Work Text:
Shang Qinghua had created his self insert for two reasons.
The first was obviously to shamelessly be in proximity to his favorite character creation (Mobei-jun and all his princely buffness). Secondly, in the event that God turned out to be real and isekai was one of his biggest jokes, Qinghua would have a perfect template for himself to settle into. A man of little importance and great wealth with a cushy job on the mountain. Granted, he’d dashed this reason later when the plot demanded it’s secondary antagonist and wrote the PIDW Shang Qinghua as an irredeemable traitor, and his original idea had collected dust in one of his many notebooks.
When Shang Qinghua had dropped his bowl of instant ramen onto his lame excuse of bundle cord maintenance, this memory came to mind.
Now, did this fabulous absolutely genius bit of foresight he’d perfectly laid out for God come to save his poor reincarnated soul come to fruition?
Of course not.
As such, Shang Qinghua wakes up in the body of one buff, prettyboy war god.
Despite the mind boggling amount of buffs he’d given the Bai Zhan war god, being Liu Qingge was hazardous as hell.
Between being constantly assigned to monster hunting, being subjected to sneak attack duels in his sleep by his disciples, and just all around being expected to Fight Things constantly despite inwardly being very much a cowardly pacifist, there was little time to savor and revel in being a hot, rich jock. It was truly a travesty after he’d spent most of his previous life as an office number cruncher by day and hack author by night. Whoever coined ‘pretty privilege was a lying liar who lied. The only thing he was privy to was a fight and being covered in monster guts 24/7.
But no- that wasn’t even the worst part.
No, apparently people hated Liu Qingge.
To start, Mu Qingfang was a perpetual leech in his side, aggressively threatening him with ‘medicine’ and ‘proper wound care’ which Qingge was sure was a barely veiled innuendo for poison and bodily harm. Doctors were scary. They knew how to put you back together and vice versa. Those gentle shaky touches on his bare bruised back were hypothetical knives. Every cool headache towel and warm palmed massage were threats of power in his vulnerability.
It wasn’t any better with the resident scum villain either. He had complimented Shen Jiu’s fan once. And suddenly he was being threatened to have tea every week in the Bamboo House while Shen Jiu loomed across the table. Qingge would have to pray silently that this wasn’t the week Shen Jiu decided to finally poison it. The man always turned red with rage when he pulled his sleeves up his wrists to try to pour tea for him in return. This was psychological warfare. Qingge didn’t even know what he was being blackmailed for but he knew that snake knew something.
It was during one of those weeks that the man had found out about his writing habits and now all his manuscripts were being held hostage under the guise of ‘editing’. Sometimes he even got them back- albeit marked to hell and back because Shen Jiu was a vicious, cruel teacher.
But the cherry on top of this whole shit cake? Mobei-jun.
Liu Qingge missions (more like attempts to work him to death) took a startling turn one day and he’d end up in the exact place his self insert should have been.
That was, saving the Ice Prince from certain death after his uncle tried to assassinate him.
But instead of having to sacrifice his men, Liu Qingge, having the tank he’d written this body to be, was often alone on these missions. And so, all who had witnessed the war god administer first aid to the prince of the demon realm were the dead carcasses of the beast he’d been sent to slay nearby.
Recently, the prince had shaken with barely contained fury anytime Qingge got near him and despite his best efforts to avoid the demon, he’d always show up to crowd his space. It was almost like he wanted him to mess up.
If you like personal space that much, stop trying to put your hands on my waist!
But yes. Now Qingge’s days of waiting for the plot to slay him again were filled with avoiding assassination attempts. He would have never created such an unliked and prone-to-being-murdered character if he knew he’d serve as his afterlife prison.
There were only so many pointed remarks a man could take before unraveling.
“Qingge, try this new muscle relaxer I created! Aren’t you so glad you have me keeping you in peak health?”
Yes, thank you Mu-shidi for not poisoning me when I need surgery. I will absolutely go on a quest to bring you back ultra rare medical herbs guarded by a hundred deadly beasts, pleasedontkillme-
“Qingge, I’ve edited your manuscript thoroughly. Bring the next for me to look over. I also bought too much of this tea so you must come to tea to help me drink the excess…”
Oh, Shen Jiu! I’ll definitely give you the manuscript I thought I hid well enough under my bed from your eyes. You can totally subject me to a teacup poison Russian roulette as you glare at me to never hide secrets from you again.
“Qingge, I have found another dungeon for you to look for demon artifacts and treasure. Come and fight by my side, dearest one.”
A dangerous dungeon full of boobytraps and monsters? Of course, My King, right away, My King. I’ll totally do all the heavy lifting and then cough up the gold and jewels I found fair and square to line your coffers in exchange for my fragile, pathetic life. I understand we will never be more than spy and King and that my romantic daydreams should die.
Liu Qingge was ecstatic for the day Shen Jiu finally murdered him in a cave somewhere. If that didn’t isekai him into a more distant world with better writing or at least a safe and cushy role as a merchant NPC, then at least he could die in peace. God, why couldn't have that bowl of ramen just electrocuted him and be done with it?
All in all, Shang Qinghua did not remember writing a single word of this.
“Uhm, shibo? My Shizun sent me to drop this off to you…”
…Could he not have one moment to himself in this accursed world? Liu QIngge’s daily lamentations were interrupted by a quiet voice entering his office. He didn’t bother to look up and fiddled with the ends of his horse hair brush.
“Yes, yes, dear. Here, have an osmanthus cake, you did very well.” Liu Qingge mindlessly said as he scanned the list of various tasks he need to finish by the end of the week if he didn’t want to lose his limbs. Leaned over his desk, his hand found a plate of cakes he kept nearby of which he gave one to the frazzled disciple without looking up. He then gave the delivery kid a pat on their head before taking the package without looking up waiting for the kid to leave.
Except, the package in his hand already belonged to him. Qingge’s own neat handwriting of his manuscript looked back up at him, marked and eviscerated by Shen Jiu.
He blinked. Once. Twice.
The delivery kid. Green, white robes. A Qing Jing disciple. Dirty. Fluffy hair.
Fuck me.
“Shibo… patted this one’s head?” Luo Binghe Binghe blinked up at him teary eyed, his ears pink and expression truly gutted. A perfect people skin. A wronged, adorable little human child. Almost cute enough to make an author forget the future Lord of the Abyss rattling around in that fluffy head of his.
I just put my hands on the protagonist. The protagonist is crying in front of me. The protagonist who flays people alive and steals their limbs and organs when they hurt him.
And so Shang Qinghua did the only reasonable thing to get out of this situation he’d bungled himself into. Liu Qingge fainted.