Chapter Text
Shen Yuan sits at the desk in his room, savoring the rare early dismissal from his attendant duties. He plans to make the most of it because this will be the final time he does this; Shen Yuan will wake up from this dream soon.
He will sacrifice himself for the summoning spell come tomorrow morning.
He pulls out a sheet of paper and a brush and starts to write. First, a letter to the kitchen jiejies, who have been so helpful in teaching Shen Yuan how to be a better personal attendant and who doted on him in their own way, even if they were snippy about it.
Another letter to the Library Master, who begrudgingly allowed Shen Yuan greater access to the library areas, including the Restricted Section, at Zhao Jiahao’s and Luo Binghe’s request. Though the old librarian is curmudgeonly, he knows his books, and Shen Yuan respects that.
Shen Yuan feels lucky to have the luxury of sending his final goodbyes and choosing his exact moment of departure. It’s not an opportunity afforded to most people. And, after all, it’s not like he’s going to die for real. He’ll just be exiting from this dream. Shen Yuan nods to himself. Yes, he’s going to wake up in the real world once this is all over. That’s definitely what’s going to happen. Because the alternative… He shakes his head, dismissing the idea. Best not to entertain useless thoughts.
Next, a long letter to Zhao Jiahao, his best friend here at the palace, to whom he owes so much. A smile creeps up Shen Yuan’s face as he remembers working on their experimental talismans together, their excursions to the Southern Forest, their efforts on the Suncatcher field, and all the cool things Zhao Jiahao has shown him about this world. Hopefully, Zhao Jiahao can continue the research Shen Yuan started. Zhao Jiahao would probably be lonely doing it all by himself, but Shen Yuan knew he could entrust him with his work, as well as tend to his plants in the Suncatcher field. After all, Zhao Jiahao has been trying so hard for Shen Yuan all this time. He can’t ask for a better friend.
And lastly, to Luo Binghe. Shen Yuan stares at the blank paper for several minutes. There’s so much he wants to say, but at the same time, he finds he has nothing to write. In the end, he settles for three sentences. It’s the shortest letter he has written by far.
He tends to the Belladonna of Happiness, spritzing it with water for the last time. He’s left care instructions for Luo Binghe’s next personal attendant. He’s a bit regretful that he won’t be able to see a fully ripened Berry of Joy after all, but hopefully, his replacement will be luckier. The little berry has grown a bit more in the last few days, with purple now coloring nearly half of the fruit.
Maybe, once Luo Binghe reunites with his special person, he can pluck the Berry of Joy and give it to them. Then surely, their happiness will be doubled.
He tidies his room, though there isn’t much to clean to begin with: just a few sets of robes, sheets of talisman paper, his inkstone, ink stick and brush, plus his black embroidered qiankun pouch from Luo Binghe which stores his most valuable possession: the horn of the Sinister Striped Tiger Drake. He wonders what to do with it. Bequeath it to someone? Donate it to a museum? Destroy and throw it away? He can’t decide, so he leaves it be. Maybe Luo Binghe or Zhao Jiahao can decide later what to do with it.
Tidying up his space goes faster than he expects, leaving him with nothing to do. It’s late, and though there are still ten hours left before the summoning, he can’t sleep. Something itches at the back of his mind. He walks towards the side door connecting his room to the corridor to Luo Binghe’s bedchamber. For a brief moment, he has the crazy urge to walk through it and knock on Luo Binge’s door.
He stops. He fidgets with his robes. Tries to come up with a few lines, rehearse them in his head.
But what would he say? There’s nothing left to talk about.
He stares at the closed door for a while before turning around to flop on his bed. It’s going to be a long and sleepless night ahead.
***
Luo Binghe stares at the closed door of Shen Yuan’s bedroom for an indeterminate length of time. Why is he here? He has no recollection of leaving his bedchamber and walking the narrow corridor that connects their rooms.
The summoning ceremony is in five shichen, and the sorcerers have all but assured him that this time, success is guaranteed. But instead of excitement and elation at the prospect of victory, he is plagued by a gnawing unease that festers beneath his skin.
Tomorrow, he will sacrifice Shen Yuan to the summoning spell.
His breath catches, and his hands clench into fists. He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It’s a hard decision, but Luo Binghe has chosen to do what he believes is right. Isn’t this how he has always achieved what he wanted in life? By using anyone and anything as a tool for the pursuit of his goals? Nothing has ever come easy for him—every victory has been hard won, fought tooth and nail.
