Shen Qingqiu doesn’t know immediately he’s cursed. Sure, maybe he’s lost some weight. Maybe his arm feels a little heavier than usual. Maybe he’s a little lightheaded from time to time, but what of it? He’s waiting for his impending death, which will be long and painful, who would have a good appetite in a situation like this?
Weeks go by, he rarely leaves the house, and everything is fine, even if some of his students keep looking at him like he might faint any minute now.
The whole next day is a blur — Mu Qingfang with his needles and familiar qi, Yue Qingyuan with his guilty expressions, Liu Qingge trying to break through the Without-A-Cure blockage that just isn’t there.
It’s a Fading Curse. Stupid fucking wife plot that makes his body slowly fade away in the most dramatic and tragically beautiful way. Shen Yuan remembers reading about that what feels like a lifetime ago — another beautiful maiden fell victim to a mysterious disease, origins of which weren’t even mentioned, and started to lose her life force.
Of course, since she was a future wife, she couldn’t be slowly dying in a real way — her hair didn’t fall out, her teeth were just fine, and even by the time she was barely breathing her bladder worked alright. Absolutely unrealistic.
So, Shen Qingqiu is thin, with fragile wrists and fingers, his skin is a fetching porcelain-pale, he’s dizzy all the time and is ready to fall into Luo Binghe’s arms in a very dramatic fashion.
Only Luo Binghe isn’t here. Because Shen Qingqiu tossed him into the Endless Abyss.
Shen Qingqiu thinks, at first, he’s got about enough time in his once-again-dying body for his and Shang Qinghua’s back-ups to be ready. Shen Qingqiu is wrong.
He wakes up one day to a wet pillow. It’s not the first time it’s happened, to his horror, so he just groans and furiously wipes at his face. His hands come out bloody.
“The curse has progressed to its final stage.” Mu Qingfqng says, careful hands wiping at Shen Qingqiu’s cheeks, cleaning blood that won’t stop flowing from his eyes. “The treatment isn’t-”
“This one doesn’t need treatment.” Shen Qingqiu interrupts.
“Allow this shidi to disagree. Shixiong will die, and he will die soon, if he doesn’t-”
“This one will not get married.” Shen Qingqiu snaps.
He will not get someone to marry him. Him! An alive target for Luo Binghe’s ire!
“It doesn’t have to be… real.” Mu Qingfang tries.
As if Luo Binghe will care if it’s real or not. He will probably kill Shen Qingqiu’s fake spouse as an introduction to the torture.
“It doesn’t have to happen at all.”
But plant bodies aren’t ready and Shen Qingqiu gets worse and everyone is worried. He is always accompanied by at least one of his martial brothers, Yue Qingyuan and Liu Qingge being his most common companions.
“You have better things to do.” Shen Qingqiu grunts at Liu Qingge, as he comes to himself after trying to walk across his room and fainting, once again.
“Then marry me.” Liu Qingge says.
The wedding is organized quickly. Everything is ready by the next morning. Shen Qingqiu is dressed by Ming Fan, and it feels all wrong. The whole thing is wrong. He never planned to wear red wedding robes at all, let alone like this. He’s at least thankful for the color of his clothing — blood isn’t that visible on crimson red, and he just can’t seem to stop crying. Pathetic.
The ceremony is to take place right by his bamboo house, since no one trusts him to walk any further. Liu Qingge arrives right in time, dressed impeccably, as a groom who will never become a real husband. One more thing that Shen Qingqiu ruined.
His head is clouded, and he feels a treacherous quiver in his knees. He’s about to fall, again. He wipes his face with a wet, silk kerchief and tries not to fucking cry. Gods.
“Let’s get this over with.” He asks.
There’s movement around him, quiet voices.
“Aren’t you dead?” Liu Qingge asks.
Shen Qingqiu doesn’t think so, though he is certainly close. He looks up, and finds that Liu Qingge isn’t talking to him. There’s someone behind, someone who-
Shen Qingqiu turns around, willing his feet to stay steady.
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe’s eyes are red. It’s bad, though Shen Qingqiu doesn’t register why right away. “Is this one late to celebration?”
He’s early. Shen Qingqiu should have known that his Luo Binghe is so much better, stronger, faster. He should have known that he’ll be out of hell faster. His barely beating heart fills with misplaced pride for a short moment. His eyes fill with tears.
“Shizun.” Luo Binghe gasps.
Will he kill him now? Will he kill everyone?
Shen Qingqiu doesn’t get to find out. His knees give out and he falls.
