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Chapter Text

There were hands on his body. Big, meaty hands. The hands were warm as they rested gently against his waist, shackling him. The touch was like a molten metal poured onto him, fusing with his skin. He breathed calmly through his nose, blinking his eyes open forcefully, trying to push the memories away.

Shen Qingqiu wasn’t a boy anymore, but a grown man, a cultivator, a Peak Lord.

He turned around and threw the hands off. He was in a brothel, his brothel. It was just a prostitute, it was just Meimei. He rubbed his eyes, his shoulders slumping. The last night seemed awfully distant and unmemorable.

Meimei stirred in her sleep. The room was bathed in the blue-gray tones of early morning. His mouth felt dry and bitter.

A weary sigh escaped his lips, as Meimei’s hand reached for him again, making him glare at the offender and scrutinize her face, noting the slightly thin lips. He shook his head before rising from the bed.

He dressed himself quietly, careful not to disturb anyone. This was just the rule of brothels—loudness was welcome at night, but mornings were sacred in their silent shame.

As he walked outside the musky, slightly burnt scent of the brothel seeped out of his lungs. It was the type of smell you only noticed after having walked outside, away from its source as it clung to you like some unsightly creature.

He found some secluded cul-de-sac and checked both ways before mounting his sword and soaring into the sky. Only the homeless and drunkards were awake, but Liu Qingge had managed to drill caution into him that could last a couple hundred lifetimes.

The cold, damp air bit at him as he rushed home, picking the crust from his eyelashes in a silent struggle to wake himself more. The closer he came to the top of the mountain the less real the world seemed—the bitter taste clinging to him just like the streams clung to the sides of the mountains.

He landed quietly in the bamboo forest of Qing Jing Peak. Birds were just starting to wake up, their chirping still shy and subdued. The clang of Xiu Ya slipping inside its sheath was unnaturally loud.

Shen Qingqiu quickly hid himself in the safety of the Bamboo House, his shoulders relaxing as the smell of tea and jasmine greeted him.

His fingers already started combing through his hair as he walked to the bronze mirror in his bedroom. His lips puckered and he turned his head, inspecting his skin. It was as always, unnaturally cold. His lips and nose delicate and thin. The only thing that kept him away from being called pretty was his scowl.

That’s why he always wore it.

He brewed jasmine tea, a blend that had to be imported from the Huan Hua Palace’s territory, and placed it on the table. He sat by the window, the rising sun slowly waking the world as birds and butterflies lazily warmed their wings.

Some birds jumped around, screeching at one another, drawing attention to themselves, as if they didn’t know that at every moment someone might just decide to capture them and feast on their flesh.

A knock sounded at the door. He placed his cup of tea down on the table, turning to see a Qiong Ding Disciple, a young boy looking through the open door.

Shen Qingqiu scowled, and the boy froze, dropping to his knees with his head bowed and eyes averted. “Shizun has a letter for Shen-shishu!” He extended a hand with a small, sealed note.

Shen Qingqiu pinched his nose bridge. Zhangmen-shixiong always knew how to brighten his day.

“Leave it on the cabinet and shut the door!” The boy was the perfect age for cultivation, so it was fine if the evil children-eating Qing Jing Peak Lord scared him a little. He deserved it.

The door closed quickly. Shen Qingqiu let out an exasperated breath and rose from his table.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

There weren’t many things that infuriated him more than these letters. Always being shyly sent through an oblivious disciple, as if he couldn’t refuse him in their presence. Shen Qingqiu ought to burn the letters without ever cracking the seal, it would serve Zhangmen-shixiong right.

And at the same time he couldn’t, because for all of their past, now Shen Qingqiu was his subordinate. The perfect position to be in.

He took the letter in his hands, his fingers hesitating before quickly breaking the seal.

‘Qingqiu-Shidi,’ 

He hid the Qiu character with his thumb and unfolded it fully.

‘Qing   -shidi, there is something very strange happening in Qiu Cheng city. We've been asked to investigate the suicides that occured there over the past year. It should prove a good opportunity for you and your disciples.’ 

The note was concise, the handwriting precise, controlled, perfect. Just like Zhangmen-shixiong. Apologetic. Secure. Useless. His grip tightened. He wasn’t willing to name anything that he felt towards the man that wasn’t disgust, hate, and betrayal, because there wasn’t anything more than these feelings. His hands felt as if something burning started spreading through his veins.

At the end of the page there was another sentence, as if written as an afterthought.

‘I sent Long Niu to deliver this letter. He has all the information you may need, and should prove himself useful during the investigation.’

Of course! Of course he wasn’t trusted enough to take care of this alone and had to be controlled by some stupid disciple of Zhangmen-shixiong’s, of Yue Qingyuan’s. And it all came coated in layers of apologies, of silent pleas.

The paper tore in his hands.

“Shizun, Luo Binghe doesn’t have a horse.”

Shen Qingqiu snapped his fan shut and used it to move the curtain covering the small window of his carriage. Shen Hao stared through the crack with fierce eyes, challenging. Shen Qingqiu glared back. The boy utterly unnerved him… He was unassuming at the start, quickly transforming into an alien creature, that seemed to live only to provoke him.

Shen Hao always seemed as if he knew much more than he should; spoke sometimes as if he were older than he looked, as if he knew something about Shen Qingqiu, about some crime he hadn’t yet committed.

Shen Qingqiu avoided this boy whenever he could, but at the same time, he was the Peak Lord! A short teenager couldn’t threaten him!

Shen Qingqiu stared at the boy who refused to look away. Shen Hao struggled to keep his horse moving in time with the carriage. The horse assigned to him was one of the worst behaved on Cang Qiong Mountain.

“There’s nothing wrong with the little beast’s legs, is there?” He withdrew the fan away from the curtain, and it swooshed shut.

His exquisite robes rustled against the expensive fabric covering his seat. The air smelled of jasmine, of excellent tea, and, just a tiny bit, of dust.

From outside his carriage, Shen Qingqiu heard the disciples talk, but he tuned it out. He tuned everything out and stared at the space before him. Waiting always irritated him. Made his demons and regrets climb up his spine, push down on his throat—

He took a scroll out of his sleeve, where the actual problems of the village were described.

‘The disease has already claimed 20 young women and girls living in Qiu Cheng city. The women often were reported as ‘suffering from bad luck’ for most of their lives, and before their suicide, they slowly spiraled into madness in the space of a few weeks. Right now, the daughter of the wealthiest family in the city seems to be affected…’

He didn’t even have to look at the note to know what words came next, having reread it over and over again in preparations. He would have to walk the streets and see if someone tried to grab Ning Yingying’s attention. It felt cowardly to hide behind a young, powerless girl, yet what else was he to do?!

Of course, he could have turned down the mission, but it would make it seem as if he was scared. Shen Qingqiu was never scared.

He rattled through multiple boxes inside his carriage until he found a map of the city and studied it. The city was quite small. It would take less than a day to look at every street. They should be able to find out what was wrong easily without endangering Ning Yingying.

He closed his eyes and tried to meditate quietly inside his carriage, trying to push all intrusive thoughts away. His heart refused to slow down for a long time, but he waited it out.

“It’s a great privilege to have Immortal Master Shen in our Li ancestral home.” The master of the house—Li Wancheng—bowed. The golden embroidery at the hem of his robes swept over the floor. Although his eyes shone brightly, they appeared empty. His face bore deep wrinkles, too many compared to his young wife. She kept quiet and still like the perfect, obedient doll. There seemed to be at least thirty years of difference between them, and her stance spoke of quiet resignation.

They were gathered in a lavish room on the second floor, and Shen Qingqiu suspected that it was made even more extravagant just for his arrival.

The wife bowed to her husband and whispered something in his ear. He furrowed his thick eyebrows, listening intently before raising his hand. The woman stepped forward, and bowed deeply, keeping her clasped hands before her head in prayer. Her palms were deeply calloused and discoloured.

Her perfect obedience gnawed at Shen Qingqiu’s chest, bringing forth a false memory of a boy married to a girl wasting away in a big mansion.

The wife’s upper body bobbed slightly as she pleaded, “Don’t let my daughter die,” in a quiet voice.

Shen Qingqiu fought with everything he had not to look away from her. “This Master won’t let your family down.”

His disciples stood silently behind him, sneaking curious glances around the room. Shen Qingqiu was the perfect image of a noble cultivator and had no wife.

The man lead them to their daughter’s bedroom, his wife silently following behind him in tiny steps. As they walked the smell of agarwood slowly seeped into Shen Qingqiu’s nostrils, filling his insides, twirling inside his lungs before biting into his core.

When they entered the daughter’s—Li Dongmei's—room, it was immediately obvious the room belonged to a high-born lady, with expensive fabrics and designs, rich and deep colors. The air inside had a more floral, feminine quality to it. The girl was but a teenager, self-consciously seated in the wide bed. Her hair was masterfully done, with her maids’ handiwork being exquisite, just like her robes. She looked at them with hopeful but incredibly tired eyes, as her whole face seemed encompassed by some unshakable shadows.

“You must be the cultivators sent to save me,” Li Dongmei stood up and bowed. Her movements had a sluggish, tense quality.

Shen Qingqiu closed his fan. He should have started by interrogating the families of previous victims first, but if Li Wancheng felt ignored, the man would have complained about his bruised ego to the Sect Leader in a heartfelt letter.

Li Dongmei’s eyes flitted nervously to those of her father.

Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat. “Tell me, why others think you’re unlucky?”

“I’ve never had much luck. Since birth, some say.” She kept her eyes trained on the ground, and her head bowed slightly. Shen Qingqiu looked at her unluckily golden hairpins, the way light glinted off the even more unlucky stones in them.

The wife tensed, almost as if she could feel a blow coming at her.

“Dongmei, show your teeth,” Li Wancheng commanded in a soft, gentle voice.

The girl’s face flushed deeply. She hesitated, but obeyed, forcing a smile. Both rows of teeth were visible in her wide smile, and she had the countenance of someone stepping into a cave full of spiders. Her chipped front tooth caught the light—highlighting how it wasn’t even a half of its original length.

Ning Yingying gasped, quickly biting her lip in an attempt to remain silent. She looked at her Shizun to gauge how badly she had overstepped. Shen Qingqiu pretended not to notice.

“My beautiful daughter was only nine when it happened. Such misfortune—tripping on a rock! She has been burdened with misfortune ever since.” Li Wancheng despaired, talking as if he was one of the most tortured souls in the world.

Tortured with subpar intellect.

Li Dongmei shut her eyes, but kept her open smile. She clenched her hands into fists by her sides.

Shen Qingqiu’s grip on his fan tightened as he gritted his teeth. This man made that accident seem like an heroic act! And just like that, the girl lost her smile. He wondered if this was the first time the father showed off his daughters ‘misfortune’ to strangers for sympathy.

Shen Qingqiu made a point to speak to Li Dingmei, ignoring her father, “Have you had your fortune told recently?”

“The last time was a few months ago.” Her head bowed, and she opened her mouth, as if wanting to say something more, but then, once more, her father interrupted;

“Dongmei is to be married soon,” Li Wancheng said, stepping closer, “This case needs to be resolved before rumors spread and her prospects are harmed.”

Shen Qingqiu sent him an irritated look. Of course, there was nothing quite as important as appearances. He pursed his lips, deciding to revisit this conversation later, without the idiot father. “That’s all this master needs to know for now. I will guard your door at night.”

Li Dongmei’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and Shen Qingqiu quickly walked out of the room, with his disciples following closely behind.

What was wrong with the man? Did his family have a tradition of slamming their sons’ heads against rocks, or was the stupidity passed down like an heirloom?

He ushered his disciples down the stairs, as he toyed with his fan, mindlessly waving it, eager to get away from the man as quickly as possible.

Li Wancheng chased them. “Ah! Master Shen!” he called.

Shen Qingqiu fought hard to keep his irritation from showing. “What is it?” he asked, without turning, nor stopping his walk.

“Are cases like this difficult to solve?” Li Wancheng asked.

Shen Qingqiu shut his fan, stopping abruptly. “No,” he said, before rushing through the rest of the corridor, and pushing through the open entrance door.

He stepped out into the sun, its light warming his limbs gently. The door clattered shut behind them.

He had memorized the map as best as he could, along with the addresses. His feet carried him weightlessly through the city as heads turned in silent awe, observing him.

If only they knew…

He didn’t see the beggars sitting at every corner. He didn’t see the seven homeless children they passed on the main street. It was easier not to see. It was the only thing he could do. It was what everyone did.

The first house was tucked in a small corner, the building neither small nor janky like those in the poorest parts of the city, but neither as lavish as the most prosperous areas. The father wasn’t home, and the mother welcomed them warmly, having her servant prepare them tea. She had one of the warmest, kindest faces Shen Qingqiu had ever seen, with plump cheeks and round eyes. Her white robes highlighted the gray streaks in her hair, but made her appear softer.

Her daughter was the first one affected as far as they could tell, succumbing months ago.

“My daughter used to wear her hair the same way,” she told Ning Yingying as they sat down by the table. The woman had a small handkerchief in her hands, and on it were only two characters—her daughter’s name.

Ning Yingying awkwardly accepted the woman’s memories by bowing her head. In thanks, she was offered a sweet bun, which she took hungrily.

“How did your daughter’s madness start?” Shen Qingqiu asked, sipping his own tea. It had a rich smell, the taste creamy, pulling his attention away from how tenderly worn the handkerchief was.

The woman didn’t take her eyes off Ning Yingying. “It started slowly,” she said with a weary sigh, her gaze flickering to Shen Qingqiu; “First she became more and more withdrawn, avoided her brothers. She was constantly tired. Then, she started screaming about her childhood friend.” She shook her head gently, making her earrings dance with the movement. “I’m sorry.” Her hands folded the handkerchief into a small square.

Shen Qingqiu made a thoughtful noise, prompting the woman to nod. “Do you mind sharing more details about this friend?”

“When my daughter was six, strange men took her best friend away. We were friends with the family, it was a true tragedy… The girl’s mother, she… she stayed alive but was so much dimmer. The father drunk himself into death.” She shook her head again. “I am not stupid, I know she was probably sold by now to some red light district, she had always been extraordinarily beautiful, but my daughter… we tried to pretend nothing had happened. Maybe it wasn’t the right choice.” She smiled sadly and unfolded her daughter’s handkerchief, worrying the material between her fingers.

“What was your daughter screaming about before her death?” Shen Qingqiu tried to be as gentle as possible, pulling his mind away from the constant rage boiling under his skin.

“Ah…” The woman sighed. “She screamed at us, saying how she became Da-er.” A small, nervous smile made its way onto her lips, as she hesitated. “Xiao-Di, my daughter, yelled at her older brother, crying about how he had visited her friend in a brothel, but it’s not possible, is it? The girl was taken so long ago, she must have been carried somewhere far away.”

Something disgusting crawled up Shen Qingqiu’s spine. He clenched his cup tightly, trying not to imagine the truth behind the girl’s screams. It always could have been a false belief, something formed on a lie she was told. “How did your daughter learn about her friend?”

“I apologize, but she had never shared this.”

Shen Qingqiu nodded. “Did you have your daughter’s fortune told prior to her death?”

The woman gave him a quizzical look. “Of course? But they said her luck was running out…” The composed veneer crumbled away, and a pained expression made its way onto her face, as she clutched the handkerchief tightly.

She didn’t remember the name of the fortune teller, nor her appearance. Said how her memory got worse after the incident.

Shen Qingqiu tried to offer some comforting words before excusing himself, but they sounded hollow even to his own ears. He wasn’t sure he had succeeded in brightening the woman’s mood.

Fifteen minutes later they were far enough that the family couldn’t overhear and Ning Yingying pulled his sleeve. “Shizun…” Ning Yingying hesitated, her voice small. “Do you think Da-er could be alive?”

“Let’s visit other families first,” he said curtly. “We don’t have enough information yet.”

Shen Hao fell into step next to Ning Yingying, leaning closer to whisper something in her ear. Her expression hardened as she nodded silently.

By the time they reached the next family the sun had climbed higher in the sky. Shen Qingqiu was careful to smooth his expression, even as the mother’s grief lingered with him, coiled in his stomach.

The next family was different. The mother wept openly while the father clenched his fists and tried to stay strong. No one knew anything. Maybe their Xiao-Mei had some trouble sleeping, but it had nothing to do with her death—no! The real culprit was surely their envious neighbor! How did she achieve this? No idea! But she did bring that weird, pessimistic fortune teller to see their sweet daughter—who knew what curses she had laid!

It must have also been her fault that their precious daughter wanted to break her engagement!

At one point the father caught the Qiong Ding cuckoo’s shoulders, asking the boy to promise to observe their house at night. The boy just gaped at him with wide eyes, before Shen Qingqiu intervened, saying that if such a need arised they would surely observe the whole street.

Shen Qingqiu’s way out of that useless house was more like dignified stomping than a slow stroll outside.

The third house was in a poorer area, with weathered down walls and many children running on the streets. Some of their clothing had been patched up with various fabrics, and two girls clutched old dolls to their chests, watching them from the shadows.

Ning Yingying knocked on the door. A middle-aged woman opened it, staring at them suspiciously. An intense smell of cabbage and mold wafted from behind her. She was dressed in slightly tattered white robes, but the edges of her sleeves and the hem were gray with grime.

Shen Qingqiu smiled pleasantly. “We are here to talk about your daughter’s—Wei Lingling's—death. We want to catch the person or creature responsible.”

The woman let them in without a word. Shen Qingqiu took a seat by the kitchen table as her husband mechanically prepared them tea. There was nowhere for his disciples to sit, so they just lingered in the doorway. The kitchen was very simple, with only one spot above the fire to boil water or prepare food, and the tabletop itself was rough and used, with many indents created by knives or burnt rings.

“What is it that you need to know?” the woman asked with a blank, tired face.

Her husband stared at Luo Binghe, observing his every move like a panther. His eyes lingered on the little beast’s hands, his mouth. Shen Qingqiu scowled at him, feeling his skin crawl.

“Did your daughter have any trouble sleeping?” He went straight to the point, just like the woman he was talking to. His hand held the cup of tea close to his face; it was scalding hot and smelled just like the tea served in his favorite brothel below Cang Qiong Mountain. He knew they didn’t sell anything fancy there, but it seemed that the brothel keeper truly bought the cheapest tea possible. The husband licked his lips.

The woman stared down at her hands. Her movements dragged, her thoughts seemingly even slower, and her eyes had an empty, doll-like quality to them. It irritated Shen Qingqiu, but he didn’t let it show on his face. He wanted to be done with this case as soon as possible.

“She did,” was all that left the woman’s lips. Her face was contorted into a mask of utter sadness, with every line and wrinkle frozen in grief.

“Did she ever talk about her worries with you?” It felt like trying to extract answers from a corpse.

“No.” The woman didn’t even shake her head to emphasize her denial.

The husband finally looked at Shen Qingqiu, frowning, “She went mad, that’s all.”

Shen Qingqiu gritted his teeth. He tried a few more times to get more information out of them, but the woman remained detached while her husband almost strayed into outright hostility.

With nothing more to gain, he left the family to wallow in their misery. It was incomprehensible how someone could be this useless in the face of serial suicides.

When he stepped through the door, the street was filled with laughter and happy chatter, grating on Shen Qingqiu’s nerves. And that look on the father’s face as he seemed to devour the little beast with his eyes? Disgusting. It was as if solving that suicide wasn’t important to them!

He barely noticed a hand tightly gripping his sleeve when a voice called: “Master is investigating A-Ling’s death?”

Shen Qingqiu furrowed his brows and turned to stare at the culprit: a boy with an oddly determined expression. He was about the same age A-Ling had been. A friend, perhaps? Boyfriend?

“Whatever information you share will help save a fourteen-year-old girl from the same fate,” Shen Qingqiu said. A-Ling had been fourteen, and Li Wancheng’s daughter was sixteen. He rearranged his face into something kinder, more inviting, yet lofty. “What do you know?”

The boy hesitated. “A-Ling… When I slept I dreamed of being her. And then she was… I think she was in my mind. I swear she was.”

“And what did she see?” Shen Qingqiu grabbed one of the boy’s hands in his own. He looked intently at him, willing his face to show no judgment.

The boy blanched and tried to speak, but no words came out. He gripped the Immortal Master’s hand tightly and struggled for every word. “Me and her father,” he whispered to Shen Qingqiu. “What he did to me.” His grip on Shen Qingqiu’s hand was almost bruising. Then, as if scalded by boiling water, the boy let go, turned around, and ran away.

Some realization kept pulling at Shen Qingqiu’s conscience. He was left staring at the boy’s back as he ran, as if terrified of what he had just shared. It paralyzed him, tightened his chest and chocked everything.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

This was just one family. There was no need to think about it. The investigation wasn’t closed yet.

The rest of his disciples, along with the intruder from Qiong Ding, stood awkwardly observing this interaction. They were weirdly silent and obedient since their arrival, as if they too felt that this case was different from their usual ones. Darker somehow. Showing them more about humankind than about some mysterious beasts that waited to be slain. Surely they had read the information about the last girl’s suicide. How she had screamed that her father was a rapist.

The boy was gone, long merged with the crowd, but his grip still tingled on Shen Qingqiu’s skin. ‘Me and her father.’ It painted a bleak picture for the whole case.

“Shizun?” Ning Yingying’s voice brought him back to the reality.

Shen Qingqiu shook his head, trying to push it out of his mind. “Yes, let’s move on,” he said, already walking towards the next family.

The city couldn’t be called huge, but it was bustling with life, especially in the city center. Children were running wild through the main streets, pushing past the never-ending throng, and street vendors called loudly, exclaiming their cooking to be the best, the tastiest, the warmest, and the cheapest you could get. There was also a fair amount of fortune tellers.

Shen Qingqiu focused his whole attention on Ning Yingying as she lead the way. She turned her head, taking in the colorful stalls as Shen Qingqui’s hand rested on Xiu Ya’s hilt, ready to strike if needed. He half expected some foul spirit to jump out from some side alley and try to swallow her.

What he wasn’t expecting was for one of the fortune tellers to grab him by his sleeve and pull.

