Chapter Text
Shang Qinghua was starting to believe he was in the clear.
One month after the nearly unbelievable events at Mobei Jun’s ascension ceremony and he had yet to run into any familiar face; of course, he was dressed in plain cultivator robes and had left his sword, money and any other belongings behind (because he’d fled and hadn’t really planned for it, but – what was done was done), but if Mobei Jun wanted to find him – really wanted to find him – then that wouldn’t have deterred him.
It was with this sort of reasoning that he started to feel as though he was ‘off the hook’, paying a little less attention to his surroundings than he probably should have. Therefore, when the ground beneath his feet started to freeze over and he was met not with Mobei Jun but with Linguang Jun – who was likely not the lesser of two evils –, he couldn’t help but internally berate himself for letting his guard down.
They exchanged a few words – Linguang Jun revealing how Mobei Jun had been furiously looking for him all over (to the surprise of exactly zero people), Shang Qinghua trying to convince him that he really wasn’t such a good prize to hand over to Mobei Jun since they’d parted in not so good terms, and Linguang Jun finally clarifying that really, he only meant to kill him to vent his anger.
Shang Qinghua tried to furtively slink away, only to be stopped by a piercing pain in one of his legs – Linguang Jun had shot through his leg with an ice bullet, solidified by his demonic energy, thus making his escape that much harder, especially when he then pressed down onto the kneecap of Shang Qinghua’s other leg, keeping him in place.
Throwing caution to the wind, he cried the first two words he could think of, the two words he’d been avoiding for the past month, and the ones who were guaranteed to gain a near instant reaction, “My king!”
But nothing happened.
Linguang Jun smirked, “So much talk about how he would beat you if he found you, and now you try to turn to him for help? I’m sorry, but I’m afraid my dear nephew won’t be able to join us today.”
Shang Qinghua gasped as Linguang Jun’s fist collided with the side of his face, and his mouth filled with the familiar rusty flavor of blood, while his body felt like it was slowly icing over, from the inside out.
“W-What–” he tried to say, but it was too hard and his chest was too cold, and his eyes widened as he suddenly realized what was happening.
“Finally realized?” Linguang Jun mocked, smirking cruelly. “I’m finishing what I started last time and freezing your heart – and the rest of your body, while we’re at it.”
Well, that was unnecessary – Shang Qinghua had already gotten the message loud and clear – but, ultimately, Linguang Jun was just like any antagonist in Proud Immortal Demon Way and couldn’t help but ramble about his plans in the final moment, which… Well, it wasn’t half bad, really, considering it gave him enough time to try and think of what to do.
With a sudden impulse of self preservation, Shang Qinghua was able to circulate enough spiritual energy to withstand the cold momentarily and grab the heaviest rock he could find, his hands fumbling blindly against the ground, and he hit Linguang Jun in the head as hard as he could.
Using his momentary confusion to run away as fast as his injured leg allowed him, he tried to ignore the pain shooting up his leg by biting down as hard as possible on his clothed forearm and increased the distance between himself and Linguang Jun, fully aware that he couldn’t possibly keep this up while his leg was still in such a state.
Allowing himself to stop for a few seconds, Shang Qinghua ripped off a strip of his outer robe and bit down on it as hard as he could, while he focused his spiritual energy on trying to expel the ice bullet from his injured leg.
Tears of pain streamed down his face as he persisted and ultimately succeeded, and he only had enough time to wrap the strip of cloth he’d ripped off around his leg before he was taking off again, slightly faster this time, but still puzzled at the absence of Linguang Jun on his track.
It would only be a matter of time before he found him though, so he needed to make a decision and he needed to make it fast – should he press the “return home” button?
Allowing himself to weigh the pros and cons, he pondered:
Right before Mobei Jun had appeared to drag him off to his ascension ceremony, the System had downloaded the ‘Return Home’ function and, since then, had been giving him the choice to return to his old life in the modern world.
Even though he’d initially intended to return, missing his old laptop and the noodles and the internet! – oh, the internet – the truth was he was fully aware there was nothing left for him to return to.
The facts were as follows: firstly, he’d died – who’s to say which state his original body would be in? Not to mention, secondly, that it’d been over three decades since he’d transmigrated; what guarantee did he have that the System would return him to a world that was actually familiar to him?
