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tcfactory · 5 months

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Party Planning and Other Deadly Hazards I

5k words of Shang Qinghua bonding with Linguang-jun over being overworked and underappreciated

For the sake of this story, Mobei is roughly 15, Shang Qinghua and Linguang-jun are both 18. Shoutout to @mysteryteacup, whose analysis posts convinced me of the potential in "Linguang-jun is Very Young, Actually". Our Mobei-jun's birth name is Mobei Xuebao (Snow leopard), Shang Qinghua is Shang Cangshu (Hamster), Linguang-jun is Mobei Taifeng (Typhoon)

Also on AO3.

It all started with a small change. You see, Shang Qinghua's shizun made a reckless promise that whoever could push a medicine deal through with the Black Mire Sect - a minor sect skirting the edge of demonic practices by specializing in gu poisons - would take over as his new head disciple. The sect was situated right on the borderlands between the human realm and the northern demon kingdom and they were very reluctant to trade away any of their precious poisons, because they faced constant harassment from a lesser tribe of Snowtusk Boar demons just on the other side of the border. Clearly whoever could get them to agree to a deal would have to be a naturally gifted negotiator!

Usually Airplane ignores these kinds of risky assignments, but the temptation of skipping three years of backstabbing, social climbing and manual labor was too tempting. Besides, he knew how to solve this one. It was one of the wife plots in PIDW so Luo Binghe could marry the sect leader's beautiful daughter.

Step 1: Get rid of the boars. He could, of course, not do this on his own. No way. However, through the power of authorial knowledge, he could tip Mobei-jun off that the tribe stole one of the ancient artifacts of the Mobei clan after a chaotic battle and hid it away in their stronghold. His prince was a little skeptical, but Qinghua had not led him astray yet in the few months since he became his spy. The next time they met, Mobei-jun was generously splattered with pig demon blood and he was proudly holding a crystal necklace that could control all the ice sheets of the northern sea at once, apparently.

So that was that for the boars.

Step 2: Wait a little for the other local demon tribes to fight out who gets to settle in the newly vacated prime location. Shang Qinghua made a passing comment about how the Silkwing tribe could supply a 'generous benefactor' with the highest quality fabrics in the entire northern kingdom and would you look at that, this conflict got resolved much quicker than in PIDW.

Step 3: Introduce the sect leader and their new, much more agreeable, demon neighbors to each other. The Silkwing tribe happened to be a tribe of crane demons who, just like the Black Mire Sect, specialized in insect keeping. Their most prized specimens were the various demonic moths and spiders they cultivated for their silk, but they kept a wide variety of other critters as well. It was a match made in heaven! (Or rather in one of Master Airplane's caffeine fueled all-nighters, just so Binghe could meet a cute bisexual crane girl at the negotiations and turn the whole adventure into a two-brides-special wedding.)

Step 4: Profit! Trade agreement in hand Qinghua showed up at his shizun's house and received his much deserved promotion. The whole plan went off without a hitch, job well done, success and happiness all around! The next morning he moved into the head disciple's apartment and breathed a sigh of relief that he no longer had to live in fear of someone discovering his association with Mobei by barging into his bedroom without knocking.

If only that was the end of it.

-----

Shang Qinghua has barely settled into his new duties as head disciple when one morning Mobei-jun grabs him straight out of bed, before he could comprehend what's happening or put on some actual clothes, and drops him off somewhere in the Northern Palace.

"Baobao, what in the fresh hell did you bring me?!"

The outrage cry comes from a stressed looking demon youth who stares at Qinghua like someone handed him a dead rat instead of a report. He's obviously a Mobei relative, his black hair glossy with a blue-ish sheen and his demon mark a bright teal, but his hair is done up with feathers and beads in the style of the wind demon tribes.

"Qinghua. He's good at organizing." As if on second thought, Mobei-jun snarls at the other demon boy, showing all his teeth. "He's mine. If you hurt him, I'll kill you."

After that he wordlessly stomps away, leaving the equally confused human and demon behind.

Shang Qinghua wants nothing more than to ask a million questions right now - where is he? why did Mobei take him here?? who's the other guy??? - but now that he's more awake than asleep he's suddenly realizing that the room is extremely cold and he's only dressed in his sleeping robes. Are his toes turning blue?! His toes are probably turning blue.

"Here." A delicately carved box is shoved in his face, open and full of uniform black pills. "Aurora Pepper pills. I asked to borrow the domestic staff from Xiao Bao’s castle, but if you are the only help I get, I want you not to freeze to death."

"My lord, are they safe for humans?" They should be. It's one of the plot devices he made up so the Wives could visit the North and still wear their ridiculously skimpy outfits without dying, but who knows what an ice demon would have mixed into them. Shang Qinghua carefully picks just one and pops it in his mouth anyway.

"No idea, they were for my mother. You are a cultivator, are you not? You can survive a little poison."

If this demon is as young as he looks - as young as his outfit leads Qinghua to believe, which is somewhere between fourteen and twenty - then his core is not yet settled. Even if the ice demon parentage runs stronger in him - which is obvious, he's wearing the equivalent of summer robes for northern demonkin - he would have bouts when his core slants towards wind and he would find the cold of the north unbearable for a few days. So this is likely his own stash of pills he offered one from, which is awfully nice when one of your kin just dumps their human on you.

"This lowly one thanks the young master for his generosity!"

"Hmph. At least you have manners, unlike your master." The youth retreats behind a desk piled so high with scrolls and bamboo slats he’s barely visible behind them. "Qinghua, was it? This lord is Linguang-jun."

"Answering, this one is Shang Qinghua, head disciple of An Ding peak." He thanks his survival instinct that he manages to fold into a bow before his surprise shows on his face. Based on the nephew abandonment incident he always pictured Mobei's uncle as someone much older.

