Work Text:
Liu Qingge couldn’t take his eyes off the newest Qing Jing Peak disciple. He was beautiful, of course. But that wasn’t why.
There was a red string tied around his left pinky.
Liu Qingge stared at it.
The other boy noticed, for all that Liu Qingge was much further down the line than he was. His dark eyes narrowed to slits, and he tucked his hand behind his sleeve.
Liu Qingge looked away, eyes falling to the red string tied around his own finger. He sent a pulse of energy into it, and the dangling thread appeared in a brief flash of crimson.
One of Liu Qingge’s shidis made a shocked sound, but Liu Qingge ignored him. It wasn’t like it was taboo to make the string visible; some couples kept theirs visible at all times.
The string trailed along the ground towards the new boy, the vibrant red vanishing into nothingness without the other boy’s willingness to make his end of the thread visible.
Huh, Liu Qingge thought, letting the red on his end slip away into nothingness as well. The thread vanished from sight, but the knot around his finger remained, visible only to him—
And to his soulmate.
The boy’s name was Shen Qingqiu, and Liu Qingge didn’t care about his reputation. He didn’t care how sharp his tongue was or how cold he was to his classmates or even how frequently he visited brothels. No, Liu Qingge cared that Shen Qingqiu was his soulmate and that his soulmate was a dirty cheater.
“I’ll kill you,” Shen Qingqiu snarled, all his carefully curated elegance gone in place of a wild-eyed fury, “I’ll kill you, Liu Qingge!”
Liu Qingge didn’t move Cheng Luan from where its tip rested a hairsbreadth from the hollow of Shen Qingqiu’s throat. “I beat you,” he said, voice flat.
Around them, their sect mates whispered. They’d all seen the nasty trick that Shen Qingqiu had pulled at the end, desperate once he’d realized his sloppy form stood no chance against Liu Qingge’s superior skill.
Liu Qingge felt—
Disappointed?
He wasn’t sure. He had little interest in romance—or even in finding any sort of partner—but he’d hoped that his soulmate would be his match. Somebody that he could spar with or perhaps go hunting with.
Somebody he could, at the very least, trust.
Liu Qingge, once sure that Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t attempt to strike him, stepped away and sheathed his blade. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes snagged on the flash of red on Liu Qingge’s finger, and the furious flush to his face went ashen as some strange emotion overcame his expression.
Liu Qingge hesitated, unsure what to do with that, but then Shen Qingqiu’s face twisted. “I’ll kill you,” he said again, but his eyes were far away. Liu Qingge shrugged and turned away.
“Not a bad fight,” his shizun said, “You could’ve finished it faster, though.”
Behind him, Liu Qingge could hear Qing Jing’s Peak Lord cheerfully yelling at his head disciple to get off the ground.
Liu Qingge didn’t get it. Shen Qingqiu looked every inch the perfect scholarly gentleman. Liu Qingge had no ear for poetry and little understanding of music, but even he could tell that Shen Qingqiu was good at it.
Why, then, was his character so twisted?
And why had fate seen fit to bind him to Liu Qingge?
Liu Qingge wanted nothing more than to become strong. He didn’t see how Shen Qingqiu—lazy, careless Shen Qingqiu, who didn’t even care enough to perfect Qing Jing’s sword forms for an event as important as the annual spars between the peaks—could help him with that.
So Liu Qingge put the matter out of his mind. He’d gotten along fine without a soulmate before, and he had no reason to pursue a relationship with someone who had—publicly, incandescently—made it clear that he had no interest in one.
But life didn’t seem content to leave him like that. Shortly after Liu Qingge and his generation stepped officially into their roles as Peak Lords, Shen Qingqiu disappeared.
“I don’t know where he could’ve gone!” Shang Qinghua yelped, wringing his hands nervously. “He should’ve come back after his last mission. I really don’t know.” He looked utterly unprepared for his job, but Liu Qingge supposed that all of them seemed rather ill-fit for their masters’ chairs.
Yue Qingyuan’s expression was grave. “We need to look for him.”
“But how?” Qi Qingqi asked, one brow raised archly, “When Shen Qingqiu wants to disappear, then there’s nothing that can find him.”
“And if he’s injured?” Yue Qingyuan shot back, uncharacteristically sharp, “If he needs the aid of his sect?”
