Chapter Text
It started with insults. Shang Qinghua showed up to one of Mobei-Jun’s council meetings running late, wearing his drab, dull yellow cultivator’s robes. He had a couple of ink stains on his sleeves, and his hair was up in a frazzled bun with wisps coming loose. Mobei-Jun frowned at Shang Qinghua, who just twitched slightly in anxious apology before he focused on presenting his reports on the nation’s finances. He guessed the man was too used to being glared at to be vulnerable to a chiding look.
Some of his more traditional, older advisors took the insult more to heart.
“Can you believe he came to the conclave wearing that?!” one huffed in disbelief.
His companion tutted quietly and whispered. “I know! Wearing colours that show his allegiance lies elsewhere, to such a meeting! I don’t know why Mobei-Jun puts up with it.”
“It wasn’t even clean-” a third added scornfully, before cutting herself off with a startled yelp as the gossipy group rounded a corner and saw Mobei-Jun waiting there, within an easy distance to eavesdrop.
He glared at them all and they bowed and hurried off, carefully not gossiping any further… while within his sight.
Mobei-Jun frowned again. They’re not wrong, though. It was disrespectful of him to not make an effort to present himself properly. A spy for any nation is always in a questionable position and must make his affiliation clear to the king and other officials he truly serves if he is to retain the nation’s trust. No-one must doubt him, or he risks his words being challenged. His very existence could be in danger – more danger – if my advisors begin to doubt his loyalty. From small snowflakes an avalanche grows.
He stalked to Shang Qinghua’s room – the one right next to his, a position of honour Qinghua didn’t appreciate enough, in his opinion – and swept inside without knocking.
Qinghua was already back at his desk, working on some dull paperwork – something to do with logistics and trading with fletchers – and he yelped as Mobei-Jun entered.
“My king! Ah, I still have much to do following this quarter’s conclave, it’s not finished yet…”
“Hmm.”
He’s still wearing his stained robe, Mobei-Jun observed.
He walked over to Qinghua’s wardrobe and started rummaging through it. Yellow, yellow, an old black cloak I gave him years ago… it’s looking tatty now. Hmm. Cream underrobes, but they won’t do on their own. A blue hair ribbon – where did he get that from? I don’t remember him wearing it. An old blue robe, but it has bloodstains from a hunt. Nothing good.
“Is my king looking for something in particular?” Qinghua asked hesitantly. “This servant would be happy to be of assistance.”
“Advisor,” he corrected.
“What?”
“Not a servant. Advisor.”
Qinghua perked up. “I got a promotion? Really?! This one is greatly honoured!”
“Mn.” Not that it’s new you’ve been my advisor for years. Did you… did you not notice? I must make your status more obvious to you as well, it seems. Starting with your clothes.
He frowned discontentedly at the sparse wardrobe he maintained here in the North, pulling out only the blue ribbon and dropping it on Qinghua’s desk. “Fix your hair. Wear it.” He also took one of the dull yellow robes, folded up and hanging over the crook of one arm.
“Huh? I mean, yes, my king!” Qinghua promised nervously.
He walked out while Qinghua babbled his obedience and fixed his hair, not daring to ask exactly why Mobei-Jun had walked off with one of his robes. He didn’t bother to explain it. He had no time for chatter, for he had a tailor to find and bully into swift compliance.
-0-
The next day he returned to Qinghua’s room with two new robes in a similar style to what the man was used to – a cultivator’s cut that was modest and allowed for a good range of movement. Both sets were in glacial shades of blue – the colours of the Northern Desert. One was a thick cotton robe in an icy, pale blue with snowy white trim, while the other set paired a thick, warm underlayer with a top layer of thin silk dyed a rich aqua like thick glacial ice or a pure mountain lake.
“Qinghua. Wear these when you visit,” he ordered, and smiled thinly as Qinghua leapt to his king’s bidding.
“Ah! They’re lovely! Of course, my king.” Shang Qinghua grabbed the pale blue robe and immediately darted behind a folding screen to change.