“Oh great Immortal Master! Don’t you want your fortune told?” A woman screeched, her voice waving over the vowels, as if she had to force the words out. She held on strongly, forcing Shen Qingqiu to stop.

The boys following him didn’t notice it in time, and one of them smashed right into his Shizun’s back.

Shen Qingqiu pushed Shen Hao away and turned towards the fortune teller. A young woman held firmly onto him. Her body remained contorted as she leaned over her cluttered booth, desperately trying not to knock it over. Her eyes stared intensely at his face, as if drinking the view.

Shen Qingqiu looked at her calmly, turning his head so that he could face her fully while monitoring his disciples’ position out of the corner of his eye.

“Alright,” he allowed.

“Give me your palm, great master.” She returned to her seat, and the whole booth shook with her movement.

He carefully extended his right hand towards her, making sure his long sleeve didn’t cover it. The woman took her time pulling his fingers in different directions, staring at the lines under different angles, and tracing them with her deft, though unsure fingers.

“I don’t see much luck…” She murmured as sunlight glinted off her hair pin. It was in the shape of a small bird that shook with her every movement.

The fortune-teller was suspicious for sure; every family they had met said that when they got their girl’s fortune told this was the message they had received. He coldly assessed her, looking for any signs that she was some vengeful spirit, but found nothing.

“But it’s about to change soon!” She exclaimed happily at him. “You have to open yourself to others, though!”

Shen Qingqiu mentally rolled his eyes. Maybe this incident was truly unrelated to anything. It wasn’t unusual for street vendors to do what they could to attract clients.

Ning Yingying stepped closer, pushing towards the fortune teller.

“Can you tell us about Shizun’s soulmate?” She whispered with such admiration that Shen Qingqiu felt as if he was about to cough blood.

The fortune teller leaned towards the girl, not letting go of his hand. “And what do you want to know?”

Ning Yingying leaned in kind. “Everything.”

Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat. “Show some respect to your Shizun, Yingying.” He tried to take his hand back, but the woman’s grip was unexpectedly strong. He glared at her, and she innocently swatted her eyelashes at him.

The fortune teller cocked her head to the side and spread his palm, gripping it tightly, trapping him.

An elderly woman looked through the offered fruit at the neighboring stall and not so secretly stole curious glances at him.

Shen Qingqiu was painfully aware of his disciples’ attention. The cuckoo from Qiong Ding pretended to not be interested but appeared as if only given the chance, he would have pulled some brush and paper from his sleeve to record everything said, Shen Hao almost climbed Ning Yingying in his pursuit to see Shen Qingqiu’s palm, and even that little beast appeared interested, shyly coming to stand closer and closer to his Shizun.

“I see a… hm…” The fortune teller was pulling thoughtful faces and biting her lower lip in deep concentration.

To Qingqiu’s left stopped a group of young girls hiding their faces behind fans and giggling, while Ning Yingying leaned even closer.

Shen Hao started not so secretly nor delicately jumping to get a better view.

The whole street appeared to be holding their breath, waiting to hear the verdict.

“Your soulmate comes from unfortunate background… slightly older than you, their fate is woven deeply with yours.” The fortune teller spread his fingers, as if trying to coax more information.

One of the girls hiding behind their fans gasped and started giggling and whispering furiously.

A self-pleased smirk pushed its way onto Shen Qingqiu’s face. This fortune teller was nothing but a fraud, he was sure of it. The reason why won’t be discussed now, or ever.

When he had paid the charlatan and started to walk away, it was to the displeasure of the whole street. The girls with the fans swooned as he passed them.

Ning Yingying was reluctant to leave the fortune teller’s booth, and lingered behind. Shen Qingqiu had to call her name twice before she obediently resumed her position before him. His old Shizun would have whipped her already.

As they moved closer to the fourth house, the streets became calmer, quieter. There was little commotion or children running, the stalls at first packed densely, became far in between, and then disappeared completely. Families residing there were wealthy and liked their peace, and the affected family was no different. Their whole house seemed to scream ‘WE HAVE POWER’.

A servant reluctantly opened the door, and they only managed a few steps before a woman, dress in a single layer of flimsy robes dashed down the corridor, chased by two guards. She fell to her knees, and hugged Immortal Master Shen’s thighs.

“I confess to my crimes! No crimes shall go unpunished!” She cried loudly, every word punctuated by a loud sob. Her eyes had a crazed quality of them, not fully focused, yet opened wide as tears continued pouring down her face.

Shen Qingqiu froze with his arms raised, unsure how to proceed. The guards stopped and looked at each other, before one of them ran deeper into the house.

“Miss! Please miss!” Ning Yingying repeated while pushing a handkerchief in the woman’s face, but was unsuccessful at calming her down.

Shen Qingqiu swallowed and put his one hand on the woman’s head. “You’re the mother?”

The woman nodded, smearing her tears into his robes.

She was dressed only in white inner robe’s consisting of a shirt, that was half untied and a skirt. There were big ink stains on her sleeves, and the collar of the robe was rendered gray with grime. Her body emanated an acrid smell of sweat.

The woman dropped her head, her voice rising in her throat.“I only wanted a child! I’ve failed my husband for years as a wife, bringing no heir!” She cried. Her hair was tangled.

Luo Binghe stepped next to her, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but didn’t speak.

The woman hiccuped. “I told my husband to rape a servant! Her stomach swelled and then—and then I stole—”

“SHUT UP!” Roared down the corridor, as the man of the house rushed down the corridor. His robes were fresh and crisp. He gesticulated wildly at the door. “DON’T LISTEN TO HER!”

Shen Qingqiu scowled at him. “This master can decide himself whom he listens to.” He snapped his fan open.

One of the guards yanked the woman away from Shen Qingqiu’s thighs, keeping her away. She trashed violently, yelling, but her speech became garbled.

The other guard helped hold her down, as she was dragged deeper into the house. The husband glared at her, his chest rising in barely contained fury. She tried to grip onto furniture and walls while yelling for Shen Qingqiu to kill her. It seemed like, unable to join her daughter in death, she had joined her in madness.

The husband quickly threw them out of his house, stepping onto the street with them.

The disciples kept looking at each other as if silently asking ‘Did this really happen just now?’

“I apologize, since my daughter’s death she’s been…” he glared at the door as the woman’s muffled yelling broke through the house. “How can I help Immortal Master?”

Shen Qingqiu sighed, hiding behind his fan as he sharply observed the man. He seemed to react strongly to his wife’s confession. “This one already knows all that he needs.”

The husband gaped at him, and the disciples’ heads turned sharply to stare at their Shizun, as he already started walking away.

There was no use talking to this man. The case has painted a clear picture: if Shen Qingqiu was right, the girls were experiencing dreams where they saw some crime being commited. Crime their family was eager to cover from its own members.

He would get the final confirmation at night, once he got to talk to Li Dongmei in private.

They visited a few more families, and the results were similar. It was always some truly awful truth that pushed the girls to suicide. Some families didn’t get to learn which secret it was, though. At one point one of the mothers told him in a hushed tone, “I think I saw the dreams of my daughter. When she was still alive.”

Before they finished questioning families, the sun had long made most of it’s daily journey and was close to setting. The city’s old architecture was enhanced by the reddish hues of the afternoon. Not wanting to be stranded on the streets at night, they made their walk back.

They joined the Li family soon before dinner, to which they were invited by the ever enthusiastic master of the house. The dining room was just as lavish as the rest of the house, with intricate, carved wooden beams and a long rosewood table barely able to bear the weight of all the dishes and meat that got served to them.

Shen Qingqiu was seated across from their host, Li Wancheng, who had once more decided to pass the time by bombarding the Peak Lord with useless questions. All the disciples he had brought with him only listened quietly to the torture of their mentor instead of offering any mercy by, for example, asking a question of their own.

It seemed like the whole family was gathered at this dinner. Two young sons to their father’s right, the only daughter seated to his left. The mother held her head down during the whole meal, and being seated next to her daughter often gently caught her hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

“Did you make any advancements in your case?” Their host not so delicately asked with a face full of hope and admiration.

“Some. The walk through the city was enlightening.” Shen Qingqiu gritted his teeth. He snuck a glance at the spy sent to control him. The boy was poking something on his plate, uninterested. He had to stay pleasant and malleable.

“Oh! Just as I hoped it would be. Does Master Shen know perhaps what creature could be responsible?” Li Wancheng inquired between bites of juicy meat.

“I do have some idea.” Shen Qingqiu put his chopsticks to the side.

“Father,” the older of the sons called weakly, the words prolonging in a whiny note, but Li Wancheng only waved his hand at him, not even turning to look, too enamoured with the Immortal Cultivator.

“How is the food?” Li Wancheng tpinched the chopsticks repeatedly, creating a small clack, clack noise. “I heard that people with as high cultivation as yours don’t have the need to, ah, fulfill this basic need? Do all cultivators of your sect indulge in eating?”

There was a teapot standing on the table. The teapot really wanted to be thrown right into Li Wancheng’s face, but Shen Qingqiu had to tell it no. “We have an ascetic peak, I don’t believe they eat.” Just how little could this man know about the sect whose assistance he had required?! And just, to throw him off, he asked, “How many concubines do you own?”

He sputtered, “My concubines? Uh, three?”

“Do they enjoy visiting fortune tellers?”

Li Wancheng quickly regained his footing, “Ah, of course they do. Every woman does, who wouldn’t want to know the future?”

Shen Qingqiu nodded. He would have to interrogate the concubines, then.

Li Wancheng’s eyes drifted slowly to the disciples sitting next to Shen Qingqiu. “What do you think about our city?”

“This disciple thinks it wonderfully quaint,” Ning Yingying immediately answered. Good girl.

“Do you like our fortune tellers?”

Ning Yingying immediately lit up at the question. Shen Qingqiu opened his fan and hid his scowling face behind it.

“Oh! They’re wonderful! One even told us about Shizun’s soulmate!” Her face radiated childish happiness. It was a bit foolish of her to tell the man about their encounter, but Shen Qingqiu found himself charmed by her innocence and naivety.

“Oh really?” The man turned his head to his left and smiled at his daughter. “See? Even cultivators cannot help but enjoy these services.” The young girl nodded quietly and smiled at her father. “What did she say?”

“Not much, just that it is an unfortunate girl!” Ning Yingying’s voice was enthusiastic and completely unaware of what she had just said. From Shen Hao’s general direction there came an almost inaudible snort.

What an unfortunate phrasing!

Shen Qingqiu’s grip on his fan was so strong he thought it would snap, but as he was about to intervene Li Wancheng turned his focus to the other disciples.

“And you boys? What do you think about our city?”

There was a creaking of wood. Then a loud bang. Shen Qingqiu, pushed by instincts, gripped the hilt of Xiu Ya, and everyone stood up looking in the direction of the sound.

“I wasn’t sleeping!” One of Li Wancheng’s sons lay sprawled on the floor, an upturned chair next to him. His brother couldn’t stop himself and started laughing. They were barely old enough to be called teenagers. Everyone stood gaping at the scene.

Ning Yingying stared at them with wide eyes. One of her chopsticks fell out of her hand. Luo Binghe caught it quickly before it could roll onto the floor.

Their father’s face turned a deep shade of red. “Ah… It seems it got late… I won’t keep Immortal Master Shen and his disciples up any longer.”

At last. Finally he could progress with the case, away from Li Wancheng’s meddling and stupidity.

The night settled in the city slowly. Dark clouds coiled in the sky like a swarm of flies, hiding the moon, turning it into just a splotch of lighter color amongst the darkness. He and his disciples had placed various talismans around Li Dongmei’s bed, her father scrutinizing each and every one, asking what they did.

But now everything was silent. The night guard was about to start. Soon one of his disciples would come to keep him company during the night, but right now he was alone. It was the moment he had been waiting for.

He raised his hand, ready to knock at the door when Li Dongmei opened him. She had a hastily thrown layer of outer robes on her, clearly trying to keep her decency, but without her maids’ help she didn’t know how to arrange the layers. “Immortal Master Shen? Can we talk in private?”

Shen Qingqiu only nodded curtly before stepping inside. The room was dark, save for one oil lamp standing on the nightstand. The air smelled strongly of roses.

Li Dongmei wrung her hands as shadows danced on her features, catching on the heavy bags under her eyes. “I have a confession to make.”

“You have strange dreams?” Shen Qingqiu asked, not willing to waste more time than necessary.

She gasped, hiding her open mouth behind a hand. “Yes. The other girls had them, too?”

Shen Qingqiu pursed his lips, and before he could answer Li Dongmei’s face contorted in a grimace.

“They did,” she whispered, looking away from him. “Are the dreams based in truth?”

Shen Qingqiu shook his head. He couldn’t tell her the truth. Maybe just keeping her believing that what she saw was false could help keep her away from suicide. “They’re just dreams. I’m trying to track the creature, or person who puts them into your head. What do you see in them?”

Li Dongmei bit her lip. “I was scared—well, I just see my father, but younger. I’m a servant in my dreams, I think? But sometimes it seems as if we are engaged?” Her shoulders tensed and she stepped from one foot to the other, before blurting out, “He—he placed his hand on my thigh last night.” She huffed an irritated breath, nodding to herself. “But they’re just dreams?”

“They surely are,” Shen Qingqiu lied. “Now, try to sleep. The talismans will activate if something happens.”

Li Dongmei nodded hesitantly before closing her door. Shen Qingqiu assumed his position next to it, at first pacing up and down the corridor, then when Ning Yingying came, sitting down on the floor with Xiu Ya in his lap, ready to be drawn. It was dark, but he was okay with the darkness of the night. He was okay with its silence as well.

A shichen later Ning Yingying was dozing off across from him, her head lolling up and down as she fought to stay awake.

Shen Qingqiu turned his head away from her.

He couldn’t help but wonder, what if, instead of being sold to the slavers, he had died as a boy? Would his mother weep? Would his father drink himself to death?

He knew they wouldn’t; it was easy for them to sell their son. The name Shen Jiu was bestowed upon him by a slaver who had liked to drink himself into oblivion. Shen Jiu’s mind liked oblivion as well. He was so good at forgetting that he didn’t have any clue what his original name had been. Surely it couldn’t have been just a number, right?

If he hadn’t been sold, would he had been married by now? To some gentle and pleasant girl? Would he have had children? Would he have loved his wife? Would his wife have loved him?

He gripped Xiu Ya tightly and felt the energy tying the sword to him. The whole world knew he was a wretched, disgusting creature. It would be a miracle if anyone decided to love him.

He heard rustling of fabric from beyond the door and quiet groans. His hands upon Xiu Ya tensed, ready to draw it. A scream pierced the air, and Shen Qingqiu spared no thought before he stormed his way into Li Dongmei's bedroom. Faint moonlight illuminated the furniture, lending it an eerie and mystic air as if the scene wasn’t real.

He pushed his way through the dark to the girl’s bedside.

She was shaking violently and punching the mattress with her fists.

“He raped me! He raped me!” she cried. Her mouth was open, and loud sobs punctuated her every word. Tears were running down her face and neck.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t like physical touch. He really didn’t, but the girl screamed and trashed so loudly he feared the whole house would wake up soon, so he hugged her.

She gripped tightly onto him and refused to let go, twisting her small hands into his outer robes. Shen Qingqiu felt as her tears were absorbed into the layers of his clothing. They both shook with the force of her shaky breaths.

“He… He… the servant!” The girl cried into his shoulder. Barely contained sobs continued echoing through the room. “He raped the servant!” Her breathing was erratic, and she was chocking on her tears.

“Shhh... It was just a dream… It was just a bad dream…” he rocked softly with her and rubbed her back slowly.

The girl started to calm down.

The situation was much worse than he could have anticipated. Than Zhangmen-shixiong could have anticipated. Whatever had produced these dreams was out-powering their sleep talismans. He had no idea how to even find the culprit.

Ning Yingying stood in the door, watching him with wide eyes. Shen Qingqiu only shook his head in dismissal.

The next morning wasn’t kind to anyone; a cold wind rattled against the mansion while the sun refused to give the world a warm hue.

Li Dongmei refused to fall asleep the whole night. Shen Qingqiu had coaxed her into reading some poem booklets. Her shoulders were unbelievably tense and from time to time her whole body was shocked by uncontrollable tremors, that he pretended not to notice as he stood a silent vigil over her. Sometimes you had to pretend nothing was wrong to keep the other person from indulging in their misery.

The disciples changed throughout the night, guarding the door. Once the servants awoke and started rushing through the mansion Shen Qingqiu relieved Luo Binghe from his vigil in the corridor, walking in swooping steps towards the guest chambers to wake the remaining disciples.

They went with him to learn, and after all, were present during most of the investigation.

Once they dressed and stood before him in a neat line he started his questioning.

“What creature could be responsible?” He paced, his fan slapping against his palm.

Ning Yingying rubbed her bleary eyes, stifling a yawn.

Shen Hao stood with his back straight but turned slightly with every move of his Shizun as if expecting him to attack. “Diao Si Gui, a hanged specter,” he said confidently.

“And why do you think so?” He didn’t spare the boy a glance.

“This disciple thinks so because the girls are seduced into suicide. Often times any specters or ghosts prefer to kill their prey themselves.” Shen Hao bore with his eyes right into Shen Qingqiu’s skull. Shen Qingqiu refused to look back at him.

“And can anyone other than Shen Hao tell this master what’s special about this case?” Luo Binghe seemed to be falling asleep. To test this Shen Qingqiu pushed his fan under the boy’s chin. “You will never become a real cultivator like this.”

Luo Binghe’s body seemed frozen with tension.

“Shizun,” Shen Hao called to him and in his eyes there was that weird fire, challenge. A quiet threat.

How could he dare disrespect his Shizun like this?!

Breathe in.

He felt the guard ribs of his fan creaking and threatening to snap.

Breathe out.

Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes. The boy would pay for this once they returned to Cang Qiong Mountain.. He swallowed his anger and snapped his fan open, then closed it mindlessly.

“So? What’s special?” Shen Qingqiu glared at the Qiong Ding cuckoo.

“Diao Si Gui cases normally don’t involve shared dreams.” The spy yawned, which started a cascade of yawns to erupt from all disciples. “The victims are seduced by promises, or just having to hear their biggest fears verbalized, and having the hanged specter nag them until the victim…” He trailed off.

“Until the victim what?” The slaps his fan made against his palm got louder and more forceful. “It’s important to call things by what they’re called.”

“Until they die,” Ning Yingying finished for the boys.

“Good. Now, who is going to tell me…”

He grilled his disciples about the case’s nature and possible sources until a servant called them for breakfast. As they made their way to the dining room they could hear Li Dongmei’s sobs radiating through the corridor next to her room.

Li Wancheng was much more tense this time, his questions somewhat quieter and his whole aura more subdued. His wife stole glances at Shen Qingqiu from time to time, as if accusing him of incompetence, because it was obvious her only daughter’s health declined again, and this Immortal Master had promised he would save her. The daughter ate in her room, alone, and refused to see either of her parents.

At the end of the meal Shen Qingqiu requested to see Li Wancheng’s concubines. The comment about how she seemed engaged to her father in her dreams didn’t slip his notice. Maybe if he could find which concubine had been raped into marriage she could offer some insight about the fortune teller.

It was also telling how these three women were kept away from the investigation. Ideal for hiding some uncomfortable truths.

After all it seemed like in each case two people were connected, sharing their dreams with one another. And other than the wife only concubines were engaged to Li Wancheng.

(A small voice tried to nudge his brain toward a realization. To connecting a few dots, but alas, some options needed to be explored first.)

After the meal one of the servants led him to the concubines’ chambers. His disciples were tasked with keeping Li Dongmei company.

The three concubines sat next to each other on a daybed and fanned themselves shyly, using their fans more like a barrier than a relief from high temperatures. Each and every one of them wore colorful, layered robes. They also refused to see Shen Qingqiu unless it was all three of them being interrogated together.

The woman sitting on the left side of the daybed was dressed in deep teal, she was the eldest of them, older than Li Wancheng’s wife, her fan was filled with drawings of wonderful birds. Her body language commanded obedience in every move.

“Has either of you experienced unusual dreams recently?” Shen Qingqiu waved his fan slowly.

In the middle was a woman dressed in light green, not different from Shen Qingqiu’s own colors, with a bamboo groove painted on her fan. Her face lit up at the question, the long hairpin swooshing back and forth with the movement. On her right was the youngest of them, not much older than Li Dongmei, dressed in light pink robes, on her fan there was a blooming cherry tree, and she quickly threw her a warning glare.

The eyes of the eldest crinkled, as if she was hiding a smile behind her fan. “No.”

Shen Qingqiu clenched his jaw. “Master Li doesn’t need to know about your answers.”

The eldest concubine bowed her head, “No need to. There’s nothing we would be inclined to say that could offend our husband.”

They were worse than the least helpful family he had encountered the previous day. A unified front that offered absolutely nothing to anyone who dared attack what they held dear.

“Hm,” He leaned back in his seat. “Then maybe some servant had mentioned anything recently?”

The youngest and eldest started whispering with each other behind their fans, while the middle concubine held Shen Qingqiu’s gaze.

“Master Li is nothing but honorable and gentle with us,” the youngest assured.

Shen Qingqiu smirked. Li Dongmei was probably connected to the middle concubine. All he would have to do was corner her alone later. “We all know that some men’s hands like to wander. Some like to reward silence, keen to do almost anything just to avoid a controversy.”

The women stared at him with wide eyes. Their fans ceased all movement and dropped slightly from their faces. Shen Qingqiu started to fan himself with more vigour.

“We can assure Immortal Master Shen that Master Li’s hands do not wander,” the eldest woman guaranteed with voice as gentle and firm as a glacier. “He is very happy with his second wife, Weilan, who bore him three children. There is no need to wander anywhere.”

The middle concubine raised her fan so that it obscured almost her entire face, before leaning to her superior, whispering something into her ear. The eldest nodded, and the middle concubine rose from her seat, bowing to him, “Master Shen must excuse me for a moment.”

Shen Qingqiu snapped his fan shut as he observed the woman leave, her wide robes swooshing behind her, and then disappearing behind doors.

“We cannot accept such talk about our husband.”

Shen Qingqiu huffed an irritated breath. “It’s just an investigation to save his daughter. Surely neither of you would like to see the girl’s health deteriorating further.”