Qi Qingqi shrugged. Her dislike of Shen Qingqiu was nearly as well-known as Liu Qingge’s.
“Maybe if we, ah, had some way to track him down?” Shang Qinghua asked. His eyes flicked to Liu Qingge and then away, so quickly that the motion was easy to miss.
But Liu Qingge saw. His eyes narrowed. He, of course, had every ability to track down the man who was unfortunately his soulmate. But nobody else could have possibly known that, much less Shang Qinghua.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Liu Qingge said, shortly.
Shang Qinghua’s eyes widened comically, and he mouthed something that looked suspiciously like oh no. Liu Qingge would’ve found it amusing—the lack of concern for Shen Qingqiu was, after all, merely the fruit of the seeds that the man himself had sown—but he did have his own sense of duty. Shen Qingqiu was, regardless of the state of their souls, Liu Qingge’s shixiong. It was his duty to defend his own sect.
For the first time, Yue Qingyuan’s calm broke. Anxiety stole across his face, and he sucked in a sharp breath to steady himself. “But—”
“Goodbye,” Liu Qingge said, turning around and striding out of the meeting room. Cheng Luan flew out of its sheath with a flash, and he stepped onto it as shouts broke out in the room behind him. A pulse of energy shimmered down his soulmate bond, and the thread lit up in a vivid red line that stretched out beyond the mountains of Cang Qiong Sect. Cheng Luan was a silver flash in the darkening sky, and Shen Qingqiu was somewhere far away.
Shen Qingqiu was, in fact, extremely far away. It took nearly seven days for Liu Qingge to catch up to him, and by then he had nearly decided that this was too much effort and that Shen Qingqiu could damn well fix his own problems.
But he persevered.
Which was good, because—
“How did you even get there?” Liu Qingge asked, baffled.
Shen Qingqiu, from where he was sitting at the bottom of a frankly impressive pit, snarled, “What are you doing here?”
Liu Qingge looked around, because there was no point forcing an answer out of Shen Qingqiu if the other man didn’t want to give one. The pit was in the middle of an otherwise boring field of grass. He spotted Xiu Ya lodged into a rock in the opposite end of the field and moved to fetch it, but that did little to explain why Shen Qingqiu hadn’t simply called it to himself.
“A Chameleon-Scaled Ground Jumper,” Shen Qingqiu said, abruptly and far too loudly, as if the words had been forced from him.
Liu Qingge’s brow furrowed, and he carefully slipped the sword free from the rock. Ground Jumpers—even those with illusory capabilities like the Chameleon-Scaled ones—were hardly clever or strong enough creatures to trap somebody like Shen Qingqiu, even if Shen Qingqiu wasn’t the best at fighting.
“—and a succubus,” Shen Qingqiu finished, voice strained. Liu Qingge immediately bee-lined back towards the pit, concerned by the tightness in his voice.
“Are you injured?”
Shen Qingqiu was still sitting at the bottom of the pit, back pressed to one side and legs folded to his chest. He looked uncharacteristically mussed, but Liu Qingge couldn’t see any sign of an injury. “Why do you care?”
The red thread that stretched between them vanished halfway into the pit, but Shen Qingqiu couldn’t hide the vivid knot tied around his finger.
Liu Qingge suddenly felt very tired. He’d already decided that he didn’t care about Shen Qingqiu, but it still rankled that the world had bound them together.
“Shen Qingqiu,” he said, sharply.
At the bottom of the pit, Shen Qingqiu’s narrow frame swayed. Liu Qingge’s concern overtook his annoyance again, but he didn’t have time to say anything else before Shen Qingqiu unfolded with a sound like he’d been punched and said, “I’m not injured but I’d rather stab myself than talk to you right now.”
Liu Qingge’s jaw dropped.
“Fuck,” Shen Qingqiu said, before he clapped a hand over his mouth.
Liu Qingge spluttered. “What!”
Hand still over his mouth, Shen Qingqiu shook his head. His hair shifted with the movement, revealing a line of bright crimson wrapped around his throat. Liu Qingge’s eyes narrowed, and he immediately jumped down into the pit.
Shen Qingqiu made a sound, quickly bitten off, and flinched back as Liu Qingge approached.