"An Ding? Good. Maybe you will be of use, after all." Linguang-jun gestures for Shang Qinghua to join him at the desk. "On account of his sudden spirited showing in regards to the Silkwings and the recovered artifact, my royal brother has finally taken interest in his third-born son. To welcome him to court he ordered a feast to be held, the success of which will determine Mobei San's standing in court and reflect on this lord’s qualifications as an organizer."

"Forgive this lowly one for the question, but why is the Mobei-jun's own brother in charge of such affairs? It should be the duty of the royal seneschal." Or perhaps the queen consort. Since he never had to write a wife plot with any member of the main Mobei clan he might have handwaved a lot of the court related worldbuilding. Still, he's certain there were at least three or four people who had to be unavailable before such a task would land on the desk of the king's brother.

"This lord is the seneschal," Linguang-jun says in a dejected voice. A pained frown slips past his not-yet-perfected mask of stoicism and Shang Qinghua realizes that 1. Linguang-jun is very, very young to be filling this position and 2. he’s probably one stroke of misfortune away from an anxious meltdown. This Qinghua can relate, kid. "My royal brother's temper has decimated his household and, in his paranoia, he refuses to replace the staff he kills. Ever since this one's mother passed three years ago, he has been tasked to fulfill every duty pertaining to household management, including those of the late queen consort."

After looking over a crumpled scroll detailing all of Linguang-jun's current duties, Shang Qinghua has a sudden understanding why the demon resents his brother so much. It’s not just the duties of the royal seneschal, he is doing the work of at least five different people, all of them near full-time jobs in their own right!

"Sorry kid, you are clearly too young for this shit." He didn't mean to say it out loud, but luckily for him the demon doesn't react to the irreverent tone beyond an agitated twitch of his eyebrows. "All right, let’s see what we have to work with."

It proves to be very little. Shang Qinghua looks over the list of the available staff (too short), the amount of food and other supplies Linguang-jun managed to drum up since his brother saddled him with this task last evening (not nearly enough to feed the obnoxiously long guest list) and the time available to them…

“He wants you to put together this party in three days?!” For someone who had only been a vague shadow with malicious intent in the back of Shang Qinghua’s mind whenever he thought about the dangerous demons he might run into while serving his prince, Linguang-jun is rapidly gaining a lot of his sympathy. “Can you even get all these guests here in three days? Jiuzhong-jun lives two months away even if he takes the fastest horses!”

For a royal prince’s introduction to court it was important to get as many of the bigshots present as possible, so they could all take a good look at him and decide if they wanted to try to sic their own spawns on him for a courting chase or not. Jiuzhong-jun doesn’t have any children yet, but he has plenty of nieces he could try to marry out into other clans. He would never miss the chance to come and gawk at the introduction of a Mobei prince.

“Mhm. Xiao Bao has that part covered. While we make this feast happen somehow, he’s going to spend the next two days transporting in all the guests with his portals.” Linguang-jun digs into one of his many piles of scrolls and shoves one detailing the scheduled arrivals into Shang Qinghua’s face. “At least the issue of housing them until the party solves itself on its own. Granny Oxbones is the reigning queen of the guest wing and she wouldn’t accept my input on where to put all these guests even if I bothered to offer any.”

Airplane carefully files it away in the back of his mind that when Linguang-jun gets stressed enough he still refers to his nephew with familiar nicknames as something to consider later, and tries to focus on the task at hand. So the current Mobei-jun hasn’t eradicated all of the old servants - the kitchen and housekeeping staff escaped his paranoia, as well as most of the guards and the hunters - only the ones in the highest positions. That should solve at least part of their problems.

“Okay, so we only have to handle decorating the feasting hall, source a fitting outfit for my prince and get the food ready.”

“What about the serving staff? I don’t have enough people to cater a party this big.”

“That’s easy, have the guardsmen fill in. Let them do something more than standing around and gawking. If there are complaints about the task being below them, tell them that they can take from the leftovers, most of the guests will be too busy brawling or scheming to eat anyway.” Demons love to eat, same as everybody, and even a bite or two of the delicacies served at their lords’ table should be ample temptation to get the guardsmen on board. “But this does mean that we need to make sure that the food is great. Does Linguang-jun have the menu from either of the elder princes’ introduction feasts? No reason to break our brains coming up with something new, nobody will care as long as the food is good enough.” It’s still an awful amount of work for three days, but it’s not undoable if he can tap into the Mobei clan’s supply network and doesn’t have to account for whatever happens to the guests before and after the feast.

“I think I have the menu for Mobei Er’s feast somewhere.” Linguang-jun abandons the desk to rifle through one of the filing cabinets dominating the walls of his study. “We will need to substitute some of the dishes, because that feast was in winter.”

“Still better than having to write the whole menu from scratch.”

“En.”

“Does Linguang-jun have any suggestion where to get my prince a suitable outfit?” For the lack of anything better to do, Shang Qinghua starts organizing the scrolls left on the desk. Linguang-jun’s handwriting is very similar to Mobei San’s, but nothing at all like the blocky characters of the current Mobei-jun. They probably learned from the same ice fairy tutor, which further confirms how absurdly close they are in age.

“I have something arranged with the Silkwings,” Linguang-jun calls back over his shoulder, halfway disappearing into the cabinet as he digs among the stored scrolls. “But - Hah! Found it! - Qinghua has to be the one to convince Mobei San to go. He won’t go anywhere if this uncle tells him to.”

“Ah.”

“Don’t just gape at me,” Linguang-jun says, smacking him reasonably lightly over the shoulder with the scroll until he gets the hint and takes it. “Take this down to the kitchen, then tell your master that if he doesn’t want to go to his own feast wearing my old robes, then he should go visit the Silkwings, the sooner the better.”

