright, his expression shifting to one of stunned disbelief.

Oh no.

Wrong reaction?

But the play had begun. He had to see it through. Shen Qingqiu offered a gentle smile. "Didn't you ask this master to speak?"

Yes, hurry up and say your piece. Then wake up and let me out…

Luo Binghe stepped forward. Shen Qingqiu fought the urge to put some distance between them, holding his ground.

After a silent pause, Luo Binghe said, "Before… Shizun would always just walk away without even looking at me. He'd never talk to me… Was I being too greedy just now?"

Shen Qingqiu felt imaginary black lines streak down his face.

Had the "Shen Qingqiu" conjured by Luo Binghe's imagination always been this cold, aloof, and dismissive?

Just how much of a masochist are you?! That's off the charts!

Something about this felt odd, but the words carried a genuine ache. And it seemed Luo Binghe's hatred for him… wasn't as deep as he'd thought.

Before Shen Qingqiu could ponder further, Luo Binghe closed the remaining distance. His expression tightened. Isn't this a bit too close?

He looked down. Luo Binghe's left hand had closed around his left wrist.

He looked up. His right wrist was seized just as firmly.

Then, the world blurred.

Something as light as a feather brushed his cheek.

An unfamiliar sensation, soft and cool yet warm, pressed against his lips.

He could only stare, wide-eyed, into Luo Binghe's dark, fathomless pupils. His Adam's apple bobbed once, with difficulty.

He tried to speak, but no sound came out.

His mouth was occupied.

Luo Binghe closed his eyes, his long, dark lashes casting delicate crescents of shadow across his cheeks. He looked utterly docile. His actions, however, were anything but. He released Shen Qingqiu’s wrists, only to slide his hands to the small of the man’s back, pressing him flush against his own chest.

Crushed against that firm torso, Shen Qingqiu went rigid. His entire worldview shattered, reformed, then shattered again in a dizzying, light-speed loop.

Their builds weren’t even that different, yet Luo Binghe managed to envelop him completely in this one-armed embrace.

What finally shattered his mental paralysis was a system notification blaring a triumphant fanfare:

[Satisfaction Points +500! Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! (Important things must be said three times!)]

Shen Qingqiu’s mind screamed: What the fuuuuuuuuu—?!

He finally understood. He finally got it! This was why Luo Binghe hadn’t bedded a single girl, why his harem of three thousand beauties hadn’t even made a ghost of an appearance, yet his Satisfaction Points had never taken a hit!!!

Fuck fuck fuck! It was because he was using Shen Qingqiu himself to make up the points!!!

Horrified and furious at this sudden revelation, Shen Qingqiu lashed out with a kick.

Luo Binghe didn’t dodge or block. He took the blow square on, not even retreating a step. He looked both angry and deeply wronged. “Can’t I even do this in a dream?” he asked.

Wronged?! You’re the one who’s wronged?!

Wake up! This might be a dream, but I’m not something you conjured up!!!

Slapping him awake wasn’t an option, but letting him continue this delusion wasn’t either!!!

This was a true dead-end, a trap with no escape!!!

Before Shen Qingqiu could roar something else to vent his raging emotions, his back slammed into a bamboo stalk. Luo Binghe had pinned him against it. Then, he dipped his head and came down again.

This was no soft, feather-light kiss. It felt like he was being devoured!

Shen Qingqiu wasn’t a complete novice to kissing, but he’d never experienced this terrifying sensation that his partner might lose all control and bite his lips clean off. In a ragged breath between assaults, Luo Binghe murmured against his mouth, “Shizun, I was wrong…”

Does this look even remotely like someone who knows he’s wrong?!

He was the one who was wrong! Terribly, catastrophically wrong!

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire!

The rumors circulating the martial world had a scientific basis! Every gossipmonger was a fallen angel in a past life, blessed with the ability to see straight to the truth of things!

He hadn’t raised the male lead to be sexually frigid. This wasn’t about being a masochist or not. The truth was far more terrifying. He’d raised the male lead to be gay!

No wonder he didn’t want the female leads!!!

