Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shared food was weird.

As a child, he was well-versed in how to take bits of food to his room so he would have a meal while his parents fought. The white bread was old and stale, but when combined with some cold water, it filled his stomach enough that he could comfortably sleep.

He'd wake up the next morning with a pain in his stomach again, but sometimes his mother was willing to make a full breakfast the next day as an indirect apology, and it made all the pains worth it for that warm meal.

He must've been 8 or 9 when he formed his Mindset about food (It wasn't exactly trauma if he could still eat most of the time).

In his mind, food was sacred, scavenged, and he'd taken many lectures throughout his younger years when he put a fork down too loudly, or he ate something that "wasn't his" despite him being a child who owned nothing at all.

When his parents divorced, it was a breath of fresh air. While he never properly learned how to cook, the empty house meant he could experiment all he liked without having someone appear over his shoulder to suddenly become passive-aggressive. Granted- he never wasted food, he ate the disgusting things he made and worked with whatever was already in the fridge and pantry.

At least until his mental health collapsed.

It wasn't like the collapse of a building, with dust scattering from the sudden impact, but rather, the dust had appeared in his veins after many years, and it suddenly seemed that it wanted to escape. He struggled to make friends as a kid, and it led to a persistent feeling that he just wasn't meant to get along with others.

He'd get a school lunch then eat in the library, where the librarian would actually indulge him in some simple conversations, even lending him some advice on how to start writing his own stories. And since most of his social life was just occasional group projects, it wasn't much of a leap for him to dedicate most of his time to writing.

It didn't exactly make him feel good in the way non-depressed people described their hobbies, but it was something to occupy the space within himself and his empty home. When his parents asked what he did (since they didn't talk to him often enough to know), writing was always a neutral enough answer to skip past his end of the conversation rather quickly.

And then he graduated high school and stayed in his mother's house (though she seemed to rarely visit, often staying with a new boyfriend of hers) until he saved up enough money from Proud Immortal Demon Way to move out. Some would've called it stupid to spend so much on living when he had a place to stay, but he was tired of parenting his drunken mother through her relationships; being a therapist until he suddenly didn't do a good enough job, and he got shunned with painful rejection.

But those days were behind him. He wrote more of his story, and he got more fans. Seeing the same usernames pop up was almost like seeing old friends. He didn't know much about them, but in exchange for tips, he could write their requests and finally make someone happy.

After enough fan interaction, the story just turned into shameless papapa to continue some kind of writing for his loyal followers- but he still inserted parts of himself into the story.

Like Luo Binghe.

Like father, like son, Xiang Fei would've loved to cook an extravagant meal for someone. It would've been nice to watch them eat while he wasn't expected to even take a bite. They'd give his wide-eyed look before smiling with a nod. He did good, really good. Inside every romantic scene between the stallion protagonist and a random wife, Xiang Fei found an odd sense of aching loneliness deeply embedded in him.

His stomach growled. It must've been hunger- he often didn't have enough money to eat regularly, and he fell into the unhealthy habit of perpetual fasting. In a way, it was motivation! He could eat after he finished his work for the day! But he couldn't help the nausea that entered his mouth sometimes when he stared at a package of instant ramen.

If none of his food sounded appetizing, it must've meant that he didn't want any food at all. That's right- he was just too entitled if he was going to be picky. Hunger would humble him enough to deserve food again.

And that seemed to be a mantra while he transmigrated and ascended to a peak lord. He had more money now; he could reasonably buy fresh produce and even prepared meals, but he was so busy that he would just forget to eat half of the time. When he was really backed up with work (which- when wasn't he?), he'd roll out of bed, work for a majority of the day, and finally eat when sundown had hit.

His stomach was angry with its protests, but a bit of bread and water would suffice.

Physically, he recognized that the amount wasn't a lot to eat, certainly not enough for a cultivator trying to gain more strength, but when in doubt, inedia it out! This new Xianxia place was so convenient, considering it incentivized him to eat even less than his modern world (which really wasn't a high bar to begin with).

While some of the other peak lords had noticed his small portions, Qinghua always blamed it on having a snack right before eating, ahaha, careless Shang Qinghua! (And he swallowed back the guilt that he was already taking too much food, and he needed to be sure to thank the person a few times so they wouldn't think he was selfish for trying to relieve the ache in his gut.)

Which had led him to his current position, as he sat at his desk with a letter from the Northern Palace.

It wasn't much of a surprise; he was literally Mobei Jun's advisor, but the letter wasn't one delegating him more work or asking for his opinions. It was also too brief and messily scrawled to be from a worker:

My Dearest, Qinghua

This king realized that he never granted Qinghua a proper 'promotion,' and it has been long overdue. Dinner tomorrow, just after sundown.

