Shang Houhua has been in this world for almost two decades now and he still thinks that cultivation is kind of complete bullshit.
Like -- it's magic, right? But the rules are poorly defined and as far as he can tell mostly boil down to 'circulate your qi throughout your body' and 'seek to understand your place in the universe'. He knows his place, thank you! He wrote this damn universe! Which means it's probably his fault that the rules don't make any sense, but also it's not, because he relied a lot on genre conventions so that his readers would understand without him having to go into an in depth explanation about it. It's the genre's fault!
In related news, mediation is boring and Houhua is really bad at it. His brain is just too modern to settle down and think about circulating energy for hours at a time.
Unfortunately he's just been promoted to inner disciple, and there's sort of a minimum level of cultivation he needs to have in order to actually deal with his new responsibilities. If he's too weak when he goes to claim a spiritual sword, he might end up going the way of Yue Qi, except no one would care enough about keeping him alive to break all his limbs and lock him in a cave! And inner disciples get so much more work to deal with, if he can't figure out inedia and how to skip sleeping he's as good as dead anyways.
"Shidi." One of his new housemates calls through his door, startling him badly enough to yelp. He thinks he hears someone snicker at him. "Practice is in a ke, don't be late."
Right. This, too.
Now that he's an inner disciple, Houhua is meant to learn how to fly on a sword. And don't get him wrong, that’s like, the one thing he's been looking forward to doing since waking up in this world he wrote, but if his cultivation is too weak, isn't it liable to give out and drop him twenty stories and snap his neck?!
He wallows for maybe a minute more, staring blankly at the wall of his new inner disciple room in despair. Maybe if his stupid system didn't rebel every time he so much as thought of sneaking off for one of the many cultivation powerups he knows about, he wouldn't be in this situation. Then he sighs, jumps up, and scurries off to one of the An Ding training grounds. They're not expecting him to get it on his first try, right?
…
…An Ding is apparently really intense about sword flying, actually, but this time it's definitely not his fault, because he didn't write anything about this peak! Houhua tries not to fidget where he stands in line of the packed dirt training field, the other three new disciples are standing at perfect attention and he really does not need any extra scrutiny on him right now.
"Flying on the sword is deceptively simple." Their instructor tells them, "The basics will come easily and this teacher expects that all of you will have them mastered by the end of this afternoon. But let that come with a warning: this is not a skill where you should push your limits. Flying is very strenuous on your cultivation, and if you fall there is no one on Qian Cao that can fix a broken spine."
Yeah, Houhua remembers this. Back when he'd been working with his first draft he'd realized that having everyone able to fly around everywhere at a whim would take a lot of the tension out of the story he'd been trying to write, so he'd purposefully written that flying around was actually pretty difficult! Lower level cultivators couldn't even do it at all, so sects would still rely on mundane travel; both for them and so that the people who were able to fly didn’t show up to hunts totally exhausted. And that decision had made it into his actual published web novel, because back in the beginning he'd been desperately trying to remember what had been in his outline as he went.
Then he'd ended up giving the protagonist a teleporting sword anyways. And he'd been right not to include such an easy mode of transport! Houhua had ended up having to figure out how to disable teleportation or take away the sword in half the arcs he wrote!
"As disciples of An Ding, you are expected to be some of the fastest and longest distance flyers in the sect." Their instructor continues, snapping Houhua's mind out of its wandering. "Believe it or not, this is something we take pride in; more importantly, it's going to be your most efficient way to get around, so make sure that you take this seriously."
Oh, Houhua is taking this so seriously.
It really is simple. The first step is getting one of these unbound spiritual swords they've been handed floating at ankle level, which seems even more dangerous than the razor scooters other kids had when he was growing up, but is easy enough to manage -- Houhua's sword fighting skills are pretty bad, but he does alright with sword seals -- and then you step on top of it. Houhua wobbles dangerously, but he isn't the only one.
Next you stick yourself to your sword with your qi, and Houhua is actually pretty good at this part. He uses this little trick to stick papers to his hands, himself to tree branches, and on more than one occasion his arms to big muscular demon thighs.
And then apparently you literally just cycle your qi through it to make it go. Which feels really weird at first -- how are you supposed to turn this thing? He flies a slow wobbling line half an inch off the ground. Maybe if he twists his feet a little…?
