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He didn't know what made him wake up. Either the barely audible creak of the slightly opened door to his chambers, or the cloyingly putrid smell. Slightly opening his eyes, he saw a barely perceptible wisp of smoke whimsically curling around the room. Ah. Another assassination attempt. By the way the air moves, it’s uncle. Mobei-wang did not know these specific poisonous incense, but judging by the heaviness that spread through his body, it should have either made his sleep deeper or just immobilize him. Mobei held his breath, sent a cold stream of qi along the meridians – his body needed to be cleansed of the poison that he had already inhaled – and imperceptibly, hiding behind his body from possible surveillance, opened a "vent window", a tiny portal to the windy top of the watchtower. He breathed fresh air... Which of the servants was bribed by uncle this time? And what does he plan to do next? Time dragged on like the tail of bloated viper slime, and he didn't know exactly how long he had to wait in the thickening haze of ‘incense’. He had to keep his eyes almost closed, covering the angry glare of his iris with eyelashes. Although he was lying on his stomach, with face turned to the far wall, but its icy surface allowed him, albeit faintly and blurry, to see the room, which meant that those who entered the door could see reflection of his face too. He pushed the window deeper, into the thickest shade almost under him, so that it could not be seen at all. Finally, his waiting bore fruits. A draft of the open door cooled his neck, steps rustled softly, and the reflection of two figures appeared in the bluish wall surface. A taller and statelier silhouette in light-blue-and-white robes pushed ahead of him a second, short and trembling, in egg-yellow ones. Sobs, whines, and mutters of a very familiar voice reached Mobei's ears... Qinghua! No! Uncle got to him! But how!.. He barely suppressed the attempt of his body to twitch and ignored the pain in his chest. The situation had just become an order of magnitude more dangerous, and it was impossible to make the slightest mistake, otherwise the consequences of previous miscalculations would become disastrous. He slowly, cun after cun, slipped his window under his chest and neck, changing the exit point as imperceptibly as possible. At the same time, Mobei-wang listened to the voices. “No, no, please,” Qinghua sobbed, his voice trembling as much as his body was shaking. In the reflection, one could see how he dragged his feet, resisted and, in general, tried to buy more time with all his might. It is a pity that it was useless with the uncle. “Please, master, don’t force this worthless one, don’t.” Linguang-jun's voice murmured and flowed like molten spider silk into his ears, smooth, venomous and mockingly condescending: “Come on, little human, you betrayed your kindred a long time ago. What’s for you another tiny betrayal." Uncle almost forcefully shoved something long and transparently luminous into the hands of the sobbing Qinghua, and mockingly patted his shoulder. For a moment, the long fingers clenched tighter in warning, and the human yelped softly. Linguang-jun grasped Qinghua's chin, lifting his face, peering into his eyes and tickling his throat with claws: "You remember our little agreement, don't you?" “Th-this worthless r-remembers,” Qinghua squeaked, trying to nod frantically as usual, but almost stuck on the claws and froze in fright. “You are helping me deal with my beloved nephew,” Mobei’s breath almost hitched at this phrase, “and I will not tear off your arms and legs and other necessary parts of the body, hm?” “Y-yes, master,” Qinghua pressed his shoulders up to his ears and generally huddled into a trembling, pitiful little ball. Uncle pulled something small out of his sleeve. A soft clank was then heard. Ah, that meant poison. Indeed, with such a small thing as a weapon that uncle handed to the human, it would be difficult to cause a lot of damage otherwise. After taking away the vial of poison, Linguang-jun threw Qinghua to Mobei's bedding with one casual movement of his hand, holding him by the hair. The young demon felt the edge of the bedding give way under his human's knees, and internally tensed, stretching his small window under him exactly to such limits so as not to give himself away, and preparing to act at any moment. He