Both of those things could probably be cleared with the System directly, but– but the third and most prominent fact was that, even if Shang Qinghua were to return to his original body and his old life as if nothing had ever happened, he still wouldn’t have much to return to.
Returning to his original world meant returning to a world where his parents were alive and didn’t want him, to a world where he didn’t have any friends apart from usernames on a screen and a world where he was such a shut in that it had taken him several months to realize his previously favorite coffee place had shut down and been replaced with a laundromat.
On the other hand, he pondered, the only person he’d come close to considering a friend in his current world had been Mobei Jun, the same person who was apparently overturning every nook and cranny in the Northern Desert trying to find him so he could beat him up and, very likely, kill him.
He wasn’t particularly well liked by his fellow Peak Lords, especially not after he’d been revealed to be a double spy and fled to the Demon Realm with Mobei Jun and, for that matter, he wasn’t particularly well liked by his disciples either!
Not to mention, if he were to stay in this world, he would constantly be on the run from either Mobei Jun or Linguang Jun, never able to settle in one place and earn any money, forced to practice inedia against his will… was that really a life worth living? What was the solution, then?
I’d be safe in the modern world, at least , he mused. No ice demons chasing after me to kill me.
No ice demons at all, really, and wasn’t that such a sad thought? A world without Mobei Jun?
“System,” he said, watching the familiar glare of the blue screen appear before his eyes. “Did everything from the original outline make it into this universe?”
[ All plot holes have been filled ], was the System’s answer, and the same bright red question appeared before his eyes. [ Activate Return Home sequence? Yes [ ] No [ ] ]
Shang Qinghua sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration, aware that he was wasting his time.
“Let’s try this again – System, is the right to be forgotten included in this universe?”
[ The right to be forgotten is available for user Shang Qinghua only. ]
Good. It wasn’t the ideal solution, but between going back to the modern world where he’d be forced to write bad, straight porn just to pay the bills or staying in a world where two ice demons were actively trying to kill him (and no one cared!), he much preferred the third option – being forgotten.
The right to be forgotten was a failsafe he’d written into the original Proud Immortal Demon Way outline. He’d originally meant for it to be a possible ending to the novel, actually; the right to be forgotten was an undocumented ritual that needed to be performed in the Temple of Lost Memories, which was located near the same mountain path Shang Qinghua happened to be on.
If the ritual were to be performed correctly, the querent would keep all of their memories, but they would be erased from everyone else’s memories.
The original Luo Binghe would never know true love or even full satisfaction – he was destined to spend two hundred years exacting his revenge on all who wronged him and building his harem of beautiful wives, only to never truly be able to fill the emptiness inside of him.
Realizing that he would never know true happiness and neither would those closest to him, and that he was doomed to fade away, Luo Binghe decided to flip the script and end things on his own terms – he set out to travel, not really knowing what he was looking for, but eventually he stumbled into the Temple of Lost Memories.
In the Temple, the faceless statue of an unknown deity stood at the very center, and Luo Binghe had kneeled in front of it, asking for help. He ended up spending the night there, and when he fell asleep he dreamed of the ritual he was supposed to perform.
As soon as he’d awoken, he’d set out to perform the ritual. When nothing happened – not even a faint glow along the array or a slight breeze – he was frustrated; however, when he’d left the Temple and traipsed over to the nearest village, he’d been shocked to find nobody seemed to know who he was.
“We’ve never heard of that name before,” a fruit stall owner had told him, shrugging. “Now are you sure you don’t want some cut up watermelon?”
It hadn’t been enough to convince him – in his arrogance, he’d believed there wasn’t a single person alive who hadn’t heard of him, but maybe this village was far enough removed that they hadn’t heard of the Heavenly Demonic Ruler.
He’d only realized the ritual had worked when he’d slashed open a portal to his Palace with Xin Mo and–
“You’re who?” Sha Hualing had asked, a blank look on her face. “Do I look like someone who has nothing better to do than be in a harem?”
(Okay, time out, time out! Shang Qinghua wasn’t really going to write it that way – probably! But you got the point, right?)
Anyway.
Luo Binghe had been overjoyed, a weight had been lifted from his chest, etc etc – however, this never happened because Shang Qinghua had realized that such a happy ending was not in the cards for him, not really (that and he hadn’t been very well emotionally either), so while he’d kept that in the outline, he didn’t use it.