He had asked the sorcerers what would happen to a person transmuted to power the summoning circle. Their answer was vague, but it all boiled down to the “exchange material” returning to the primordial soup in the crucible of the universe—back to its original state, where everyone and everything belonged since the beginning of time.
With sufficient time and refinement, it will eventually transform into the Magnum Opus, a higher state of being and enlightenment.
Luo Binghe didn’t know what to feel about that. After all, it was Shen Yuan’s idea to offer himself for the summoning spell—why should Luo Binghe feel guilty? He was just going along with Shen Yuan’s wishes. Shen Yuan, who somehow still thinks he’s dreaming, indifferent to his own fate and showing no care whatsoever for his own life.
Furthermore… hadn’t Luo Binghe sacrificed so much already, working tirelessly to bring the kind Shen Qingqiu into this world? Ever since his journey into the other dimension, he had dreamed of the day when Shizun would be in his arms—Shizun, who would stay by his side no matter where Luo Binghe went. Shizun, humming softly while threading gentle hands through Luo Binghe’s hair. Shizun, who would choose him time and time again when everyone else had abandoned him.
Luo Binghe doubts he will come across another opportunity as perfect as this one. Shen Yuan said so himself. Luo Binghe deserves his prize, and Shen Yuan… is a reasonable price to pay.
Finally, he raises his hand to knock but stops halfway. What use would it be to talk to Shen Yuan at this time? They’ve both made their decisions. Luo Binghe has already committed all resources to the summoning ritual. There is no turning back.
But what if you’re making a mistake? A tiny voice whispers in his mind.
He presses his forehead against the door, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling within him. He half-wishes for the door to swing open, revealing a miracle, some hidden loophole that would give him what he seeks without having to sacrifice more than he already has. After a moment, he takes one last look at the door, turns on his heel, and walks away.
***
Shen Yuan enters the summoning hall. Sorcerers and court officials mill about, surrounding the summoning circle at the center that takes up most of the space in the center of the room.
He thought he’d be more nervous when the hour finally arrived, but he feels calm, heart placid as a frozen lake in winter. This is his choice, a sacrifice made gladly and willingly.
Four circles in total comprise the summoning spell: a large main circle with three smaller circles arranged in a triangular formation inside it.
Zhao Jiahao meets him a few steps from the door and escorts him towards the summoning circle. He doesn’t speak, his face unnaturally blank, but as he leads Shen Yuan into one of the three smaller circles lining the inside edges of the larger main circle in front of the dais, he briefly squeezes Shen Yuan’s shoulder and looks at him with a meaningful expression that Shen Yuan can't quite parse.
Shen Yuan stands in the leftmost circle, while across from him, the rightmost circle contains a small mountain of treasures and artifacts. Among them, he recognizes the Chalice of Everlasting Youth lying in the heap.
It seems Luo Binghe isn’t taking any chances—with the additional pile of treasures to fuel the transmutation, the summoning spell’s accuracy should exceed 100%.
Directly in front of him lies another circle, empty except for the elaborate symbols and inscriptions etched between the borders of the concentric rings that make up its inner design. Shen Yuan isn't entirely sure, but from his limited understanding, the inscriptions mirror those in his own circle.
Lastly, just behind the third circle, against the wall, a large gong stands at the center.
Luo Binghe is the last to enter, trailed by Zhao Gang. He meets Shen’s Yuan’s gaze, and for a split-second, Shen Yuan sees a fleeting hint of sadness cross Luo Binghe’s features. But it quickly vanishes, replaced by impassive calm.
Luo Binghe takes his seat at the dais behind Shen Yuan, to the right. Shen Yuan mourns the loss; with his back turned, he won't be able to catch a final glimpse of the Protagonist. He hadn’t seen Luo Binghe since his dismissal yesterday—which had been his last stint as an attendant.
He wonders who helped Luo Binghe with robes and hair this morning. A returning wife? A new servant? Shen Yuan only hopes that in his absence, they’ll take good care of the Emperor. Luo Binghe has very particular tastes, especially with his hair and how he likes his tea.
The room falls into a hush, the occasional swish of robes and tapping of shoes the only sounds breaking the silence.
“Begin the summoning,” Luo Binghe’s deep baritone rumbles through the chamber.