“Master Li is so happy with his current wife he has no need to look to his servants for help,” the youngest dropped her fan from her face and assured again.

Shen Qingqiu held a silent stare-off with her, waiting for the middle wife to return. Even if these women were completely unaware there was no need to fight for their idiot husband’s reputation. It wasn’t like he was going to tattle on them if they let anything slip.

The middle woman returned keeping her hands hidden in her wide sleeves. The youngest huffed in irritation before looking away from Shen Qingqiu. He turned to look at the middle concubine.

Her eyes were boring into him the way the darkness of a cave looks back at an intruder. The way fire asks you to put your hand in it. He couldn’t avert his gaze. He couldn’t look away.

“We hope our answers will help Master Shen,” the eldest already rose from her seat.

The youngest quickly followed, her two hairpins jiggling. The middle concubine waited for them, and when they passed her she dropped her hands, stepping quickly into line with them.

Shen Qingqiu watched them leave in irritation, and as his gaze dropped he noticed a small piece of paper lying on the floor. He quickly picked it up.

It was a small note, with a ragged, torn-off edge, triangular in shape.

Inside of it, written in an uncertain script of someone barely able to write:

‘You look for wife.’

So. The wife? Although this note could be a false lead, just a panicked response to his invasive questions, trying to turn the suspicion away. But he remembered the discolored, calloused hands he saw when she begged him to save her daughter.

Could it be that she wasn’t of noble background?

It pierced something inside of Shen Qingqiu. The idea of a tyrant marrying his own slave—no. It was the time to think, not feel. She was made the main wife, though it seemed the poor woman had no power in her own house, despite whatever the title usually implied.

If this was the truth, the concubine probably risked a lot by leaving this note. The two other women clearly wanted them to remain as a united front. Somehow, though, he didn’t feel as bad for her, or scared for her. She still had an easier life than most.

He had to gently probe his way into the wife and husband’s relationship, but there was one important problem: he had not once seen the wife alone. She was almost like a shadow, always following her husband, always helping him. Never present without him.

At dinner an opportunity presented itself. They were once more seated at a fancy table in a lavish room served by silent servants, eating spicy food with bland fingers holding decorated chopsticks. Li Dongmei didn’t join them. The wife didn’t dare look up. The father, the master, the rapist squirmed under Shen Qingqiu’s intense gaze.

Shen Qingqiu refused to avert his gaze while asking his question. “What’s the maiden name of your wife?”

The wife looked nervously at her master.

“What kind of question is this?” he sputtered.

“Ah.” Shen Qingqiu smiled. “It may be of use to visit her family.”

His wife looked at Shen Qingqiu with wide eyes, her left hand grabbing at where her heart must have lain once, buried under layers of clothing.

Li Wancheng appeared as if he had just swallowed a frog that was fighting to jump out of his mouth. “Her family… her family isn’t in this city.”

“We can travel.”

“Ah! But they moved! To the west! Quite far… very far…”

Shen Qingqiu’s smile widened, but didn’t reach his eyes. That’s all he needed to know. No wealthy man that married a woman of status would hide her family from others. They would gladly use it as a new occasion to boast.

He could be wrong, of course. Maybe the family had truly moved, maybe they died in some awful natural disaster.

But the wife looked at Shen Qingqiu with slightly parted lips, and kept her hand on her heart, as if he had just reached into her and tried to yank it out.

The rest of their dinner went by quietly. Li Wancheng acted like a guilty child caught red handed as he was stealing some candy and avoided the adult in the room—Shen Qingqiu. And the adult refused to break the uncomfortable silence. The wife was now sneaking curious glances at him, as if trying to ask him ‘Is it really this visible? What gave me away?’

‘Nothing,’ Shen Qingqiu wanted to say. ‘It’s not your fault.’

After Li Dongmei finished her meal in her room Shen Qingqiu visited her with his disciples, hoping to inspire some feelings of safety and community. He didn’t dare break the news to her that it was her mother’s memories she was living through at night.

“Will you guard my room tonight?” Li Dongmei asked, holding onto Shen Qingqiu’s hands. Her shoulders trembled with every breath and her face was sullen with an unhealthy, ashen hue. It was puffy from crying.

“Of course, we all will.”

Her illness was nearing its completion. In case anything happened he needed all help he could get. The hanged specters liked to come and watch their victim’s suicide, so if the thing plaguing the town was any similar, it would have to come for the show. He and his disciples had to be careful. If anything, they couldn’t leave Li Dongmei alone even for a moment, but the girl didn’t seem to mind, she actually seemed really calm. Much calmer than she had in days. Conversing with her was easy, and Ning Yingying seemed to get along with her well. Li Dongmei answered his disciples’ questions, and sometimes asked her own.

“You don’t talk much,” she smiled at Luo Binghe. “Do you have a favorite poem?”

The girl waited patiently for an answer, but that little beast only opened his mouth to close them again.

“The lady asked you something,” Shen Qingqiu commanded from behind his fan.

Shen Hao reached to give Luo Binghe’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“This disciple enjoys greatly ‘A traveler’s song’, written by the poet Meng Jiao.”

Shen Qingqiu assessed him coolly. The boy was smiling shyly, because of course he would. His favorite poem reminded him of his mother! How sweet! He had a mother to remember! Warm memories of her, even!

“Do you remember it?” She seemed delighted to learn more about Luo Binghe.

Luo Binghe nodded, took a deep breath, and started reciting from memory with perfect pace and intonation:

“The thread in the loving mother’s hand
Makes the clothes for the traveling son.
Stitch by stitch, tight and firm,
She provides for his late return.
Who says the heart of an inch of grass
Can ever repay the sunshine that forever lasts?”

“It’s a lovely poem,” she praised him and yawned, her eyes closing by themselves.

“I love it, too, A-Luo, it’s sweet,” Ning Yingying commented against her own tiredness.

“Now,” Li Dongmei rubbed at her eyes. “I need to change my clothes for bed. Could you all leave my room for a moment?” She smiled at them. Knowing wealthy ladies it was most likely the code for, ‘I need to use the restroom.’

Although her calmness made it seem like nothing was going to happen on that night Shen Qingqiu still felt uneasy about leaving her completely alone.

“Ning Yingying will stay with you, she is a girl, just like you, and should help you if need be.” He was tied by the ropes of propriety.

Li Dongmei reluctantly nodded, eyeing Ning Yingying with apprehension, as she squared her shoulders, looking sure of her ability to handle the situation.

Shen Qingqiu ushered the boys out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“Shizun, shouldn’t she be more, you know…” Shen Hao started slowly and then made a weird gesture with his hands.

“Be more what?” Shen Qingqiu snapped at him.

“I think what Shen-shidi wants to say is that this girl is weirdly calm,” the Qiong Ding cuckoo answered for the other boy. Their faces held a worried, but unsure expression.

“She should,” Shen Qingqiu agreed. “Be ready to act at my sign.”

Together they stayed in tense silence trying to hear everything that happened behind the closed door. There came some excited whispers, awkward laugh, then Dongmei asked Yingying to turn around. Shuffling of something. Steps. More of steps. Running?

“Shizun!” Ning Yingying’s scream pushed its way against the door.

She didn’t have to say anything else before Shen Qingqiu was running inside, all the boys tailing him. Ning Yingying was reaching somewhere from Li Dongmei’s balcony. He didn’t even register when he pushed her aside, rushing to see small feet disappearing against the roof.

Shen Qingqiu climbed after her, grabbing onto rough wooden beams that were covered in lichen that crumbled under his hands.

Li Dingmei was quick and desperate to get higher. The roof tiles were slick under his boots. His robes bunched. There was barely anything to hold onto, but he rushed after the girl. He wasn’t slipping down only due to the power of his will, as the dampness of the night had already settled heavily on the world.

The girl was ready to jump, but Shen Qingqiu caught her leg. With the force of his whole body he pulled her closer. His leg slipped. They fumbled on the roof, its coarse wetness catching on their clothes.

Down.

Down.

Slipping.

The roof was curled at the edges, and his legs barely anchored themselves in place. The girl squirmed in his hold, and he swung with his whole power, using his elbow to embed sheathed Xiu Ya into the edge of the roof and then swing them back onto the balcony.

His back hit the floor, pushing all air out of him. His hands struggled to keep the girl in place. She wiggled, wormed, pushed, scratched and kicked. Her robe was flimsy and sleek under his hands, but he held on firmly. For a moment he wasn’t certain if it was her life or his he was holding onto.

His fingers curled into the girl’s flesh, tearing the thin robe. Her neckline slipped as she struggled, and he grabbed onto her bare chest so she couldn’t worm her way out. His cold hands were burned by her hot skin, but it only made him hold on tighter.

The girl was in his arms. The girl was safe. He wasn’t going to let her go. It wasn’t his fault. She was going to live.

“Let me go!” she shouted at him and tried to push his hands away. “Let me go!”

He stayed silent.

“You don’t understand!” The girl started crying, elbowing him in his stomach.

Breath caught in his chest from the blow. His hold remained just as strong.

“I exist because of rape! I shouldn’t be alive!” Her voice broke and she was overwhelmed by powerful sobs.

His grip tightened further. This girl had parents who loved her—this was what mattered, not how her life had started. She had to stay alive, to show her mother that her submission wasn’t for nothing. That the evil in their family didn’t win.

After a few more moments of struggle her limbs fell lifeless. She gave up.

“Shizun!” Someone was standing next to them. Someone took the girl in their arms.

There were more than one someone. They also took her in their arms. Someone fixed the fabric of the girl’s robes. Someone helped him stand up.

There was one more thing to be done. He looked out of the balcony, deep into the blackness of the manor’s inner garden. A white face was stared at him, standing next to one of the trees. It was smiling softly. Then the face opened its mouth, and—

It was like observing someone pulling sugary candy, the simple body of it slowly but surely separating into another. The face’s features twisted, pulling into one direction. He instinctively reached for Xiu Ya at his waist, but it wasn’t there.

From the one face, from the one body now there stood two women. Different women. Both smiled at him, as one of them staggered.

His head snapped upwards, and he yanked the sword out of the wooden beam holding the roof, unsheathing it and jumping onto the blade in one smooth movement.

One of the faces stayed in place, as the other started running.

The cold air slashed at his body, making the wet robes heavily flutter in the air. He made a quick decision, jumping off Xiu Ya mid air, and with a swing of his hand sending it flying right into the creature’s chest. Its bright blade illuminating its face.

The creature’s eyes turned dark and matte. He felt blood draining from his face. This was the fortune teller. He watched as her body turned into mist, the sword falling onto the ground, making the sound of a heavy rock hitting fallen leaves.

He had no time to waste, already looking for the other face—

There was no one. His head snapped from side to side. There was no one in the garden but him. He grabbed Xiu Ya and rushed around the trees, then forward, into the building.

There was simply no one.

He tried to search some more, to open the door to various rooms, but they remained empty. There was nothing in the corridors. Silence. Just the sound of his feet hitting the floor.

He had failed.

Shameful, he walked back. His disciples were discussing something loudly on the balcony. His feet stomped heavily against the wooden floor. Right. Left. Right. Left.

He gripped onto the railing of the staircase. It was smooth and cool and did wonders against the exhaustion that was starting to come in waves. Liu Qingge would have had found a way to skewer both creatures with Cheng Luan, swooping in to save the day, grunting some stupid remark to the onlookers.

His hand tightened on the railing, white knuckles popping out against the dark wood.

He pushed onwards, up, up and up. Then the corridor, with its rich carpet, stretching endlessly.

Li Wancheng with his wife pushed past him, dashing into the room, not seeing him. The woman gripped her long robes high, running before her husband.

Shen Qingqiu stopped in the corridor, staring at the opened door. From where he stood he could only see the smooth surface of wood and shadows that squirmed against the floor, spilling like ink against the light.

“A-mei! A-mei! Mommy’s here!” the mother’s voice caught in a chocked cry.

A sob sounded through the corridor, and one of the shadows grew larger before rapidly becoming smaller and dragging itself back into the room. “I’m so sorry!”

Shen Qingqiu braced his shoulders, forcing his body to walk through the open maw of the room. He stood in the doorway as the mother hugged Li Dongmei, her hands gripping tightly, and helping her cover herself.

Li Wancheng stepped closer, placing a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, but she recoiled physically from the touch, staring at him with large, terrified eyes.

“A-mei?” his voice shook.

And in that moment Li Dongmei’s face turned much younger, her eyes rounding as tears rolled down her face. “I’m so sorry!”

The father tried to place his hand on her shoulder again, but she withdrew into her mother. Her small frame trembled, as if seeing a gruesome ghost.

For a moment the whole room seemed frozen in time.

Rain started falling from the sky, punctuating the silence with slow tap, tap, tap.

The father looked at his daughter with worry, kneeling down, so that he could be closer to her. “A-mei, your daddy is here. What happened?”

The daughter only shook her head, pressing into her mother, who kissed the crown of her head.

The tenderness seemed to skewer right through Shen Qingqiu’s rotten core, consuming him, tearing him into pieces. He stared as Li Dongmei curled into her mother, letting her kiss her head, and an empty question echoed through his mind: How can you let her do this?

He looked away from the family, his eyes snagging on the disciples standing crowded against the wall. His eyes drifted, finding their way to the window, glaring at the moon as it burned its image into his mind.

“Remember how you broke your tooth?” Li Wancheng’s chocked voice sounded through the room. “How your daddy tried to catch you?”

The daughter mewled, as if the words themselves had just killed her.

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t bear to hear it. He couldn’t bear this disgusting display of softness. To be hugged, to be comforted—was to be eaten alive by the love. And devoured creatures don’t get to scramble through life; they disintegrate.

His eyes returned to his disciples. Luo Binghe hugged Ning Yingying, comforting her while Shen Hao stood next to them. The Qiong Ding cuckoo watched the scene silently.

“Excuse me,” Shen Qingqiu muttered, but no one heard him. His legs moved by themselves, bringing him out of the Li’s house, back into the inner garden.

His shoes clattered on the stone path, until he reached its end. The rain filled the air with soft mist, unearthing a soothing smell. There was a wild rose growing in one corner of the garden, bending over itself in a futile attempt to carry its own weight. To keep itself up without help.

The rose had gnarly thorns, and grew in isolation, surrounded by yellowing grass. His lungs filled with the scent of summer and wildflowers.

It was the smell of Haitang’s bedroom. It was the same smell as when he counted bruises on his legs, trying not to wake her. Not to be too inconvenient.

Heavy droplets hit his head, slowly seeping through his hair. The rose had beautiful, dark green leaves that jumped with the raindrops. Danced like little bells, glistening in the moonlight.

It was wilting.

He wasn’t able to go back inside. Not yet. Not yet.

Chapter Text

What do you think the grapes taste like?
These amber jewels hanging off a branch,
dripping with the morning dew.
Can you feel them rupturing against your teeth?
I could steal them for us, you know?
The gap in the fence may be too small for you,
but I was always more flexible,
more determined—willing to risk it for you.

I think the dew would be warm.
The tender flesh of the grapes sweet,
but unlike honey,
it wouldn’t curdle in our throats,
instead sinking slowly into our gums,
running down our chins,
popping with every bite.

The smell would be faint,
but unmistakable.
We would lick our fingers for weeks afterwards,
trying to eke out more of the sweetness,
bring back the memory.
Oh, the memory.

It bitterly drops from the branches,
like infected sap that mars the fruit,
betrothing sugar to oblivion.

Did you forget me
after tasting the grapes?
Were they too sweet?
Did they overpower the sourness of me?
Or were you worried
I’d gorge on them,
unable to act like a human?
I suppose everyone knows:
animals aren’t welcome
in orchards.

Shen Qingqiu woke up displeased. As always, his body jerked to wakefulness before the sun had a chance to warm the air. His limbs were cold, blood refusing to circulate properly, his Qi almost restless. The dream he had, too, wasn’t anything pleasant, just the usual bitterness swirling inside of his skull. He had just returned back to Cang Qiong mountain the previous evening. They had stayed with the Li family for a week longer, just to make sure the curse had been lifted. As laughably inadequate as Shen Qingqiu had been, managing to only kill one of the things the fortune teller split into, it seemed to work.

Even if just in scaring the being away.

He hadn’t let himself fall asleep while trapped in that city, observing Ning Yingying carefully, just in case she became the next victim, but the girl had sweet, pleasant dreams that she eagerly spoke about. Only once during their stay did she have a nightmare, and even then, it revolved around her running away from an overgrown ant. Hardly anything realistic, but it wasn’t obvious if the creature gave its victims only true memories, or if it was able to sell them lies. Ning Yingying was around the same age most victims were, after all.

Li Dongmei quickly more-or-less recovered, although her family stayed fractured. She kept her distance from her father, but didn’t take any self-destructive actions, her horror slowly melting into something much more controlled and resigned. Just as they were about to leave she had stopped them, pushing a small booklet of poems into Luo Binghe’s hands, saying how he would surely enjoy them. That little beast surely just chucked the thing into the woodshed, pushing it between some freshly cut logs.

Shen Qingqiu squeezed his eyes shut and opened them forcefully, trying to gather energy to leave his bed. His limbs seemed unreasonably heavy as his legs swung harshly off the mattress. The floor was cold under his bare feet, unforgivably hard. A weary sigh escaped his lips. He forced himself to stand up.

His body, for some reason, had always been plagued by unexplained aches that seemed to only flare up in moments like this. But there was one cure he had found for it—women.

As shameful as it were, the idea of going to the brothel settled softly in his tired mind. The place always buzzed with clients, offering a natural shield from curious eyes. The beds there were warmer than those on Qing Jing Peak.

The brothel keeper would surely be happy to see him, and even happier to see his money.

But it was too late to go there now, it had to wait until evening, until the next night.

His back ached as he straightened, pushing his shoulders back. The main room of the Bamboo House was kept away from succumbing to complete darkness by the presence of a few light pearls that emitted a soft light, but his study remained dark. He walked to his desk and lit a candle there. He still hadn’t written his report about the case. How should he even start? ‘Dear Zhangmen-shixiong, this one has successfully stopped a suicide from happening but the culprit ran away because, as Shixiong surely knows, I’m different (worse) from every other Peak Lord’? As if he’d ever admit that.

A shichen passed laden with worry, as the brush swirled over the paper, stumbling over the perfect phrasing. The report had to be concise, relaying just the facts.

Instead, it steadily increased in length, sheepish just enough to hint at the fact that Qingqiu-shidi had done everything he could, and was sad that it didn’t work, but also forward enough not to make it seem like he thought he had utterly failed. Because he had not. The girl was safe, and the ghost had probably got scared enough that they wouldn’t hear about weird suicides for a long time, so it was absolutely justified that Shen Qingqiu didn’t feel bad about it.

Before the candle had burned out the sun had risen. Still, Shen Qingqiu worked steadily not taking any breaks. He had to make sure his handwriting was strong and sure of itself, had to show Zhangmen-shixiong this case had meant nothing to him, that he was a stone wall.

A stone wall that invited no visits, no follow up questions, no advice.

There was one thing he had to do before he could send the report, though.

“Kneel.”

Luo Binghe and Shen Hao had no choice. They obeyed, kneeling on the hard stone path.

Shen Qingqiu gripped the thin bamboo stalk tighter. “Show this master your right hand.”

Luo Binghe obeyed instantly, extending his arm with his palm turned upward. While Shen Hao stared at his Shizun, bewildered. He cradled both hands to his chest, but didn’t move.

Shen Qingqiu whipped the stalk on the boy’s legs. Shen Hao yelped, nearly toppling forward.

“Hand.” The stalk slowly warmed itself in Shen Qingqiu’s hand, the wood smooth under his fingers.

Shen Hao held his Shizun’s stare. The boy was furious. Luo Binghe’s shoulders tensed.

“My next reminder isn’t going to be this kind.”

Luo Binghe extended his other arm. He edged closer, still on his knees with both hands outstretched as he radiated the perfect docility, with his head hanging low. “Shizun can discipline this disciple twice for both his and Shen-shixiong’s disobedience.”

Shen Hao jerked out of his bewildered state, extending both his hands. “No! Shizun! Don’t punish Luo-shidi for this one’s mistakes!”

A disbelieving smile curled on Shen Qingqiu’s lips as he stared at the little beast, completely ignoring Shen Hao. “Twice?” He chuckled. “Twice? What are you, his hero? Is Shen Hao your little damsel?” He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

Luo Binghe’s left hand dropped reluctantly, curling into a fist at his side.

Shen Qingqiu breathed in deeply, trying to remain composed. The thing that differentiated punishment from madness was whether the person administering it had control over every hit.

Shen Hao was shorter than Luo Binghe, despite being older—and they both relied on each other too much.

Pathetic.

As if anything could save Shen Hao from something as inevitable as discipline.

Shen Hao stared at Luo Binghe, his head turning to Shen Qingqiu, and then again to his Shidi. He kept his both hands extended, and just as he was about to say something, Shen Qingqiu interrupted him:

“Little beast? Raise your other hand, too.”

Shen Hao blanched, understanding his mistake in keeping both hands in the air. Shen Qingqiu knew what he had wanted to do—he wanted to offer himself for them both.

Stupid child.

Luo Binghe extended his second hand again, as if offering himself as a sacrifice to a bloodthirsty god.

Shen Hao gave one final look into Shen Qingqiu’s eyes, and his hand flexed in the air, before extending itself again. It shook in the air, as if already flinching away from pain.

Shichens later, Shen Qingqiu sipped his tea, observing the butterflies lazily flying through the air, never daring to come too close to his bench. The bamboos swayed like a curtain, bobbing in unison as birds jumped between them.

A tall and gentle figure slowly emerged on the path before him it and Shen Qingqiu did his best not to choke on his tea.

“Qingqiu-shidi!” The figure cheerily greeted.

“What brings Zhangmen-shixiong here?” He refused to look at the figure. His fingers were scorched by the warmth seeping through the thin porcelain of his cup, comforting him, letting him focus on something simple.

“I’ve received Shidi’s report.” The figure sat down on the bench next to him, keeping a respectful distance.

Shen Qingqiu kept his silence, instead opting to glare at the stupid bamboos.

The figure let out a light sigh and poured a cup of tea for himself. “Shidi did well on the case.”