The red was a collar. It was a thin red band, tied into a complex knot at the hollow of his throat. It looked similar in make to the material used for Immortal Binding Cables, which would explain why he hadn’t just summoned Xiu Ya and flown out of the pit.
“Do not touch me,” Shen Qingqiu snarled, and Liu Qingge immediately stepped back. He hadn’t realized he’d been reaching for it.
“Why not?” he asked irritably, “Maybe I can break it.”
“Because if you touch me, I’ll scream,” Shen Qingqiu said, face flushing as he spoke, “I don’t like being touched and you confuse me because you’re everything that I hate most but you’re supposed to be my soulmate.”
Liu Qingge, contrary to some people’s opinions, was not stupid. Shen Qingqiu never willingly spoke more than a few sentences to him at a time, and even that sparse communication consisted mostly of insults.
Shen Qingqiu was cursed.
The polite, proper thing to do would be to break the curse immediately. Breaking the collar would probably do the trick, and taking his shixiong back to Cang Qiong Mountain would solve the problem if that didn’t.
Liu Qingge was a little sick of being proper. He tossed Xiu Ya back out of the pit, ignored Shen Qingqiu’s too-loud rebuke, and sat down. Now that he was level with the other man, he could see the burning hatred in Shen Qingqiu’s eyes. Liu Qingge ignored that. If this was the only way he was going to get answers, then so be it. “So it was the succubus who cursed you. Are you going to die?”
Shen Qingqiu scoffed, head tilting up in a facsimile of his usual disdain. He was too shaken to manage it, though, too off-kilter and uncertain with that red rope still wrapped around his neck like a brand. “No.” He swallowed hard, expression tilting unhappily. “She wanted to humiliate me, perhaps.”
Liu Qingge nodded. That was about as reasonable as he was willing to be, and so he immediately said, “I’m not happy to have you as a soulmate either.”
Shen Qingqiu flinched, badly, and curled tighter into himself. Liu Qingge was surprised to see it. Shen Qingqiu was just so good at not caring. Who would’ve thought that he was really this small?
“What are you thinking?” he asked, curiously.
The question seemed to trigger something; Shen Qingqiu’s eyes squeezed shut, breath hitching as he fought whatever compulsion this curse had laid upon him. The red collar around his throat seemed to shift, tightening, and Liu Qingge tensed. He was just about to draw Cheng Luan, but then Shen Qingqiu shuddered, unfolded, and heaved a deep breath. “Of course you’re not happy,” he said, all in a rush. It was less of an accusation and more of a deluge: the simple truth, forced from his lips. “You’re just some rich lordling who’s gotten everything he ever wanted in his entire life. Why would you be happy to have a slave who couldn’t even start cultivating at the right time for a soulmate?”
Liu Qingge’s jaw dropped.
Shen Qingqiu stared at him, eyes huge and dark and horrified. “Stop listening to me.”
“You’re a what?” Liu Qingge said, just shy of a shout.
“I’m going to stab myself,” Shen Qingqiu said, and then: “I was a slave and then a criminal and then— fuck. Stop listening to me.”
Liu Qingge was rapidly recalculating everything. Shen Qingqiu was a slave? But that didn’t make any sense. He was too good at the four arts to not have come from some scholarly family. He crossed his arms. “Is that why you’re terrible at fighting?”
Shen Qingqiu’s head snapped up, outrage flashing across his features. “I’m not— Yes, I guess, fuck this curse— Why is that what you’re taking away from this conversation?”
The word—yes—clicked satisfyingly in Liu Qingge’s mind because it was an answer. A reason! And one he could work with.
It was nice to hear Shen Qingqiu swear, too. He faked refinement so well; it was strangely liberating to see past it.
“Do you want to get better?”
Shen Qingqiu gaped at him. The odd brittleness was gone from his face, replaced by incredulous indignance. “What are you talking ab— Of course I do. What do you think I’m doing in my free time, twiddling my thumbs?”
“Going to brothels,” Liu Qingge said automatically, but he was hardly even thinking about that now. Shen Qingqiu clamped a hand back over his mouth, but then Liu Qingge said, “I don’t care if you’re a slave or a lord or anything in between. All I want from my soulmate is someone I can fight.” He leaned forwards, watched as Shen Qingqiu’s dark eyes went wide with some unknowable emotion. “Your form falls to pieces every time you fight me, and I thought that you just didn’t care. But if you do care— then you can get better. I can help you get better.” He nodded, just as satisfied with that conclusion as he’d been with that initial yes. “And then we can fight.”