Yeah, nope. The only thing that keeps him from landing on his face is that he's also really good at recognizing when it's a good time to un-stick himself from things. He pinwheels his arms and ducks his head to avoid the glare sent to him by the instructor. How is this his fault, ah? Instruct better if you have such a problem with it!
Idleness is never tolerated on An Ding, so he jumps back on his sword to make another few wobbling passes back and forth across the training yard. It's kind of like riding a bike, he figures. If his qi is the pedals and his qi is… Also the handlebars?
Around pass eight or nine, it finally clicks. It's kind of a lot like riding a bike, which as someone who couldn't afford a car was something he used to do quite frequently. The fact that he feels steadier when he moves faster, or the way he can coast off of just a little acceleration for a while… And the sword isn't going to suddenly drop out from under him, because it's his qi in the thing, it'd kind of be like worrying about your own legs giving out without warning. Which could happen, he guesses, but probably not out of nowhere?
"Ohhh." He mutters to himself, now making lazy circles around the training ground -- you just have to nudge your qi in the opposite direction of the way you want to go, which is easy to do and hard to explain -- "Is this what they mean when they tell you to treat a sword as an extension of yourself?"
That earns him a bunch of hostile looks from the other disciples who are still flying in wobbling lines, but whatever! Was he supposed to be putting qi into his sword when they practiced this whole time??
If someone had asked Wei Qingwei to make a bet on it, he would have put money on that little An Ding disciple he dragged back to Cang Qiong leaving the sect within a year.
Of course, he's happy to be proven wrong! His tiny, mousy shixong has apparently only risen through the ranks and now stands ready and waiting to get a spiritual sword. He's obviously nervous about it, but Qingwei tries not to judge him for it too harshly -- most people are when they show up to get their swords, Shang Houhua just shows it more obviously than most.
Qingwei had actually volunteered to be the one to lead this specific person through the caves. The way the wall reacts to a person, the sword they end up taking… Qingwei likes to think of it like a sort of fortunetelling that can reveal what a person is really like. Granted, his interest in Shang Houhua isn't much more than idle curiosity, but someone has to guide disciples through the caves that host the sword wall, and it's not like anyone else was volunteering. An Ding disciples typically have the most boring sword bestowing ceremonies of any peak, often ending up with a weak sword from the earliest parts of the wall. Their peak lord doesn't even deign to come to them himself anymore -- Shang Houhua is here alone.
Qingwei takes a little pity on him and claps a hand on Houhua's shoulder, which makes the younger man flinch.
"I'm sure you've heard plenty of stuff about the sword wall, but I promise there's nothing to get too worked up about." He says, "Just keep your senses open, the swords you're compatible with will try to get your attention, and the ones that don't want you there will fight against you."
Truthfully it’s much more complicated than that, which Shang Houhua might have some idea of because he looks back at Qingwei with a very dubious side-eye.
"…Right." Houhua agrees. "So… do I just… go in?"
"…If you want." Qingwei answers. There usually is a bit more ceremony to all of this, but without anyone else here for him Qingwei isn't really sure what he should do for the man. Houhua doesn't ask for anything more though; his eyes go a little unfocused for a moment, then he huffs a breath, squares his shoulders, and marches through the cave entrance into the main hall.
There is one of two ways that this usually goes: More often when someone approaches the sword wall, most of the swords stay quiet, a few of them radiating interest because they sense their compatibility with that person as a wielder. Sometimes, if a cultivator is especially strong or skilled, the entire wall will start radiating qi when it's approached, and some of the less compatible swords quiet down as the more compatible ones fight for attention. That sort of response is supposed to be an auspicious sign -- both Yue Qingyuan and Liu Qingge had gotten that sort of response when they'd received their swords, and both of them are head disciples now.
Suffice to say he is not expecting the whole sword wall to practically light up with qi when Shang Houhua approaches it. This An Ding disciple has no reputation to speak of, aside from running away from a demon attack! And stranger than that: the wall doesn't quiet down. Every single sword on the wall fights Shang Houhua's attention like he's some kind of first class cultivator on the cusp of ascension, not an An Ding inner disciple!
Wei Qingwei leans forward, watching Houhua with rapt attention as the man rubs at one of his temples. He's probably getting a headache from all of the qi -- Qingwei can feel his ears pop from here -- but this whole thing is -- it's unprecedented. Shang Houhua could probably pick any sword from the wall that he wanted and it would probably accept him! Some of these swords have been in the hall since the peak was founded!
