Dawang . He thinks , hysterical laughter on the tip of his tongue . Dawang . Dawang . Dawang . This is not how it was supposed to end . Shang Qinghua is a pest . A bug . A cockroach . A pathetic thing that clings to quiet corners , demure as a waif and hides behind those of greater strength to save his own behind . And he was to be killed beneath the heel of his most beloved man . His powress comparable to the heaven blessed and divine damned Protagonist himself.
To him , he should have been worthless. Only a method of making his life easier while he may last . And then , eventually, inevitably , killed off . Shang Qinghua is fond of his life . As most sane people are . He would certainly not count his shidi admist them. Shang Qinghua is very fond of his life , even more so than others . He is selfish and desperate and has died once already. His life pointless and beyond saving . And so , he sought to survive.Despite the odds against him.
Shang Qinghua had , to increase his value and thus his favourability and his overall chances of an extended survival at best and a quick death at worse , made himself indispensable to the Norther Wastes and the next Dawang of said wastes because that was what he was supposed to do . Only a stepping stone in the story of Luo Binghe's most trusted General , as the story went. He did not intend this .
The hairpin on his desk sits with the poignant grace yet innocence afforded only to momentos that hold power without regard to it's weight . He's surprised his table hasn't split in half . The hairpin . The hairpin of the Queen Mother of the Northern Wastes.That was given by hand , personally, to Shang Qinghua by Mobei Jun . He hadn't known his value in the eyes of his King . Had he known . Had he known ........
Well , Shang Qinghua had asked , with the enormity of his dumbness far exceeding any expectations , even Cucumber bro's if he should have it polished again , to the Dawang's expectations before it is to be presented to the future Queen , my liege .
He'd earned a dislocated shoulder and a head concussion. Rightfully deserved , honestly .There were signs of course , quite a few signs in hindsight . But he's had an upbringing in two pits of vipers , his parents' seemingly perfect marriage falling apart behind closed doors and the An Ding peak beneath it's former master , the less said the better .
So , he does not think of positive outcomes unless it's staring him in the face unblinkingly , and yes , he's paranoid , a pessimistic bitter man who doesn't think anything good could become of his extended immortal lifespan other than an untimely death to avoid more paperwork . Which is why he didn't bat an eye at being reassigned chambers right across from the King, a servant has to be easily accessible afterall , now that he has more duties , that is , officially , since he'd been doing them before nonetheless . He also gave no fucks about the wardrobe change that had the same shade of furs and the same precious metallic thread embroidery as the King . The newly Ascendent Lord of the Northern Wastes' court was more of an important issue for losing sleep than finally not freezing off in the middle of the xianxia version of North Pole because his King managed to miraculously take a hint that he absolutely despises the cold and would appreciate official status and the Royal seal to access warmer uniforms please and thank you .He didn't think it meant anything more than it was supposed to, which was , arguably that he has been promoted from spy to Advisor and need not stick to shadows . He still has to decide if that's a relief or just another target practice board on his back .
Sure , he daydreams quite often about Dawang breaking his back on the table but never in his life had he imagined this !
If he's not wrong . If he's not wrong then it means exactly what Shang Qinghua thinks , now that his Kings formidable form and the miserable future of tending to Her Highness and his imminent death has been cleared from his formerly stress induced hallucinating brain . The xianxia version of cultivation opium in his pipe helps too . Shang Qinghua looks back to the mirror on the wall . His hair is a mess and he's forgone dignity , his wraps lying by the dresser as the damned royal blue inner robes desperately flap about to hide everything, anything they can . His eyes are bloodshot and his pipe is billowing smoke like the chimneys of the coal powered engines in old ass movies back in his world . God , he misses those. He'd really appreciate some emotionally dreary shit just about right the fuck now .
Shang Qinghua presses the heel of his palm against his eyes , trying to drive away his thoughts.
The Honoured Mobei Jun , King of The North , the Emperor's General and Right Hand has pretty much commanded that he marry him . What the fuck.