Recently he had less and less patience for the Sect Leader. “Compliments born out of pity are worse than none.”

“You’re right, Qingqiu. That’s why this one gives them only when they’re due.” He took a greedy sip of the tea, and burned his tongue, almost pouring it on himself in his haste to get the liquid away from his mouth. He sucked in quick breaths to cool his tongue. “It always amazes me how Shidi can drink his tea this hot.”

“I’ve got osmanthus cakes that would surely help Sect Leader Yue with his tea.” Shen Qingqiu offered a plate to Zhangmen-shixiong.

It was Zhangmen-shixiong’s least favorite type of dessert, something about the texture. That’s why Shen Qingqiu always had it on the ready, taking it with himself every time he was at the risk of being ambushed by him.

Zhangmen-shixiong smiled gently and took the offering. “Thank you.”

It would had been against the rules of propriety to refuse the dessert, even though it sent a very deliberate message: leave me alone or suffer. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help but look at Yue Qingyuan’s face as he fought very hard not to let it show that the texture of osmanthus cakes made him want to puke.

“Shidi wrote that the culprit pretended to be a fortune teller, even though it was clearly non-human,” Zhangmen-shixiong’s voice was calm, soothing, steady in ways Shen Jiu’s voice never was, in ways Shen Qingqiu’s voice could never be.

He ignored this comment, sipping his tea while watching the bamboo stalks. They seemed to lean closer and closer to him, all birds pointing their sharp beaks at his head.

Shen Qingqiu stood up from his bench, ready to leave. “Is this all?” He would send some disciples later to get his tea set back into his Bamboo House.

“Ah,” Zhangmen-shixiong bit his lips and looked away from Qingqiu-shidi for the first time since coming to torment him. “Does Shidi think this ghost in Qiu Cheng city may be the same my Shizun had fought?” He swallowed, clearly trying to hide something that seemed like hope. “The Dream Weaver?”

Shen Qingqiu had read about that monster—everyone in their dynasty of Peak Lords had. The Dream Weaver was probably an ancient entity, that kept changing its targets often, keeping a pattern only for years at a time. The previous Sect Leader was obsessed with catching it, believing it had killed her sister, but had been tricked by the beast, making her give up the chase.

Or at least that was what gossip said, as all that had happened before Shen Qingqiu was able to join Cang Qiong Mountain sect. Personally, he found its existence hard to believe.

“It’s Zhangmen-shixiong’s call to decide what that thing was.” Shen Qingqiu kept looking forward. He wasn’t in the mood to argue about beasts.

Yue Qingyuan opened his mouth, as if ready to say something, then seemed to reconsider. He looked at Shen Qingqiu like he had never looked at Xiao-Jiu. His eyebrows were tense, his eyes tired and apologetic, and his mouth perched like a bird of prey, ready to dive down with an apology and catch him at the smallest indication of powerlessness.

Shen Qingqiu had to look away. The bamboo stalks before them swayed with the wind and he imagined himself to be one of them. Unreachable, sure, secure, amongst its own kind.

Zhangmen-shixiong looked at him with a pained expression. “Is everything—”

Shen Qingqiu looked at him as if he had just been slapped, cutting the question off with one word, “Yes.” The politeness, well-meaning gestures, quiet acceptance of suffering—he couldn’t bear it anymore. “This one has duties to attend to.”

Shen Qingqiu set his cup down with deliberate care, and Zhangmen-shixiong slowly sank into himself, dropping his eyes away, bowing his head in sorrow. He always did that. Always. Never having enough daring to stop Shen Qingqiu, who quickly started walking away, no matter where, just away. His feet carried him through the bamboo forest. At first his steps were rushed, heavy, inconsolable. Then they slowed, became more dignified—less like those of a scared prey animal, more assured—until finally they became calm and measured.

The bamboo stalks swayed in wind that permeated the air. Birds jumped from one place to another, then flew, dropped down to the earth and took flight again filling the air with the flutter of wings and birdsong.

Zhangmen-shixiong was always like this. When they were disciples their visits were few and far in between, but even then one could see the signs, the pouncing on the slightest chance to pull Shen Qingqiu closer.

What use was there in being closer? They had drifted apart, it was what Yue Qingyuan had decided to do, something Yue Qi would have never done. The lies were sweet, cloying on his tongue and heart, whenever Zhangmen-shixiong managed to catch him being vulnerable, more susceptible to falling back into camaraderie.

More susceptible to being scalded.

He kicked a pebble on the path. It soared, caught on a root, jumped upwards, then fell to the side into grass. A startled bird jumped away and took flight.

Sometimes it almost felt as if Zhangmen-shixiong cared.

The gentle swoosh of greenery failed to calm his nerves, unease bubbling in his stomach like prolonged hunger. The birds’ songs seemed off-key, too loud, too cheerful, and to make it even worse, the sounds of some conflict started reaching his ears. The closer he came to the source, the more certain he became that the little beast was involved. His legs moved through the stalks like those of a tiger ready to pounce on a prey.

A group of his disciples was gathered in a clearing, with boys fighting near the middle of it. He mostly saw their backs and hands as they rushed through the air trying to grab and hit their target. Ning Yingying stood to the side clearly disturbed and ashamed, powerless, while Ming Fan and his friends attacked that little beast.

More interestingly, with his back to him and hidden from those fighting stood Shen Hao, quietly watching the scene. Knowing him, he was probably looking for an opening to jump into the frenzy and save Luo Binghe.

Shen Qingqiu’s gaze remained fixed on the chaos. He knew what had to be done, and moved with the same cold distance as always. He stalked closer to Shen Hao and caught him by his neck. Shen Hao visibly blanched and jerked away, but the hand held him firmly in place. The boy’s hands, from what could be seen peeking out of his sleeves were red and tender.

“You shouldn’t eavesdrop like this,” he whispered into the boy’s ear, careful not to be noticed nor heard by the others. “Go and run twenty laps around our peak.”

Even one lap would be cruel after this morning’s beating. But the world itself was cruel and unreasonable—Shen Qingqiu was only a part of it.

The boy looked at him incredulously.

“Now!” Shen Qingqiu growled, and the boy immediately ran off.

The brawl continued, with only Ning Yingying being spared vicious punches and kicks. Luo Binghe disappeared in a sea of unwelcoming hands and hostile legs. The girl tried to make an opening for the little beast so that he could swim to the surface, but she was no more than a twig to this ruthless sea with no power of lending her buoyancy to anyone other than herself.

The fighting children screamed something about a Guanyin pendant, and Ming Fan gripped a green jade in his right hand, raising it high above his head.

Luo Binghe started fighting with a renewed ferocity, kicking, punching, screaming, but was ultimately held back by Ming Fan’s friends.

The noise of the fight buzzed in Shen Qingqiu’s ears, the boys’ yelling merging with countless other arguments Shen Qingqiu saw or partook in. He turned his back to the scene and walked away. There was no salvation in this world. There was no sense attaching to anything.

The evening brought a refreshing breeze, so much needed after the hot day. Disciples slowly settled for the night, the hall masters checking the corridors, ensuring no mischief got out of control.

With every passing moment Shen Qingqiu became more and more determined to spend the night in a brothel.

He took care to complete his duties early, catching up on the mind-numbing paperwork. Then, he took care to dress in inconspicuous robes, to tie the knots tightly, but not too tightly, to keep his hair up, out of the way.

He packed some money, enough to pay for the night, but not enough to entice robbery, and so little that if robbery happened anyway it wouldn’t be a tragedy. He looked at himself in his mirror—the one kept specifically in his bedroom. With all his hair up he looked younger, more vulnerable. Almost like a disciple. Almost.

A part of him wanted to shave a big bald spot on his head to make himself look less vulnerable.

Alas, others would ask questions, and Shen Qingqiu was enough of an amusement for the whole mountain as it was. No need to give anyone more reasons to gossip.

It didn’t matter. It all didn’t matter. He rushed out of his Bamboo House and onto his sword.

The night flights had always calmed him. They were peaceful, the cold air slapping at him and slashing through his robes, even though now there wasn’t much to slash and sway. Something in him wished he had just worn his usual robes, showed the world he didn’t care. Something inside of him said Zhangmen-shixiong will be happy that you didn’t and he quickly started strangling that thought.

The thought fought. It kicked and threw wild punches, trying to strangle him back, but he was more powerful, more determined. He squeezed and pushed on its throat. The thought tried to scratch at his eyes, a gurgling sound coming from its wet lips. Shen Qingqiu kept pushing and pushing until he felt a crack under his hands. The thought laughed at him anyway.

The world was silent.

Shen Qingqiu rubbed at his eyes.

It was late. His limbs felt heavy. He couldn’t wait until he could finally lie down on the brothel bed.

A bat passed him by. Bats were generally much more elegant animals than some birds, and he felt a strange sense of protectiveness and hatred towards them. After all, if he wasn’t a dirty rat he would have been a despicable bat.

(Don’t tell anyone such a thought had occurred. They wouldn’t understand. No one could find out about this. Most important of all—Liu Qingge couldn’t learn about this. Ever.)

The night sky was dazzled with many stars, but the town at the feet of the mountain was so illuminated that it looked in the darkness like a small sun. And at its heart—the sun’s core—was the red light district with its lights and chatter.

The presence of such an important sect brought travelers every month, making the city spread and grow, infecting the neighboring land. Most of the travelers were of male sex, and men liked to have options. That’s why the red light district was always buzzing with life, the street seemingly growing longer every decade.

Shen Qingqiu landed a street or two away. As he stepped out of the shadows, a few men glanced at him suspiciously, never truly stopping their assessment. It was normal. There had always been something cruel and intense about his eyes, and some people saw it for what it was right away—the potential to hurt, to kill. Some took a while to realize it, but they always did.

He didn’t truly fit into the red light district, as it was an altar of beautiful women, standing like statues of mother goddesses, vying for sacrifices from their servants. Some bared their shoulders as their hands moved gracefully through the throng like through a river full of fruit, grasping at the wealthier looking men, while ignoring the beggars.

There had never been comfort for beggars.

Shen Qingqiu quietly stepped into his usual brothel. The establishment was nothing fancy, but it wasn’t like the lower-class ones at the end of the street. In the big room on the ground floor there were many girls entertaining guests by singing and dancing for them. How the place operated was easy: you picked a girl who led you to the brothel keeper, you told her how much time you wished to spend there and off you went, led by a leash of lust to one of the rooms above.

When he walked up to the brothel keeper, who was an old woman with a large nose and an ever larger hair-do, she only told him, “Pick a girl, then return here and tell me how long do you wish to fuck her,” not even bothering to look away from her embroidery.

“And no discount for your favorite customer?” He smiled at her, and her whole body jerked, almost pushing her off the chair.

“Master Shen! This one didn’t recognize you! We already talked about this, there’s no discounts here. Meimei’s already taken tonight,” She put her work down, and yelled into the room. “Xiu Ying! A customer for you!” then turned back to him, and in a much gentler voice ordered him with a smile. “Take the new one.”

“New one? Why?” He frowned.

The brothel keeper’s kind smile widened. “I just need her off this floor. There will be a discount.” She turned towards the room again. “Xiu Ying!”

“Customers should be the ones choosing the girls, there’s no—” reminded her, but then a high-pitched voice sounded through the room:

“I’m coming!”

A young girl emerged from the colorful masses. Her face that of a child, with big slanted eyes and full lips, her body not yet finished with puberty.

He stared at her for a long while. There were brothels on the street that had young girls like this spending time with clients, getting, ah, practice before ‘ascending’ into adulthood, but he had always avoided them.

The girl couldn’t have been fourteen. She didn’t look like a child. She was a child. Her face had a resemblance to something. Someone he knew. He couldn’t quite place it.

Shen Qingqiu fished a pouch out of his sleeve and placed a sum on the brothel keepers desk. A sum that secured him one of the better rooms. The brothel keeper eagerly pocketed the money, and Shen Qingqiu glared at her.

“Go with me,” he told the girl and pushed in the direction of the stairs.

“Yessir!” she jumped after him and tried to cling onto his right arm but he didn’t let her. She frowned at him before squaring her shoulders and resuming her walk.

The corridor was full of moans, smoke, and groans. Shen Qingqiu was so used to it, that it didn’t elicit any reactions from his body nor mind. He found his room.

The girl’s smile grew bright as he opened the door, letting her enter before him. “Oh, you’re so caring immortal master, so sweet, I always pay back those who are kind to me!”

Shen Qingqiu silently went inside after her and closed the door. He was about to sit down when the girl jumped on him and started undoing his robes, pushing him forcefully onto the bed.

He pushed her away and she pouted. “Don’t you think Xiao-Ying is pretty?” At his blank face she hesitated, before dropping her head. Her mouth fell slightly open as she looked down his body.

He just stared.

She took a deep breath, put a smile on her face, before giving the perfect performance:

Her big eyes filled with unshed tears, shining in the candle-light as she said in a petulant, high-pitched voice. “Sir, won’t you care for poor Xiao-Ying? I’m so cold, sir, your cock could fix that,” she whispered, slowly edging closer.

“How old are you?” He pushed her to sit next to him on the bed, but the girl was determined to sit on his legs and pushed back. It took a surprising amount of force to push her off, considering that her body was so small she fit entirely in his lap.

“And how old do you want me to be? I can do anything,” her voice was whiny, as she grasped as his hand.

“Stop. How old are you?” He pressed while trying to untangle the girl from himself.

“I don’t get it. Why does it matter?” She said angrily, but was quick to return to her sexual tone. “If you want me to play older I can do that,” her voice dropped by an octave or so.

Shen Qingqiu was so taken aback by this change his mouth clattered shut.

“Don’t you think I’m pretty?” She smiled at him and groped at herself where her breasts would be if she were older, then sensually moved her hands down her body.

Shen Qingqiu turned his head away from her and glared at the door. Wine! This situation called for a lot of wine! He pulled his hand out of her grasp and stood up from the bed, and, to the discontentment of the girl, walked to a small table positioned to the side of the room. He took time pouring himself a cup, so that he had time to think about the appropriate course of action. Good thing he paid for a better room, with wine inside.

“Were you sold here as a slave, or is your mother also a prostitute?” His voice was emotionless.

“I don’t have a mother,” she explained, and a hairpin tinkled as she shook her head.

“Mm,” Shen Qingqiu swirled the liquid in his glass. “I think you must have been raised in a brothel.” He had already seen cases like this, of prostitutes birthing children and keeping them. Some of them tried their best so that their children wouldn’t share the same fate, and failed. Others were happy to exploit their own blood for more money. This girl’s mother was likely of the latter type. Something ugly and depraved inside of him was still jealous. He turned back towards her.

“And it means I’m skilled! If you want to rape me I can do that, too! I can fight back!” She stood up and tried to make her every step seductive, but her childish body made it just look wrong. “Please, good sir, don’t do this. Please, I can’t die tonight, please, good sir.” She pleaded.

“Stop it.” He spat in disgust. He could feel a headache incoming. “We’re not doing this tonight.”

The girl stared at him as if he had just grown a second head. “Why?”

“I don’t do it here,” he replied harshly, before taking a sip of wine. He tapped his foot against the ground, as he kept the cup next to his face, his other hand supporting the elbow. If he could, he would have crossed his arms.

An understanding slowly eased its way onto the girl’s face. “Oh! You’re one of those who like to watch.”

Shen Qingqiu shuddered and almost dropped the cup. “No! Just—” he sighed, “I come here to sleep.”

She thought for a moment, observing the way he held his cup. “Are you a cut-sleeve?”

He gritted his teeth.

“No. I’m just someone who prefers to sleep at night,” he insisted.

She got very suspicious of him. “You’re not one of those who let a girl fall asleep only to wake her with your cock?”

He made sure to look her in the eyes as he spoke. “No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Hm, okay.”

He came there to relax, and relaxing would probably be impossible as long as the child remained conscious. He closed his eyes, and touched the cup of wine to his forehead as a weary sigh left his lips.“Can we just go to sleep?”

“That’s really what you want? I know how to please with my mouth if you’re afraid I’d be too tight. I can do other things too, my feet are clean and one client said they’re the perfect size!”

Shen Qingqiu looked at her incredulously. “Let’s go to sleep,” he said tersely.

The girl shrugged. There was an air of tenseness around her. She surely saw the danger inside of him, the darkness lurking behind his eyes. It was smart of her not to trust him.

Shen Qingqiu undressed for sleep—leaving only his inner robes. He took care to stay covered at all times so that the girl wouldn’t get any funny ideas. She made herself comfortable as well, untying parts of her dress so that it became looser. They both let their hair down, and she waited patiently as Shen Qingqiu loosely braided his, and then tied it with a small string.

He put out all candles in the room, and finally, in complete darkness filled only with muffled sounds of what was happening in neighboring rooms, he let himself sink into the bed. The girl snuggled onto him, as if looking for some physical reassurance that he did in fact find her beautiful.

You’re in a forest
in a forest with me
we are here to rest
so rest here freely

close your eyes
listen to the birds
give me your hand
I will tell you the future
I will give you my dreams
give me your hand
open your eyes
I’m here forever
I’m here with you
close your eyes again
I’m doing something stupid
don’t look yet
don’t be angry
the branch didn’t snap
don’t laugh at me
hey, I said don’t laugh at me
look at the trees
focus on the birds
they’re quiet
because they know
we came here in secret
and I will tell you a secret
I see your future
and in it?
You are with me

so we’re in a forest
in a forest and free
I’m here to rest
and you are with me

As he slowly drifted into reality the voice of a beautiful boy still chased after him. The boy was the prettiest child he had ever seen, with long, flowing hair. His features were a little sharp, his voice a little vicious, but it only served to give him the quality of a sharply cut jade.

His eyes opened slowly. The sun bathed everything in cold blue tones of the morning, and next to him lay a small girl. Her features were relaxed, radiating innocence. Like this, unpossessed by sex demons, she reminded Shen Qingqiu of a fellow slave he knew at the Qiu’s.

Xiong Ning was older than him, and just as sharp when it came to insults. They used to spit into Qiu Jianluo’s tea pots together—just to add flavor for his sensitive tongue. No one had ever found out they were doing so.

Xiu Ying turned away in her sleep. Her body was frail and thin, while Xiong Ning used to be a bit more muscular, though still terribly small, even for her age. Something about not being fed properly as a child by her family, before being sold.

The Qiu’s paid special attention to their appearances, and therefore every slave was well fed to flaunt their wealth. They also were to always wear clean robes, and any tears in them were to be repaired even faster than they appeared. The Qiu’s were the same as the Li’s—no occasion to show off wealth could pass by unnoticed.

There was a knock at the door, meaning he should leave.

He slipped out of the bed carefully as not to wake the young girl. She… was a lot. He wasn’t sure he could handle her as delicately in the morning as he did last night. Plus, he was in a good mood, and didn’t want her to ruin it.

The brothel was much quieter this early, with most clients either sleeping or returning home, and the ladies busy cleaning themselves before they, too, went to bed. Weak sunlight tried to penetrate the corridor as well as the big room on the ground floor.

The brothel keeper’s embroidery was almost finished, as her eyes tiredly checked out the needle work. It was immaculate, as always, embellishing the flimsy robes that were made to be taken off. When she caught the sight of Shen Qingqiu she smiled.

“Xiu Ying wasn’t too much trouble, was she?” The brothel keeper preened under his gaze, as if trying to call back on her old charm. Maybe on someone else it would have worked. Someone who liked old women.

(Or was it that Shen Qingqiu was immune to all women? It was safe to think about it in a place as filthy as a brothel. But at the same time it wasn’t safe at all to think it in a place as disgusting as his own mind. Who knew what thoughts could enter it now that he had opened that door?)

He smiled at her. His pleasant dream had calmed his nerves, made his shoulders more relaxed. “Why is she even here at all? Didn’t you say last month that children only bring trouble?” Prostitutes called her that, and Shen Qingqiu accidentally picked up this habit a few years ago.

The brothel keeper stood up from her place and walked closer to Shen Qingqiu, then she leaned even closer. Her body and robes smelled strongly of roses. “She’s came here yesterday, powerless—said she had to run from her mother. She begged me to let her work here, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her no.”

The brothel keepers smile was mechanically polite, as if she was selling him a sweet story.

“I will pay for her” Shen Qingqiu cut her off before she could lean any closer. “Just keep the creeps away.”

Her smile widened, polished and hollow, perhaps satisfied a plan of hers had worked. She understood perfectly. Often, when one of the wealthy clients liked one of the prostitutes he could sponsor her if the woman agreed. In this case the brothel keeper agreed for the girl, and who could blame her? A source of money couldn’t be turned away.

The sun didn’t yet get the chance to warm the air or ground as the damp coldness of the outside world refreshed Shen Qingqiu further. The red light district was almost empty, spare a few working girls leaning on the walls and looking out from the windows like wild flowers brought from a distant field. They were gossiping and resting after the night. A few men slowly made their way home.

One of the men caught Shen Qingqiu’s eye. He was tall and muscular, with good hair and broad shoulders, but there was a gentleness to his steps, a certain relaxed softness. From what could be seen his skin tone was rather warm. He was dressed in an exquisite dark blue robe, that caught his every move and draped ever so softly and innocently over his back. His waist was tied with a dark red sash that strained with his every move, tightly keeping everything in place, curving with every sway of his hips… It was such a nice robe—

NO!

He snapped his gaze away, his stomach twisting. He shouldn’t be staring at like that. The dream maybe calmed his nerves but he found himself too relaxed. Men didn’t deserve such attention. And it wasn’t him. It was them—the hands were winning inside of him. That’s right! He was admiring the other man so because the hand’s poison was seeping into his mind, was transforming him, transformed him. He couldn’t let them win.

He scowled and mounted his sword. There were no disgusting men in the air, where he flew. He refused to think, focusing his eyes at the horizon, at clouds gathering there and birds flying. At the purple hues of the sky. Flying was freedom, was the confirmation, the sign to the whole world that he wasn’t a slave anymore.

The landing on his Qing Jing peak was soft and quiet. It was strange, how light he felt, how sweet the dream was, how full of love, almost as if he had stolen it from someone else.

