Luo Binghe

[Written in collaboration with ravkanwitch and peaklordshen]

Luo Binghe has come so that Nina might help him speak to Shen Yuan. But he also wants to see her. His moods sometimes take him too far into his own head, making him distance himself from his few, precious friends, but he is eager to repair that. Thus, he stops her with a hand on her arm before they enter the room where Shen Yuan's presence is strong enough for Nina to contact. “My sweet Nina. Have you been well?”

Nina has been more than happy to help him and support him, so this question gives her pause for a second, and she looks over at Luo Binghe in mild surprise. "Physically, I feel better than ever. I think it’s because I've been using the Small Sciences more. Mentally, I'm... I'm surprisingly fine, considering everything. What brought this on? Are you alright?"

“No worse than usual. When Aornis died... did you recover memories?”
( Read more... )

Luo Binghe wants to find and kill Aornis immediately, and if Shen Yuan's death was more recent, he would do so. But he's had time to ruminate on what happened, and speaking to Shen Yuan through Lan Wangji—and watching his new body grow—has settled some of the frantic animal need for revenge. His rage has not dimmed in the slightest. But he has some practice enduring it while he waits for his time.

The fact is that Luo Binghe already fought Aornis once and lost. And that was two against one, with Shen Yuan at his side. He has some idea of why—Shen Yuan lost his cultivation, and Xin Mo turned on him—but since he cannot remember, there could have been other factors. And since Lan Wangji has concealed information from him before on this matter, he cannot rashly charge into a fight without ensuring he knows everything there is to know.

Thus, he is looking for Magnus. This would be so much easier if the mansion were like Luo Binghe's palace, where all his wives and inner circle have taken his blood. How can anyone tolerate how inefficient it is to look for people?

((cw: discussion of death))

Luo Binghe has not slept in two weeks. This period of loss is temporary, it must be—he will not let it be otherwise—but living through it is as arduous a thing as he has ever done. If he is able to be with Shen Yuan again, it will be a trial equal to his value.

More than anything it is the desperate, searing loneliness that might end him. He spends as much time as possible with Nina, terrified that his neediness will drive her away, but wildly, irrationally resentful of anything that takes her from his side. If he could, he would sleep curled up on her floor like a dog, but he must spend all night sharing his qi with Shen Yuan so his body will not be damaged.

Even with Nina, the loneliness is brutal, a physical pain like he's swallowed a knife carved from ice. It's a present, unrelenting hurt that screams itself into his awareness at all times, impossible to quiet or ignore. He misses Shen Yuan. No one else in the world matters enough.

Luo Binghe spent five years in the Endless Abyss, and it has only been three years since he escaped. Though he is no longer there physically, his mind often returns him to the Abyss: danger everywhere, and no respite from fear, because relaxing means death. In that cursed place he learned to wake ready for danger, expecting an attack at any moment. It is like that again now, but what he fears most is not the Mansion, or the person—if there is one—who took Shen Yuan from him. It is the absence at his side where Shen Yuan is not, the unnatural emptiness that he cannot escape. This is a monster cannot defeat, and it is slowly bleeding the life from him.

He is currently in the library, agonizingly separated from Nina for the moment, frantically reading anything he can find about communicating with a disembodied soul. Luo Binghe is usually fastidious, but the books in front of him are sprawled all over the table, and halfway onto the next table as well. Exhaustion makes the words swim and pulse in front of him; he forces his eyes to stay open, reading each sentence several times as he tries to hammer each word into his aching head.

((cw: death & gun violence))

Luo Binghe typically comes to full alertness instantly upon waking, his instincts honed by years of constant danger. This time he drifts in and out, his mind struggling to free itself from the mud several times before it's pulled under again.

The fourth time he wakes, there is a little space in his head for thought. He is able to wonder what he's doing here, why he isn't in his bed, especially with Shen Yuan's warm weight on his lap—

Not warm. Luo Binghe's eyes fly open, and red fills his vision. Shen Yuan, limp in his arms, blood all over both of them and the floor. He cups Shen Yuan's face—right where he must have already cupped it, if the fingerprint smears of blood are any indication—and sheer panic, as strong and sudden as pain, overrides the dullness throughout his body. "Shen Yuan," he gasps, putting a hand to his lover's chest. Dried blood nearly obscures the small, deep wound there. He leans down to put his cheek next to Shen Yuan's lax mouth. No breath. No qi emanates from his body either, not even as much as a mortal human would have, as though Shen Yuan were an inanimate object.