Shang Qinghua pales at the idea of wandering the main Northern Fortress alone. “I- this servant worries that the kitchen staff will not heed his words…”

Linguang-jun seems to consider this for a moment, but he finally comes to the conclusion that his life is easier if his nephew’s pet cultivator doesn’t come to harm. He digs around in his desk until he produces a bone hairstick with a bead and a feather dangling from it. “If you wear this, the staff will know that you are working for this lord. Ask a maid for directions and be quick about it!”

True to Linguang-jun’s words, the staff is nothing if not cooperative once they realize that Shang Qinghua is working directly with him to stop the upcoming party from crashing and burning. The demon aunties and uncles running the kitchen fill him in, between tallying all the ingredients they are going to need for the feast and plying him with sweet treats, that the staff has been in a panic ever since the first orders about the feast came in. There is the grim threat of death hanging over their heads if the end result isn’t impressive enough and Mobei-jun feels humiliated by their showing. Apparently this is going to be the first bigger event Linguang-jun is organizing on his own, without the help of his late mother, and his staff is worried about sabotage.

“Does Linguang-jun have many enemies in court?” Shang Qinghua asks, lifting a tiny demon granny up so she can take stock of one of the too tall ingredient shelves.

“He has one and it’s more than enough! Mobei-jun never got over it that his late queen mother birthed one more son after the acceptable period for fratricide was over.” Airplane was proud of that world building detail. Obviously no demon lord wants to have any relative who might challenge his claim, but eradicating the entire extended family is a very fast way for a clan to die out. So, following a leader’s grab of power, there’s a socially acceptable five years when they can murder any relative they can catch, but once that’s over they are expected to limit themselves to those who challenge their position. “I tell you, daozhang, it’s not a coincidence the feast is happening when the hunters are away and we are low on supplies! And what is the king doing instead of procuring a beast for the fighting showcase of his son? Drinking and lazing around in his quarters, that’s what! Poor Xiao Bao, such a sweet snowflake, this old granny worries that his entry to court will be ruined!”

-----

Shang Qinghua is still turning that around in his head when he goes to find Mobei Xuebao later - It took almost no effort to get the grannies to reveal his prince’s birth name. Such a cute name for such a fierce demon! Airplane jokingly wrote it on the margin of his drafts, but he never expected the System to take it and run with it - carrying a big mug of fortifying ice slushie.

His prince looks beyond exhausted after opening portals all over the demon realm since morning and he accepts the refreshing drink without so much as a growl. He does, however, hiss angrily at Qinghua when he recognizes the hairstick stuck into his bun. “How dare he claim you?! You are mine !”

“Ah, my prince, please be calm! It’s only a token so the staff won’t eat me. I am to return it once we are done here.” Qinghua is actually not sure about that, but better not aggravate his prince when he’s in a possessive mood.

“You’d better.” He stops trying to rip it out of Qinghua’s hair, but he still stares at it angrily while Shang Qinghua rattles off the details of the arrangement made with the Silkwings. Mobei shows no enthusiasm for getting new court robes tailored, but at Qinghua’s insistent nagging he makes an affirmative sound that yes, he is going to go, now stop asking .Airplane is not perfectly sure what the kitchen aunties put in the slushie, but Mobei’s mood almost thaws by the time he eats the last of the sweet berries they added to it. A wonderful good mood that lasts for all of five minutes before Linguang-jun turns the corner and yells at both of them.

“What are you still doing here?! Don’t you have things to do other than standing around?” Linguang-jun is flushed a pale pink from exertion and possibly frustration. He’s dressed for a hunt, carrying a Japanese style longbow almost as tall as him and a quiver of elegant, black-feathered arrows. It’s fascinating to see how Airplane’s throwaway details got implemented into the world - he made a passing note that Mobei’s grandmother was an eastern wind demon, then he made one of Binghe’s wives a wind demoness based on a Japanese princess and bird motifs and poof! The world combined these two details into multicultural Linguang-jun. He has to bite his tongue before he could ask Linguang-jun if he had a katana somewhere.

Mobei is clearly not happy to see that his uncle is gearing up to leave.

“Good time for a hunt, uncle,” he sneers. Linguang-jun sneers right back.

“ I am going out to fetch our hunting expeditions back so we have meat to serve at the feast. Someone has to, unless Baobao would prefer to play pretend with snow and ice and berries!” They both flinch, which is interesting. Clearly that’s a reference to a formerly fond memory. When Linguang-jun continues he’s not meeting their eyes and looks just a little sheepish. “Go get your rags, nephew. My reputation rides on the success of this feast. I’m not going to sabotage it.”

It’s hard to tell what Mobei Xuebao is thinking, but his expression seems a lot less murderous than a minute ago. “Take Qinghua with you,” he says, ignoring completely the way his cultivator freezes up. “He has a sword. He can fly high and scout for you.”

What is this? It almost sounds like an olive branch! If only it wasn’t poor Airplane being handed over like a cheap token of reconciliation, it would be great .

Linguang-jun gives Shang Qinghua a hesitant look, but Mobei chose a good way to sell his pet cultivator: Linguang-jun might be part wind demon, but even he can’t fly very high. Give Qinghua one more of those pepper pills so he doesn’t freeze in the icy wasteland and he can track their hunters down in a snap!

Before he can mount an argument about the general fragility of humans and the dangers of the desert, he is grabbed by the arm and the next thing he knows, he’s being swept up by Linguang-jun’s black wind. Nothing can compete with Mobei’s portal powers in terms of speed, but this is not too shabby either, and unlike the shadow portals, being turned into wind doesn’t make him sick. Perhaps because he doesn’t currently have a stomach to feel sick.

While they dash through the desert, Linguang-jun quickly fills Qinghua in: they need to recall three hunting parties, all of them within a day’s travel by horse from the castle. “There are others out hunting, but they are too far to make it back for the feast. And after we are done, I’m going to leave you somewhere out of the way and catch a Diamond-Clawed Tundra Devil.”