knew that there would be only one chance, but for now... As long as the uncle is too close, he needed to wait. “Come on, little human, you know what to do,” uncle urged Qinghua. “B-but master, why is this worthless one have to do it, w-why master won’t take things with his own hands...” “Because my little nephew must learn the last lesson on Diyu’s doorstep,” Linguang-jun was clearly pleased with his idea and chirped like a nightingale, condescendingly ruffling the human by his tousled hair, “that you can’t trust anyone in this world, ha ha! And also death at the hands of a miserable little human will be especially humiliating for him and amusing for me... And now, worm, don't test my patience, stab him!” Qinghua whimpered and hesitantly raised his shaking hands holding the ice blade. Now, it’s almost time, the main thing is to do it at the right moment so that uncle does not have time to intervene... Qinghua's hands rose a little higher and, after hesitating, fell sharply down. A stab of pain pierced Mobei's back – not very strong, the blade did not go too deep – but numbness immediately crept from the wound. Mobei stubbornly clenched his teeth, counting his heartbeats, hesitating whether to wait for uncle to move away, or to act while there was still enough spiritual strength in him to stretch the portal wide enough... Fortunately, his doubts did not last long: Linguang-jun really let go hair of his cultivator and took a couple of steps back to take a triumphant look at his handiwork in all its glory. Now! Mobei twisted sharply and pulled Qinghua towards him, immediately opening a full-fledged portal from the window, just large enough to fall into it with his back down. The last thing he saw before letting go of the shadows was the distorted in a furious roar face of his uncle, who darted after them, but was hopelessly late. The collapsed portal melted against the background of the starry sky, the air swooshed in their ears, and Mobei more comfortably grasped Qinghua who clung to him with soft scream “My king!” The landing would be hard, and the human has already been beaten. And indeed, after a few heartbeats, the solid earth knocked the air out of him and – damn it! – drove deep inside the blade still protruding from the wound. However, that was the least of his problems. Mobei felt the whirlwind of frost subside in his core, felt qi trickles in the meridians thinning and fading. The poison chosen by uncle was reliable one. Well, he still managed to do the most important thing. Qinghua stirred and raised above him, helping himself with one arm and awkwardly clutching the other to his chest. The ice demon gazed at him properly. The face was covered in blood, tears and other liquids mixed, lip was ripped and oozing blood, the clothes were torn and in complete disarray. And when falling and pressing his human to himself, he managed to feel a broken rib moving under his palm. He let his human down. He didn't see it coming. He did not discover in time this... aborted fetus of morass worms targeting his Qinghua... His own body was unusually unweldy, weak and soft, like one of those pillows that Qinghua liked to burrow into. Black dots began to appear before his eyes, swarming as a nasty midge. Gathering the last of his strength, he raised his arm just enough to cup the cultivator's cheek and used his thumb to wipe the incessantly flowing tears from his cheek. Human immediately grabbed his palm with his own healthy hand, pressing it to his face, with a half-whisper hoarse from long crying "... My king... My king, don't die, hold on, this one will come with someth..." He moved his thumb to rest on Qinghua's lips, stopping the panicked flow of words. The man twitched slightly and froze with wide eyes. “Here... Cangqiong... safe...” He forced out the words one at a time, hoping he could finish speaking before the darkness completely overwhelmed him. “Last... order... Qing... hua... hhah... live!” The trembling lips twisted under his palm, and then pressed into a stubborn line. And then darkness came. Mobei fell into it as if into one of his portals, and cold shadows swirled around him. He was sure that the next thing he would see would be Diyu's hellish landscape, but he was ready to face any torment without fear. Because even if he blundered, at least he managed to save his Qinghua's life and wrest him from the cruel hands of his treacherous uncle.