Qinghua soon emerged wearing his colours, and a nervous smile. “How do I look, my king? They’re very nice, and warm too!”
“Mn.” Good. You look… good. So right, in the colours of the North. You look like you belong here now. With me. His stomach clenched oddly at the thought. When are you going to leave Cang Qiong to join me here, Qinghua? Have we not courted long enough?
He looked down at Qinghua’s mud-stained brown boots and frowned. They don’t match.
“Boots,” he said curtly, pointing sharply at them, then curling his fingers up in a little beckoning give-them-to-me gesture.
Qinghua, long-used to his taciturn style of communication, instantly understood his meaning. “You’re right, my king, they don’t coordinate well, do they?” He balanced on one leg at a time as he took them off. “I have some nicer boots back home – newer brown leather ones, and some in a kind of browny-yellow. Do you want these to get my foot size, my king? Your ser- your advisor really appreciates your gifts, my king!”
“Good,” he said, nodding in approval. Finally! Is this him accepting a courting gift? No, probably not. He’s not responding right. Still, it’s a promising sign. I wonder what else I can get him to wear to show off his rank and display that he’s mine?
Six hours later Shang Qinghua had been gifted hastily-made dark blue fur-lined boots, in a style fashionable for the demon realm with a chunky slight heel – all the better to make one look slightly taller and thus more imposing.
The next day Qinghua bemusedly accepted a dozen hair ribbons and bun-covers in shades of blue, white, and slate grey. After another month had passed, on his next visit he was gifted two new silver hair crowns, set with blue topaz, clear quartz crystals, and aquamarines, all glittering like shards of ice.
“These are too fine for me, my king! I’m just a humble serv-”
Mobei-Jun frowned, and Qinghua quickly corrected himself.
“I mean… that is… this humble advisor is grateful for his king’s largesse and will wear either them or his beautiful ribbons on all his visits here in the future, time allowing!”
Mobei-Jun smiled. Good. It’s a nice start. I should have put my foot down years ago, he gave in so easily in the end! Hmm… I wonder what else I can get him to wear?!
He couldn’t wait, the thought gave him a delightful frisson of anticipation.
-0-
The young demon emperor was busy solidifying his rule when he could tear himself away from his new husband, Qinghua’s sect brother Shen Qingqiu. Mobei-Jun was often lumped with more of Junshang’s work than he wanted to handle, but saying ‘no’ to a heavenly demon with a history of killing people in a rage wasn’t a good choice if you wanted a long, happy life. Some commitments, however, he tried to insist Junshang handle himself… yet he still got dragged into more than he preferred. The upcoming ceremony where the mole demon clan’s leader was going to formally pledge their allegiance to Junshang was one Luo Binghe couldn’t skip out on… and misery loves company. He insisted Mobei-Jun attend with him… and Mobei-Jun promptly decided he didn’t want to suffer alone either, so he informed Shang Qinghua that he would have to attend as well.
Thankfully Qinghua didn’t fuss, he just nodded obediently. “I suppose it’s a very formal occasion, so I should wear your colours. What should this advisor wear, my king? The aqua silk, maybe? Or the new dark blue robe my king gifted me recently?”
Mobei-Jun opened his mouth to order him to pick the beautiful aqua robes – one of his favourites – then shut it again, frowning. This… this is a chance. He eyed Qinghua thoughtfully. “No.”
“Oh! An Ding robes, then? Will I be representing my sect, or humans in general?”
“No. Qinghua will need new robes. Traditional demonic style, not human fashion.”
I want to see him dressed up in something like a demon would wear. He would look… so handsome.
“It’s tradition,” he summarised vaguely.
“Is that really… I don’t remember…” Qinghua muttered, before he caught Mobei-Jun staring at him, and startled. “Ah! Well, whatever my king wishes done, of course this one will do.”
“Mn.” He nodded in satisfaction and strode from the room before he would have to answer any questions he wasn’t ready to handle.
The palace tailor was delighted to see him again – or smart enough to pretend to be delighted – and rubbed her hands together eagerly. “What can this humble tailor do for your majesty today?”