It turned out to be a good thing though, because right now Shang Qinghua really wanted to use the right to be forgotten – there would be absolutely no difference for Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, considering they already regarded him like he was a piece of lint on their immaculate Peak Lord robes; when it came to his former demonic employer, well, it seemed like he would be giving both of them a break, since Mobei Jun could stop his murderous plans and get back to running his kingdom and Shang Qinghua could just live peacefully and probably become a writer again.
He set off towards the Temple of Lost Memories, having circulated enough of his qi that he could move relatively fast, albeit not painlessly, hoping that Linguang Jun wasn’t close behind. He didn’t know how he’d managed to lose him, considering his injuries; he could only hope that rock to the head had incapacitated him enough that he wasn’t hot on his trail.
It wasn’t long before he arrived at the temple, and he mentally patted himself on the back for still remembering something so obscure that hadn’t even made it into the actual novel (Cucumber bro would surely yell at him for remembering something like that but not remembering the plot with wife #68 and the obscure underworld creature he’d made up that was never made relevant again).
The temple was old and dilapidated, and the stone pillars at the entrance were so dirty and covered in moss that only the most curious travelers wouldn’t be deterred from entering and exploring. Shang Qinghua wasn’t just any curious traveler though, so he swiftly made his way into the temple.
As he did, he realized something felt decidedly off.
There was silence all around him, broken only by the crunching sound of crisp leaves under his shoes as he walked, but the air felt somehow thick around him, charged with something he couldn’t quite pinpoint.
Swallowing, he kept going, trying to hurry his pace but also not alert whoever (or whatever) was on his trail that he was on to them, and it wasn’t until he shivered from the sudden drop in the temperature that he realized that what he’d felt was demonic energy and Linguang Jun had found him.
He only had so much energy, having used most of it to heal his leg as best as he could, but he still had just enough to release a burst of qi and force the doors to the temple closed as he stepped over the threshold, and he looked around frantically looking for something that could help him make sure he had enough time to perform the ritual before Linguang Jun was able to burst in.
Spotting what turned out to be a very heavy sword hung on one of the walls, Shang Qinghua hurriedly grabbed it and slipped it between the door handles, effectively making it harder – but not impossible – to open and, hopefully, stalling his pursuer.
Facing the faceless statue he’d only ever imagined in his head but had never actually written down, Shang Qinghua took a deep breath before stepping forward. He’d imagined this moment a little differently as he’d made his way to the temple – in his mind, he would have time to think things through and reconsider before going forward with such a life altering plan. But now, knowing that Linguang Jun was right outside waiting to make his move, there was no time to waste – the choice had been made for him.
Now, the only problem with his plan was that he’d never actually written the ritual into the novel – in his outline, Luo Binghe had learned how to draw the array through a dream, but Shang Qinghua didn’t really have time to lie down and take a nap. He’d also tried asking the System whilst he’d been on his way, but that unnecessarily ridiculous Google-like voice had only said they “didn’t have access to that information” and “only the user Shang Qinghua knows how to perform the ritual”.
Well, wasn’t that useful?!
So, Shang Qinghua improvised. If this was a ritual that he’d created but had never written down the details for, then his best bet would be to do whatever the hell he wanted and felt right, because there was no right way.
(Or, at least, he hoped; if there was indeed a right way and the ritual failed, then at least he’d die at Linguang Jun’s hands with the knowledge that he’d tried his best. This was only mildly reassuring.)
Grabbing the pot of ink and brush conveniently located at the foot of the faceless statue (because this was his world, and everyone was just living in it), he hastily drew a circle, not too wide but not too small either, and followed it up with various symbols and characters that seemed like they would make sense.
(What did he know, though? He was panicking and trying to be as fast as possible.)
Kneeling in the center of the array, facing the unknown deity’s statue, Shang Qinghua bowed and said a quick but solemn prayer, calling upon the deity to request their help with the ritual, and asking them to grant him the right to be forgotten.
The last step, he guessed, would be to draw upon his own blood. Reaching for his pocket, he withdrew a piece of paper he’d been carrying with him – he always had a piece of paper stashed somewhere in his sleeves or in one of his pockets – and quickly ran it through his left thumb, swiftly giving himself a papercut.