The sorcerers begin chanting, punctuated by the slow, measured beating of the gong. The chant starts in low tones, gradually rising in pitch and speed. The summoning circle lights up from the outer edges, the light traveling like a thin stream as it fills the symbols and inscriptions on the floor with an otherworldly glow.
The circle to Shen Yuan’s right activates first. He hears a low hum as the metal and gold in the treasure pile begin to vibrate in harmony with the gong’s resonating sound. Shen Yuan counts eleven beats of the gong, the hum now so loud it’s as if crickets have infested the summoning hall, drowning out the summoners’ chanting. The vibrations permeate Shen Yuan’s skin, a deep, resonant thrum that reverberates through his muscles and bones. At the twelfth and final beat, the mountain of priceless objects disappears in a blink, vaporized into thin air, leaving nothing but the sharp smell of ozone.
Shen Yuan’s stiffens, caught off guard. He’s never seen anything like it—there one moment, gone without a trace the next.
The loud humming stops abruptly and the room falls into quiet except for the sorcerers’ low and solemn chanting. The gong tolls once again. When Shen Yuan looks down, the symbols and inscriptions beneath his feet glow brighter.
Oh right, it’s his turn now.
He deigns to crane his neck backwards to catch a glimpse of Luo Binghe. The Emperor leans forward, hands gripping both armrests in a white-knuckle grip. He stares intently ahead, his whole attention focused on the third circle in front of the gong.
He doesn't spare Shen Yuan a glance.
Someone gasps. Shen Yuan follows Luo Binghe’s gaze. The gong tolls three times. Across him, a hazy silhouette begins to form inside the third circle. Shen Yuan feels a disconcerting tingling sensation beneath his skin. The gong tolls five times. The silhouette further solidifies, revealing a tall and graceful figure with long black hair spilling down their back like silk, dressed in pale green robes. They stand with their back to Shen Yuan, facing the gong.
I-Is this Luo Binghe’s special person? They’re taller than Shen Yuan had imagined, and their shoulders broader, too. Even with their back to him, they ooze refinement and sophistication. As expected of someone who has managed to capture Luo Binghe’s heart—they must be a calamitous beauty.
The gong tolls seven times. The tingly feeling intensifies, as if bugs were crawling in his veins. He dares to look down and is startled to see his body becoming semi-transparent, like a ghost. His time here is almost up, he muses, a rush of nostalgic memories flooding his mind. Meeting the Protagonist, his appointment as the Emperor’s personal attendant, their adventure in the Far Western Territories, the funfair in the village, saving a baby Three-headed Turtle Tiger, the epic battle with the mammoth at Fons Iuventutis—all of it are remembrances he will treasure forever. The beginning had been rough, and there were sad and difficult times, too, but in the end, he doesn't regret anything. This is how it’s meant to be. Shen Yuan feels honored to fulfill Luo Binghe’s wishes.
The gong tolls nine times. Ahead of him, the figure is now almost fully solid, even as Shen Yuan fades away.
The figure in front moves, an elegant sweep of sleeves and dark, silken hair. They turn their head and angle their body to look behind them. Shen Yuan sees a sliver of a gemstone-like face with an elegant cut and arch of a brow, a refined nose, and petal pink lips. His breath catches in his throat. The figure’s emerald gaze locks onto Shen Yuan’s, their eyes widening, lips parting in shock—or is it recognition?
Shen Yuan’s view is abruptly cut off as strong arms wrap around him and pull him away from the summoning circle. The figure blips out of existence like the screen of an old CRT television.
Before Shen Yuan can figure out what is happening, the arms spin him around and his face collides with a broad and meaty chest. The grip tightens, squeezing tight enough to constrict his breathing. He wiggles in the embrace and manages a lungful of air—a familiar woodsy, earthy scent filling his nostrils.
“Luo Binghe!?” he cries out.
What happened to the summoning spell?
Luo Binghe crushes Shen Yuan even tighter into his chest. “I-I was wrong,” he says, voice tight, shoulders minutely shaking. “I thought I knew what I wanted. But I don’t care about that—about him—anymore.” He finally releases Shen Yuan and holds him at arm’s length, his eyes swirling with emotion. “I know better now. It’s you, Shen Yuan. You’re my—”
Before Luo Binghe can finish his sentence, Shen Yuan hears a familiar zing and the clang of metal scraping against metal. His body moves of its own accord—through sheer adrenaline, he manages to knock back Luo Binghe, even before he sees the metallic glint sailing towards the Emperor in his peripheral vision.