Qinghua sat in doomed silence before he managed a little laugh. Mobei Jun didn't even write the letter correctly. The formatting was awkwardly slanted, the words changed in size, and the introduction to the letter had a comma before his name instead of after- ah, it was no wonder Shang Qinghua wrote all of his king's letters.

But he dryly swallowed. His throat hurt.

Dinner didn't sound bad. Dinner could be quite good even!

He just had to will his chest to not get so tight at the idea of silence awkwardly extending across the table before Mobei Jun accused him of not liking the food, and therefore not liking the entire palace until- Mmn, his thoughts ran away from him again- he let out a controlled, anxious breath before he wrote a letter as confirmation.

A precise fold and a practiced flick of his wrist infused the letter with qi as it was sent out to Mobei Jun's palace. The simple action gave him a headache- jeez, how weak of a cultivator was he??

While he urged his pained head to get through some work before the night with Mobei Jun- he couldn't help as his mind looped over the idea over and over again until he sat with his legs up to his chest, holding them a little tighter.

It was weird for him to feel like this; he liked his king!! And he liked food!! He absentmindedly wondered what his king would have prepared for them- ah, perhaps Qinghua should bring food as a peace offering. He inhaled a little more evenly, a sense of utility bringing his mind at ease. Within the comfort of logistics and planning, he carved out some time in his routine to pick up some 'exotic' food for Mobei Jun.

…

Okay, it was just melon seeds. But they were roasted!! And very delicious!!

A reasonably sized baggie was tucked into the pocket of the finest clothes he owned as he gently knocked on the palace's dining hall door, "My king?"

A grumble came from inside. Ah- why couldn't he write a love interest that ennunciated a little more!!

Regardless, he entered the room. While he almost expected a lively night of powerful demons, he knew his king also preferred the solitude of it being just them. But even then, it didn't ease his racing heart as his footsteps echoed into the room until he sat in the spot next to Mobei Jun. His usual spot, he'd proudly say.

He smiled a bit tightly, mostly with his usual servant-like politeness, "How have you been doing, my king?"

"Mn."

"Ah, that's good to hear!"

A single turn of Mobei Jun's head indicated more impartialness rather than neutrality- curse that man being so damn unreadable! There might've been a hint of disappointment as he stated, "Qinghua has been gone all week."

Shit, he gave a proper heads-up and everything, he clenched his hands under the table. "My apologies, my king. This servant had some duties to attend to at his peak," his exhale was certainly quicker at the end, but he could only hope it wasn't brimming with his fear of a completely normal social interaction.

Mobei Jun grunted.

Shang Qinghua shrugged it off as best he could, even as apprehensive apologies climbed up his hot neck. "It might be a few more days before I return."

"Days," the demon repeated.

"Yes, my king." He awkwardly laughed as his hands played with the loose fabric on his trousers, "I've fallen behind on my quarterly work." He nodded at nothing in particular. "Not proper prioritization, I swear to become more disciplined to avoid a repeat of this," he anxiously rambled. While sure, he likely didn't prioritize his time correctly, the true answer was that he was working his ass off to be Mobei Jun's advisor and the logistics peak lord- surely getting half the sleep his peers would.

A single look at Mobei Jun felt like daggers were being stared into him; he quickly bowed his head, "This servant thanks his king for a- all the patience he has given."

"Ease yourself or I'll break your legs."

While threats might work for most things, they certainly wouldn't help him relax!! He nodded, but his voice was surely quieter, "Y- yes, my king."

Shang Qinghua automatically flinched when his king stood, the chair scooting back with an ugly sound. His breath had hitched as he stared at Mobei Jun. He could only hope he didn't look as foolish as a deer in headlights, but if he did, the demon didn't comment on it as he left the room.

Qinghua forcefully breathed out when Mobei Jun had left, but it was still freezing, cold air entering his lungs. He willed his body to loosen up, but it only came with the reminder of how hungry he already was.

But before he knew it, Mobei Jun had entered with a rolling cart with many bowls on it. The king placed the buffet between them and only moved dinner bowls onto the table. "Eat," he commanded.

No need to ask twice.

Shang Qinghua grabbed his chopsticks and readied himself to take some of the food before he recognized how his kind hadn't moved. Not a single step- his king was just standing there, waiting for Qinghua to do something.

Perhaps it was a test? He stayed as still as a statue before he pretended to notice a problem with his hand. He adjusted his hold on the chopsticks, using the exact proper etiquette he learned long ago. A perfect positioning- maybe that was what his king wanted?

The stalling seemed to work well enough, and Mobei Jun sat down in his dining throne. Shang Qinghua willed his heart to slow down. Back at the ascension ceremony, he told his king not to hurt him anymore, so he had no reason to be scared!