“Ah. For the fight showcase?”

“En.”

“Isn’t it the king’s duty to procure whatever his son is to fight?” His question is met by minutes of sullen silence so he startles when Linguang-jun finally deigns to speak again.

“There’s a wolf-bear-hybrid prepared at the palace. Da-ge wanted to give it to one of his concubines as a pet, but the lady has much better taste than to take a mangy mutt like that.” Qingua can’t see Linguang-jun’s expression, but the derision is obvious in his voice. It’s unclear if it’s directed at the concubine or his brother. “It would be acceptable prey for a less skilled prince, but Xiao Bao deserves better.”

“Huh. You really adore your nephew, don’t you? I figured he was wrong about you.” If he lives to tell the tale, Shang Qinghua is going to blame his current immaterial state for the failure of his brain-mouth filter. Never startle the person carrying you at high speeds!

He’s not even surprised when he tumbles painfully onto the snow, Linguang-jun standing above him with a murderous expression, the bow raised as if he’s ready to beat the hapless cultivator with it. “Does he still go around telling everyone about- even his pet cultivator?!”

“No! No, my lord!” He suspects it’s only because Mobei San doesn’t consider Qinghua important enough to fill him in about his backstory, but it’s technically true. “Servants gossip! I heard it from the servants in Mobei San’s castle!”

Linguang-jun lowers the bow, but his face colors with either indignation or embarrassment. He’s more expressive than Mobei, but it’s still not easy to read him. “Good. Do not ever dare to gossip about this lord! Understood, you, you…” He looks at Shang Qinghua sitting in the snow like a plump, bruised peach, face almost disappearing into the soft pelt the kitchen aunties dressed him up in. “You hamster!”

Airplane can’t help himself: he laughs. Then, when the laughter finally feels like subsiding, he notices the baffled face Linguang-jun is making and laughs some more. “Forgive me, my lord. I am not laughing at you. Except. My name does happen to be Shang Cangshu.”

The absurdity of it all finally douses Linguang-jun’s rage and the demon huffs a laugh. “Of course it is. Should I get a bowl of sunflower seeds for you tomorrow, hamster-daozhang?”

“I prefer melon seeds! But worry not, my lord, I can bring my own.” It must be a good sign that Linguang-jun is teasing him. A little bit of harmless farce is always good in anxiety-inducing situations, and the demon appeared to be on the verge of exploding all day. “I do have to wonder, though… I heard that when that incident happened, Mobei San was around four? So you must have been a rather young child yourself.”

Linguang-jun gives a tense, awkward nod and a scene starts to unfold in Airplane’s mind. This is not something he had written, but it is something he could have, if he ever tried to put Mobei-jun in the limelight for a while. Emboldened, he continues: “Traveling at the speed of wind as you do must not leave a lot of room to change course if, say, a tear to the human realm suddenly opens up in front of you. It must have been a terrifying experience, for both of you. Easy to lose track of each other in an unfamiliar world, hostile territory or not.”

Linguang-jun turns his head away, clearly trying to school his expression into a blank mask, but he is too worn down and anxious to manage it. He looks disarmingly young like this; just a teen with too much work on his plate. “He refuses to so much as speak to me unless he has no other choice. What does it matter how it happened? I admitted to trying to kill him.”

Of course he did. For Mobei San to survive an assassination attempt - a smart one too, leaving him in the heart of a cultivator sect that has a longstanding feud with the Mobei clan - was a testament to his talent even at such a young age. If Linguang-jun admitted that it was an accident, it would have only painted him as incompetent, which was the fastest way to political suicide even before he could officially get into court. “Ah, but he lent you this servant, hasn’t he? I think my prince doesn’t hate you as much as he wants to.”

“Hah! That will not save my neck when my nephew becomes Mobei-jun and comes to eradicate the threats from the family.”

“No! He would not kill you, I’m certain of it.” As he wrote it, Mobei-jun at the time of his ascension was secure under Luo Binghe’s wing and didn’t bother to go after any of his relatives - unless they attacked first, that is. “Leave it to this Qinghua, I will smooth this misunderstanding over in no time!”

The look of doubt Linguang-jun gives him almost hurts. “Wait until after the feast before you try. I’m short enough on staff without you getting yourself killed.” The demon makes a sharp gesture with his hand and a burst of wind pushes Shang Qinghua to his feet. “Up you get, hamster-daozhang. We have work to do.”

It all falls in place like a well-oiled machine after that, even the hunt. Turns out that Diamond-Clawed Tundra Devils are really fascinated by flying cultivators for some reason. The beast stands on its hindlegs, reaching fruitlessly for the flying sword, and doesn’t even notice Linguang-jun sneaking up on it until he traps it in a qiankun box. They work well together, Shang Qinghua and Linguang-jun, and the demon stays cordial - almost friendly, even! - to his nephew’s pet cultivator in the following two days.

-----

“I’m so glad that it went well, my prince!” Qinghua sighs a few days after the feast. He’s trying to subtly rescue some of his paperwork from Mobei, who decided that he wants to have this conversation while sitting on his human’s desk. “I wish I could have been there to see, but my shizun would have noticed if I was missing any longer and, let’s be honest, the chances of someone mistaking me for a side-dish were much too high…”

Mobei hums something vaguely positive, then very indulgently lifts one of his hands so Qinghua can remove the papers from there. “Good work.”

“Thank you, my prince! But I really didn’t do much. Your uncle did most of the work.” By the end of the third day Linguang-jun was openly bemoaning that he wanted to go to bed and sleep for a century. Airplane can only hope he got some rest since.