Shen Qingqiu should be feeling suspicious. Intrigued. Maybe even interested. Sadly, the only thing that could describe his state of mind was confused. If the fake fortune teller tried to claim him as the next victim he should have had dreams more traumatic than he could bear, but instead he was having pleasant ones?! He couldn’t remember the last time he had dreamed something this gentle. His mind, for years now, had either tormented him with nightmares or offered a black oblivion. Every night at the brothel he was chasing that sweet, sweet darkness, that state of unbeing that his mind seldom bestowed upon him.

And yet here he was, well-rested, refreshed and relaxed. Who was the boy in his dream? Too beautiful, too cruel, his voice lingering around him. Was it just a trick of his mind?

It didn’t matter, no need to dwell on it. Maybe it was just another way for the universe to torment him, to give him sweetness only so that he would be so much more aware of the overpowering bitterness of his life.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to be too mad about this.

The rustling of swaying bamboo stalks calmed him further. The dream was so gentle, as if seen through the eyes of someone capable of love.

He opened the door to his Bamboo House and walked into his bedroom, his hands already unfastening his sash when he caught a glimpse of himself in his mirror.

His face was smiling.

His hands froze. His chest tightened.

The face looking at him from his mirror was vulnerable and young. He knew what became of those who showed the least bit of vulnerability. Slowly, the smile wilted, pushed down into a scowl. There was no reason to smile. That young girl in the brothel… he would have to check his budget. And if the other peak lords learned who he visited at night they would surely assume the worst of him. He gritted his teeth and felt his fists clench. He was always the heaven’s favorite.

When that child allowed herself to relax she looked so alike Xiong Ning. Even her name sounded similarly. Xiu Ying…

The wine inside the brothel was nothing like the stuff the Qiu’s kept in their cabinets. He and Xiong Ning had once sneaked out a bottle of wine and drank it while crouched in a cramped storage room.

“Do you think you will ever marry?” Xiong Ning had asked as Shen Jiu removed the almost-empty bottle from his mouth.

It took him much more energy and focus than usual to think and form words.

“What? Is this a proposal? Do you have a thing for me, Ning?” He pretended to swoon and preen under her irritated gaze.

“Everyone has a thing for you until you open your mouth.” She pointed a finger at him. He barely registered the gesture in the darkness.

“Hey! You’re way too stupid for me anyway.” Shen Jiu scowled.

“We both know that you’d accept only one person as your wife: Qi-ge.”

“Do you want me to scratch your eyes out?” How could she joke like that?!

“Okay, okay, but like seriously, if given the choice, would you ever marry?” They both knew it was unlikely to happen, they were property, not much different from cows or pigs, and Qiu Jianluo didn’t fancy himself a breeder.

“Hm, Immortal Cultivators don’t need wives,” Shen Jiu considered for a few moments, his thoughts sluggish from the wine.

“Mm, I pity whatever sorry motherfucker would end up with me.” Xiong Ning brought the bottle to her lips and took a swig.

How silly it sounded now… indeed Immortal cultivators did not need wives. None of the other Peak Lords were married, and Zhangmen-shixiong stayed as pure as could be with no imperfect thoughts nor dirty spouses.

He looked at himself in the mirror again, and realized that his guan was missing.

He patted through his robes, shaking out the sleeves, and when nothing fell out, groaned internally. It must have been left at the brothel.

That guan was the first one he had ever owned, gifted to him by his Shizun. He walked to his dresser where his fans and other accessories were stored. Cang Qiong sect was quite wealthy, with hordes coming every time they were recruiting. He reluctantly picked one of his simpler guans and put his hair up.

It’s not like anyone actually paid enough attention to him to notice him wearing something different than usual.

In any case, just to be safe, he could stay inside the Bamboo House and do paperwork away from disciples.

A half a shichen later a disciple brought him his breakfast. It was simple, easily digestible and not too tasty, but still better than most of the meals he had eaten in his childhood. The disciple didn’t even dare raise their head to look at his Shizun openly. He ate in absolute silence. As a boy he would have gulped it all in one go, making sure not to let anyone steal a grain of rice from him. As a Peak Lord he ate slowly, while wearing a bored expression.

How long did it take Zhangmen-shixiong to get used to this abundance? To start eating carefully, slowly?

It took Shen Qingqiu a few months to truly settle into the slow rhythm of meals at the Qiu Manor, and then months again to settle into it at Cang Qiong Mountain.

Once the meal was finished, the disciple scurried out, not willing to possibly trigger his Shizun by lingering.

Shen Qingqiu spent his day by his desk in his study. There was a stack of papers that had accumulated during his absence. Most of them required him only to read them and sign, some called for longer responses.

At noon he decided that a break was well deserved. A break without Zhangmen-shixiong interrupting it. All he desired was to be left alone, really, but something in him had him sit in the same spot as yesterday, and have one of the disciples bring him osmanthus cakes.

His eyes still kept glancing at the path before him.

His fan kept covering his face, making him look unbothered.

The tea and the cakes were completely unbothered, too. Just like the bamboo and the bench. The only thing bothered was a bat sleeping inside of one of the bamboos.

There were a lot of bats living in the bamboo forest, a fact most disciples didn’t even know. It was rare for anyone to walk out of dormitories at night, even that little beast kept to his woodshed.

When Shen Qingqiu had arrived at Qing Jing Peak, he had tried to blend in, but he had been unsuccessful. He had been much older than the children just starting proper cultivation, and the older disciples hadn’t wanted anything to do with such a dirty rat as him. He hadn’t been able to fall asleep in a building full of young boys and men, which had left him wandering through the bamboo forest at night. The night walks had always been dark and quiet, and still were, peaceful in a lonely sense of the word. It felt like being transported into a different world. Every little bird there was asleep, no butterflies flaunted their colors; just darkness, the moon, moths, and bats surrounding him. Only beings that had married themselves to the darkness roamed the bamboo forest at night, only beings betrothed to it upon birth.

Sometimes, he sneaked out with a torch or a candle. When he did so, moths clung to him and swam through air chasing the star in his hands. Sometimes he sat in complete darkness observing the bats.

When the tea in his cup went cold, he poured it on the grass next to the bench. There were some wildflowers peppered within the green blades, their delicate beauty peeking through the severity—like the red light district, where harsh exteriors masked the warmth that spilled from behind brothel doors. If not for the brothels, he would have spent every night alone among the bamboo stalks.

He stood up from his bench; it was time to get back to work.

The day didn’t need anyone’s nudging to go forward; it had gained its momentum in the morning and refused to lose it. It went forward, but Shen Qingqiu had finished all work he could do from the comfort of his home.

For once, he was in a good humor. Maybe, just maybe, if he held onto it with all he had, he would have a nice dream again. Maybe the pleasant dream had been bestowed upon him by the child who had slept next to him. Maybe she would be so kind as to do the same again.

That pleasant dream had given him a rare lightness, that made his eyes drift through the main room, stopping at an unassuming, tall cabinet by his bedroom door.

The bamboo handle was smooth under his hand as he opened it. Inside, stored vertically, was his guqin, painted in dark brown, almost black. It was ancient, passed through generations of Qing Jing Peak Lords, and the laquer had created beautiful duanwen—cracks—that made its surface resemble snake’s skin. There were no inscriptions anywhere on the instrument, and when asked, his Shizun had only told him, ‘The music speaks for itself.’

Seeing it hidden away like this, a question begged to be answered: Dear Peak Lord Shen, why not display this beautiful instrument anywhere in the Bamboo House?

There was no simple answer to this. Indeed, his Shizun had kept the guqin in his study, proudly on display.

Shen Qingqiu was not like his Shizun, and the fact he hid it wasn’t because he didn’t think the guqin beautiful, or without value. It’s just that leaving it in the open, exposed, would invite trouble. Things taken away seldom returned to their owner, and even when they did, they never were quite the same. That’s why anything of real value stayed hidden.

He had a knack for finding good hiding spots.

His Shizun liked to point out how foolish this behavior was. ‘You are the head disciple—act like it. Does this disciple think merely hiding an item would protect it? There doesn’t exist a thing or a person in this world that cannot be replaced.’

Shen Qingqiu disagreed. Even if something could be replaced, it wouldn’t be the same. Loving that one handkerchief meant it changed you, and once it was taken away, the way you saw the next one wouldn’t be the same, instead being colored and overshadowed by the pain of losing the first one.

He tentatively plucked at the strings of the guqin. It was kept in perfect condition. The sounds it produced were clear and loud, and playing it was a pleasure he rarely indulged in, only when he was in the right mood and sure no one would intrude upon his moment.

He took out the small table and sat on the floor of his bedroom, placing his guqin on it.

After some mindless plucking and tuning it using the cold jade pins, he played a small cord progression. The sounds filled the room, clearing his thoughts. Maybe the act of hiding it wasn’t entirely foolish. His hands continued plucking the strings, until his fingers mindlessly found the first notes of the Flowing Water, going through the well ingrained memory of the song.

It always made him feel as if he himself was a brook that flowed softly between rocks, only to gain momentum and fall forward as a waterfall in a secluded place. While playing it, he felt everything in a more controlled way, as if he were letting some old spirit of the person who wrote it—of a person who was just a stream flowing down a mountain—inside his body to guide him. The ghost of his Shizun’s hands on his back guided him further when his notes became too emotional, too overpowering, too much like himself.

The music, just like the water, kept flowing, and he let himself drown in it. His soul absorbed every note, devoured it so that it could crawl back out of him, taking his heart with it. He wasn’t drowning in it; he was the water, and the water was him. The calmer parts liberated his mind, while the tumultuous waters smashed his ghost against sharp rocks.

He didn’t even notice when his hands stilled the strings, as his heart absorbed their wildly beating vibrations. Something inside him panted in exhaustion. He sat back, away from the instrument.

His Shizun had always appreciated his skills and the effect music had on him. The way his hands trembled by the end of some pieces.

There were birds singing outside. The sleeves of his robes obscured his hands, the cool fabric rustling as he hung his head. The touch of it under his fingertips felt oddly soothing against the echo of the drag of string and wood.

As a child he had never been able to sing well. His cries were always harsh on the ears, and perhaps this was what allowed him to succeed at begging. Female slaves often were sold to brothels, and there they mastered the act of singing or playing pipa, as it raised their value. Singing advertised their melodious voices, telling visitors, ‘If you buy me, this voice could be yours, too; I promise to moan your name as if it were my favorite song’. Some were more skilled with playing instruments; their playing advertised ‘My hands are skilled’ or ‘I can hold my breath for long’.

The world of the red-light district was brutal and full of lies. Most of the girls sold there quietly accepted their fate.

After all, as a female slave you learned quickly that no matter where you ended up, your body would be used there. It was just a question of details—whether it would be your new husband using it, your new owner, or your clients.

Most boys weren’t afraid of ending up like them, but pretty boys felt the moist breath against their backs and learned to hide their own beauty, just like the girls.

Xiu Ying didn’t have anyone to teach her how to scowl; she instead embracing her beauty, and now…

He put the guqin away and started searching the Bamboo House for something he could gift the girl, something that would tell her she was still a child. The more he searched the more it seemed like all his belonging screamed Adult! Adult! Adult! It wasn’t even as if he had any left over toys from his own childhood.

Xiong Ning would have laughed at him for this.

‘Did Mr Angry at the world develop a soft spot for a child? I thought you hated everyone!’

And he’d have to tell her that no, he didn’t, shut up; it’s just that maybe he could save Xiong Ning by saving Xiu Ying. That was all, really.

There was a knock at his door. Shen Qingqiu checked his robes, making sure everything was in place, clean, and unrumpled. Once sure of this, he opened the door with an air of composed boredom.

On the other side, a tired hall master held a box out to him. “The disciples are reading about dual cultivation, again. Not only reading, but writing… Peak Lord Shen has to see what they made…” He fumbled through some of the booklets until he found something called “One Step Away” and pushed it into Shen Qingqiu’s hands.

He looked at the booklet in disgust. There were oily fingerprints on it. Then, his eyes glared at the hall master. “And why is it of importance?” Usually, he only got reports about the stuff being confiscated, not a delivery of the newest filth these children were enamored with.

“Oh, Peak Lord Shen absolutely has to see their newest obsession. This humble one thinks that it’s the Peak Lord who should determine the appropriate punishment this time.” The hall masters were probably avoiding their own work by trying to push it on him.

He could humor them this once. “Fine.” He extended his arms, and the hall master excitedly handed it over to him. Shen Qingqiu didn’t give him a chance to thank him, instead shutting the door in his face.

He looked at the pile of booklets and sighed. There was no way he was going to look through them at that moment. His good humor had to be preserved against any filth that might have flowed from his disciples’ minds.

Among the flimsy booklets, there was a small toy—a diabolo. Probably confiscated from some student innocently sneaking away from his responsibilities.

Shen Qingqiu smiled smugly. Maybe the heavens liked him after all.

As he stood before the brothel with the diabolo hidden inside his sleeve, he felt stupid. Absolutely idiotic. A doll would have made for a better gift for a girl.

There was nothing else he could do, but push inside the brothel, through the throng, through the lustful men. Someone had tried to grab him, but he evaded their touch. Patrons of this brothel had always had grabby hands.

The brothel keeper caught his eye. “Oh! Xiao-Ying is waiting for you upstairs, the last room on the left!” She said, quickly pocketing his payment.

“Has Xiu Ying brought something to you after I had left?” he inquired about his guan.

“No? Has she stolen anything from you?” Cold and calculated anger flashed on her face.

“No, don’t trouble yourself.” Shen Qingqiu smiled at her, already walking upstairs. The girl had to have kept it with herself then.

The corridor seemed louder than usual.The end of it, and especially the left side of it seemed much darker as he stared at the door handle. He took in a deep, grounding breath, making a strong musky smell cling to his insides, and pushed the door open—and froze.

Xiu Ying lay on her stomach on the bed. She didn’t have a single thread on her, her naked skin clinging to the sheets. She smiled innocently at him and kicked her feet, the gesture somehow only further emphasizing her childishness. If she had breasts it would have been accentuated by her pose, but she had none.

“Xiao-Ying has been waiting so patiently for master!” she called in a high voice, biting her lip and fluttering her eyelashes. “The whole day!”

Shen Qingqiu felt his stomach drop as something disgusting climbed up his spine. In a few long strides he was next to her, his hands hovering in the air for a moment, unsure what to do.

“Take this! Don’t you have any shame?!” His hands were already taking off his outer robe, the heavy fabric slipping easily off him and wrapping around her shoulders as he made her sit up. Her hair smelled of smoke and his hands became clammy.

He fumbled, trying to tie the robe tighter, somehow tie the sleeves together—it was like dressing a doll that neither welcomed or opposed his act. The deep green fabric gave Xiu Ying’s face a sickly hue as her wide eyes slowly filled with anger and tears.

“You’re vile!” She spat, slapping his hands away.

“Cover yourself!” Shen Qingqiu yelled before he could stop himself, but immediately regretted it as Xiu Ying scowled.

“No!” She looked at him in hurt, as if she had just sacrificed herself for him and he had rejected it. Rejected her.

Shen Qingqiu felt like he could puke. What was he even supposed to do now?

He tried to wrap the robe tighter around Xiu Ying, but she almost kicked him.

“You paid!” Her face was flushed red, with a drop of tears shaking at her chin, ready to fall.

His hands dropped away from her, hovering in mid air. He didn’t know whether he wanted to soothe her, or slap her into calmness.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Xiu Ying’s jaw shook as he sat next to her on the bed. The bed covers were sleek under his hands. What would Qi-ge do? What would that traitor do?!

Shen Qingqiu fisted his hands into the fabric covering his lap, refusing to look at her. “Look, you’re very beautiful, but you’re a child.”

“I’m not a child!” she screamed at him.

“Alright. You’re not a child, but you’re much younger than me.”

Xiu Ying scowled at him, as if he was a disgusting bug trying to bite her ankle. She wiped at her face, her tears already drying.

Shen Qingqiu sighed. They sat in silence for a long moment, with Xiu Ying sniffling. A small streak of snot traveled down her philtrum and Shen Qingqiu pulled a handkerchief out of his sleeve, dangling it before her face.

Xiu Ying looked at him with surprise, but made no move to claim it for herself. Dissatisfied, he pushed it into her hands, and she slowly wiped her whole face and blew her nose.

Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat and pulled the diabolo out of his sleeve. “I brought something for you.”

She lifted her head to look at him, blinking dumbly at it for a moment. When she finally realized what it was he was offering a new fury awakened in her. “This is a toy for boys! I’m a woman!” She looked away with displeasure. The robe he tried to cover her with drowned her small body as it lied limply by her sides, already coming untied.

He looked at himself in search of anything that could calm her and his eyes caught on his fan. It wasn’t his favorite, really, he always was aware that a fan could get destroyed easily in a brothel, that’s why he took it. It was red with floral pattern, way too girly and clashed with most of his clothes, but it was still something his. It belonged to him.

It rested heavily in his palm, as if made of pure gold. His thumb traced around the curved handle, the small indents in the guards made by his fingernails.

The girl hugged her knees and mumbled something at him. He tried to touch her once more, but she only kicked her feet in warning. Maybe it was better for Xiu Ying to think of herself as an adult, it allowed her to ignore the true horror of her life. She also needed to be calmed as fast as possible.

Without much choice he gritted his teeth. He extended his hand with it towards the girl. “Is this gift adult enough?”

Xiu Ying sniffled, and grabbed the fan greedily, quickly opening it and fanning herself with a self-satisfied smile. “See, you know how to treat a girl right.”

She recited this phrase with the well worn practice of an actor, but Shen Qingqiu couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from quirking up.

Xiong Ning had liked to use this phrase towards men, whom she often tricked into doing her chores. Both girls knew just how to get what they wanted. Maybe losing the fan was worth it.

Xiu Ying bared her shoulders from underneath his robe. Her face was mostly obstructed by the fan, keeping her seductive flair. As she fluttered her eyelashes Shen Qingqiu weakly wondered if this was how others saw him.

Xiu Ying dropped the fan slightly away from her face. “So what is it that Immortal Master wants to do with me today?”

“Sleep. Just sleep,” he told her.

She dropped the hand holding fan and pouted. “But aren’t I pretty?”

The word made something squirm inside of his chest. Shen Qingqiu sighed and clenched his hands into fists. “Can you give me back my guan from last night?”

“What guan?” She smirked and fluttered her eyelashes. Her face was wet and smeared with snot, and Shen Qingqiu wasn’t sure that she was aware of this.

“Xiu Ying knows which one. You will get to keep the fan if you give the guan back,” he pressed.

Xiu Ying considered for a while. “Alright,” she reached under one of the pillows and gave him his possession back, unaware of how much more expensive it was compared to the fan.

“Thank you.”

“You know, I can really show you what I can do…” She leaned forward, but Shen Qingqiu stopped her with a raised hand.

“I just need to rest.”

She stared at him as if he was a very confusing puzzle, before spatting a single, “Fine.”

They went together through the same motions as last night, with Shen Qingqiu inviting darkness into their room, putting down any lights, and her making herself comfortable on the bed.

Xiu Ying observed him carefully, with tense eyebrows and jaw. He felt her heavy gaze as he took off his shoes and most layers of his robes, and when he placed his both guans in his sleeve. It was dark, and the sounds coming from other rooms felt somewhat more muffled than usual. The smell of sex wasn’t as strong in their room either.

Xiu Ying stuffed the fan under one of the pillows, pressing her head atop it. Shen Qingqiu slowly climbed under the covers. The bed wasn’t too big, and the girl had to curl herself into him to lie comfortably. Perhaps that was why Shen Qingqiu liked brothels—they gave him an excuse to hold someone without admitting anything. He always got what he had payed for.

He felt safe there, in the danger of brothels.

In the bottomless darkness of the night
there is no softer, sweeter sight,
than a pale face gazing at the sky,
as its limbs and thorax scattered lie,
surrounded by blades, moths and light.

In the thankless silence of the gloom,
there is no more impending doom,
than a scattered mind gazing at the sky,
as strange hands feast and lie,
forever sealing its body in a tomb.

In the heavy breathing of the morrow,
there is no bigger, greater sorrow,
than a young and thankless cry—
“NO! I’M A BOY! NO! NO! NO!
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! NO!”

He woke up and immediately started retching. He couldn’t stop throwing up even when there was nothing left in his stomach. Dry heaving filled the silent night with wet and desperate sounds.

Yue Qingyuan thought he was going to die. His eyes darted to Xuan Su at the feet of his bed—it was sheathed. Another gulp of air, barely stuffed inside of his lungs before—

He was used to dreams about his own past, to being thrown into his prepubescent body and having to spend the whole night running away from some crude punishment. He was also used to waking up and mistaking the darkness of his room for the darkness of Ling Xi caves. He could deal with that, already had many ways of dealing with that, like lighting a candle, or smacking his head with his fist until he saw stars just so that the memory would fall out. False pictures of what Xiao-Jiu had to live through were okay too, just like the dreams where he dug through the ruins of the Qiu estate with his hands until they bled.

But this? This wasn’t like anything Yue Qingyuan had lived through. This was new.

It was something he deserved, though.

Chapter Text

The moment he woke up kept replying in Shen Qingqiu's head, even as he flew in on his sword in the darkness.

He woke up in the middle of the night with overwhelming nausea. He swallowed against his own body and gasped for air.

A small, warm hand caught his arm. He shook it off and started pulling at his hair.

“Shh, A-Jiu, it’s fine now,” a child’s voice tried to soothe him.

The hand started rubbing his back.

“Don’t touch me,” he tried to command, but his voice broke in the middle of the sentence. The hand listened.

They stayed in silence for a long moment, waiting for his body to calm down. When it finally did, the child—Xiu Ying—asked a question, “Were you a girl in your past life?”

“What?”

“When you slept, you kept saying ‘Stop.’ When my friends dream of bad clients they say the same things.” There was rustling of fabric, probably signaling that Xiu Ying moved.

“And what does it have to do with past lives?”

“Oh, because I go to my past life when I have a bad client, I get out of my body and into a beautiful field with flowers,” she calmly explained. “My mom always told me it’s because in a past life I was a farmer. So I thought that you visited your past life in your dreams, where you were a brothel girl.” She put her hand on his back again, completely unaware of how horrifying what she had just said was.