“Robes and a cloak. A style just like mine but for Shang Qinghua,” he ordered.
“Two sets?” the tailor suggested, as she started sketching out a design that would leave half of Qinghua’s chest bare. “So he has a choice of colours?”
He likes getting to alternate, he reflected. “Mn.”
Mobei-Jun couldn’t wait to see him wear it, like an itch under his skin he felt restless just thinking about it. He wanted to see Qinghua stride boldly around the room full of dignitaries and hangers-on, ignoring the hungry gazes of other demons as he returned to his king’s side and gazed loyally up at him. Only at him.
-0-
When Shang Qinghua emerged from his room, ready to be transported to the homage ceremony where the Mole Lord would swear fealty, he looked so beautiful in his new robes it made Mobei-Jun’s jaw ache as he tensely held back the impulse to bite. He ached to mark him, strike him, sink his teeth into the flesh of Qinghua’s bared chest and leave a bruising imprint of his mouth in the smooth skin so that everyone would know Qinghua was his.
The tailor had outdone herself, and sewn midnight blue woollen robes in a matching style to Mobei-Jun’s own favourite dark grey robes. They had a deep neckline that bared most of one’s chest down to the waist. Shang Qinghua’s outfit was accented with a top layer of a smaller imitation of his own dark cloak, and the ruff of grey wolf fur lay heavy across his shoulders. A few sparkling crystals glittered along the border of the ruff, and a few more were sewn onto the wide belt tying the robe together. A yaopei hung from his belt; the dangling ornament was made from creamy mutton-fat jade and had been carved into the Mobei clan symbol. One of the new hairpieces topped with blue topaz and quartz glittered like ice in his hair, and Mobei-Jun loved it but wished that it was a true crown because to see him like that would be even better.
Mobei-Jun stepped closer, hand raised to show his approval with just a small loving tap, and Qinghua cowered and flinched before him.
“My king, please, no! Your humble advisor did the best he could! Did this one make a mistake with my outfit? Or is it the paperwork for the silk traders? This one was going to finish it, but it had to be delayed, my king! This poor wretch of an advisor is so busy working for you, my king! You will protect this one at the ceremony, right? If I go there all battered people will pick on me!” He fussed with his robe, trying in vain to pull it more closed across his chest.
Mobei-Jun lowered his arm with a thoughtful frown. Qinghua told Junshang the way to a man’s heart is to act pathetic and in need of protection, he reminded himself. Humans court differently. He is… flirting with me right now, in the way of his own people. He nodded.
“Qinghua may run to my side when he needs protection,” he said firmly, and Qinghua wilted with relief – or perhaps a theoretically seductive show of more piteous vulnerability, a weak man in search of a strong partner.
I can be that for him. I know he thinks being pitiable is the way to win a man… but how can I show I’m interested in a way he’ll understand? And how do I know when I’ve won him over enough to propose?
He reached out to prise Qinghua’s clenched hands off his robe, and tugged the lapels open again, and then smoothed the slightly crumpled cloth flat with more care than was strictly necessary. He relished the opportunity to stroke that bare, golden skin, letting his fingers graze over his skin ‘accidentally’ while straightening the robes. Qinghua gasped and held his breath as he did so, watching him with wide eyes. Sneakily he let one of his sharp nails graze a thin line onto his skin, leaving just a tiny scratch, a thin red mark over his heart. Mine.
He was standing close enough now to smell the subtle scent of some product Qinghua used on his hair; the scent of orange blossoms drifted up for him to quietly inhale. So sweet, Qinghua.
“Good?” he checked. Do you like this? Do you like me? Do you want more? Are these gentle touches more to your taste, Qinghua?
“Ah, thank you, my king!” Qinghua said. “All fixed, this advisor appreciates my king’s assistance.” He stepped back and away from him, bowing politely in dismissal.
Mobei-Jun kept his face impassive as his heart sank in disappointment. “Mn. Let’s go.” Seizing Qinghua’s hand he transported them through a rift in space to the Mole clan’s reception hall, where various dignitaries were arriving.
