That Other Post About How Miserable The OG Luo Binghe Truly Is Got Me Thinking (again) About How Incredible

Just in case you forget this exists.

It exists.

based on friend’s story

fortunately i have stupid sexy little bitch disease so i never understand anything you guys are talking about

🐹

[x]

heyheyheyyy c'maahn I’m a little guy,

it's you!

I don't know bingbong, let's ask the destroyed roomba

So.

According to @demiace-wen-ning​‘s iconic post, every MXTX novel has:

A red/black, morally ambiguous, all-powerful bastard man

A fan wielder who is much more than meets the eye

And a fucking Jiang Cheng

Now we, as a collective fandom, have decided with our communal braincell that in SVSSS, the “fucking Jiang Cheng”™ character is Liu Qingge. And on the surface, this seems Right and Good:

HOWEVER! I posit that these aspects are only the most superficial and external aspects of the vast and multi-layered Dagwood sandwich that is fundamental “fucking Jiang Cheng”™yness. “fucking Jiang Cheng”™ has LAYERS. And for all that I love Liu Qingge, I love him in the same way I love the Sonic franchise’s Knuckles the Echidna:

This is emphatically NOT how I love Jiang Cheng. Furthermore, this is demonstrably NOT the sort of character that a fandom becomes viciously divisive about. This is the sort of character you either like or dislike and move on with your life because he is not deep and complex enough to Die On This Hill for defending. (This is a Feng Xin or Nie Mingjue sort of character.)

So what makes for a “fucking Jiang Cheng”™ character? What are the quintessential “fucking Jiang Cheng”™ characteristics that result in a complex and divisive character? I propose:

ambiguous/unexplained actions

refusal to explain motives

canon selfless actions missed or negatively interpreted

socially over-conscious while still socially detested

harsh and contemptuous outward behavior

honestly, naturally is an asshole, but holds back just enough to get away with it

hard-working but overshadowed by upstart prodigy

childhood trauma that fundamentally affected behavioral patterns

aggressively focused on their cultivation and consequent social status

secretly heartbroken about a perceived betrayal regarding the protagonist

yay, war crimes!

These attributes all describe Jiang Cheng. All but the last one describe Mu Qing, with the second-to-last applying in a way where HE is perceived as the betrayer. None of these attributes describe Liu Qingge. But you know who they DO describe in SVSSS?

Shen Jiu.

The ORIGINAL Shen Qingqiu.

An undeniable asshole who nevertheless gets punished for every good deed he ever did, who clawed and scraped his way to the top of the cultivation world and ensured he stayed there no matter how many bridges he had to burn or enemies he had to make along the way, who acts like a bitter tsundere to the person who matters most to him because said person broke their promise and never explained why, whose childhood was a never-ending parade of trauma and abuse that molded him into a harsh and suspicious individual, who (though we don’t find out until the extras) shows no sexual interest in anyone, whose own path to cultivation was so difficult and traumatic that they could not stop themselves from jealously lashing out at the heaven-blessed prodigy standing right next to them.

Shen Jiu is the TRUE “fucking Jiang Cheng”™ of SVSSS, and I cordially invite any haters to bring it on because this is My Hill and I am ready to fight for it.

i don’t often think of bingqiu and hualian in terms of parallels because their stories are so different and the parallels i’ve seen discussed have felt a little intuitive, but one that i’ve never really thought about isn’t a parallel between the red/blacks and the white/blues, but instead luo binghe and xie lian, and consequently shen qingqiu and hua cheng.

we’ll actually start with shen qingqiu and hua cheng—who are they? well, they’re both strong individuals that are originally (or throughout the story) cast in sort of villainous, disreputable roles. the ghost king, the scum villain. their styles of devotion are completely different in that hua cheng is infinitely more demonstrative and verbally/physically affectionate than shen qingqiu, completely lacking any shame when it comes to xie lian, but they’re both in some way quietly (and sometimes less quietly) devoted to their partner, to the point of physical sacrifice for them. devotion is obviously a key theme throughout all three of mxtx’s work, there’s more to it than that with tgcf and svsss.

neither hua cheng nor shen qingqiu are all that aware of their own innate value to the world around them. and, consequently, neither quite understand why their partners are with them, consciously or unconsciously. shen qingqiu spends plenty of time mentally blue-screening the first few times that luo binghe shows him affection and wonders why he isn’t bestowing it upon his theoretical future wives, and hua cheng was so ruthlessly tormented for his appearance that he can’t fathom being called handsome or worthy of so much as a touch on the hand from xie lian. the roles they’re cast in by their societies further drive this: shen qingqiu doesn’t internalise the good he’s done in changing the world of pidw, the people whose lives he’s saved or positively impacted just by existing, and hua cheng is hua cheng. immensely powerful, frighteningly knowledgeable, endlessly devoted. he’s an excellent artist, a clever mouth, a talented carpenter (sorry)—all of this, external to his vices and usefulness as a ghost king. they both have their values to the world that we the audience can pick out, but when do either ever say, “hey. i did a good thing, existing. my existence has value, and i should protect it accordingly,” (looking at you for that self-detonation, shen qingqiu)

compare these two to their husbands—brilliant, beautiful, devastatingly, mouth-wateringly powerful luo binghe and xie lian. luo binghe knows his strengths, even if he places all his value in the hands of his shen qingqiu—he knows he’s beautiful, he knows he’s strong, he knows he’s clever and talented and all these things. despite how these things have no value to him if shen qingqiu doesn’t care for them, he’s still conscious of their existence. similarly, xie lian was crown prince of xianle, the strongest martial god, so talented that he ascended at the age of 17. again, he knows the nature of his strengths, even if they matter little to him in the grand scheme of his 800 years of ascent and descent, suffering and anger and thinly-veiled depression.

it’s an interesting contrast to what you’d expect, that when it comes to their feelings towards their relationships—the fact that they’re actually involved with these people that they admire so deeply, are devoted to in ways that are either heartbreakingly over-the-top or subtly devastating—hua cheng and shen qingqiu are the ones that share this glaring similarity.