“I thought you didn’t have a mother,” he tried to take her focus off of him.

“I don’t!” Silence, then more rustling of fabric.

“Give me a bottle of wine.”

He was a bit dizzy as he flew towards his peak. The cold air slashed at his eyes, trying to form ice crystals on his eyelashes.

His mind kept bringing him to his past, just like the dream had.

“You want him? For what, an hour?”

He kept glaring at the passing clouds and stars. They stayed silent. His head exploded with voices.

“Sure, but I will watch as you do it.”

An overwhelming wave of nausea hit him. Maybe there was something wrong with the wine he had drunk. His vision was blurry.

“No, I will just watch.”

His eyes had trouble focusing in the darkness. The sensation of cold air mixed with the memory of stone floor and hot hands.

“He’s so pretty like this, isn’t he?”

Something desperate escaped his throat, and his body rushed forward as his sword hit something. His face smashed onto the rough bark of a tree.

He fumbled downward. His body acting like a pincushion for smaller branches and spruce needles. The journey ended in a soft, soft cushion. The cushion contained many small needles, and then—

Thousands of small legs crawled all over him. He slapped at his body. It was useless. He quickly jumped upwards, only to see that he had landed in an anthill, its white larvae exposed to air.

It was like trying to catch smoke, to stop a whip already moving towards your face. The ants climbed into the innermost layers of his clothes. They bit at his ears and eyebrows and fell into his shoes.

In desperation he started slapping at himself. Slapped at the pain. At the crawling. The biting. The pinching. He may have started yelling as his hands tore into his robes, trying to shake off the invasion.

He stomped the ground trying to push the small army off himself.

“Qingqiu-shidi?” a deep, surprised voice called.

Shen Qingqiu froze and turned his head to look at the intruder. A bead of sweat, or an ant, traveled down his spine with a shiver.

Zhangmen-shixiong stood in only his inner robes and shoes, frozen mid-movement, as if he wanted to pounce on Shen Qingqiu and help him but wasn’t sure if it was the right moment. Of course, Xuan Su was with him.

He had crashed next to Zhangmen-shixiong’s house, the Pine House. It was—he was—

Shen Qingqiu made a hand seal and tried to summon Xiu Ya and pulled. The sword didn’t budge. No! No!

He tried again with more power, but his sword was deeply embedded into the tree. No!

“Qingqiu—” Zhangmen-shixiong started walking towards him, and it was the signal Shen Qingqiu needed to pull with all his force at the sword.

It flew through the air, cutting some branches on its way before stopping right next to Shen Qingqiu’s head. Its light glared at Zhangmen-shixiong, and Shen Qingqiu stood there, panting. An ant bit into his neck, and he slapped at it, almost losing the hold on his sword.

Zhangmen-shixiong shook his head and took a step forward. His hair was a bit disarrayed, standing weirdly as if he had just woken up. Right. It was the middle of the night.

“What is Shixiong staring at?!” Shen Qingqiu growled, making Zhangmen-shixiong stop in his tracks.

“Shidi…” he said with difficulty, his hands shaking slightly as if he had to force them from reaching forward. “You—let me help. Is—is Shidi alright?”

Shen Qingqiu paused for a moment. “Of course!”

Zhangmen-shixiong nodded, quietly assessing his chest and hair. Shen Qingqiu wasn’t indecent—even though he had managed to push most layers off his shoulders, his inner robes stayed in place. He couldn’t help but squirm under the gaze.

Zhangmen-shixiong’s hands dropped to his sides, and he pressed his lips together, unsure. Shen Qingqiu sheathed Xiu Ya. He pulled his robes tighter around himself, fixing the shoulders in place. He was about to turn around and, as gracefully as he could, go in the direction of Qing Jing Peak.

His breathing was a bit too loud. Something like hands slithered over his legs. An ant bit into his back, and he slapped at it.

“Maybe you’d come inside?” Zhangmen-shixiong offered hopefully. “Shidi should change.”

Shen Qingqiu glared at him. If it wasn’t so hard to focus, he may have used his Qi to scramble the ants off his body.

“Ah!” Yue Qingyuan said, and quickly raised his hands in surrender. “Shidi should change clothes to get the ants off.”

Shen Qingqiu wanted to say something biting and icy, but what came out was a simple, “This Shidi has survived worse!” as he quickly turned away.

“Shidi—” Yue Qingyuan called.

Shen Qingqiu turned to him quickly, hand gripping onto Xiu Ya’s hilt. His robes slipped off his shoulders again.

Yue Qingyuan had an almost hopeful expression, with his mouth slightly parted. He looked like a proper fool. “There was a new delivery of tea—”

Shen Qingqiu gritted his teeth. “Don’t pretend to care now!” Yue Qingyuan’s jaw clattered shut. “What, does Shixiong want to coddle me? Maybe call Mu-shidi to help? This Shidi is no fool!”

Yue Qingyuan’s jaw moved, but no sound came. As always.

Shen Qingqiu huffed to himself and turned around, leaving Yue Qingyuan alone in the darkness. He forcefully pulled his robes closed, but they remained gaping at the chest, like a wide maw ready to swallow prey whole. Ants trickled down his spine and up his legs, unwilling to stop their attack.

Shen Qingqiu’s steps were forceful as he tried to shake them off. He didn’t stop walking until he reached the rainbow bridge.

He looked around—no one would want to be seen in such a state. It would be easy to ambush him like this. The pillar marking the entry onto the rainbow bridge was cold against his back as he leaned against it.

He was alone. It was the middle of the night, and he was alone.

Shen Qingqiu took off his shoes—first the right one—and shook out any debris that managed to fall inside. A few ants fell onto the ground.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

It was alright. He was on Cang Qiong Mountain. Even if everything inside of him felt like he was back— back in that manor—

Shen Qingqiu was fine. No need to ask.

He carefully arranged his robes so he didn’t look as if he had just been attacked. Oh! A layer pulled over another and—there. Presentable. He pressed both hands into his face, trying to breathe through them, then forcefully straightened.

Shen Qingqiu pulled on his shoes, and began a much calmer walk toward Qing Jing Peak. Thankfully, everyone was asleep. It was early summer, but the air was cold and biting, almost as if it, too, disbelieved the change of seasons. No one, out of their own volition, would want to stand outside on a night like this.

Shen Qingqiu’s head throbbed, and he pressed the fabric of his sleeve to his forehead. His legs led him through the paths on Qing Jing Peak as he looked at the different bamboos. His mind tried to name them, but for one short, absurd moment couldn’t do it. Almost as if it wasn’t Cang Qiong Mountain at all, but a poor simulacrum of it.

The moment he entered the Bamboo House, he quickly undressed, letting the many fabrics pool on the floor. His hands erratically smoothed over his skin, mapping every little bruise, every puncture and throwing off every stubborn ant.

His head almost lolled on his neck, too heavy and aching. There was barely enough energy left in him to arrange his robes atop his dresser and change his inner robes.

Normally, on a night like this, there would be no way for him to fall asleep despite the exhaustion. The next day would pass in a blur, as he would do paperwork sequestered inside the Bamboo House.

Not tonight, though.

A few months ago, after a… sparring match with Liu Qingge, he had been admitted to Qian Cao Peak. They were both dragged there by Zhangmen-shixiong against their will—perhaps as a punishment in itself. While waiting for Mu Qingfang’s disciples, Shen Qingqiu had stolen sleeping tablets from one of the cupboards.

The small, stolen jar was cold in his hand as he took it out of his nightstand.

The tablets were bitter.

You are a mouse
and the cat is close
close your eyes
shut them
the cat won’t see you
I promise

Don’t tremble
it came out to play
not eat
it won’t leave any marks
even if the cat decides to bite

Close your eyes, little mouse
the dog will come
yes, it will
to scare off the cat

and if it doesn’t
I lied
you’re not a mouse
you’re actually a wolf

(But it can’t end like this, because the wolf has sharp and ugly teeth,
and the mouse was fragile, soft and had pretty hair,
and the wolf’s mane is matted with blood.
There’s no place for softness
not in a forest
not ever.)

(The wolf is thirsty for blood, and hungry for real meat, for revenge.
And the little mouse needs to be avenged somehow!
The wolf knows only one way of revenge:
through hunger, pain
and stains.)

(The little mouse had to die so the wolf could be born.
Big deal! There’s a lot of mice!
Please forget the mouse,
focus on the dog.)

(The dog is here now.
Remember my lie?
It seems the dog believed me.
It protects only mice,
and thinks you’re one of them—
but it’s wrong.
It must die.
It’s the only way.)

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes snapped open. It wasn’t dark anymore. He tried to stretch, only to wince in pain. His breath came in small puffs. His hands shook from the dream he could barely remember.

Another dream spent running away and being cornered. Hardly anything new.

He carefully sat up in his bed, squinting at the window. Everything was washed in warm tones. The tablets must have worked a bit too well.

He carefully lifted the fabric of his pants. His shins were purple with an uncountable number of small red dots—the ant bites and holes left by spruce needles. If his legs looked like this, his back must have been a sight. Too bad he couldn’t check it himself.

He stood and walked over to his mirror, his gaze fixing on his reflection.

He wasn’t a pretty boy anymore. Not with his hair uncombed and lying wildly around his face, matted with dirt and full of small twigs he had been too tired to notice last night. Not with the many scratches and dark red dots on his cheeks.

He smiled against himself.

He looked like himself. Like the dirty rat everyone thought him to be.

Shen Qingqiu ran a hand over his face. It looked like he’d fought an overpowered hedgehog. He licked his lip. His whole body was purplish and covered in red dots. Every movement had an undercurrent of dull pain.

Just like in his childhood. The same purple legs. The same Shen Jiu. Would he ever successfully leave it behind? Shen Qingqiu frowned. The only person who had ever successfully abandoned his past was Yue Qi.

Shen Qingqiu turned his head, eyes falling on his neck—surprisingly bereft of any injuries. He slowly began circulating his Qi, now much calmer than it had been during the night.

When they were children, whenever his whole body was this tender with angry bruises, Qi-ge would help him. They had slept together, holding each other against the pain. Sometimes they would find some clean rags to clean any cuts. He wondered—did Yue Qingyuan feel any melancholy when he saw him like this?

Details. Just unimportant details.

Shen Qingqiu huffed in irritation. It was no use mulling over life. He wouldn’t be able to think anything he hadn’t already thought a thousand times before.

He was a bit curious if others knew about his fall last night. The disciples were asleep, but surely they had heard the yelling. He couldn’t afford to lose standing in their eyes.

It had been far too long since he had controlled his disciples’ progress.

He closed his eyes, concentrating on circulating his Qi so that the injuries on his face and hands would disappear. There were too many of them for him to completely heal his whole body fast enough, but he had to try to heal at least the most visible ones. His disciples were waiting.

Guqin practice on Qing Jing Peak was always done in groups of five students. It was the ideal number for a hall master to monitor everyone’s progress without wasting time on a group too small. This number of students also ensured that no practice session devolved into a cacophony.

At least, in theory.

Shen Qingqiu walked into one such class—a group of five boys, their eyes flicking nervously to him, or determinedly glued to the ground.

“Don’t mind me. Continue playing,” he said, flicking his fan lazily.

The disciples hesitated before reluctantly returning to their instruments. It was a simple melody, but one of the boys caught Shen Qingqiu’s attention. His hands moved weightlessly over the strings. With more practice, he would undoubtedly excel.

The Peak Lord walked toward him, raising his hand. The boys stopped playing in unison, their breaths stilled. The disciple’s shoulders shook.

“Continue playing,” Shen Qingqiu told him.

The disciple didn’t need further instructions. He kept a steady pace as he played, his hands flitting over the strings and drawing sounds from them. The disciple’s shoulders were tense, but his playing remained flawless.

Until he faltered. One note wrong.

Shen Qingqiu swatted his closed fan down on the disciple’s hands. The boy winced against the sharp sting.

“Start again.”

The disciple didn’t hesitate. He started playing again, ignoring the pain hidden under the red mark on his fingers.

This time, a mistake happened sooner.

Shen Qingqiu’s fan came crashing down with even more power.

The disciple blinked away tears.

“Again,” the Peak Lord commanded.

He began once more, but his hands shook too much, his fingers stiff with pain. Another mistake.

The fan came down with a resounding crack.

“You disgrace Qing Jing Peak,” he said, already turning to the next disciple.

In the corner, Luo Binghe sat with his hands placed in his lap, staring at his guqin. Shen Qingqiu recognized it instantly—it was the hardest one to tune, the most unforgiving to any mistakes. Every disciple tried to get any other guqin but this one. This cursed guqin. The guqin Shen Qingqiu had to play on, having just entered the Peak. Having entered it late. He had quickly managed to claim a different one, while Luo Binghe had failed to do so.

“Are you familiar with the melody Plum blossom?” Shen Qingqiu’s voice was flat.

Luo Binghe refused to meet his gaze. “This disciple doesn’t know how to play it.”

“Disrespecting your Shizun?” Shen Qingqiu’s voice became stern. “This master asked: are you familiar with it?”

Luo Binghe bowed from where he was seated, his voice barely a whisper. “This disciple apologizes. He has heard it before.”

“Then play it.”

Luo Binghe’s hands moved reluctantly over the strings, but his pace was all wrong. The melody wavered, becoming silent as his hands shook away from the strings.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t even glance at the boy. “Play.”

Luo Binghe began again, to play what he remembered of it, but his pacing was wrong just like the melody. His fingers trembled as they brushed over the strings, but it was no use. The punishment was coming.

Shen Qingqiu’s fan hit the boy’s hands, crushing them between the fan and the guqin’s wood.

“Try again.”

Luo Binghe struggled. The pain made plucking the strings hard, his movements slow. Shen Jiu's sore hands had played Qiu Jianluo’s favorite song. Luo Binghe’s hands tried to play his Shizun's most hated piece.

A mistake. An all encompassing snap as the fan hit the boys hands again.

“Beast,” he hissed, voice dripping with contempt. He almost could see Qiu Jianluo’s mocking smile. Haitang’s happiness. “You have disappointed this master. To pay for your disobedience you are to kneel in the hall for three hours.”

Luo Binghe’s shoulders hitched. “Yes, Shizun.”

With this, Shen Qingqiu left his disciples to study on their own. He wasn’t sure if this made him feel better. There was a sick satisfaction in knowing he still had control over them. He wasn’t sure that was what could be called ‘better’.

Something was wrong with him. He knew it. But it was the usual kind of wrong. There were months where everything grated on his nerves, and there were calmer times. It was just the rhythm of life. He could cope with it.

It was already early evening. He poured himself another cup of his tea, the sound seeming unnaturally loud in the Bamboo House. His eyes lazily traced the outlines of his furniture. Everything was perfectly in place and clean, just like his Shizun had taught him; the perfect house of a perfect cultivator.

A small box was lay by the door. The forbidden booklets!

These were common among disciples. Their contents were always inappropriate, either made so for cheap laughs, or worse. Shen Qingqiu remembered similar stories from when he was a disciple.

He had been an adult for a long time now. But the parade of awkward teenagers coming through Qing Jing Peak never seemed to change. Young immortals maybe were immune to the never ending work and meditation, but there was no stopping the lustful thoughts, no matter how emphasized the cleanliness of the mind were.

He knelt next to the box. What was the name of the booklet recommended to him? ‘Step away’? He moved his hands through the papers, brushing past titles as scandalous as Immortal sisterhood: the secret of Xian Shu Peak, or Liu Mingyan and her friends. As always, the all-female peak excited the boys the most. Their covers were full of more or less skilled paintings of flowers and fruits, made so that they would appear harmless and innocent.

A part of him was curious about what was circulating on Ku Xing Peak. He knew from prostitutes that the most repressed ones were usually the most sexually deviant.

Shen Qingqiu fished out the recommended booklet.

One Step Away was very simple, and rather thin, bound with a black string that barely held the pages together. The paper was rather new, white and crispy, with oily finger prints all over it. On the cover there was a very simplistic painting of two swords. One of them colored with black ink, the other with only the outline traced. This choice of art was rather unusual, but perhaps even in the cover art making business there were passing trends and fads.

With his right hand, that hadn’t touched the filth yet, he rubbed his forehead. These children surely knew that a good cultivator wasn’t supposed to engage in things like this. And yet it was probably better for everyone if they just wrote their fantasies down instead of acting them out.

It was every Peak Lord’s nightmare to find their students dual cultivating. Or have them making moves on them.

He sat down comfortably next to the box and opened the booklet.

'It was dark at night. The silence only interrupted by the sounds of a distant rain. The air was moist and full of wet smells. Pine and spruce trees swayed in the wind and with them their branches.’

Shen Qingqiu grimaced, hoping the author wasn’t from his peak.

‘A man stood in the darkness. He wore dark robes, perfect for concealing what he wanted to do. The man was Yue Qingyuan—the sect leader of Cang Qiong Mountain sect.

“Shidi, let me in’ the man called, taking off his hood.’

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help but laugh a little at this. The untouchable, the venerable and the useless Sect Leader Yue being subject to dark fantasies? 

‘The door opened.

‘Zhangmen-shixiong, what are you doing here?’ Shen Qinngqiu, the Qing Jing—’

Shen Qingqiu inhaled sharply and closed the booklet. This is what the hall master had meant?! The disciples thought him—

He couldn’t stop reading.

“I came here for you.’ Yue Qingyuan pushed his way past the door.

‘I didn’t ask for you to come,’ Shen Qingqiu refused to look the other man in his eyes.

Yue Qingyuan grabbed Shen Qingqiu’s chin with his thumbs making the other look at him.

Shen Qingqiu stared angrily into the Sect Leader’s eyes.

Yue Qingyuan touched the other man’s lips with his lips. It was a very deliberate, soft kiss like that of two lovers.”

In the corner of the page, in twirly handwriting, there was written, ‘Ha ha!’

Shen Qingqiu stared at the page, his breathing erratic. Him? His grip tightened, fingers trembling. It was disrespectful. No, worse, it was blasphemous.

The Qing Jing peak lord couldn’t be humiliated like this. Shen Qingqiu was a man. If—if anything, it was Zhangmen-shixiong who would—! Shen Qingqiu was their Shizun, not a cheap character to be mocked like this.

The creator of this booklet needed to be punished. Shen Qingqiu covered his face with his hands, the booklet lying in his lap. He had to find the degenerate who had created this story. But how to find them?

It was almost impossible. But there was one way to stop these stories: the whole Peak needed to be punished for this.

Yes, he had to punish them all as to discourage them. If he didn’t act now, who knew what’s next? He pinched his nose bridge. Whatever the disciples wanted to see in fiction they couldn’t just, just disrespect their Shizun. It’s just something that shouldn’t be done. And the lack of respect for the Sect Leader?!

What would be the most effective method? He couldn’t just beat everyone into obedience. The stares Zhangmen-shixiong would give him after he did something like that—Oh! He would have to make them copy the sentence “I won’t disrespect my Shizun again.” one thousand times. It would work. The boy who had this booklet on him needed to be whipped. And anyone else found owning the booklet should be whipped as well.

Yes, he had to be whipped. It was only right. They needed to be punished.

These instructions had to be given to the hall masters.

Shen Qingqiu sat by his desk and took his brush in his hands. His fingers gripped it tightly, too tightly, making his handwriting a little less precise than usual. Stroke after stroke he compiled the perfect command. If it was written down, no one would twist his words. The punishment would be carried out in its entirety.

When he finished, he walked out of the Bamboo House, rushing into the halls, to the Hall Master’s quarters. His hand slammed against the door. It opened, showing a confused hall master, the same that had given him the booklets.

“Ah, Peak Lord Shen read the booklets?” He looked from side to side. “Lack of respect, ah?”

Shen Qingqiu scowled, pushing the paper with orders at him. “These are to be carried out immediately. The disciple’s dormitory is to be searched for any more copies of that filth.”

Before the hall master could answer Shen Qingqiu was already turning away and stomping back to his house. He knew that the man would say something, but he wasn’t there to listen!

After such a punishment the stories would die down. Surely they would. His punishment had to be strong—but not too strong or it would invite gossip. The only thing that mattered was that Zhangmen-shixiong never saw the story.

The whole booklet, its premise was ridiculous! In what way did Shen Qingqiu look like a—like a—

He shook his head. No need to think more about it. He shut the door to the Bamboo House with a loud slam, and paced around the room. He hoped Ning Yingying never touched that thing. Well! Of course she didn’t—she was a sweet girl, and would never dare to humiliate him like this!

Still, everyone had to be punished uniformly, just in case—

There was a knock at his door. Shen Qingqiu straightened, listening intently for another one to come. Was it Ming Fan? Did he come to explain how he didn’t know about the booklets?

Silence.

Ming Fan would have knocked again.

Shen Qingqiu quickly walked to the door and swung them open in irritation. There was a small breeze dispersing the hot air, making grass sway like waves on water, but no one could be seen. Some disciple was having the time of his life bothering him, probably. Shen Qingqiu moved to close the door and noticed two items lying on the ground.

His first ever guan, which must have fallen out of his sleeve the day before without him noticing, and a fan.

The items seemed to scream at him: ‘I’m sorry, Shidi.’

Yue Qingyuan had no self-respect. Of course it was him, who else would leave these things on his doorstep?

He bent down to retrieve the guan first, as if it could make the fan disappear on its own. The guan got pushed into his sleeve, and only then Shen Qingqiu picked up the fan, the dark wood of its guards making pleasant noises as he tapped on it with his finger. It was high quality, having cost an appropriate sum of money for sure. With a practiced flick of his hand he unfolded the fan.

The paper was covered with a masterful scene of a bamboo groove by a lake. While looking at it one could *just* imagine themselves wading through the tall grass by the water, or sitting in a boat. It was as if someone had trapped a calm summer day with a brush pressed against the fan. The colors complimented Shen Qingqiu’s green robes, and his skin tone. He rotated the fan in his hand, turning the unpainted side towards himself.

Oh.

On the back of one of the guards, in a tiny handwriting, but unmistakably Zhangmen-shixiong’s, there was a quote:

‘Deep in the forest, none knows I exist,
None but the moonlight, to me, solace you bring.’

Zhangmen-shixiong gave him a fan? Why? Right after an argument?