Shen Qingqiu’s hands slowly fell to his lap. His expression was vulnerable and shockingly sharp. “You’re such a brute.”
Liu Qingge shrugged. Shen Qingqiu had called him worse before. “I’ll get the collar off you. But I’m going to ask one more question.” The thread between them shivered, red trailing off into nothingness. “What do you want from your soulmate?”
Shen Qingqiu stiffened. He seemed to war with himself for a moment, shoulders going tense, before he sighed. Unfolded his hands. Exhaled. The crimson knot tied around his finger seemed to grow, the red thread lengthening and trailing along the bottom of the pit until it reached the point where Liu Qingge’s failed. A solid red line traced its way between the two of them. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes dropped down to that halfway point between them, and a wry smile flickered across his lips. “You really want to know?”
Liu Qingge nodded again. “I asked, didn’t I?”
Shen Qingqiu looked up, and Liu Qingge fell completely still at the intensity in those dark eyes. “I wanted somebody I could trust, Liu-shidi. Somebody who I could depend on. Somebody who would always have my back. Somebody who would see me and want me anyways.” That smile widened, sharp and cutting and unkind. “Not exactly something that someone like you can provide for someone like me.”
Liu Qingge opened his mouth, but then closed it again. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but Shen Qingqiu’s response was— more. More than he’d thought. Shen Qingqiu wanted a soulmate. A real one. A companion. A partner. It wasn’t something that Liu Qingge would be willing to provide, not now. But, perhaps— “No,” he said, slowly, because this felt important. He couldn’t just say whatever he wanted now. “Not something that two strangers can provide each other.” He stood, stepped forwards. Held out a hand. Waited. The red thread shone in the space between them. “But maybe soon.”
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes darted from the thread connecting them to his face, as skittish as a hunted animal. “Why?” he asked, desperate, “You hate me.”
Liu Qingge shrugged. “Maybe. But I don’t think I understood you, either.”
Shen Qingqiu shuddered, his hand twitching. “But you want to try. You want to try—” His eyes dropped back down to the thread, and he swallowed. “You want to try this. Why?”
Liu Qingge shook his outstretched hand, a little impatient. “Because I want to.” At Shen Qingqiu’s baffled expression, he grimaced. Reworded. “You’re my soulmate. I don’t actually know you. I would like to.”
Slowly, Shen Qingqiu reached out and took his hand. The red thread between them shortened to a single point, glowing brilliantly where their hands met. “You’re a remarkably simple person.”
Liu Qingge pulled him to his feet and didn’t argue. Simple was good, sometimes. Better, even. Shen Qingqiu, if what he said about his past was true, could perhaps benefit from some simplicity. “You’re not.” Still holding his hand, he said firmly, “I have more questions.”
Shen Qingqiu’s expression turned— not wary, exactly. Uncertain, perhaps. Whatever it was was steadier than the fear from the beginning of their conversation, though, and the sight of it brought that same satisfaction back into Liu Qingge’s chest. “Yes?”
“For later.” Liu Qingge raised his free hand. “May I?”
Shen Qingqiu hesitated, shoulders hitching upwards, but then he nodded. “Yes.”
Liu Qingge gently put his hand on the crimson knot at the hollow of Shen Qingqiu’s throat and sent a pulse of spiritual energy into it. A sound like laughter, like bells, rang in his ears, and then the collar disintegrated.
A bone-deep shudder ran through Shen Qingqiu, and he squeezed Liu Qingge’s hand and then stepped away, brushing the ash from the collar off his muddied robes. “Thank you.” The word lilted oddly on his lips, as if he wasn’t used to saying it.
Liu Qingge smiled. He still had more questions—where was Shen Qingqiu really from? Why did he let others believe what they believed? What did he really want?—but he didn’t really need those answers now. He’d gotten the answers he needed.
He’d judged Shen Qingqiu on incomplete information and deemed him unworthy of knowing, and that had been a mistake. He knew that now.
He still didn’t know if Shen Qingqiu would make a good friend or sparring partner. They had time, still, to figure that out. But, undeniably—
Shen Qingqiu was his soulmate.
And he wanted to know him.