And because this was still the novel he’d written with his own two hands, even if it had massively deviated from its original plotline, of course it was at that very moment that he started to hear banging on the door. Glancing at it, he could tell it wouldn’t be long before Linguang Jun managed to blast the handles off and make his way in.
Letting his thumb bleed out on the character for ‘forgetting’, he waited with baited breath for– something. Anything, really. But nothing happened.
The array didn’t glow, his blood didn’t change color, and he didn’t feel any different. Startlingly, he realized his ritual had most likely failed.
Shang Qinghua fleetingly wondered if he had time to try and deepen his papercut in an attempt to make the array work, but it was too late – the door unexpectedly blasted open, the sword blocking it flying off to the other end of the temple, and Shang Qinghua’s eyes widened in fear as he looked over and was met with… Mobei Jun?!
He didn’t quite know how to feel or how to react. In the month since he’d last seen Mobei Jun, he didn’t seem to have changed at all – he was still tall, dark and very handsome, with the most enviable pecs he’d ever seen. The only difference, it seemed, was that Mobei Jun no longer wore his permanently indifferent expression. Instead, he seemed confused.
“My king?” he asked, quite shyly, afraid of the demon’s reaction.
(Ah, but he’d missed him.)
Mobei Jun’s expression became even more confused, if that was possible, but after a beat had passed he finally seemed to recompose himself. “Who are you?”
Ah. Shang Qinghua suddenly felt as though a bucket of iced water was dumped all over him, and the cold feeling quickly spread to his heart and stomach.
So these were the consequences to his actions. Mobei Jun, the one person he’d come to consider as his friend in this strange world of his, the one who he’d promised to follow for the rest of his life nearly twenty years earlier, no longer knew who he was.
“Apologies,” he quickly said, getting up from his position and bowing. “This one confused you for someone else.”
“Who are you?” Mobei Jun repeated, this time without any confusion but with much more ice in his tone.
“This one is…” He scrambled his brain to think of a name he could use that wasn’t already taken by someone else and that was inconspicuous enough. His true name would have sufficed, he guessed, but– he didn’t want to go there. “This one is Li Wenyan.”
Mobei Jun stared at him, and then moved his gaze to the rest of the temple, before settling on the array under Shang Qinghua’s feet.
“What were you doing here?”
“A-Ah, this one was only praying,” he explained, cursing himself for the truly lame excuse he’d just given. Who would pray in the middle of what was clearly an array?!
Mobei Jun only gave him a look, still looking at him with suspicion, but ultimately he must have decided nothing there was worth his time, because he turned back and started to walk away.
“Wait!” he said, unconsciously, taking a step forward towards Mobei Jun, who was turning back around to face him again. “Who are you ?”
Ah, as if he didn’t know! Shang Qinghua, what are you playing at?!
Shang Qinghua really didn’t know what to do: this was his chance to leave Mobei Jun behind forever and live a carefree life without ice demons trying to kill him – hadn’t that been the point? So why was he hesitating and why did he feel the urge to follow Mobei Jun and offer him his lifelong service again? Maybe they could start over.
“Mobei Jun,” the ice demon replied, narrowing his eyes at him, “the Lord of the Northern Desert.”
He nodded in acquiescence. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
It was clear Mobei Jun was done talking, and Shang Qinghua couldn’t really blame him – after all, the first time they’d met, back when they’d been seventeen, Mobei Jun hadn’t really wanted to humor Shang Qinghua either. He’d only accepted Shang Qinghua’s servitude because he’d fainted and had been tended to against his will. So why would it be different now? (Especially now that he didn’t have any memories of him and could only remember being distrustful of humans for the better part of his life?)
Mobei Jun turned around again, heading outside, and this time Shang Qinghua didn’t stop him.
Instead, he walked over to the temple’s door and watched as Mobei Jun opened a portal and stepped into his shadows, disappearing from his sight, never once turning back to watch him.
(Shang Qinghua tried not to think about how this was probably the last time he’d ever see Mobei Jun.)
He’d forgotten him – everyone had –, and now it was time for Shang Qinghua to make his way to the nearest village, heal his leg properly, settle in, and make peace with his new life. A life where nobody knew his name.
After all, this was what he wanted, right?