A small beast inside his chest wanted to hide and hoard the fan. To lock it up somewhere where no one would find it, where it would be safe. Shen Qingqiu looked around for any observers. There was none. He quickly retreated inside. Next to his bed was a small nightstand with a single drawer.

It fought a little as he pulled the drawer out, the sound of wood sliding against wood threatening to make it known to everyone what he was doing.

The drawer was filled with some papers, combs and the stolen sleeping tablets, but underneath it all there was a secret: a false bottom. Under that false bottom was a different world.

This different world held a small, broken piece of ceramics. It had the most beautiful begonia flower painted on it. The shard felt cold under his fingers, it always did. Next to it lied a set of chopsticks Zhangmen-shixiong had used once during a Peak Lord’s meeting. The chopsticks were simple and light brown in color.

He placed the closed fan next to them.

The small beast inside his chest urged him to put the false bottom back into place, close it, hide it, before it all could disappear. Shen Qingqiu took the fan into his hands and opened it once more.

Yue Qingyuan gave him a fan.

Yue Qingyuan had no self-respect.

Yue Qi…

Shen Qingqiu scowled. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Maybe it was a way for Zhangmen-shixiong to manipulate him? Did he have some ulterior motives that Shen Qingqiu didn’t understand yet? To keep him quiet about their past? It seemed improbable, entirely not like Zhangmen-shixiong. Yue Qingyuan.

He should have placed this fan alongside his other ones. Yue Qingyuan surely didn’t mean for it to mean anything.

Or if he did, it was a way to make Shen Qingqiu forget about the betrayal.

He quickly put the false bottom back and arranged the nightstand so that it wasn’t suspicious. It was all too confusing to think about.

And there was no reason why he should grand Yue Qingyuan any more of his thoughts. Maybe he would find a way to give the fan back in a few days.

His evening was very quiet after this. The fan kept bothering him, hanging at the back of his mind, especially when he lounged on the bamboo couch. It wasn’t the first time Zhangmen-shixiong tried to gift him something, but usually he would try to do it in person, giving Shen Qingqiu the option to refuse, or give it back.

Either he thought he had finally found a way to stop Shen Qingqiu’s protests, or—what if this was a goodbye? What if there would be no more gifts incoming? No more visits? Shen Qingqiu pressed a palm against his lips.

It would be for the better. Zhangmen-shixiong would stop pretending nothing had happened.

A series of delicate knocks sounded at his door, beating a cheerful melody. Ning Yingying! Shen Qingqiu quickly stood up from the bamboo couch and rushed to open the door.

“Shizun!” Ning Yingying cheerfully called. She had a green fabric draped over her left forearm—folded many times, and still almost touching the ground. “Xian Shu Peak has sent new fabrics with protective talismans etched into them!”

It was unusual for her to deliver such things. If any other disciple managed to push work onto her, Ming Fan usually rushed over to take it off her hands, saying, ‘Xiao-shimei shouldn’t burden herself!’

But Ming Fan was probably still busy with the punishment over the booklet.

“Li-shimei wanted me to show it to Shizun first, as he needs to accept it, before more gets delivered,” she explained with a smile, not waiting for his response, and pointed a finger at a patter in the fabric. “See, Shizun? This is supposed to make injuries less likely during night missions, though admitedly Li-shimei said it was mostly intended for use on Bai Zhan Peak.”

Shen Qingqiu leaned away from the door with a small smile, “Come inside, Yingying.”

Ning Yingying cheerfully strutted inside, holding the fabric close. “This disciple doesn’t want to bother Shizun for too long.” She sighed, leaning closer. “Is the fabric acceptable, Shizun?”

Shen Qingqiu caught one layer of it with his two fingers, looking over the markings. It was of decent quality, and if Ning Yingying’s future robes were made of it—she would be safer. “It is.”

Ning Yingying nodded, squaring her shoulders, only to look away and cock her head to the side, “This disciple was also wondering… I can vouch that A-Luo had nothing to do with the booklets, Shizun. Maybe Shizun could… skip the punishment for this Ning and Luo-shidi?” Her voice rose at the end uncertainly and she looked at him eagerly.

Shen Qingqiu exhaled very calmly. If Ning Yingying had asked to skip the punishment herself—fine! But adding Luo Binghe was too much!

“Yingying, how many times this master had to tell you to hang out with Ming Fan more?”

Ning Yingying deflated, already knowing the answer. She sighed pitifully. “But, Shizun!”

“Yingying can skip it herself, if she so wishes, but it’s only fair everyone goes through it.”

“Shizun is right.” She nodded and gripped onto the fabric with both her hands, visibly sulking. “It will be good calligraphy practice, after all.” With this, she gave him last pitiful stare, turned around, and left with a quietly repeated, “Shizun is right.”

Shen Qingqiu observed her defeated figure as she walked away, and after a moment, closed the door of the Bamboo House.

Shen Qingqiu had once again dressed himself modestly before going to the brothel. As he pushed through the sea of patrons, he felt someone’s eyes on him—but no matter how much he turned his head or how fast he walked, the sensation remained, with the reason why staying hidden.

As soon as he entered, the brothel keeper threw his way a distracted, “The girl is waiting for you in the first room on the left.”

Shen Qingqiu placed money on her desk and pushed forward. The walk upstairs was uneventful, even if the stairs were slightly crowded. Xiu Ying was waiting for him in the corridor, and when she saw him, she ran and caught his hand, pulling him inside their room.

“I was waiting for A-Jiu!” she called excitedly.

This made Shen Qingqiu quirk an eyebrow. Coming here, he had prepared for another clumsy attempt at wooing him, but Xiu Ying acted innocently. This was a good sign—after his disciples’ literary escapades he didn’t have much energy left.

Xiu Ying was dressed in very simple robes. They covered her body fully, accentuating her youth and hiding everything that ought to be covered—even her hands. She hid her face behind the fan he had gifted her, the red going nicely with her pinkish robes and rosy cheeks.

“I have thought about it for a long time, A-Jiu,” she told him, shutting the door.

“What have you thought about?” he asked, worried.

“I know now why you don’t want to sleep with me.” Her fan fell away from her face, and the hand holding it pressed against her chest.

“Oh?” he looked at her. A crease formed between his eyebrows.

“You’re not a man! You’re a woman simply pretending to be one!”

He felt his face transform. Xiu Ying seemed to implode into herself under the power of his glare. She cradled the fan with both her hands against her chest, as if trying to protect it. She started edging away.

“I—I won’t tell anyone, I swear!” She tried to explain, shrinking as she did so. “Your secret is safe! Safe with me!” Her eyes nervously flitted from his face to his hands, as if expecting him to strike.

He caught her arm. A woman?! As if there was anything in him that resembled one!

“Master, master!” She stared at him with bewildered fear.

He grabbed one of her hands and put it on his chest. “Do you feel soft breasts? I won’t say it again: This master is a man.” His voice was dangerous, sounding as if Shen Qingqiu was a blade that the child had just slipped on.

“Yessir!” the role of seductress was wholly abandoned, allowing her to embrace who she truly was: a scared child.

Shen Qingqiu let go of her hand.

He had to calm down before he hurt her. First the disciples, now her. What was wrong with the world?!

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

He let out a sound of frustration. With whom? He wasn’t sure. There was just so much inside of him and nowhere to direct it.

Xiu Ying stared at him with wide eyes, her trembling hands cradling the fan against her chest. Her face appeared as if she wasn’t fully in the same room with him.

Shen Qingqiu clenched his fists. Xiu Ying finally saw through him and became rightfully terrified. His body tried to swallow the anger he felt, and failed. He opened his own fan and used it to put a barrier between himself and the oppressive air of the room. It seemed like an impenetrable wall that isolated him from the child.

A bottle of wine was already inside the room, standing on the small table. His feet carried him towards it. He busied himself with pouring wine and drinking it, giving himself time to cool down. Once ready he turned to face Xiu Ying.

She still stood frozen in her place, cradling her fan.

“This one is not going to hurt you.” He stared into the air next to her face, as his fan covered his mouth.

She stayed silent, but her hands trembled.

“I’m not going to hurt a little girl,” he repeated, this time making himself look at her and close his fan.

Mechanical, she stepped forward. There was something in her that fought against every move, even as she walked closer to him, as if she wasn’t a living human, but instead an animated doll.

“If you’re a man, then fuck me,” her voice was quiet and final. She refused to look him in the eyes.

“I can’t.” He hid his fan inside his sleeve.

“What’s wrong with you?!” she screamed. “How dare you give me—give me—” She gripped her fan tightly and shook it in her fist. “A fan!” She threw it at him with all her power. The fan hit his chest and fell to the floor. “And then—and then!”

Shen Qingqiu stayed silent.

Her lower lip shook and her breath came in shaking puffs and tears slowly filled her eyes. She brought a sleeve to her face, and let out a soft ‘Ah!’, before pressing both her hands tightly against her eyes. Her small hands shook and she forcefully tore them from her face, and ran onto the bed.

He allowed her the space she had carved out, and returned to his wine. He wanted to hit the girl until she stopped crying, then hit himself. It wouldn’t help. Girls always cried more after being hit.

They stayed in silence for a long while, with neither willing to break it.

Finally, Xiu Ying calmed down and looked at him from her spot. He looked back. Shen Qingqiu wasn’t scared of her.

Xiu Ying wiped her face with one of her sleeves and tugged at her hair. A long silence passed. Then, quietly, “I can pretend to be a boy for you.”

Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes and took a sip of his wine. “No need to.”

“What do you want from me?!” She clenched her fists into the sheets covering the bed.

Shen Qingqiu took his time pondering the question, swirling wine in his cup and biting his lip. “I have already told you, I come here to sleep.”

“Then why me?! Why not some other whore?!” She continued to demand.

Weariness washed over him, thick like exhaustion. He looked at her as if she was a gnat in his cup of wine. “Can we just go to sleep?”

“No!”

“Fine!” Shen Qingqiu said and gave her a sharp smile. “I just like you,” he said, placing his cup sharply on the small table and letting his sleeves swallow his hands. “And I want to go to sleep!”

Shen Qingqiu picked her fan from the floor. It was high quality, like every fan Shen Qingqiu owned, and undamaged by the fall. It was cool in his hand, the wood quickly warming up under his touch. He slowly walked towards the bed, making the floor croak with his steps. Xiu Ying stared at him against her tears. He placed the fan delicately next to her right hand.

“I never sleep with prostitutes.”

“Why are you like this?!” she demanded.

“And why are you like this?” he asked back and turned to look at her.

Her hair was messed up, her face an ugly red. She looked truly miserable, much more so than on their first night.

He sat in silence with her, and tapped his foot against the floor in anger. If there was anything he wanted in that moment, was for her to calm down. Truly, he had never wanted anything in his life more than for her to stop. “Can we go to sleep?”

Xiu Ying looked down at her hands. Both her sleeves were wet from her tears and snot. She looked torn between continuing and accepting the peace Shen Qingqiu managed to win. “Will you tell me the truth one day?” Shen Qingqiu frowned at her, and she explained, “Why me?”

Shen Qingqiu sighed, crossing his legs. He rubbed at his eyes. “Men come here to relax, right?”

Xiu Ying looked at him as if he grew a second head, then reluctantly nodded.

“This one is no different. I pay, I get what I want, is all.”

Xiu Ying pursed her lips, and hugged her legs. “Men have wives for that.”

He shook his head and exhaled deeply. “Men don’t pay their wives.”

“You know I’m right, A-Jiu,” she said with a slightly satisfied face and sniffled. “And I know it’s a fake name, even if everyone here calls you that. Cultivators tend to have something nicer than a number.”

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help but feel a bit smug at this suggestion—it should irritate him, maybe even anger him, how she missed the truth so badly—and yet, he was satisfied that he looked like someone from a good family. It was always good to look important. “Can we go to sleep now?”

Xiu Ying nodded. “You pay, I deliver, then.”

Shen Qingqiu wanted to exhale deeply in relief. Alas, Shen Qingqiu only calmly nodded, quietly standing up.

When he undressed for bed Xiu Ying caught a glimpse of his bruised shins and forearms, already greenish due to him circulating his Qi. She stared at them, but said nothing. He was thankful for her silence.

Silence.

Darkness.

There was nothing to occupy his mind as he lay upon the bed, even the girl quickly fell asleep, or at least pretended to. He stared at the ceiling, which was painted white. There was stiffness to his limbs. A pain to his stomach. He felt Xiu Ying’s hands grasping at him, and he couldn’t help but remember Xiong Ning.

Remember… nothing good. 

What Xiong Ning had said.

*Shen Jiu stared ahead. The inside of his mind had scattered. His heart crawled up his throat on that night trying to escape the horrors. It happened too fast and too slow. It happened. Young Master’s friend had big hands.

Xiong Ning hugged his limp body. Her clothes smelled faintly of soap. The hands had filled him with the smell of agarwood. Xiong Ning hummed her lullaby, rocking them softly. “The moon is bright, the wind is quiet…”

Shen Jiu wasn’t really inside of himself, instead distantly watching everything.

“See? I told you they would do it to you,” she murmured, her voice weirdly calm, almost motherly, as her fingers moved through his hair. “You’re just… too pretty for them.” Her hand stilled, and she seemed to fight with herself before she spoke again. “Do you think they see you as a girl?”

“Shut up!” He hit her across her chest and pushed her away. The words finally shaking him out of stupor.

“It’s not so bad! It would mean you’re not like them! That’s good!” she insisted.

His hand moved by itself. The air was filled with the overwhelming sound of a slap.

He was something dangerous, not soft and fragile.

Shen Qingqiu stared blankly at the ceiling. He almost could hear Xiong Ning’s lullaby. Almost.

You reach for the sword
The key to heroism
The key to knighthood
The key to forgiveness
It whispers to you
tells you of glorious battles
of thankful maidens
It asks for a sacrifice

Your fingers touch the sword
It’s as heavy as your soul
as light as your sins
It whispers to you
tells you of fallen brothers
of kept promises
of mourning the triumphs
You give it your life

You clutch the sword
your hand is too small
too weak
too young
It whispers to you
promises that it will
make you the greatest
You believe the sword

It lied.

Shen Qingqiu rushed out of the room in the weak light of the dawn, almost tripped over the stairs. He found the brothel keeper and handed her all the money he had brought there the night before, saying that yes, he was paying in advance; no he wouldn’t be able to visit; yes she could overcharge him; and if the money ran out, to put it on his tab—as Xiu Ying absolutely could not work, or else he wouldn’t pay.

And as he flew towards his peak, he kept repeating in his mind: ‘THAT’S IT! THAT’S IT! THIS DREAM WAS NOT MINE!’

He knew himself—it just could not be his.

But then: whose was it?

Also, why did he have his normal dreams interspersed between these weird ones?

Did he… Was he playing the role of the suicidal girl or the family member showing the awful truths? No. He couldn’t be playing the role of the girl.

It was as if a bucket of icy water got dumped onto him, the numbness clinging to his skin as the wind tried to push him off his sword.

Haitang…

He didn’t have any family, therefore it was impossible for anyone to hold horrifying secrets from him. Zhangmen-shixiong, too, already made the worst come true.

There was one person from whom Shen Qingqiu kept a horrifying secret.

Poor Haitang. The dream he had two days ago… what it must have done to her…

He landed distractedly next to the Bamboo House, and his legs found their way inside on their own. Haitang could die just because he had failed at capturing that fake fortune teller! He had failed her. She had always looked up to her brother, convinced that life was wonderful and would be easy for her, that she would be happy in it.

And Shen Qingqiu had massacred her only family. Rightfully so.

Should he look for her? Where could he even start looking for her? Everyone who had survived the fire, who had survived *him*, had scattered all over the world. It was impossible to find anyone like this.

He slumped to the floor a few steps away from the door. The floor punishing his knees as they hit it.

What was he even supposed to do?

How the shared dreams worked? Would they stop if he just refused to fall asleep?

Dread climbed up his spine—could it truly be the Dream Weaver? One ancient, impossibly powerful entity? Or was it a species—a kind of creature—and he had just happened to anger one of the more powerful ones?

As amusing as it was, most of the cultivation world would have told him that it was neither—only Cang Qiong Mountain Sect believed in its former Sect Leader’s obsession. They would tell him he was reacting too strongly.

Shen Qingqiu tried to calm his breathing. To tell himself that Haitang was safe.

But the Dream Weaver had a very specific modus operandi. It fixated on a certain archetype of a person for a year or two, before latching onto its next target. Always poisoning their minds with nightmares.

Right now it seemed fixated on young girls, from loving families, where, most of the time, a male member did something horrible. Haitang fit it perfectly.

A new thought jerked Shen Qingqiu, making his hands fall away from his face for a moment.

Haitang wasn’t young anymore. She wasn’t young anymore. Could she still fit the archetype if she wasn’t young? Shen Qingqiu stared at the floor. How many years had it been?

He had never been good at keeping track of time. The flooring of the Bamboo House was light in color. It had been replaced when Shen Qingqiu was still a disciple, and it already bore signs of wear. Its smooth surface dug into his knees as he slumped further.

Haitang probably had children of her own by now—some of them might even be old enough to enter a sect. To cultivate on their own.

And yet… Who else could it be, if not her? It fit so perfectly.

Qiu Haitang probably found a way to live her life by now, away from the ghost of Shen Jiu. And yet… Shen Qingqiu managed to find a way to haunt her.

Because he had failed. Because he had met a beast and utterly failed to destroy it.

A selfish part of him wanted to believe it truly was the Dream Weaver. It wasn’t as much of a shame to be overpowered by a being that even someone like the previous Sect Leader had failed to overcome.

At least, it shouldn’t be.

And anyone with a functional brain could easily point out that Shen Qingqiu was still less competent than the previous Sect Leader.

She was the first one to notice that if someone placed all the attacks on a map they could see clearly a path forming. A line that got progressively longer and longer. Almost as if it was just one creature responsible, a creature that traveled on foot.

Shen Qingqiu failed to believe this story for years.

Haitang’s life was in his hands now—even if it wasn’t the Dream Weaver, it had to be something powerful to affect him this much, right? He had a golden core. He ought to be… invulnerable?

He ran a clammy hand over his face. No one needed to tell him. He knew that he had screwed up more than usual. Shen Qingqiu’s hands clenched into tight fists. His hair slipped from behind his back, spilling around his arms.

He bit his lip, his stomach full of worms that wiggled around trying to choke him.

It made sense, though, didn’t it? The fake fortune teller had grabbed his hand, surely this was a part of a bigger plan. She even told his fortune, just like it had happened with all the other victims. It was never said that it had to be the girl who got her mind infected first. Or that she had to be touched at all.

Shen Qingqiu’s hands tightened in the fabric of his robes. There was no going around it—he had to get more powerful. Refuse sleep, too. Force himself to cultivate—the Ling Xi caves. Entering them should help, even if just to allow him to enter a state of meditation for a long time without the need for sleep. It should help him with stopping the dreams. If he were more powerful, then surely the hold of that beast would slip off him, and by extension—off Haitang.

There was one problem, though: he had to ask Zhangmen-shixiong for permission.

Shen Qingqiu groaned into his hands. He had to. Ling Xi caves were guarded, Zhangmen-shixiong would have been alerted anyway. He had to go to Qiong Ding, preferably at night, and say, ‘There is a very important reason that Zhangmen-shixiong can’t know about, that is not related to how this Shidi has yelled at him the day before.’

The door to his Bamboo House creaked open, pushed by the wind. Shen Qingqiu turned toward it. Haitang needed him to act. He had to go. It was still very early, the disciples were surely still asleep.

Shen Qingqiu quickly wrote a small note, and left it on his desk, explaining how he would return soon, saying he was called to return to Qiu Cheng, a very plausible lie. His eyes seemed pulled by some strange force towards his nightstand, to its drawer. The begonia shard seemed to call his name. The fan seemed to loom over him, with the heavy threat of overwhelming guilt.

It was useless. Shen Qingqiu turned around and left the Bamboo house.

His legs found the way to Qiong Ding Peak by themselves. They also found the path to the Pine House, all to easily and too quickly. Shen Qingqiu looked around himself constantly—if anyone had noticed him here, gossip would spread! So much for being discreet!

His heart hammered in his chest as he stood before the Pine House, but with one decisive step, there was nothing left to do but knock.

Zhangmen-shixiong, all too fast, opened the door and stared at him with wide eyes. Notably, he was already fully clothed.

Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat. “Zhangmen-shixiong?”

Zhangmen-shixiong stared at his hands, surely searching for the fan Shen Qingqiu had been given, instead finding none. Right. Shen Qingqiu should have brought it with him to get rid of it.

“This one needs to enter seclusion,” Shen Qingqiu said, pulling out his normal fan and hiding behind it. “To regulate his Qi.”

Zhangmen-shixiong’s eyes searched his face for a long while, before he exhaled and stepped aside. “Qingqiu, could we… could you drink some tea, first?”

Shen Qingqiu’s grip on his fan tightened. “Shixiong knows well, that in case of a Qi-deviation it may be the smartest to go there.”

It was humiliating to bring up that particular issue, but it was still better than telling the truth.

“Does Shidi prefer me to go with him, or to drink tea together, instead?”

Shen Qingqiu grit his teeth. It was unfair. He wasn’t even that close to a Qi deviation, anyway. There was no need to observe him like a specimen, he only needed to meditate in silence, but if calming Zhangmen-shixiongs nerves was what would give him freedom—he would do it.

“Alright,” Shen Qingqiu forced himself to smile mockingly, and pushed inside, closing his fan with a snap.

There was a candle burning inside, lending a weak light to the main room. Shen Qingqiu quickly—and too forcefully—took a seat by the table in the middle of the room, forcing his hand to stop toying with his fan.

Zhangmen-shixiong visibly breathed out in relief, and rushed to the small kitchen attached to his house.

Shen Qingqiu looked out the window. The sun would rise soon and wake up all the birds. And he would have to wait until night to enter the Ling Xi caves.

After a moment, Zhangmen-shixiong came back with a pot of tea and small cups, eagerly putting them onto the table and pouring tea for them both. “If Shidi needs… or wants something, he only needs to ask. Mu-shidi doesn’t have to know about anything.”