Mobei Xuebao growls at him in warning, clearly not happy with the direction of the conversation, but Qinghua has dealt with so much shit in the last week that he’s too tired to be properly intimidated by empty threats. “No, really! I know he had a horse in this race, but he really wanted you to have a cool ‘welcome to demon court’ party. He caught the Tundra Devil for your fight and he certainly didn’t have to do that!”

“That was Taifeng-shushu?” There’s no better way to describe Mobei’s expression of surprise than ‘cute’. It’s a good reminder that despite his frosty disposition and already powerful physique, Mobei Xuebao is also still a teenager. (Airplane is not geeking out over learning Linguang-jun’s name, he is not . Mobei Taifeng was on his list of potential names when he brainstormed for Luo Binghe’s right hand man, before he even started writing - a character who eventually got split into Mobei-jun and the OG Shang Qinghua, because Tired™ second-in-commands who try to betray their employers so they could have one good day of rest please were more of a comedic relief trope and that didn’t fit the tone of the story.)

“Yes, my prince. This servant was there when Linguang-jun chose and captured the most impressive beast from the pack.” He was so picky about it too! He made Qinghua fly over the Tundra Devil pack five times before he identified the biggest one and by that time the beast noticed the flying cultivator. That’s how they found out about its fascination with the shiny spiritual sword.

Thinking about Linguang-jun reminds Qinghua of the hairstick he conveniently ‘forgot’ to return. He puts it in a plain box and pushes it to Mobei Xuebao. “My prince, I had no chance to return this to Linguang-jun, so you would do this servant a great favor if you passed it along.” Mobei makes a soft noise as he pockets the box, looking almost smug that Qinghua is, indeed, returning the token. His good mood makes the human a little reckless about how far he’s willing to push this matter. “My prince, I know you have no reason to trust this servant on matters of your family, but I have heard many rumors and hearsay while in the Northern Palace. I think there might be a misunderstanding between you and your uncle, so if you could talk to him openly when you return the hairstick-”

“Qinghua has not led me astray so far,” Mobei interrupts, his eyes narrowed. “This prince will talk to his uncle. But if Qinghua is mistaken…” He lets the sentence hang ominously in the air, but the sentiment is clear: if Shang Qinghua is wrong, then all of his credibility is ash.

“I understand, my prince.”

It's going to be fine. It has to be! Otherwise the System would have interfered, like it always does when he's about to alter the plot.

Right, System?

#svsss #linguang-jun #mobei-jun #shang qinghua #making up world building like master Airplane intended #tc writes #fun fact: I had to fight the autocorrect every step of the way bc it wanted to 'correct' hairstick into hair tick #not remotely the same thing #please don't #I already have a follow-up for this in the works btw #to the tune of #how do you fix a sick ice demon so your other ice demon doesn't freak out and break your neck? without your shixiongs finding out?#the answer is you don't #nothing gets past Mu-shixiong #so you just grin and bear it and sigh to the heavens when it turns into a wife plot #because of course it does #anyway please go check mysteryteacup out their writing and meta are chef kiss #thousand times better than anything I do honestly

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bloody-bee-tea · 10 months

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Tiny Bee~k 2023 Day 6 - Ammunition

Surely, it’s Cyno’s birthday somewhere already, right?

Alhaitham is loath to admit it, but ever since he took up the position as Acting Grand Sage something between him and Cyno has changed. Alhaitham never thought himself the kind of person who cares what other people think about him but it’s been five days since Cyno looked him into the eyes and even longer since he was alone with him in the same office.

And it’s just not right.

They were on the best way of being friends—or something more if Alhaitham ever dared to hope—and now it feels as if Alhaitham doesn’t know Cyno at all.

He can’t say that he’s a fan of it at all.

Cyno is too professional to let whatever it is that’s bothering him impact their work, but it does grate on Alhaitham that he seems to hesitate whenever he steps into Alhaitham’s office and more than once Alhaitham watches him turn around and walk back out immediately when no one else was present only for Cyno to come back minutes later with someone else in tow.

As if Alhaitham would attack him. As if Cyno isn’t strong enough to stop whatever he thinks Alhaitham could do to him.

Alhaitham watches this two more days, hoping that maybe Cyno will snap out of whatever kind of mindset he has found himself in, but when he continues to avoid Alhaitham’s eyes, when he continues to avoid being alone with Alhaitham, he decides that he has to do something.

This is not viable in the long-run, not if they are supposed to bring change to Sumeru, and in all honesty Alhaitham has to admit that he’s not a fan of how much this distrust hurts him.

A confrontation is in order, Alhaitham thinks and only barely feels bad about forcing the issue. He still makes sure that someone else is in the office, if only to bring the faintest peace of mind to Cyno but it doesn’t seem to do much, especially when he motions for the secretary to close the door.

Cyno tenses as soon as he hears it and Alhaitham doesn’t like to see the barely concealed fear in his eyes.

“What is going on?” Cyno demands to know and Alhaitham sees how he flexes his hand as if he’s just barely holding back from summoning his spear.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Alhaitham gives back and leans back in his chair, refusing to take his eyes off Cyno, who does his utmost best to not meet his eyes. “Something has changed and I want you to explain to me what it is.”

“Not even asking, Acting Grand Sage? Are we at the stage of demands yet?”

Cyno’s voice is so scathing that it honestly takes Alhaitham aback.

“Cyno, what is going on? Have I done something to attract your ire?”

It looks as if Cyno just barely manages to stop himself from sneering at Alhaitham but he can still detect that underlying frantic energy, as if Cyno expects an ambush at any moment now.

Cyno is afraid of him and Alhaitham doesn’t like it.

“Does it have something to do with my position?” Alhaitham hazards a guess and while he usually is so very smug when he hits the nail on the head the flinch Cyno gives at that makes his stomach drop.

“I don’t understand, Acting Grand Sage,” Cyno stiffly gives back and that’s something else Alhaitham has noticed.