Qinghua moved away to mingle immediately, perking up as he spotted various people he knew. He acted meek but was in his element when it came to schmoozing and manipulating others.
Mobei-Jun watched him play the game of politics with a mixture of pride and growing possessiveness, as others gazed on his husb- advisor’s temptingly revealed chest. Now they see him. But they do not know him as I do, appreciate him like I do. They do not understand his value.
His lips firmed in a thin, resolute line. I will win him.
At one point in the evening Sha Hualing toyed with Shang Qinghua, leaning in close and laying her hands on his chest as she whispered in his ear. Mobei-Jun watched with narrowed eyes and smiled in satisfaction when Shang Qinghua twisted out of her hands and scurried over to his side. He gave a thin-lipped smile to Qinghua when he looked nervously up at Mobei-Jun, and Qinghua beamed back at him in return.
“I won’t hurt you,” he promised, soothing Qinghua in advance. He reached out to grab the back of Qinghua’s neck, tugging him to stand closer at his side. He stroked Qinghua’s nape while staring at Sha Hualing until she pouted and got the message, shrugging as she wandered off to find some unclaimed demon to flirt with.
“Thank you, my king?” Qinghua said tentatively, as Mobei-Jun let him go again. He hadn’t struggled one bit, meek as a newborn kitten in his grip. “Uh, what was that about, exactly?”
“Now she knows you are with this king. Your robes. My actions,” he explained. Qinghua does like it when I use my words.
“Ah! This advisor is honoured.”
He patted the top of his head, smoothing down a couple of flyaway hairs that had escaped Qinghua’s bun. Junshang’s husband patted his head a lot. Maybe it was a human courting thing and Qinghua would like it too? “Go. Mingle. This king will watch over you.”
Hmm. He didn’t seem especially moved, but he didn’t dislike it.
His confidence renewed, Qinghua dived back into politics while Mobei-Jun watched with benevolent pride. Qinghua scurried back to his side on and off, checking his compliance with deals he was making on behalf of the Northern Desert, and occasionally to shake off the attentions of a persistently flirtatious suitor. He clung so cutely, all demure, flirtatious fear. Mobei-Jun glared at would-be rivals, both pleased and annoyed by their attentions to his Qinghua. His advisor also returned to him when the homage ceremony began, standing at his side in the position of honour he deserved.
After the dull ceremony there was more drinks and food, and yet more political scheming. Mobei-Jun would escape it all if he could.
If Qinghua was officially my Queen, I could delegate even more to him. All this is far more his thing than mine.
Emperor Luo sidled up to him, a glass of chilled plum wine in hand. “How on earth did you get shishu to wear something like that, Mobei? Shizun would never.”
“Perhaps Qinghua is more obedient,” he boasted proudly. “Give your husband robes and order him to wear them.”
Junshang just rolled his eyes. “I’d need more than that. He gets embarrassed so easily; he’d dig his heels in.”
Mobei-Jun sighed. He hated having to explain things at length. Qinghua understood him more easily, but he’d learnt his emperor insisted on things being talked to death. “Say it’s tradition, Junshang. Explain how it’s traditional for important humans in a demon lord’s retinue to dress in their colours. Insist it’s necessary to save face in the demon realm to dress appropriately for formal occasions. If you don’t want to do it, get a minion to subtly drop some hints.”
His servants had proved very useful proxies for pushing his case, reassuring Qinghua that he absolutely had to wear the new robe as designed, with no added underlayers for modesty. He’d folded quickly enough.
“Hmm. I’ve never heard of such a tradition.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Traditions have to start somewhere.”
Emperor Luo’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “…I could tell shishu.”
Mobei-Jun smiled. “You could. Or you could follow my lead, Junshang, and have your husband wear your colours for all to see. Don’t you want to show him off in flattering red and black silk so the whole world envies your claim, and he clings to you for protection?”
The young emperor’s cheeks flushed with pink and he bit his lower lip distractedly. “I have to go now…”
As Emperor Luo hurried off, his fists clenched, Mobei-Jun suspected his favourite tailor would soon be even busier.