(ಠ_ಠ)

Shang Qinghua, aka Airplane, was not shooting towards the sky at the moment, like at all. On the contrary, he landed in a huge fucking pile of shit with his whole ass. All of his body ached from the heavy kicks and punches from that icy asshole Linguang-jun, compared to which, to be honest, all of Mobei's beatings could be called love taps. His left arm, broken in two places, twitched painfully with each movement, so that the rigid weaving of qi that kept his bones from misaligning had to be renewed every now and then. His breaths also resounded with the distinct rasp of one of the lower ribs, but he wouldn't have had enough attention for the qi-weaved corset too, it was one or another, and the working arm was now more important. That bastard with a pretty face bribed one of his king's servants to stunn him from behind. Shang Qinghua woke up already without a sword, without his stocks of all sorts of things stored in his several qiankun, and without a communication artifact. Fuck. The white-haired asshole first promised him a reward for his help in the assassination attempt on Mobei-wang, then threatened with death, and then beat him. When Linguang-jun said in a bored tone that he might well have fun by tearing off small pieces one after another, since the little human was useless to him alive and healthy, and put that clammy hand on his little finger, Qinghua broke down. Although he hoped until the very end that some kind of loophole would come across. That he could somehow get out. That his plot would not be completely turned on its head, forcing him to kill the man of his dreams with his own hands. No, the Airplane remembered perfectly well that according to the plot, the petty rat Shang Qinghua would be wringed by his own owner, but it was still a lot of time before that. And during all this ten years, when thoughts occasionally came to him in all their unsolicited gore details about how else his king could end him in an entertaining way, he discarded them as quickly as he could, and told himself that these were the problems of future Qinghua... He could not even imagine that it would turn out like this, completely sideways. Once he already had to hold the thread of the life of the Northern Prince in his hands, and Qinghua was not going to change the decision once made. Therefore, he puffed and huffed, refurbished the fading fixing weave of qi on his broken arm from time to time, stumbled in the darkness and because he could not look under his own feet, but continued to drag the insensible weighty carcass of his ice demon in his arms along the Qiancao paths, heading towards the head disciple's house. Mobei landed them very well in the backyards of the Healing Peak, and didn't blunder at all today... unlike himself. Qinghua was still taken aback by the fact that the arrogant ice demon, who despised humans and kept reminding his spy with regular slaps all these years that his place was to crawl at his feet, actually appreciated him so much. Appreciated enough to expose himself to a blow with a fucking poisoned blade. To self-sacrifice, damn, for the sake of Qinghua, for him to live. And he, crying, beaten, kneeling in front of the body of Mobei, who was about to say adieu to the world just so, rebelled against all this shit. Realizing that the demon, although he had lost consciousness, was still breathing and was not going to kick the bucket right this minute, he showed everyone a big and fat fuck. He told ‘fuck off’ to Heavens, bringing to life the porn-tragedy he invented, or giving him prophetic visions about the future of this world, or whatever bullshit they could cook out here. He suggested that the System, trying to intimidate him with red emergency windows and howling sirens, should shove into her virtual ass all the points that she threatened to subtract for revealing his connection with demons and for the risk of losing the place of Lord Anding, from which he was already two steps away (or rather, a couple of months before the generational switch). Yes, and wipe that same ass afterwards with the punishment protocol too. Climbing onto the porch, he carefully laid the unconscious ice demon on his side so as not to stir the ice dagger stuck in his back once again. Then he started banging on the door with his good hand, hoping that nothing urgent happened at the peak for Mu Qingfang to be called into the hospital at night. It was lucky that most of the Peak Lords were not in the order right now – the Tianlang-jun bullshit had just happened, and they went to seal the unfortunate lover under the mountain-what-its-name, taking Yue-shixiong and Liu-shidi with them. Therefore, now, technically, at the peak of healers, it was the compassionate Mu-shidi in charge, who was much easier to soften. Oh, Qinghua was going to prostrate at his feet and hug his thighs if necessary, to beg and wallow and act pitiful. If need be, he would grovel in such an artistic way that he could not achieve even at the first meeting with his king, when he was only saving his own skin. He would shamelessly use his own deplorable appearance to make the most miserable impression... In short, he would do everything in his power to ensure that Mu Qingfang undertakes to treat Mobei. And he did not doubt the highest professionalism of Mu-shidi. The door swung open, and the healer appeared before him, his sleepy eyes opening wide in surprise...