Cyno never refers to him by his name anymore. It’s always Acting Grand Sage these days and Alhaitham doesn’t like the distance it puts between them.

Alhaitham thinks maybe he could look past all of this; he’s the last person to begrudge someone some work ethic, but since Alhaitham took up his position Cyno hasn’t been to their weekly dinner dates with Kaveh and Tighnari either, at least if he knows that Alhaitham is coming.

Kaveh has mentioned to Alhaitham that Cyno does show up when Alhaitham stays home and that is just too much.

“I think you do,” Alhaitham says and pins Cyno with a glare. “You’re avoiding me, at work and outside of it. Why?”

“I share with you what needs sharing, so I don’t know what you are talking about,” Cyno explains and Alhaitham fights the urge to push a hand through his hair. And maybe even give it a good tug.

“That’s not it, Cyno, and you know it. You haven’t looked me in the eyes even once since you stepped into this office. If my secretary weren’t here, I’m sure you would have fled by now. Help me understand.”

Cyno stays quiet, clearly not inclined to explain anything at all, but he also doesn’t leave and it gives Alhaitham a chance to muster him. Cyno seems tense, as if he’s going off into a fight and he holds himself stiff and rigid. Alhaitham thinks about all the things Cyno never says in this office, thinks about how carefully Cyno enounces every one of his words as if he wants to prevent any kind of misunderstanding and then he thinks of a book, detailing all of the General Mahamatra’s steps and quirks.

“It’s this position, isn’t it?” Alhaitham guesses, his voice barely above a whisper and it’s a testament to Cyno’s ears that he even hears him at all.

“Power corrupts, even the best,” is all Cyno says to that and at least it’s some kind of explanation.

It doesn’t make sense to Alhaitham because he’s the Acting Grand Sage and he’ll leave this position behind as soon as he possibly can, but it’s at least a start.

“I see. Thank you for seeing me today, General Mahamatra,” he formally says and avoids his eyes when Cyno flinches again before he practically flees the office.

Alhaitham turns his gaze outside the window, thinking about everything he learned just now and wonders what kind of explanation that was. He is reasonably sure that he hasn’t changed a lot since he took up this position; he tries to stick to his convictions and do the best for Sumeru. He doesn’t understand where Cyno sees the corruption but then again, maybe he can’t.

His mind wanders back to the file the previous Grand Sage kept on Cyno and he knows there’s only one person besides Cyno who can explain this to him.

It’s time Alhaitham goes to visit Cyrus.

~*~*~

Alhaitham has been knocking on Cyrus’s door for the last five minutes and at this point he has half a mind simply kicking the door in. He knows Cyrus is home because he doesn’t even try to hide the fact and Alhaitham distantly wonders if this is some kind of endurance test.

He seems to be right when he knocks again and finally gets a response.

“For the love of all the Seven, take a hint and leave me the hell alone,” Cyrus yells out and Alhaitham sighs.

He guesses the reports of Cyrus being eccentric don’t come from nothing.

“I’m here about Cyno,” Alhaitham gives back, believing that this is the only thing that will get Cyrus to open the door and he’s proven right when he yanks it open not even ten seconds later.

“Is he hurt?” Cyrus demands to know before he seems to realize just who is standing in front of him. “Acting Grand Sage Alhaitham. Things must be dire indeed, then,” he mutters, clearly worried so Alhaitham is quick to reassure him that Cyno is in no present danger.

“He is alright, doing paperwork in his office right now,” he tells him and he knows because he made sure that Cyno is occupied before he made his way to the Bimarstan.

“What do you want with me, then?”

“I had hoped you might shed some light on a few of his recent behaviours for me.”

Cyrus narrows his eyes at Alhaitham.

“I know you’re supposed to be smart and from Haravatat and all of that so have you tried to talk to him?”

“I have indeed,” Alhaitham gives back and decides not to comment on the faint insult. He wants something from this man, after all. “He’s evasive and not very forthcoming with information. I’m sure you know how he can be.”

“I do, indeed,” Cyrus gives back and musters Alhaitham for a moment longer. “Fine, come in, then.”

“Thank you, Professor Cyrus,” Alhaitham politely says as he follows the man into his house.

“I am no longer teaching.”

“Ah, but that doesn’t stop one from being a professor, does it?” Alhaitham gives back because he knows damn well that Spantamad students still flock to him to ask questions whenever he ventures into the Akademiya.

“Fair,” Cyrus admits as he sits down on the couch. “Now tell me what is going on with Cyno.”

Alhaitham guesses the pleasantries are over and so he briefly outlines Cyno’s behaviour over the last few weeks and relays the conversation they had that prompted him to come here.

“I fail to see your confusion,” Cyrus says when Alhaitham falls silent. “He already told you. Power corrupts. And you are not stupid enough to not have come to your own correct conclusion. It’s because of the position you have now. I don’t know what more insight I could possibly give you on this.”

“But it makes no sense.” Alhaitham lets out a frustrated sigh. “I have demonstrated my commitment to Lord Kusanali and the General Mahamatra. It’s honestly insulting that Cyno could think I would harm him or this nation.”

“Surely you know the last Grand Sage’s position on the General Mahamatra?” Cyrus asks and Alhaitham remembers Azar’s disdain for Cyno with a shudder.

“Of course I do. I have seen the record they kept on him,” he gives back but Cyrus shakes his head.

“But clearly you don't know how bad it was. You never paid attention to him when you were still the Scribe. And Azar wasn't stupid enough to have everything recorded through the official channels.”

“What do you mean?” Alhaitham asks though he is sure that he’s not going to like the answer.

“What you saw are the ‘official’ records. Azar argued that it’s only sensible to keep records of everyone of prominence in Sumeru, therefore no one batted an eye at Cyno’s record. But there’s a second one. I’m sure by now you’ve found the hidden room in his office?”