Houhua does not even seem to consider them an option. He makes an uncomfortable face, hands fluttering over some of the plain swords right at the entrance of the hall before he seems to reconsider and move a little further -- just a few steps really - down the wall. It almost seems as though he chooses the sword he pulls from the wall at random, but as soon as the blade is free all of the qi radiating off of the wall goes silent, cut off as though it was never there at all.
Shang Houhua slumps in relief as the qi assaulting his senses disappears. He wipes at his forehead and holds up his sword, turning it this way and that to examine it. Even from here Qingwei can tell that it's… Average. A little short, some nice detailing on the cross guard, but otherwise perfectly plain and unassuming. Maybe rather than just the sword, the entire ceremony would be a good reflection of Shang Houhua's personality -- a man who is capable of greatness but too fearful to reach for it?
No sword on the wall is a bad one, of course, but to pick one so plain when he could have had any sword at all…!
Shang Houhua is smiling when he turns around, his relief painfully obvious as he reaches the cave entrance.
"Congratulations, shixong." Qingwei smiles back and fights very hard to keep the disappointment out of his voice when he speaks. "What is your new sword named?"
"FeiJji" Houhua answers, eyes sparkling with mischief, like there's some sort of inside joke that Qingwei is meant to understand.
Flying Machine is a very unique name for a sword, though. And maybe it does fit his tiny shixong, who he suspects only survived that demon ambush by fleeing as quickly as he could.
"It's a good sword, shixong."
"Thanks!"
Houhua's grin looks genuine. Wei Qingwei, realizing that he hasn't seen that look on him before, swears to himself at once that he won't speak a word of what happened here to anyone else. Shang Houhua is an average An Ding disciple, who drew an average sword from the wall, and that's all anyone needs to know about it. The poor man's reputation struggles enough as it is already.
"Make sure you take some time to meditate with your sword to really solidify that bond." Qingwei tells him. "Take some time in the Ling Xi caves if you can."
This is just the standard advice given to anyone who claims a spiritual sword. An Ding disciples hardly ever have time to do the latter.
"Thanking shidi. If he does not mind, this one will be leaving first. This disciple has a lot of work to catch up on…"
Just like that, Houhua's smile grows small, his happiness is clouded over with the constant anxiety that Qingwei remembers him for. Maybe he should have known better than to expect greatness from the man after all.
"It's no trouble." He answers. It really is a sad thing to leave from getting your spiritual sword and go straight back to work. Maybe he'll send his shixong a bottle of wine or something, so he can celebrate with his friends?
He doesn't realize what's just happened until after Shang Houhua is a spec on the horizon. The man had waved goodbye, stepped onto his sword, and flew off. Onto his freshly drawn, newly bound spiritual sword, that he hasn't even had a chance to sit down with yet. Most people don't even attempt sword flying for at least a few months after their bond with their swords have started to settle, but Houhua took off across the mountains without a second thought, his sword not so much as wobbling under his command.
"Hah." Qingwei shakes his head. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to make things so complicated. "Fei Ji, huh?"
So, Houhua was right! Being able to fly rules!
Need to make a delivery? Hop on a sword! Need to go pick up paperwork from another peak? Hop on a sword! Need to go dig up a rare flower so a certain demon prince can use it to frame his brother for poisoning a visiting duke? Wake up in the middle of the night and hop! On! A! Sword!
Sometimes he'll even get on his sword and fly around for fun, just for the novelty of it. Focusing on flying really has a way of clearing his mind, which is not something he ever really gets the chance to do otherwise. His cultivation is even improving with how much he's flying around, which was not how he thought this worked at all? Maybe since he's using his qi so much more often it counts as exercise?
Well he's not going to complain about it! This poor author will take his wins where he can get them!
Apparently his preference for flying is noticed too, because Shizun is constantly assigning him reasons to fly over to other peaks. He's pretty sure it's some kind of punishment, because it's always to do something like "get Cai Di to send over their surplus huangjiu so An Ding can sell it for profit" or "get Guai Shou to finally hand over the paperwork with the estimates for how much wool their herd are going to produce this year."
That second one wasn't even that bad! Houhua got to hang around and pet a bunch of lop-eared silk sheep afterwards!
And then, when he got back with the requested papers (really, it had just been a bunch of math…), the Peak Lord of An Ding, takes it, looks it over with exhausted eyes, sighs, and says, "Well that was fast. How do you feel about being head disciple, then?"
"Uh?" Houhua squeaks. He needs the position, obviously, but isn't this a little fast? "Good?"
