Chapter Text
Luo BingHe possessed everything a demonic lord could desire in the darkness of his heart.
Money. Power. Women. Innumerable servants; the fear and awe of the cultivation world. An impressive palace and throne.
Yet, sitting here on that same throne in the dark, staring out over the empty hall that usually teamed with underlings ready to leap at his every wish, the half demon's lips twisted in a sharp snarl.
He wanted.
He ached with need.
It was a familiar ache. One that had followed him through childhood, into the abyss and back out.
He'd tried throwing everything he could into the ache to fill it. Wives. Power. The pained screams of those who displeased him.
Nothing freed him from that aching emptiness inside his soul. Nothing made him feel full.
He tried drowning the ache in blood. In wine. In sex.
Nothing made it less gaping than before. Nothing eased the emptiness inside him.
He wasn't even sure what to call it anymore.
The shadows around him seemed to echo the sentiment in their master's thoughts and swept closer, threatening the single sputtering lamp mounted above BingHe's dark head.
He was angry. Rage was coursing through every vein in his body. Quiet, dark rage.
He wanted.
He wanted what he had seen in the other world. What his other self had.
He needed it with a passion he’d never felt before, like a wildfire consuming his soul.
The light flickered once, twice, and the flames licked at the darkness listlessly before sputtering into nothing and leaving the demonic leader cloaked in shadows of his own making.
He growled into the darkness, half expecting an answering hiss, but the shadows only blanked the sound and muffled it in their folds, swallowing his distress whole.
He cursed silently then, cursed the shadows for doing his bidding, cursed his father, cursed his youth, cursed his wives; his master.
His master.
Shen QingQiu.
He spat the name aloud again, cursing the man's existence. Cursing his death. Cursing that he had died at BingHe’s own hands. That no matter the amount of soap used, or how many times he ran water across them, his hands would never be clean of Shen QingQiu’s blood.
BingHe cursed again.
Cursing Shen QingQiu was still alive; that the unfeeling, unflinching man had grown a heart. That he cared for BingHe’s other self in that other world.
Cursing the soft look in his eyes that made the ache in him flare up with fresh heat.
He hurled curse after curse into the darkness. Nothing answered his cries. Nothing ever did.
Nothing ever filled that hole inside him that ached and echoed in the shadows around him.
It wasn't fair. He was the ruler of this world. He could have anything and everything he desired.
Everything except that small smile he's seen on Shen QingQiu's lips when he's looked at his other self.
Why the hell did that Binghe have something he couldn't have?? What made him better than BingHe??
Why did his master care for that Binghe?? Why hadn't he ever cared for him??
The ache in his chest throbbed and he snarled, lashing out with one hand to topple the stand next to the throne with a thrust of power.
The ring and clatter of falling dishes bouncing down the dias stairs filled the hall and then stilled, and it was silent again.
As the ring of plates died away, the momentary relief from the ache died too and BingHe threw back his head and screamed.
He screamed until his lungs ached as much as his heart, and then he just let his head hang limp against the back of his throne, and tried not to think.
It was easier, when he didn't think too hard. He could forget he was alone, surrounded by hundreds of wives and servants and demons all terrified of crossing him and willing to do anything at his whim. Alone in a palace of thousands.
But now his mind wouldn't shut up. Wouldn't stop tumbling over the other world, the lack of fear he had seen there.
The happiness.
He wanted.
His Shen QingQiu was too far rotted in his grave to ever smile at him. He knew. What was left of his bones after BingHe had smashed them in a fit of rage wouldn't even do for a proper necromancy spell.
It was like his old master was taunting him, even in death still refusing to acknowledge BingHe.
He was alone.
Unless...
He tipped his head up and stared into the empty hall, a faint light starting to simmer in the depths of his deep eyes.
Unless he took another Shen QingQiu. If there was one more, there had to be others.
He'd torn through countless universes before out of boredom, who was to say there wasn't another Shen QingQiu in one of them, just waiting to smile at him like the other Shen QingQiu smiled at the other Binghe.
And if they didn't, he would make them.
Xin Mo was still laying at the foot of the stairs where he had hurled it in his rage on his return, and he stood, crossing down to his sword without a second thought and hefting it.
There was another Shen QingQiu somewhere, waiting for him.
He would find him, and he would make him smile at him.
Then the ache would go away, and he could rest.
Luo BingHe slashed a portal to another world into the shadows of the throne room and stepped through without another thought.
The portal closed behind him, leaving the empty hall standing silent.