Alhaitham had to wonder just how deeply involved Cyrus used to be with Azar to know about that room and it must show on his face because Cyrus laughs at him.

“Azar took me there when he first told me about Cyno. I guess he had hopes for me.”

“That you didn’t fulfil?”

“I took Cyno in as my adopted son and did not perform the experiments Azar so desperately wished for. Make an educated guess on how high he held me in his regards afterwards. I am sure there’s a record about me somewhere in that room as well.”

“There’s–another record about Cyno there?” Alhaitham asks and just the thought of what Azar might have written down, what he deems inappropriate for the public, makes his stomach churn.

“I would guess so. Things weren’t going well between Azar and Cyno. Cyno was being hindered at his work at every turn, and that was only on the good days. On the bad days he was met with outright hostility and threats. He didn’t come by his vigilance and sometimes plain out paranoia by having an easy time at work.”

Alhaitham had–clearly foolishly–believed that it was due to Cyno’s inherent nature that he was perfectly suited for the job as General Mahamatra. It never crossed his mind that that might not be the case.

“So it’s nothing against my person or what I did. It simply has to do with the position as Grand Sage, however temporary it might be.”

“You seem relieved,” Cyrus notes and Alhaitham is surprised to find that he is.

“I consider him my friend,” Alhaitham tells him, even though it feels as if that hardly explains everything. Going by the way too knowing glint in Cyrus’s eyes he knows it, too.

“Sure you do. Well, he hasn’t mentioned you much, he’s a very private person, that one, but he trusts you. I know at least that much.”

At that, Alhaitham scoffs. It’s clear to see just how much Cyno does not trust him; it’s in every twitch of his fingers when he enters Alhaitham’s office and when his eyes shift away from Alhaitham as if he can’t even bear to look at him, that hardly speaks of trust either.

“He does,” Cyrus says, clearly interpreting Alhaitham’s thoughts correctly. “He reports directly to Lord Kusanali now, right? He doesn’t have to report to you, not anymore. The fact that he is even trying—he wants to trust you and he’s doing everything he can but with his history—” Cyrus trails off here.

Alhaitham has to admit that it brings another new facet of this into light because he had never considered it like that. But what Cyrus says is true. Cyno no longer has to report to Alhaitham; sure it makes some things easier if Alhaitham hears about them directly but strictly speaking, Cyno only has to inform Lord Kusanali. What she does with the information then is out of Cyno’s hand.

But still, Cyno finds himself in Alhaitham’s office once a day, dutifully giving a report.

Alhaitham feels warm at the thought.

“Thank you for your insight. I will make sure to find that book you mentioned.”

“Yeah, you should make sure to check it out,” Cyrus says and then pauses in that characteristic manner that Cyno has, waiting for one of his jokes to hit. Alhaitham sighs inwardly. “You know? Check it out? Like a book in a library, because your office is located in the House of Daena.”

“I can clearly see the influence you had on Cyno,” Alhaitham deadpans and Cyrus only gives him a big grin.

“Don’t even pretend, you like it—and him—or you wouldn’t be here.”

Alhaitham can’t even deny it so he simply nods at Cyrus, who immediately goes serious again.

“If you truly do like him, then you should consider resigning. Cyno might be trying his hardest for you but years of abuse and constant distrust don’t evaporate over night. I’m not sure if he will ever manage to see past your position.”

“The Acting part of the title is not just for show,” Alhaitham informs him. “I fully intend to resign as soon as someone suitable is found.”

“Be prepared for him to be wary until that happens,” Cyrus advises him. “And now get out of here.”

“Thank you for your insight,” Alhaitham politely says again but Cyrus only waves him off.

“Yeah, yeah. You youngins never grow out of needing the help of your elders.”

“And that’s why you’re still a professor and always will be.” Cyrus offended huff is more than amusing to Alhaitham but he leaves before Cyrus can say something else.

He gave Alhaitham a lot to think about but one thing is clear: he’ll have to earn Cyno’s trust for as long as he’s the Acting Grand Sage, and Alhaitham knows exactly who can help him with that.

~*~*~

Alhaitham waits until Cyno is done giving his report, before he speaks.

“Cyno, I’d like to talk to you alone, if that is alright with you.”

He sees Cyno freeze up, sees how his eyes dart around the room and it pains Alhaitham to put him into that position but this is something best discussed in private. The secretaries are already noisy enough as it is.

“Sure,” Cyno says, his voice forcibly calm, but his clenched hands belie his tension.

“Thank you,” Alhaitham says and then louder “Everyone out!”

It takes everyone a minute to scramble out of the office but finally they are left alone. Cyno’s tension clearly rose a few notches in that time because it looks as if he’s shaking with barely suppressed nerves and not for the first time does Alhaitham wonder what horrible things Azar inflicted on Cyno to make him react that way.

“I found this in one of Azar’s secret stashes,” Alhaitham says as he puts a thin ledger on the table.

He only leaved through it to make sure that it is the one about Cyno, but didn’t dare to pay closer attention. This belongs to Cyno and as long as he doesn’t want to tell Alhaitham about it he doesn’t need to know.

Cyno goes white when he sees the book so he clearly knows what it is.

“You read it.”

It’s not a question, which makes Alhaitham doubt if Cyno does even have any trust at all in him but he pushes that thought away. The book clearly makes Cyno more emotional than he normally is and he’s not acting rationally.

“I didn’t,” Alhaitham firmly gives back. “I wouldn’t.”

Cyno looks at him doubtfully for a moment before he finally steps forward to take the book.

“I’m going to destroy it,” he says, disgust on his face as he leaves through the pages and Alhaitham nods.

“Do with it what you want. This though,” he says and slides a second ledger across the table, “you should keep.”

“What is this?” Cyno asks, narrowing his eyes at Alhaitham before they suddenly go wide in shock. “Is this—are you keeping a record as well?”