Luo Binghe stares, frozen. An old darkness is stirring in him. His mother, lifeless on her sleeping mat in their little shack, unable to take even a bite of the congee he'd brought her. He knows how it is to lose something irreplaceable; his body knows the path of it. What seems impossible, in time, comes to feel inevitable. Luo Binghe can no longer imagine what his life would have been like if his mother hadn't passed. But here, in the suspended instant of loss, it still feels possible to reverse it. The world has shifted, but not yet settled into its new shape. Shen Yuan was just here—the last thing Luo Binghe remembers is welcoming him to their anniversary dinner—and it seems trivially easy to reach back, pull him out of that memory and overwrite the bloody tableau in front of him. He gazes at Shen Yuan, seeing without understanding, his mind fighting for each last moment of blankness before comprehension ruins him.

Magnus, he thinks, his mind moving slow as honey. He needs Magnus; Magnus will help. He gathers Shen Yuan in his arms and pushes himself to his feet, swaying dangerously. He feels scoured out, limbs numb, his body pushed past some breaking point he doesn't remember hitting. Xin Mo is at his feet. The sight of it rouses fear that Luo Binghe doesn't understand; his mind is too preoccupied keeping itself empty to think about it. He leaves it on the floor and stumbles toward the hallway, Shen Yuan nauseatingly limp in his arms. Magnus lives outside—or did he move inside?—no matter. Luo Binghe will check every room in this place if he has to.

It has been a long time now since the day of many visitors—when Luo Binghe rescued Crowley's lover from the clutches of one of Lord Satan's loyal followers—and thus a long time since he has had a good fight. Skulking around the mansion reading and brooding has done nothing to improve his mood.

Out on the mansion grounds, he pulls Xin Mo from its sheath, intending to practice sword forms, but the swell of its malevolent power makes him pause. A sword and its wielder should be united in intent. Xin Mo has always amplified Luo Binghe's worst feelings, making his fears balloon into paranoia, his insecurities into self-hatred, resentment into rage. But there has always been something strangely comforting about it. The darkness in him thrills to be recognized, monster to monster. Xin Mo tells him: you are right, the world is against you, and I will help you tear it apart.

But he has not kept up his side of the bargain; he has not kept the sword sated. Its energy has taken on a greasy, oil-slick feel, warping and shifting, tugging at Luo Binghe's meridians with inky fingers. He sheathes it, but the foreboding lingers.

Luo Binghe attempts to turn his mind to qigong instead, to strengthen his qi without the use of his sword. But though he goes through the motions with customary grace, he is too troubled to focus.

He cannot stop thinking of Sagramore. Or at least, that's what he believed for the first few days—that the storm of shame and fury within him was Sagramore's fault. Because Sagramore was meant to care about him. But the more distance time puts between Luo Binghe and that tense confrontation, the more Sagramore's voice in his head distorts into one even more familiar, and far more loathed.

Shen Qingqiu. In one way or another, he has been the point to which Luo Binghe's compass has oriented itself for over ten years. As a child, he was attuned to Shen Qingqiu's moods the way a hare learns the habits of the hunter. His terror of Shen Qingqiu was only second to how desperately he'd wanted to please him.

So much effort. So much pain and blood. So many years never sleeping, barely eating, working himself to nothing trying to please the man. And even when he failed, he remained obsessed. Those years in the Abyss, he lived off his hatred like it was a sumptuous feast, the desire for revenge the only thing puppeting his exhausted body through fight after fight. Then finally, his triumph: Shen Qingqiu disgraced and imprisoned, tortured and tormented.

Yet through all of it, all those years, no matter what Luo Binghe did, Shen Qingqiu would only look at him with flat contempt. No amount of effort would please him; no amount of power would impress him; no threat could frighten him. Always, always, Luo Binghe was beneath his notice, no more worthy of respect as the Emperor than as an orphan on the street.

He has always measured himself against what Shen Qingqiu wanted, whether he was trying to satisfy him or spite him. The qualities that Shen Qingqiu disdained—the pathetic eagerness to please, the limitless capacity for love—have become Luo Binghe's deepest sources of shame. He has longed to cut them out and become entirely heartless, like many already think him to be.

And yet...

For the first time since he was seventeen, he is uncertain of that path. The qualities he has cultivated since the Abyss have turned loved ones away from him. Both Shen Yuan and Nina have praised him for his generosity, his protectiveness. Even Claudius spoke of those traits admiringly, with curse-compelled honesty.

Yet when Luo Binghe tries to shift his mindset, to think that kindness and devotion might be the most valuable parts of him, it is Shen Qingqiu's voice in his head that objects. Here, at the Mansion, Luo Binghe is truly free of Shen Qingqiu for the first time in his life. It is deeply disquieting to realize he has nonetheless brought Shen Qingqiu along with him.

He refuses to change himself for others. He tried to do so for Shen Qingqiu, and he was only punished for it. Better to be hated outright than try hard to be loved and fall short. But in the crushing pressure of this place, he can admit: the hatred hurts. He tires of it. And it makes things harder on Shen Yuan.

Until he can resolve the issue, he barely knows how to act. He hardly knows who he is.

He practices qigong for a long time, attempting the same forms over and over, his concentration slipping too much to receive any benefit.