And he wasn't scared, he wasn't terrified. His eyes hovered over the table for a while. Was he supposed to get food now if Mobei Jun hadn't taken the first bite yet? That seemed polite, to let the host eat first. (Eating too quickly would get a comment that he should eat less and-)

Mobei Jun's voice made his eyes instantly dart over. "Qinghua. Eat."

His voice was far more hushed than it should've been. "Yes, my king." At least he avoided stammering, which was a bad habit he had.

His hungry gaze reached the plates of food. There was a hot pot, noodles, a collection of fresh vegetables- oh. Oh. These were… all human foods. Was Mobei Jun not going to eat?

He looked at his king for a moment before deciding it was best to avoid upsetting the demon even more- just follow simple instructions. Eat. He could do that.

So with another quick glance, he hesitantly dipped his bowl into the broth of the noodles and put some of the main course into his bowl as well. He was quite cautious not to take more than he should've, and he felt the slightest tremor enter his hands when he took a small amount of the vegetables and then put his bowl back onto the table.

He looked at Mobei Jun for confirmation before deciding his assignment wasn't done- he took a small bite of the food. His mouth didn't open as wide as it should've, but once the rich flavor was on his tongue, he dared to enjoy the sensation for just a moment before swallowing the wonderfulness.

And his body moved before his mind- he automatically started taking another bite. Right before the chopsticks reached his mouth, he tightly praised, "Thank you for the food, my king. You've served this one well." He passively scanned the room. The servants didn't bring out the food, and it felt odd that Mobei Jun brought it to him (almost as if their roles had swapped), but he didn't dare to sound accusatory while being socially obligated to sit with his king.

Well- not obligated, he should've only been grateful for the chance of a royal dinner. He tossed a practiced smile to his king, "I appreciate the thought and care this must have taken."

Mobei Jun stared at Shang Qinghua. "Eat more."

Qinghua tried not to let his terror show, but the anxiety had already brought some nausea into his mouth. He fasted extra long for this meal; he should've been extra excited. But in reality, he felt weak where he sat and shivers more easily went through his body.

But he took a bite, albeit a small one, and decided to slowly chew on it, enjoying the taste despite his primal urges to devour the entire bowl and take seconds. He let out a calculated hum, "This servant can't even imagine how long it took the kitchen to make all of this." He anxiously laughed.

It wasn't even a lot of food, especially considering the banquets they would host, but it felt like a lot of food.

At their old social events, Shang Qinghua used to filter through at least half of the food to find what was actually edible to a human, and then he had to find what actually suited his tastes. After years and years of meticulously picking at his plates, he finally gained the confidence to vocalize that he didn't like demon foods (which was an understatement of the century, they were poisonous and he was likely to die from a full plate), and it led to Qinghua receiving a small section of food that was more specifically prepared for him.

He felt guilty. So guilty for requiring food to be made, so he tried to make up for it by always being extra polite to the kitchen staff. During the mornings of any formal event, Shang Qinghua would always feel their stares press into him, saying how much of an inconvenience he was, how they would've preferred a demonic advisor instead of one so picky.

And, sure, it stung to know that most people didn't like him. But he adapted and survived; he based himself on practicality instead.

If he was deemed to be out of the way, then he served to be twice as effective as he could've been. Actions speak louder than words, so Qinghua worked around ways to pay the kitchen staff a little bit more. He acted overly humble when he knew he deserved a bit better. He kept his standards low because people had to listen to him, and that was enough of a bother.

But Mobei Jun said he liked Qinghua's rambles. At least- more than silence, he supposed. So Shang Qinghua slowly finished his third bite before he asked, "Is my king going to have something as well?"

A grunt of disapproval.

He gave a small pout, one that could still be seen as professional. "My king needs to eat to keep up his strength." Hypocrite, his racing heart spat at him, but he knew his lifestyle wasn't one to recommend. He hid those secretive routines deep into his gut- right next to where the hunger was. "Shall this servant request the kitchen to make an additional meal?"

"Stop that." Mobei Jun's gaze sliced right through him, seeing him for the fraud he was- seeing how much he didn't deserve to eat with his king.

And in the fraction of a moment that Shang Qinghua was going to have another bite, he threw down the chopsticks, trying to also ignore the clang they made. "T- this one is incredibly sorry, my king." Shit, this was a mistake. He should've lied with some excuse that he couldn't attend, yet he couldn't avoid a direct order from his king-

His heart had controlled his lungs as he threw his words into the air, "This servant apologizes for not s- serving your needs sooner." A hasty, shaky bow to his king- fuck, his whole body was shaking at that point- he needed to leave- "M- my king, I'm sorry-"

He couldn't come up with anything more sufficient. He tried to exit his seat, scooting it back and moving all at once, only to trip onto the leg of the chair, sprawling out onto the cold floor. His mutters were consistent with English curses and pleas, but one thing could have been obvious to anyone: Shang Qinghua was a quivering mess.