"Good." His shizun repeats back. They rustle about in their desk until they find a set of keys, "That's for the head disciples house. Report back here at sunrise for your duties. Courtesy name, hmm… Qinghua."
Shouldn't you think about it a little bit harder?!
"Y-yes, shizun." He answers, bowing and scurrying out before he can say something that will get his good luck revoked.
Thankfully moving houses doesn't take long. Qiankun pouches also rule, and Houhua -- no, Qinghua -- at least it's a name he's been preparing to be called for a while -- doesn't own much that he doesn't carry around with him constantly anyways.
But it turns out being made head disciple was the real punishment all along. His duties are more-or-less to make sure the peak lord has to see as little work as possible, which means taking over as many of their duties as possible, and Houhua come Qinghua quickly finds out that he has to organize a functional bureaucracy on this peak if he ever wants to get sleep ever again. That's right! A bunch of promotions to middle manager coming up!!
Liu Qingge does not know the name of the An Ding disciple who's been sent on this mission with him. Someone had definitely told it to him -- it had been announced to the whole room when the tiny man was introduced as the new head disciple of An Ding. He'd heard it and then promptly stopped thinking about it because doesn't that peak go through a dozen head disciples a year anyways?
This one seems to have lasted though, and he'd greeted Qingge by name, with a nervous smile. Qingge… did not want to deal with him. He has yet to meet with an An Ding disciple who didn't slow him down in one way or another and he expects no more from this one.
The mission in this case is to hunt down a herd of rampaging shattertooth boars that have been terrorizing a village. An Ding is required because said village trades something-or-other that is important to the sect and they want someone to see how bad the damages are and organize the repair effort.
"…Shixong." He says, "I'm going to fly there."
"Ah?" The mousy little man jumps like Qingge surprised him, somehow. "Oh, alright!"
He fumbles when he draws his own sword. Qingge is on Cheng Luan before he's even mounted it. He doesn't make an attempt to set a pace that will be more comfortable for the other head disciple -- he doesn't need to be there to hunt the boars anyways, so what does it matter if that man arrives later?
He knows he flies faster than most people are comfortable with. Qingge is not expecting to glance back and find the An Ding disciple keeping up.
The man has a sort of blank look on his face, eyes focused on nothing in particular. He doesn't even seem to notice when Qingge pushes himself a little faster, he just picks up speed too, staying the same amount of distance behind.
Morbidly curious, Qingge pushes himself faster, and then a little faster still, and the An Ding Disciple is still right behind him. When Qingge looks back this time he's squatting on his blade in the way that reduces resistance from the wind, but his hands are tucked up under his arms to protect them from the cold. He still doesn't seem to be under any strain; in fact when Qingge turns to look at him his own concentration gives way, making his sword wobble dangerously. The man waves his hands in the air, eyes wide in panic as both of them come to a sudden stop.
"Ah, Liu-shidi, are you alright? Did you hit an updraft or something?"
"Mm." Qingge doesn't deny it, letting the An Ding disciple save his face for him. Now that they're not moving, Qingge can see just how solidly the man's sword sits under him. It doesn't sway at all -- maybe he is strong after all, Qingge can barely fathom the amount of control that would take. "Let's go."
Qingge ends up sorely disappointed, in the end. The man -- who had introduced himself to the village headman as Shang Qinghua -- refuses to fight. When Qingge tries to make him, he goes so far as to use his sword flying skills to run away; and that's after the man fakes passing out in his arms so that Qingge won't literally throw him into combat
Qingge ends up taking his frustration out on the boars and doesn't say a word to Shang Qinghua all the way back to the sect, even as the man chatters on uselessly about nothing. What use is a strength like that if the man is never going to use it?!
Being a peak lord kind of stinks.
Like, Qinghua doesn't actually have that much more work than he did as head disciple -- because his shizun had hoisted literally all of it on to him before the end there. Actually, Qinghua isn't convinced that they didn't worm their way out of ascending with everyone else, they probably foresaw a future having to do paperwork as a heavenly official forever and decided on a mortal realm vacation.
Qinghua sighs and wishes that were him, as he crosses out a line on the budget Xian Shu sent him so that he can amend it. It's not that he has more work, except when he does, but he's far more responsible for it now, which means he has to be available when other peak lords or his own disciples (weird) come looking for him. Most days -- and most nights, too -- he doesn't even leave his office, and on the rare opportunity he does get the chance it's always to the North. And these days Mobei-jun doesn't even have him doing anything exciting! Now that the demon has stabilized his base of power he mostly has Qinghua doing administrative work for him too! Not that he's complaining! Flying around in the Northern Desert is liable to get him snatched up and eaten by a giant demon eagle!