Here’s a story about changelings: 

Mary was a beautiful baby, sweet and affectionate, but by the time she’s three she’s turned difficult and strange, with fey moods and a stubborn mouth that screams and bites but never says mama. But her mother’s well-used to hard work with little thanks, and when the village gossips wag their tongues she just shrugs, and pulls her difficult child away from their precious, perfect blossoms, before the bites draw blood. Mary’s mother doesn’t drown her in a bucket of saltwater, and she doesn’t take up the silver knife the wife of the village priest leaves out for her one Sunday brunch. 

She gives her daughter yarn, instead, and instead of a rowan stake through her inhuman heart she gives her a child’s first loom, oak and ash. She lets her vicious, uncooperative fairy daughter entertain herself with games of her own devising, in as much peace and comfort as either of them can manage.

Mary grows up strangely, as a strange child would, learning everything in all the wrong order, and biting a great deal more than she should. But she also learns to weave, and takes to it with a grand passion. Soon enough she knows more than her mother–which isn’t all that much–and is striking out into unknown territory, turning out odd new knots and weaves, patterns as complex as spiderwebs and spellrings. 

“Aren’t you clever,” her mother says, of her work, and leaves her to her wool and flax and whatnot. Mary’s not biting anymore, and she smiles more than she frowns, and that’s about as much, her mother figures, as anyone should hope for from their child. 

Mary still cries sometimes, when the other girls reject her for her strange graces, her odd slow way of talking, her restless reaching fluttering hands that have learned to spin but never to settle. The other girls call her freak, witchblood, hobgoblin.

“I don’t remember girls being quite so stupid when I was that age,” her mother says, brushing Mary’s hair smooth and steady like they’ve both learned to enjoy, smooth as a skein of silk. “Time was, you knew not to insult anyone you might need to flatter later. ‘Specially when you don’t know if they’re going to grow wings or horns or whatnot. Serve ‘em all right if you ever figure out curses.”

“I want to go back,” Mary says. “I want to go home, to where I came from, where there’s people like me. If I’m a fairy’s child I should be in fairyland, and no one would call me a freak.”

“Aye, well, I’d miss you though,” her mother says. “And I expect there’s stupid folk everywhere, even in fairyland. Cruel folk, too. You just have to make the best of things where you are, being my child instead.”

Mary learns to read well enough, in between the weaving, especially when her mother tracks down the traveling booktraders and comes home with slim, precious manuals on dyes and stains and mordants, on pigments and patterns, diagrams too arcane for her own eyes but which make her daughter’s eyes shine.

“We need an herb garden,” her daughter says, hands busy, flipping from page to page, pulling on her hair, twisting in her skirt, itching for a project. “Yarrow, and madder, and woad and weld…”

“Well, start digging,” her mother says. “Won’t do you a harm to get out of the house now’n then.”

Mary doesn’t like dirt but she’s learned determination well enough from her mother. She digs and digs, and plants what she’s given, and the first year doesn’t turn out so well but the second’s better, and by the third a cauldron’s always simmering something over the fire, and Mary’s taking in orders from girls five years older or more, turning out vivid bolts and spools and skeins of red and gold and blue, restless fingers dancing like they’ve summoned down the rainbow. Her mother figures she probably has.

“Just as well you never got the hang of curses,” she says, admiring her bright new skirts. “I like this sort of trick a lot better.”

Mary smiles, rocking back and forth on her heels, fingers already fluttering to find the next project.

She finally grows up tall and fair, if a bit stooped and squinty, and time and age seem to calm her unhappy mouth about as well as it does for human children. Word gets around she never lies or breaks a bargain, and if the first seems odd for a fairy’s child then the second one seems fit enough. The undyed stacks of taken orders grow taller, the dyed lots of filled orders grow brighter, the loom in the corner for Mary’s own creations grows stranger and more complex. Mary’s hands callus just like her mother’s, become as strong and tough and smooth as the oak and ash of her needles and frames, though they never fall still.

“Do you ever wonder what your real daughter would be like?” the priest’s wife asks, once.

Mary’s mother snorts. “She wouldn’t be worth a damn at weaving,” she says. “Lord knows I never was. No, I’ll keep what I’ve been given and thank the givers kindly. It was a fair enough trade for me. Good day, ma’am.”

Mary brings her mother sweet chamomile tea, that night, and a warm shawl in all the colors of a garden, and a hairbrush. In the morning, the priest’s son comes round, with payment for his mother’s pretty new dress and a shy smile just for Mary. He thinks her hair is nice, and her hands are even nicer, vibrant in their strength and skill and endless motion.  

They all live happily ever after.

*

Here’s another story: 

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I love how Sha Hualing is trying her best to be the hated misogyny bait character that steals the man and creates all the relationship drama for the popular ships but she does such an incredible girlfail girlunpaidintern job at it that she's instead universally loved by the fandom and gifted 300 girlfriends for her efforts