(ಠ_ಠ)

It didn't resemble Diyu. Yes, his body was still heavy and felt as if stuffed with straw. Yes, he did not feel either the current of his qi or the surrounding, background energy. But he was in a cool and dry room, lying on something soft, covered with another soft thing, and the air was filled with a mixture of smells of ointments and decoctions, those like things that Qinghua stuffed him with from time to time, after injuries or poisoning. Mobei shifted and almost howled, barely managing to confine himself to a short, sharp breath-in. The pain that shot through his whole body, which began with a sharp pulsation under the right shoulder blade, was unexpectedly sharp. Although... If his cultivation wasn't working, then it probably should have been so. It was just that the wound was in no hurry to heal, it became inflamed and therefore hurt more than usual. An indistinct muttering was heard from the side, and he cautiously turned his head, blinked his eyes open and looked around for the source of the noise. He was lying on his stomach on the bed, mostly undressed and covered with a blanket, and next to him, sitting on a chair with his head buried in his arms folded on the edge of the bed, Qinghua was dozing off. His cultivator was dressed in simple light undergarments that did not bear the symbols of Anding, and on both wrists there was silver shine in the slanting rays of the morning – or evening, Mobei did not know for sure – of the palm-wide bracers, on which a ligature of seals curled. He squinted his eyes even more and saw similar but more massive bracer on his own hand lying on top of the blanket. Moving from his place again, he hissed irritably: his body obeyed badly and was shot through by pain with every move, so that an attempt to turn from his stomach to the side turned into a continuous gnashing of teeth. His fuss woke up the little cultivator, who started up, blinked a couple of times in bewilderment, and jumped up in his chair, rapidly waking up. “My king!” Qinghua twitched towards him, but hesitated, biting his lip and not daring to touch him. “Qing... kha, kha...” The dryness of the southern deserts reigned in his throat, scratching it with sand. Qinghua immediately jumped up and, rushing somewhere nearby, immediately returned with water in a bowl equipped with an some elongated duck spout. The man deftly, habitually slipped the cup with its spout to his parched lips, helping him to drink. When the bowl was empty and set aside, Mobei cleared his throat again and asked: “Qinghua… Where…… Where are we?” “On Qiancao, my king. This is one of the secluded and fortified houses, usually strong masters who are at risk of qi deviation are treated here. And now here we are...” The demon took a closer look at his human, who sat down on the chair again and modestly folded hands in his lap. The injured arm was enclosed in a strange structure, apparently fixing the bones. The split lip looked better a little, and under the thin fabric of the clothes, bandages tightly wound around the torso could be glimpsed. Behind the cultivator's back, a few steps away, a carelessly made bed could be seen, apparently the same type as the one on which he was lying. So Qinghua was also being treated here, but full recovery was still far away. “How long?” “It’s morning of the third day. Before that, my king didn’t wake up, aha, and this Qinghua had to take care... Mu-shidi – my king should remember, he is the heir to the peak of healers – well, he didn’t risk to send other disciples here, but that’s understandable, my king is, well, still a demon,” the cultivator shrugged his shoulders, but then became sad again and sniffed. “This Shang was very afraid that my king would not wake up at all. The poison turned out to be very strong, and Mu-shidi does not know if he can cleanse it completely ... And if there is any point in trying so.” “What do you mean?” Mobei raised an eyebrow. Qinghua tapped one of the bracers with his fingers. “They haven't decided what to do with us yet. Well, now that it is known that this Qinghua has long been acquainted with the Prince of the North, and still has not surrendered him to the righteous orders. And on the other hand, the fact that my king saved the life of this Shang Qinghua... In general, for now we are being treated, but just in case, they locked us in this house and put on qi suppressors,” he once again picked the bracer with his finger, waved his hand and dropped it on the edge of the bed. “But when Mu-shidi is works on our diagnostics and treatment, then he removes one of them, and qi can be felt a little, so...” The human paused awkwardly, apparently not knowing what to say next. “Qinghua... Qinghua also saved life of this Mo...” The demon reached out through another stab of pain and covered his human’s thin fingers with his own bigger palm. Qinghua turned pink in embarrassment and chattered again: “Well, nothing really has been decided yet, and there are almost no heads of peaks in place, but Mu-shidi seems to be in a rather benevolent mood, and Shen-shixiong from the Second Peak also comes here to interrogate, he seems to be investigating. Shen-shixiong is very scary, you know, the scariest of all the heirs of the peaks, and this Shang shared with him the most important secret of Yue-shixiong, our future leader, and now they will quarrel, and then they’ll make up, and then Yue-shixiong will also try help us, because he will feel obligated, and he is generally bro, very nice! And he can convince anyone of anything, so most likely everything will be fine... Mobei looked at his little human cultivator, who had already managed to get a pure-blooded saint demon in the righteous order to be treated, instead of being thrown into something like Water Prison. He listened to shared plans to negotiate with the leadership of the strongest of the orders in the human realm, to find some exotic plants or artifacts to cleanse him from the poison and restore his cultivation, to return the supplies and the sword lost during the kidnapping by Linguang-jun... He listened, lightly squeezing warm palm in his fingers and gradually beginning to hope that everything would be fine. And even if something does not work out right away, then together they could find a way out. Because they both survived. Because they firmly learned that they can trust each other (well, this lesson his uncle definitely did not plan, ha!). Because Qinghua's fingers, albeit hesitantly yet, squeezed his hand in response, and the little human's cheeks turned slightly pink... Because Qinghua carried out his last order, and did it brilliantly.