Honestly, most of the demons are nicer to deal with than Qi-shimei when she doesn't get what she wants. Qinghua grimaces down at what is looking to be a very overstretched budget. Even if it's just to do more work, maybe he should run off to the North, for just a little while…
Qinghua startles at the knock on his door -- the sound is far more confident than what any of his disciples would do if they had to bother him, so he makes a token attempt at straightening up his robes before he goes to answer.
Of course it's one of the three people in the sect who can drop by and demand his time out of the blue without it being considered the height of rudeness. And none of them usually never bother with him!
"Ah." He blinks. "Ah! Uh, zhangmen-shixong, hi! Um, I-- this one wasn't expecting you? This one can go prepare some tea…?"
Yue Qingyuan gives him one of his lopsided guilty smiles.
"This lord is afraid we won't have the time for that. We have something of an emergency on our hands…"
The emergency is that some Bai Zhan disciples stirred up a hibernating saw-toothed swamp drake, which is a creature that's basically immune to anything a (non-half-heavenly demon) cultivator can throw at it. The only way to deal with it, short of Yue Qingyuan going out himself and shaving a couple of years off of his life, is to wear the creature out enough that it runs off and goes back into hibernation again. Cang Qiong has already sent out more of their disciples to fight it off and make sure it stays well away from any populated areas but…
"That territory was near Huan Hua palace already. This one wanted to give them the opportunity to offer aid." Qingyuan's smile isn't guilty so much as it is devious, which Qinghua approves of. After the whole Tianlang-jun debacle it would look horrible for them to say no, plus it'll waste their time and there won't even be any glory or riches out of it since nothing is going to end up dead.
Also, it seems like the perfect excuse to leave his desk for a while!
"Well, if it's an emergency, this lord should probably relay the message himself!" He ignores the look of surprise on Qingyuan's face. "I'll organize some supply runs out to the fighters and head out right away."
"This one appreciates it, shidi."
Qinghua gives him an only slightly sarcastic salute and locks up off office before scurrying off to do what he said. When he steps onto his sword and flies off, he's humming a half-remembered pop song as he goes. He really hasn't had the chance to fly somewhere in a while, it really is good to get the chance to stretch his legs!
He thinks about, for a good span of flying, not going at top speed and maybe meandering around a little bit before biting at thumb nail and deciding that he can do that on the way back. After Huan Hua has already sent their own people. But hey, flying as fast as he can is pretty fun too, and while he might be out of practice, he is a lot better at circulating his qi so that his ears don't ache from the wind chill.
In a carriage on the road, the trip to Huan Hua palace takes nearly two weeks. Flying on a sword each day, most cultivators can make it in under one. Qinghua can, if he's doing his math correctly, make it in just about three days if he keeps up his current speed without resting, and as a matter of fact he flies through the night and into sunrise, distracted as he is about standardized units of measurement.
Well, he's not feeling particularly tired, but he should at least try and take a nap before he keeps going, right? And maybe grab some youtiao if he's going to stop in a village for a while…
In the end he arrives at the gates of Huan Hua palace around midday on day four. For some reason his arrival sparks a lot of panic. And not like, the usual kind of quiet panic that comes with an important person showing up with no warning (and yes, he is technically an important person!), but a lot of pointing and running around to go get other people who also end up pointing at him. By the time he's directing his sword back into its sheathe, the Palace Master himself is waiting for him with the sort of pleasant expression on his face that promises to devolve into something ugly very quickly if it must.
"Peak Lord Shang." He drawls, "To what do we owe the pleasure."
Yeah Qinghua was so excited about getting to fly around he kind of forgot about having to deal with this guy. But whatever, even Lao Ghogzhu can be fooled by his best customer service smile!
"An emergency, I'm afraid. You see some of our disciples noticed a swamp drake on the edge of your territory…"
He thinks he does a good job at dressing it up as a Huan Hua problem. The Palace Master's face certainly cracks from its pleasant façade into annoyance more than once as Qinghua explains the situation and he struggles to summon the proper people to organize their own response. Qinghua bravely does not laugh at anyone the entire time -- it's not like Huan Hua has any face to lose in his eyes!