Women couldn’t spark his interest anymore; they couldn’t affect his Satisfaction Points!!!

This was insane!!!

As Shen Qingqiu was seriously considering self-destructing his spiritual form again, Luo Binghe suddenly released him.

Luo Binghe looked up at the vortex-like swirl of clouds in the sky, his expression darkening. “Damn it,” he spat.

Was that ‘damn it’ aimed at Shen Qingqiu, who was currently preparing a kick targeting a very critical area?

Before he could execute this self-defense plan, the scene before him shattered. The world and the figure dissolved into a million fragments. Simultaneously, Shen Qingqiu jolted upright on the roof of the Illusory Flower Palace’s main hall.

This was the real world.

Shen Qingqiu gasped for breath, struggling to calm his racing heart. Suddenly, he noticed—below the main hall, fires had broken out, and warning bells were clanging wildly.

He leaned over the roof’s edge, his robes whipping in the night wind. Looking down, he saw countless Illusory Flower Palace disciples swarming toward the hall from all directions.

“Intruders!” someone shouted.

Shen Qingqiu’s spirits soared. Intruders were perfect! Escape in the chaos! Forget the Demonic Blood of the Heavenly Demon—his chastity was more important! Get out first, think later. Goodbye!

He hadn’t flown more than a few feet when another shout rose.

“They’re heading for the Illusory Flower Pavilion! It’s Liu Qingge! The Peak Lord of Bai Zhan Peak is here again!”

Shen Qingqiu’s foot slipped. He immediately wheeled around and flew back.

Of all times! Liu Qingge had to show up now. He couldn’t just abandon him to the completely unhinged Luo Binghe, could he?

The Illusory Flower Pavilion, the cultivation and resting place of successive Palace Masters, wasn’t far. In three leaps, Shen Qingqiu was off the roof, blending into the stream of disciples rushing toward it.

Before he even crossed the pavilion’s threshold, a wave of piercing, aggressive cold slammed into him. From inside came an ear-splitting roar.

“GET OUT!”

Dozens of disciples at the front, who had rushed in heedless after hearing the alarms, were blasted off their feet by a terrifying surge of spiritual energy.

Shen Qingqiu, in the second wave, dodged the blast and seized the chance to slip inside amidst the confusion. The moment he entered, a chill raised goosebumps all over his skin.

The entire Illusory Flower Pavilion had been transformed into a massive ice cavern. A single step inside was like stepping into a frozen wasteland. Cold wind whipped through Shen Qingqiu’s sleeves and robes. The cold sweat on his back and forehead began to freeze into a thin layer of ice. The temperature inside was unimaginable.

Not only was it bitterly cold, but the walls were sealed tight, doors and windows airtight. The place was frigid and dark. If not for the gaping hole torn open by the intruder, it would have resembled an ice coffin.

In the center of the room, on the meditation platform, curtains hung partially drawn. A few black and white outer robes lay discarded messily by the dais.

Luo Binghe wore only a single inner robe, as if he’d just risen from bed. His clothes were disheveled, the collar hanging open. His black hair was loose, his face abnormally pale, yet his lips were a startling crimson. Two points of cold light flickered in his eyes, radiating a ghostly, menacing aura. His sharp, combative intent was palpable.

Seven paces directly opposite him, Liu Qingge stood with his sword. The bones of his grip stood out starkly, his face a livid shade of iron-gray.

Liu Qingge stared at Luo Binghe beside the dais, enunciating each word with venom. “You… filthy… half-breed.”

With every syllable, the spiritual light around his sword, Cheng Luan, flared with murderous intensity.

Shen Qingqiu watched both sides warily. But then, his gaze followed the direction of Liu Qingge’s sword point. The last, stubbornly clinging fragment of his worldview uttered a final whimper and disintegrated into dust.

Luo Binghe’s right hand rested on the hilt of Xin Mo, the demonic sword never far from his side, its snowy blade already partially drawn. His left arm, however, was wrapped around a person.

The body was utterly lifeless, head lolling, limbs limp yet pliant. It was also clad in a thin inner robe, the collar slipped down to reveal half of a back as pale as paper.