“No,” Alhaitham is quick to reassure him. “That is not about you. It’s about me.”

“About you,” Cyno mutters and finally picks the book up, quickly scanning the contents.

Alhaitham can tell the exact moment he understands what he’s holding because his face goes slack with surprise.

“What is this? Why would you give me this—ammunition against you?”

“It’s to reassure you. Everything that could ever tempt me into abusing my power is in there. If you should ever think that I am no longer acting according to the rules or that I no longer have Sumeru’s best interest in mind then you have enough evidence there to bring justice to me.”

“Why would you—” Cyno trails off, his eyes scanning the pages again.

“Because you don’t trust me. And I find that I don’t like that.” Alhaitham pauses and then decides to be honest. “Actually, I hate it. So I went to Lord Kusanali and had her read my mind. You’ll find that she signed this. And as the first page clearly states, you have my blanket permission to have her read my mind again, should you or she deem it necessary.”

“Alhaitham, this is not—” Cyno cuts himself off before he says something that’s clearly not true. “I want to trust you,” he then admits, his voice almost a whisper and Alhaitham nods.

“I know,” he reassures him. “And until I step back from this position, I hope this can give you at least some peace of mind.”

“You’re stepping back?”

“I handed my resignation to Lord Kusanali. As soon as someone is found both you and her deem capable enough, I will step back. I have no desire to stay Acting Grand Sage a moment longer than I absolutely have to. I know my word will hardly reassure you, but it’s the truth.”

“And hence this ledger,” Cyno mutters, leaving through it again.

He gets stuck on the last page and Alhaitham sighs.

“Lord Kusanali left a message for you. I didn’t read it.”

He read through the rest of the book, of course; most things that could tempt him, he knew about himself. A few were a surprise though and not something Alhaitham would have expected, though on deeper introspection they were of course completely correct.

Alhaitham hadn’t looked into the letter Nahida left for Cyno, but he can guess what it says. He had thought it already, after all.

Cyno opens the letter to read it and Alhaitham can tell that his hunch is correct by the way Cyno blushes. At least now he has confirmation that their Lord likes to meddle in these things.

“You didn’t read it?” Cyno asks once he’s done, hastily packing it away.

“I didn’t,” Alhaitham confirms. “Though of course I can guess to its contents. Those are my thoughts after all.”

“I didn’t know you think of me that way.”

Cyno shuffles on his feet, though now it’s clearly no longer out of nervousness, which is definitely preferable to before.

“It felt futile to mention it, seeing how things were going between us,” Alhaitham shrugs. “I am not resigning because of you, make no mistake there. I am simply not a person who wishes to be in power. But,” and here Alhaitham can’t help but to give Cyno a little smile, “I might be forcing the issue so that we can return to what we had before I took this position.”

“And then go from there?” Cyno guesses and he doesn’t seem half as opposed as Alhaitham had feared.

“If you wish.”

“I—want to. I’ve been trying. I know I can trust you, and I did before all of this, you’re right about this. But this position—what Azar did—”

“I understand,” Alhaitham says and then concedes when Cyno levels him with a look. “I am trying to understand,” Alhaitham corrects himself. “I know it must have been hard for you, especially the last year and while I don’t know the depths of it, it’s clear it affected you deeply. I almost want to apologize for taking on this position at all,” he admits and Cyno huffs.

“Someone needs to be in this position and for now you are the best choice. I want to apologize too, for not having better control of myself and driving you to do this.” He lifts the book in explanation and Alhaitham sighs.

“Cyno, if I weren’t in love with you, I wouldn’t have considered doing this. It’s not you who drove me to do this; it was my own, selfish wish to put you at ease, if even a little bit.”

Cyno seems completely caught off guard by the admission even though it has clearly already been stated in Nahida’s letter and it takes him a moment to get himself back under control.

“I want to try; I have been trying. And with this it should be better, but I can’t—” he cuts himself off, clearly frustrated with himself and Alhaitham nods, even though his heart hurts.

“I understand.”

Alhaitham had steeled himself for the possibility of this; it was the most likely outcome, after all. Hearing Cyno rejecting him like this though—it still hurt.

“No, I’m not saying no! It’s just—” Cyno takes a deep breath. “I can’t do dinner yet, not even together with Kaveh and Tighnari. That’s too—personal and I can’t allow you to be so close while you’re still in this position.”

Alhaitham has half a mind making the track to Gandharva Ville himself, to shake Azar until all the horrible things he did to Cyno come tumbling out before he gets the punishment he truly deserves but instead of doing that he takes a deep breath and forces himself to stay seated where he is.

“I want to try at work, though,” Cyno finally goes on and Alhaitham’s attention snaps back to him. “No more avoiding you and I won’t insist on having other people present.”

“That sounds acceptable,” Alhaitham agrees, though it still leaves him a little confused.

He can’t quite make out if this is a rejection of his feelings or not.

“And once you are back to being the Scribe we can try the other things.”

“Other things,” Alhaitham repeats, not quite understanding what Cyno means.

“Dinner. Dates.”

“Do not hand me any kinds of dried fruits,” Alhaitham says, almost on reflex, and it’s rewarded with a surprised, little smile on Cyno’s face.

“We will see about that,” Cyno teases him but then he grows serious once more. “But yes, Alhaitham, I want to try. I find myself with feelings for you as well.”

Cyno seems uncharacteristically shy as he says it and it makes a warm soft feeling spread in Alhaitham’s chest.

“Then lets hope we find someone suitable soon, so I can leave this dreaded chair behind me,” Alhaitham says and is rewarded with another smile.

“That sounds like a plan.”

#bt writes #haino #cytham #genshin impact #alhaitham #cyno #professor cyrus #angst #referenced emotional abuse #hurt/comfort #love confessions #hopeful ending #puns #it runs in the family guys #because of course it does

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