At the end of what ends up being a rather exhausting meeting, the Palace Master invites Qinghua to stay for the night. Knowing just exactly how sketchy the old man is, Qinghua waves it off with the most responsible response he can think of.
"Thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid that this one needs to go join up with my sect as soon as possible. Someone has to keep these sort of things organized, ha hah!" It's so worth it to see the Old Palace Master's jaw twitch like that. "If you'll excuse me, this lord should head out as soon as possible!"
"Ah, Lord Shang, just one thing before you go." The Palace Master reaches out and threatens to catch him by the sleeve, which, gross, "How did you bypass our flight wards? This close to the water prison you should not have been able to stay in the air."
Huh?
"Huh??" Qinghua answers. "I guess this one just missed them..?"
They've migrated to a courtyard by now, and to prove his point Qinghua tosses out his sword and steps on it, rising a few inches without trouble. Wards that stop flying sound like something he totally would have written, but there definitely aren't any here.
"See?" He says, "Maybe have someone look at whatever wards you're using, I guess."
"This one will do so" The Palace Master answers sourly. "Be safe on your way out then, Lord Shang."
Which is definitely a dismissal, so Qinghua bows, flies above the courtyard, and books it out of there. He totally plans to meander his way back home and is halfway through planning which villages will make the best tourist stops when he remembers all the excuses he just gave and sags out of the air. He totally has to make an appearance at that fight now, doesn't he!
Huan Hua really is the worst!
Mobei-jun has never thought much of a cultivator's ability to fly on their sword. As far as he cares, however often his little spy explains otherwise, it's just an ability of theirs. The same way a snake demon can spit venom, or a volcano demon breathe flames, cultivators can fly around and be as annoying as buzzing insects.
This holds true for Shang Qinghua, too. In the early days of their arrangement he always seemed to be flying about to retrieve this or deliver that. It took him so much effort to do what Mobei-jun could do with a portal and a thought. The ability does not impress him, and it takes his spy out of his sight where he could be doing who knows what, so Mobei-jun assigns Qinghua tasks where it's not needed, when he can.
This turns out to be for the best. Mobei-jun's little cultivator turns out to be a far more effective bureaucrat than he is an errand boy, and as he climbs to be head disciple and then peak lord he flies less and less until Mobei-jun hardly remembers that it's something that Qinghua used to do.
Until he is falling.
The first thought that crosses his head as he is blown off the side of the cliff, inanely, is that Qinghua had warned him that he would not win a fight with his sect leader. The second, as he realizes that he is falling too quickly for his own shadows to catch him, is that he is going to die. Or if he survives, he will be crippled and unable to claim his ancestor's power -- a fate worse than death, if his uncle capitalizes on it.
He can see his fate laid out before him and there is nothing he can do but wait and meet the ground.
Then there is a familiar sound, growing louder.
"My kiiiiiiinnnnggggg!!!!"
It is Shang Qinghua, sword tilted down so that he can fly faster than Mobei-jun is falling. For a moment he is too astounded to react -- for ages now Qinghua's professed greatest fear was being caught by his sectmates, and yet here he is, putting his own life at risk in front of them, for Mobei-jun's sake. Again.
Qinghua is deceptively fast, and even more deceptively strong. Despite his tiny size, the cultivator has always been able to carry Mobei-jun when it has been needed, and it is needed now. Mobei-jun only has to catch Qinghua's hand, and suddenly his stomach is swooping, momentum shifting as Qinghua shifts them from falling to flying forward. And he does so easily -- some part of Mobei-jun had expected the cultivator's sword to sway under his weight, or for Qinghua to have to make an immediate landing after catching him, but the blade under his feet is as steady as solid ground.
"Ahh, my king, my king, you're alright aren't you? Did you get hurt in the blast?" Qinghua's fussing is familiar, and it isn't -- one hand hovers and twitches around him, wanting to search for wounds and afraid of touching. The other, though, is still on his arm and holding him tight, like Qinghua thinks he might fall again if he lets him go.
Up until now, Mobei-jun was never sure which side Qinghua would choose if forced. Now he does, and now Qinghua has saved his life again. Mobei-jun can finally reward him for it, this time.
"This king is fine." He says. "Qinghua should return to the North with me."
"Ah? Aha, well…" His spy-no-longer turns to look up at the mountain where the fighting still rages before facing Mobei-jun with a nervous smile. "I guess I should!"