His breath was caught in his chest and he couldn't push it out far enough; his inhale instantly cycled into another exhale, and his blurred vision was already spotting out into a darkness similar to a midnight void. Any attempt to race off the floor was halted by sudden disorientation and weakness.

He had to leave, he had to- he didn't know who was going to get upset at him. He likely needed to lock his door and hide out for a while; he didn't want to be blamed for ruining another family dinner.

He choked another breath into his burning lungs. He was likely going to die from this relentless pain in his chest, but he couldn't even prioritize the thought of death over every screaming memory in his mind.

Hot tears fell down his face in rapid succession. He was done for. No more Shang Qinghua. No more Xiang Fei. Goodbye, Airplane.

Food wasn't even on his mind, nor was the dinner with Mobei Jun. So he didn't know what the fuck to expect when he felt coldness press onto his back.

An- an icepack? It didn't make sense, but he stared at his hands and caught sight of the tears. He messily sobbed, "Shit." He wiped the tears from his eyes before quickly realizing that it was a pointless mission.

His chest hurt, it was agony- but a familiar one. He needed to breathe more slowly, and he focused on his hands as he physically counted out each breath. Technically, he was supposed to follow a 4-7-8 pattern, but he settled on whatever he could and barely built up from there.

He didn't even get to four-second breaths. He might've gotten to two or three seconds, but the generally lengthened times were what he desperately clutched onto.

After some of his initial panic, his subconscious recognized a person was nearby. He quickly spewed, "I'm so sorry," with repetition over and over and over again. His words weren't real until they had an effect, and he was so fucking sorry for taking up space in their valuable life.

Within his mess of heartbreaking sobs, it was probably hard to tell what he was even saying.

The coldness departed from his back, but before he could spiral from any possibilities, it was soon placed onto him again. As well as a piece of fine china onto the floor in front of him. When he peeked at it, all of the evening's memories came to him.

He paused.

The coldness was certainly Mobei Jun. There wasn't a possibility it was anyone else; these were the kingdom's floors and the bowl belonged to his king as well.

He barely held it together as he realized he was cowering on the floor in front of his king, crying and pleading like some dramatic toddler.

And he absolutely didn't hold it together when he tried to think of what to say.

His brain was immediately going down the drain again, but he was more grounded that time- it was easier to prolong his breathing, and it even felt like the cold hand was pressing further into him.

After so much of the adrenaline rush, he had eventually gotten himself to stammer out, "This servant apologizes. Please forgive this lowly one."

Anyone new to Shang Qinghua would've had moderate difficulty in knowing what was being said, but Mobei Jun had spent too many years around the anxious man to ask for repetition. His king's deep voice was far from sudden; it seemed like it was trying to become softer, despite how uncharacteristic it was. "My Qinghua has no reason to apologize. He is this king's advisor and a well-regarded one."

"Nonono- I fucked up, I messed up everything-" And the fears came once again, and it might've taken him a few minutes to calm himself down.

His body still shook during the aftermath, and he didn't dare to look his king in the eyes. Mobei Jun was… remarkably patient. The king waited a long time before saying, "Nothing is ruined."

And Shang Qinghua didn't have much fight left in his body. He numbly accepted the words and glanced at the bowl. He shakily moved it towards himself. "M- may I?"

"Yes." With complete confidence and determination, Qinghua selfishly ate half of the meal. It wasn't quite warm as when he first had it, but it was still good.

It was at least much better than the infinitesimal amount of effort he'd put in for his own food. "Thank you, my king," he tiredly acknowledged. After a quiet moment, he managed a small laugh, even if it was a bit sad and performative. "Eating on the floor… this isn't very advisorly of me, is it?"

While he might have expected (and even accepted) a reprimand, all he got was, "It will be now."

And when his king moved away once more, Shang Qinghua had the very quiet idea that he wasn't cared about anymore. He would've quietly accepted it (and lay in bed, thinking about how horribly he messed up), but the coldness returned onto his back, as well as a clink of dishware onto the floor.

Mobei Jun… put his bowl on the floor. And put a few items of food in there too. Shang Qinghua silently sat there for a moment before he whispered, "My king…"

"The advisor and his king," Mobei Jun acknowledged.

"Are eating on the floor?"

"Mn."

He slowly gathered enough focus to eat another bite of food. "That might not be very advisorly and kingly of them."

"To the Northern Desert, it will be."

Okay.

Maybe Shang Qinghua was okay about eating with Mobei Jun.

Maybe Shang Qinghua was okay.