((NSFW continuation of this thread!))

Shen Yuan is often shy, but he seems to be leaning into it—as though it is part of his role as a woman, even though it is already his nature. Luo Binghe is happy to play his part in return, using his fingers to tilt Shen Yuan's chin upward to lift those demure brown eyes. Ragnelle's eyes, but he has already ceased thinking of them as such. "My wife need not find the words to express her desires. I will take care of everything."

After Shen Yuan leaves his room the next morning, Luo Binghe goes to unwrap Xin Mo. It's sweet that Shen Yuan was bothered by it, and he can sympathize. Xin Mo's energy is hostile. Even Luo Binghe is sometimes startled by its animosity. But since it has been at Luo Binghe's side for so long, he has grown somewhat fond of it. He has spent a long time trying to understand it, one predator to another, and it is nearly impossible to understand something without caring for it. And besides that, it chose him, and though its moods are tempestuous, it has never forsaken him. Luo Binghe has few enough friends that such a thing is significant.

So he greets his sword and straps it to his waist to get used to the feel. He doesn't always bear Xin Mo like this—just as often he has it in a qiankun pouch—but he has missed having a sword by his side, so he indulges himself. Xin Mo is a heavy sword, but its mass is more than physical: it seems to draw in light from around it, the way a dip in the road collects rainwater. It is impossible not to be aware of its presence. It curls up in Luo Binghe's mind like a wild animal seeking warmth by the fire.

The next order of business is to see if its powers are intact. Luo Binghe does not intend to return to his world just yet, but he would like to confirm that the path is open to him. He draws the sword and attempts to slash a portal to his personal quarters in his palace. Xin Mo's power crackles to life in his hand, surging up to meet his will with violent enthusiasm—and then fizzles to empty sparks. Nothing.

A dull disappointment settles on him. But they have been trapped here without exit for months already—the situation has not changed. He is confident that he will return to his world someday. His adventures always turn out how he wants in the end, even if it takes a long time.

He tries cutting a portal from one end of the room to the other, and this time it works, a shining slash in the air—when he steps through it, he is facing where he stood a moment ago. He cuts a portal to the kitchen and that works as well, depositing him between the stove and the magic box. He tries the lounge where he and Shen Yuan first coupled, but Xin Mo seems to have trouble with that. Given how changeable the mansion is, it's possible that the lounge is no longer where it was, or has disappeared completely. Either way, the slash in the air shows somewhere on the grounds; rather than dismiss it, Luo Binghe steps through. He finds himself a little ways into the woods.

Luo Binghe does not need to sleep every night, and at home he is too busy to do so. But there is less to do here, and he grows bored in the nighttime when there is no chance of seeing any of the few people he likes. And Nina must not have any nightmares on his watch.

He curls up on his bed now, enduring the ache he always feels to be in it alone. Sleeping alone is one of the things he most despises. The only saving grace is that his powers let him make himself sleep instantly. In his youth, he often ended up fighting his thoughts for hours in place of sleep, even when physically exhausted. He wishes Shen Yuan were here, or if not, perhaps Sagramore—not to do anything that would disrespect Shen Yuan, but just to warm Luo Binghe's bed with his presence. But he would prefer almost anyone in the mansion over no one.

He ignores this customary melancholy and forces himself to sleep. He will first check on Nina, to guide her mind towards its best dreams without intruding, as he promised. After that, all dream paths are open to him.

[If you'd like a Luo Binghe dream visitation, please comment with how and where your character is sleeping, and perhaps what might be on their mind. If Luo Binghe does not know the character well, the dream will be more generic. However, he can read thoughts and memories, so feel free to DM the typist if there's anything you'd like Binghe to pick up on. Sweet dreams!]

Typically, Luo Binghe is an extremely neat cook, but if anyone walks into the kitchen now, they will see him in disarray. His outer robe is slipping down his shoulder, and his curls are falling out of the bun he's put them in. Bowls of various sizes hold a random assortment of chopped vegetables with no clear purpose, and he has several pans on the stove already. There are a number of open cookbooks from the library spread out over the countertop, none of which Luo Binghe is using. He is currently tasting every bottle of sauce and jar of paste he found in the pantry.

What in the nine hells is he supposed to make for dinner for someone who just admitted to being from a different world entirely?? Luo Binghe was so confident when he offered to cook, but now he is doubting everything he's ever known about food. He isn't even cooking for Shen Yuan yet, just trying to get everything right for when he does. What tastes good anyway? Who knows??

NSFW continuation from here!

Nothing inflames Luo Binghe so much as open admiration. The more Sagramore talks, the more Luo Binghe likes him. And he takes Sagramore's words as a challenge. He slides down Sagramore's body and nuzzles into the gap between his shirt and trousers, kissing the skin he finds there—there is something to be said for the fashions these otherworldly men favor.