Several shouts erupt. For a moment, everything dissolves into a blur. When Shen Yuan comes to, he’s lying on the floor, the ivory hilt of a jewel-encrusted dagger spiked through his chest. It takes a second for the pain to register.
A frenzied cacophony fills his ears. The world darkens at the edges as numbing pain lances through his body. Delirious from agony, Shen Yuan thinks he hears Zhao Jiahao shouting his name, but his dimming vision only registers Luo Binghe.
He tastes metal as Luo Binghe slices his own wrist and pours his blood into Shen Yuan’s mouth. He feels the blood go down his throat, hot and tingly as it travels through his veins to staunch the blood loss and knit the wound.
But deep down, Shen Yuan knows it’s futile.
After a few moments, Luo Binghe’s face contorts, brows furrowing in anger and confusion. “Why isn’t it working?”
Shen Yuan wants to laugh, but when he tries, the movement makes the pain worse. Instead, he says, “S-Stop. It’s no use.”
Luo Binghe doesn't relent. “Poison…?” he whispers, then renews his attack. Shen Yuan feels the blood mites roiling under his skin, warring against the enemy.
Shen Yuan recognizes the dagger currently buried in his chest: the God-killing Dagger of Sorrow. Brave and clever Zhao Jiahao must have succeeded in collecting all four required essences, plus Luo Binghe’s personal treasure, in order to synthesize a poison potent enough to defeat even a god.
Which means that the poison in the dagger is specifically tailored against Luo Binghe and his blood mites. What hope does a mortal like Shen Yuan have against such a finely tuned weapon? Zhao Jiahao had even used the experimental speed and accuracy talisman to strike—Shen Yuan was only able to stop it because of his intimate familiarity with the talisman’s activation sound.
Truly, he’s underestimated the lengths his fellow cannon fodder-in-arms would go to. Zhao Jiahao wasn't kidding when he said he was going to stop the Protagonist.
Dark spots obscure Shen Yuan’s vision. He can’t feel his lower body. The poison is quick to react. Something wet drips onto his cheek like warm rain. His eyelids feel heavy, but he fights to open them.
Luo Binghe looks at him like a child unable to give his sick mother a final bowl of congee, like a battered disciple abandoned by the world, like a deity cast down to earth, the heavens crumbling before his eyes.
Shen Yuan summons the last of his strength to raise a hand and cup the side of Luo Binghe’s face. He hates seeing that stricken look. “Don’t… cry,” he says. Luo Binghe shouldn't be crying. Hadn't he sworn never to cry again, after his scumbag Shizun poured hot tea over him?
“Shen Yuan… I’m trying my best b-but my blood mites aren’t cooperating,” Luo Binghe says, voice trembling. “P-Please… hang on.”
Shen Yuan swipes a thumb over Luo Binghe’s cheekbone to wipe away a tear. “It’s okay,” he says. “My time here is up anyway.”
Luo Binghe shakes his head, his face further contorting into an anguished twist of despair. “No. This Lord forbids Shen Yuan from going anywhere but this Lord’s side. Th-That’s an order.”
Shen Yuan tries to summon a smile despite the sensation of ice freezing his skin. Since when has the Protagonist been this sticky? “I’ll be… waking up… soon. Where even Binghe… can’t follow.”
All Shen Yuan has ever wanted was to see Luo Binghe smiling. But in the end, all he gets is a sniveling Protagonist instead. This isn't how it’s supposed to go.
“I’m sorry… I couldn't make you happy.”
Somehow that just makes the Protagonist cry harder. Why does he look so devastated? Does the Protagonist secretly have faucets for tear ducts!? But even with his eyes red and puffy, Luo Binghe manages to make a sniveling face look aesthetic.
The weepy look suits Luo Binghe, but he shouldn't be crying at all. Shen Yuan really can’t stand that tearful face.
“There’s nothing… to be sad about,” Shen Yuan tries to reassure him.
Shen Yuan’s entire body has gone numb, he can’t breathe, and his vision is overwhelmed by static. But he gathers the last of his strength to stroke Luo Binghe’s cheek and whisper, “B-Binghe… is the loveliest dream I ever had.”
He takes a final strained breath before darkness claims him and he falls into the endless void.