Shen Qingqiu took his cup, and, without answering, took a sip. The tea was too hot, and it scorched his mouth just the perfect amount to buy him time. “This Shidi knows. Is this all?”

Zhangmen-shixiong sighed.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t even look at him as he said, “There is one thing Zhangmen-shixiong could do.”

“Yes?” he said with too much hope.

“It needs to be a secret. Tell others I’ve been called back to Qiu Cheng.” Shen Qingqiu calmly and gracefully put down his empty cup.

Zhangmen-shixiong stared at him in silence.

And then continued staring, until Shen Qingqiu turned to him with a scowl.

“Alright,” Zhangmen-shixiong said in defeat.

The Ling Xi caves were dangerous. There were a few arrays by the entrance, meant to alert the Peak Lords if a disciple tried to enter behind their backs. But Shen Qingqiu wasn’t a disciple anymore.

And he had Yue Qingyuan with him—who had the key to dispel the barriers.

Stepping through the array, Shen Qingqiu didn’t spare Zhangmen-shixiong another glance, even as he felt his guilty gaze digging into his back.

The walls of the main corridor were worn smooth, touched by innumerable hands and beaten down by uncountable legs of people long gone. His shoes slipped uncomfortably on the worn rocks. The labyrinth stretched ahead, its twists and turns a reminder of why cultivating there was restricted. The farther he went, the rougher the walls and floor became—smooth stone giving way to sharp edges and rubble.

Each chamber he passed felt ethereal, with white and green stones and mimicking the pine trees and the sky one could see on Qiong Ding. It seemed like fireflies should be flying through the air, slicing through it with their small wings—or some mystical fish should be swimming in the pools nestled inside the caves.

The Ling Xi caves were a paradox: vibrant, seemingly alive, yet desolate. The secluded cultivators being the only life within.

He had to stay focused.

His steps came to a halt when he reached his goal: the chamber where Yue Qingyuan had once cultivated with him. He traced the dark shapes on the walls, and the slashes created by sword glares. Zhangmen-shixiong looked so tense in this cave.

Did he know the story behind it?

Shen Qingqiu tried to look on his own for what could have caused those marks, but he had found nothing. It seemed like someone had died here, but didn’t go down without a fight. He wouldn’t have been surprised if that person’s skeleton had been left by the mouth of the cave, reaching, yearning for a departure, an opening to flee.

The previous Sect Leader had spent most of her life chasing the Dream Weaver because she had believed that it had killed her sister. She was the type of person to leave such marks. Maybe even Shen Qingqiu was the type, judging by his reaction to Haitang’s endangerment.

Once Shen Jiu had imagined Yue Qi to be this sort of person, too. Fighting for his Xiao-Jiu, doing everything in his power to defy containment and death.

Alas, he was mistaken.

And yet, this cave still brought him a strange sense of comfort. As if the ghost of the person who had died here was trying to soothe him—that’s why he chose it.

He didn’t have much time to waste. Really, he was running on borrowed time. Qiu Haitang’s life was at risk. He couldn’t let her down like this. He had to somehow repair himself even more, get more powerful, and then find the fake fortune teller.

Shen Qingqiu assumed his position on the stone platform. His hands trembled in his lap, his lips seemingly shaking in their rhythm. The hardest part of any meditation, for him, had always been pushing his anger away. He had no idea whether it was something he had been born with, that his parents saw and decided for their own good to reject him, or if it was something learned. It seemed like such an inherent part of himself.

He had to try. He had to focus.

Haitang needed him.

Shen Qingqiu was pushing himself, he was sure of it, but he had to take this risk. His anger wasn’t sufficiently repressed, his desperation rendering his already shaky foundation even more prone to destabilization.

Qiu Haitang didn’t deserve to be another victim of her brother. She deserved to hate Shen Qingqiu instead. After all, he knew how painful it was to realize the one person who you had always trusted wasn’t who you thought they were.

And if he were to enter a Qi deviation, so be it. Maybe then the dreams would stop for her.

He didn’t even have hard proof that it was her, but he knew something was wrong. He had to try.

Someone was coming his way. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes snapped open. He recognized those scared footsteps.

Shang Qinghua came to cultivate?! Why was he running?!

His legs bent underneath him as he stood up, quickly making his way towards the opening, and gripped Xiu Ya tightly. That scared rat of a man peeked his head inside his cave.

“Shen-shixiong?!”

Shen Qingqiu pulled the man inside.

“Hah, Shixiong came?!” Shang Qinghua continued in a rushed whisper. He stared at him in bafflement, then something seemed to click for him as he grabbed at his forehead with one hand. “Shen-shixiong should go back to meditating?”

Shen Qingqiu pulled him by his arm. He was about to say something when his ears caught the sound of a distant struggle. Who else knew that he came here?!

Shen Qingqiu pushed deeper into the corridor, looking for the source of the struggle. And when Shang Qinghua tried to slip behind him—Shen Qingqiu grabbed his arm, holding him in place.

They held their breaths. Someone was fighting in one of the chambers.

Shang Qinghua tried to slip out of his hold once more, but was unsuccessful. “Does Shixiong remember what I had told him about Qi deviations?”

Shen Qingqiu ignored him. It was obvious there was some struggle. He sensed bursts of nigh-rampant spiritual energy. Qi deviations could be deadly, but it wasn’t anything he wasn’t ready to fight.

An understanding came over Shen Qingqiu. He turned towards Shang Qinghua and glared at him.

How did this rat know what it was about?! Was it some trap?! Set for whom? Was he being discouraged from acting, because the rat wanted to kill someone? Was it a mission set by his demon overlords?

There was no time he could waste on questioning him, he would have to do it later. His steps sounded through the corridor as he rushed forward, searching for the source of the sounds, dragging Shang Qinghua by the arm.

The waves of spiritual energy grew greater and greater, threatening to engulf them. Shen Qingqiu pushed forward anyway. Shang Qinghua stopped trying to tear his arm free.

The waves of Qi were coming through a small opening. The energy swirled around Shen Qingqiu’s body, breaking in waves against him. He poked his head inside, the stale air choking him.

In a cave marred by many cuts, there was man fighting with himself. He was clothed in white robes, somehow clean despite the struggle. The man’s longsword was powerful and crazed in its movements.

Shen Qingqiu felt his stomach drop.

Liu Qingge was in the middle of a Qi deviation.

He tried to step forward but a hand on his arm stopped him. His body quickly shook off the hand, and his ears closed against whatever was shouted his way. Liu Qingge’s sword seemed to cry loudly in its desperation to destruct.

Liu Qingge rushed at him, his sword slashing the air next to Shen Qingqiu’s face. It wasn’t like any sparring match they had before. This time, Liu Qingge was swinging with the full intent to kill.

Shen Qingqiu gathered spiritual energy into his hands. Xiu Ya clashed against Cheng Luan with a loud clatter.

The rocks were slippery against Shen Qingqiu’s shoes. The energy escaping Liu Qingge’s body was a constant current, a wave after wave that pushed Shen Qingqiu away, trying to trap him against one of the walls.

The phoenix ornamentation seemed to fly on its own like a small bird. The sword glares blinded him. He was fast on his feet and had every dirty trick ready to use. He held firmly onto a rock with his left hand. He just needed an opening, anything, to push back against that arrogant bastard and worm his way into his meridians.

The tassel at the end of Cheng Luan fluttered in the air like a rabid butterfly. Shen Qingqiu blocked Liu Qingge’s arm. Finally! An opening! Liu Qingge seemed to lose energy!

“Shen-shixiong!”

Something slashed at his left side. It was cold. Or maybe hot? His right hand touched the place. It was wet.

It was red.

Xiu Ya blocked an attack. A third sword entered the frenzy. Shen Qingqiu collapsed onto his knees. Xiu Ya clattered down on the stone floor.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

His body clattered down on the stone floor.

It was cold.

Chapter Text

There is nothing
just you
there’s no walls
no floor
no ceiling
just you

don’t fear my child
you will survive

close your eyes against the blinding darkness
don’t open them for the all consuming light
swallow all the air
breathe all the water
consume your own soul
imbue yourself with pain

don’t be afraid
for you are the savior
and he cannot die yet

He was being carried. Dragged? The air was crisper. Damp. He closed his eyes against the pain.

That’s you. Look into the mirror. Don’t close your eyes.
Look at your naked skin. See the never-ending current of goosebumps.
See the cage of dark hair choking the rat within.
You who is powerful, you who is venerable.
You who is made of darkness.
Look as the darkness swallows everything in its reach.

“What have you done?!” A deep male voice called. It seemed worried?

There were steps. And hands. Someone touched his forehead.

“It wasn’t me!” A shrilly voice yelled. “Liu-shidi had a Qi deviation!”

Darkness.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“Does Shidi believe what Shang-shixiong said?” A female voice called to him.

No, it wasn’t to him.

“Zhangmen-shixiong said he will look into it…” A tired male voice said.

There was clinking of some jars.

“Mu-shidi.” The female voice was stern. It wasn’t the answer she wanted.

A deep sigh.

“I suppose Shang-shixiong could have made the story easier on the ears…”

“Ha! See! I told Shidi!” The female voice got louder.

The silence got louder too.

.

.

.

.

NO!

.

.

.

.

“Qingqiu…” A deep voice called. “I know you hate it when I apologize, but I’m so sorry.”

The voice pressed a warm face against his hand.

           see me
hear me         feel me
   as                   in the silence
       I keep f
                  a
                    l
                    l
                     i
                      n
                       g

I am not there
to
catch y o u
as you
 f
   a
  l
   l

     a
      p
    a
        r
         t

I’m sure
you expected
something less fragmented

more composed

a _little final

maybe
d e t e r _{m i n e} d

but after having thrown myself into the abyss
to be a rope for you
I cannot stop
f
 a
  l
   l
    i
     n
     g

because
there is no bottom
to the depth
of my
g
u
i
l
t

“Qingqiu-shidi?” a sleepy voice called.

A distant goddess smiles at you.
She sees the way you struggle against the gray masses.
Her small hands untangle you from their thorns—
gentle, warm, forgiving, lonely you.
She plays with your lithe arms,
dresses you up,
laughs as you stumble on your way home,
because it’s not a home,
but an altar made of her
bed.
The altar trembles.
The darkness comes nearer.
The demon is coming!
His teeth are hungry—hungry for the meat of your cheeks.
He licks his bland fingers with a forked tongue.
Go with the goddess!
Go to your home,
that is an altar
of her bed
and peeling
under it
is you.
Pray with her.
Pray to her.

No wait.
Pray for her!
Pray to another god!
She’s not a goddess!
She’s a child!

“—I know Shidi’s going to be angry with me when you wake up, but I know I should have gone with you into the Ling Xi caves, but I knew you wouldn’t be pleased, but maybe, together—”

.

.

.

.

.

.

“Yes, Mu-shidi.”

Whispers.

“No need to worry. This one will keep watch over Qingqiu-shidi.”

A whispered word.

“Goodnight.”

Creaking of wood. Warmth in his hand. A squeeze.

A squeeze back.

“Qingqiu?!”

Desperation.

“No,” the throat saying it hurt.

All consuming nothingness.

Hear the eternal screams of the silence
as your whole body shakes awake
with the power of its cries
your mind going insane
with how much it means
how well it hears
how bad it tears
how well 
it dies
how bad
it is at living
how could you say so
how could you not do so
it asks question after question
it needs to know why
or you won’t get
an absolution
see the pain
of your
mangled
body
jostled awake
and leave it be
choose the right way
choose death
only death
forever
or not
maybe not

“Ah, sorry for falling asleep again, Shidi.”

A warm presence next to him. The presence kept pouring its spiritual energy into him, soothing.

“This Yue is so bad at protecting his Shidi…”

Feel the charcoal dig under your nails
They keep breaking
burning
throbbing
Push through
you don’t need nails to dig
let them break
let them burn
let them fall away

Dig dig dig never stop digging
you know it’s there
you know you need to find it
you know it’s waiting for a hug
a hand
a leg
a head
a nose
an eye
a hair
or
an eyelash
it’s there waiting
you need to dig more

no it’s not the right hand
not the right leg either
you will know it when you find it

I think animals had already visited this grave
they were quicker
maybe smarter
dig better
dig bolder
don’t scream

I think you broke a finger
I don’t know if you know it
But it doesn’t dig like it should

forget your bloodied hands
they don’t hurt enough anyway
dig
dig through the rubble
ignore your body

You are dead anyway.

He wasn’t fully lucid as he could feel the caked dirt under his fingernails. Somewhere, through the rubble of his mind, a single thought pushed its way out: Haitang was looking for him! No, not for him! For her BROTHER!

He thought he could hear her sobs.

Someone moved next to him. Straightened, pushing themselves off the bed with a sigh. Disappeared for a while before returning.

“I know I shouldn’t be falling asleep like this.” Something cold and wet was laid on his forehead, bringing relief. “Not as a Sect Leader, not if you’re…” creaking of wood next to him. “I cannot help, I just… I’m so selfish. I’m so sorry. I wish you were awake right now, maybe to smack me on the head with your fan… I know you’d want to even if you would pretend not to.” Someone muttered something that sounded weirdly close to a whispered ‘Stupid Qi-ge’. A creak of wood. “I… I know you were more distant recently, but I have to protect you. You don’t even know what people keep saying…” Another creak. “Please, wake up.”

The voice saying these things was so gentle, deep and warm.

There was drumming. Tiny footsteps? No.

Haitang’s tears?

No.

It was rain.

“I’m sorry that I can’t help but give in to sleep. I just. I sometimes dream about you… of you, and it means you’re…” the voice seemed on the verge of breaking.

There was rustling of fabric, footsteps, and then someone sat next to him on the bed. This person kept their respectful distance.

A dry chuckle.

“I actually had the most exquisite plum today,” the voice seemed shy, uncertain of its next step. “It was so juicy it had flowed right into my sleeve and I had to lean away even as I bit into it.” Something warm touched his hand. Spiritual energy kept flowing through him. “I brought a few of these plums with me here, for you to try if you woke up today. I—. Shidi, I know you prefer peaches, but plums are what I have, this one apologizes for being inconsiderate. Maybe if I describe them to Shidi it will induce a pleasant dream for you. So, they are rather small, and not too heavy. They’re firm, and their skin is a deep purple…”

The sky stares at you.
It sees you.
It blinks its eyes:
it’s the moon and the sun.
They blink slowly.
They see you.

The sun and the moon
don’t care what you did,
they know it had to happen.

It rains.
The droplets are warm.
Your scorched skin
drinks greedily when
the sky touches you
with its palms:
it’s the rain and the wind.

The rain and the wind,
they hug you,
hold you
so gently.
The drumming of rain
lets you cry,
lets you live.

The sky loves you.

Shen Qingqiu opened his eyes for the first time in what felt like forever. A warm hand was holding his own. There were so many dreams crowding into his mind as he tried to remember, to think about what he had seen in them.

Whatever he saw was what Haitang had to live through.

It seemed like most of his dreams were his own, but neither of them showed Haitang her brother. At least the worst side of him. Shen Qingqiu let out a shaky breath. It meant she didn’t die yet. Somehow, even in his confused state he had managed to ward his mind off enough to spare her the pain. He hadn’t failed yet.

There was a white canopy hanging over him. He was home.

With trouble he turned to look at the hand in his.

“Shidi?” The hand squeezed his palm.

The Sect Leader sat on the side of his bed, hopeful. Shen Qingqiu glared at him. The man had been describing him something. A fruit?

“Did Zhangmen-shixiong describe me a plum?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. It was hard to speak without slurring sounds.

Yue Qingyuan swallowed loudly, and Shen Qingqiu saw the smallest smile appear on his face. “Yes.”

Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes again. “This one doesn’t need help anymore. Shixiong is free to leave.”

A tired sigh left Zhangmen-shixiong’s lips. “I can’t do that.”

“Why? This one is recovered now.” Shen Qingqiu had to clear his throat.

“Someone needs to keep watch over Shidi” A shy smile graced Zhangmen-shixiong’s lips, but it didn’t reach his sad eyes.

Nowadays it always failed to reach them.

“Then send a disciple from Qian Cao. I’m sure there is a competent one or two there.”

Silence.

Shen Qingqiu pulled his hand away from Zhangmen-shixiong’s guilty fingers. “How long?”

Yue Qingyuan gave him the saddest look, as if he was about to list the death count of some insurmountable massacre. “Eight days.”

“Oh.”

“Shidi can’t be alone now.”

“We both know Sect Leader Yue can leave. This Shidi is able to manage on his own.” Shen Qingqiu made an effort to sit up, only to feel stabbing pain in his stomach. Blood drained away from his face and he felt the sweat drenching his hair. There was a moment when he thought he wouldn’t make it, but his mental resolve allowed him to power through. As he continued to sit up, Zhangmen-shixiong stood up and positioned his hands as if ready to assist at the slightest sign of weakness.

It only made Shen Qingqiu more determined to stand away from his bed.

He clenched his fists, but couldn’t feel anything over the pain radiating through him. His right leg swung over the bed, the left one joining it promptly, and as he was about to put his weight onto them something inside of him snapped. He slipped off the bed onto the cold floor.

The Sect Leader was useless as always and reacted too late to keep Shen Qingqiu upright.

When the useless hands tried to help him back onto his bed he swatted them away. His jaw was snapped so tight he felt his teeth shift against each other as the floor painfully dug into the bones of his shins.

Painfully breathe in.

Slowly breathe out.

He could do this. His arms shook as he pushed himself off the floor, with Zhangmen-shixiong looming over him like a vile specter. Shen Qingqiu’s hand gripped tightly onto his bed frame.

Painfully breathe in.

“Qingqiu-shidi, don’t force yourself, Mu-shidi said that—”

Furiously breathe out.

“I don’t care what he said!” He glared at the Sect Leader.

The Sect Leader failed to glare back.

Still, no matter how Shen Qingqiu struggled he couldn’t force his body upwards, his legs or hands giving out from under him.

Zhangmen-shixiong came closer to him. He helped him get back into his bed. Shen Qingqiu bit his lower lip in a futile attempt not to whimper when the Sect Leader’s hand slipped dangerously near his wound.

Whatever Liu Qingge had done to him was something Shen Qingqiu wasn’t going to leave unavenged.

Once safely in his bed Shen Qingqiu continued to breathe cautiously. His eyelids were unnaturally heavy.

Yue Qingyuan stood awkwardly watching him.

His eyes closed by themselves.

Shen Qingqiu had survived worse and had survived, attending to his duties the next day without trouble. He had to pull himself together.

A warm presence started to pour spiritual energy into him. His body was too tired to protest.

There was only pain.

The energy pooled around his side.

There was only pain and warmth.

.

.

.

.

.

.

When Shen Qingqiu opened his eyes again he found Yue Qingyuan seated next to him and quietly meditating. He had his eyes closed, both hands holding onto the sword lying in his lap.

Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes again.

Eight days. Now it would be nine, or more. Xiu Ying was alone, he had failed to even properly think about her before making the decision to go into the Ling Xi caves. To consider what could happen to her if he disappeared for a longer time.

Haitang was put at risk every time he slipped back into sleep.

Shen Qingqiu had to get out of his bed.

He gritted his teeth and offered his spite and resolve as an offering to any gods that could listen. Something inside of him hoped that this way, in exchange, they may let him, just this once, do something good. His hands pushed themselves deep into his pillow so that he could sit up.

Yue Qingyuan’s eyes snapped open and he turned his head to look at Shen Qingqiu. He sadly observed the struggle.

“What?!” Shen Qingqiu growled against his pain. Or because of it.

He managed to lean his back against the headboard in spite of every jolt of pain and discomfort. It was hard not to slump back down, but he had won this battle.

The relief didn’t stay for long before his arms started shaking from exhaustion.

“Shidi shouldn’t force himself,” Yue Qingyuan commented sadly.

“Why? This Shidi is feeling well now.”

“Mu-shidi said it’s extraordinary Shidi managed to survive that blow. I’m always in awe by how determined you are to survive and excel.” A weak smile played on Yue Qingyuan’s lips.

“Why? Because someone like me should have already given up and died?” Shen Qingqiu was determined to make Zhangmen-shixiong leave him alone. It would give him an opening to think safely about what he should do next.

Yue Qingyuan continued to look at him sadly, but didn’t deny his words.

Shen Qingqiu started to wonder, did he owe Haitang enough to look for her? If he truly tried to seek her out would she betray his past to everyone?

Was she worth saving?

Xiong Ning would have given him a simple answer: No, she was not.

But for Shen Qingqiu Qiu Haitang had been a gentle goddess offering peace amidst the hell of his life. He had always been selfish and rotten, but for some reason the thought of Haitang dying because of him… her committing suicide just because he had shown her his memories… no.

He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let her find out.

She was nothing but compassionate and gentle with him. Once, Haitang had found a bird with a broken wing in the courtyard, and then begged her brother to let her find a medic who could help that poor thing.

Her gentleness had always contrasted so sharply with his own jagged personality. Haitang had always found it charming, for some reason. She had laughed at his comments, tried to straighten out the crease between his eyebrows.

He had never told her about Qi-ge.

Shen Qingqiu’s heart felt heavy. Used. Maybe burned.

Did Haitang’s heart burn down with her home?

Her brother had to die so that Shen Jiu could be free.

He could feel Yue Qingyuan’s assessing gaze on him, controlling, counting his shaky breaths. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t stop his elbows from bending, and his body from slipping down into his bed, down into a more horizontal position.

Someone started pouring their spiritual energy into him.

Grow the grass, let it sway,
sing the song, let me go away.
Hear the words, let them sing…

Hm. Xiao-Jiu, what’s the rhyme for ‘sing’?

Half-awake, half-asleep he made out a figure in the darkness next to his bedside. The figure appeared to be sleeping. Exhausted, Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes again.

Shen Jiu was young. So very young and covered in bruises hidden just out of view. It hurt to walk, but he had to carry this load of laundry downstairs. Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him into a side room.

It was dark. His nostrils were assaulted with an overwhelming scent of vinegar and garlic. A pudgy arm threw him against the wall. A protruding stomach pushed at him. He pulled in a sharp breath.

The man holding him captive released his hold, but the stomach against his seemed to only press harder. A strand of hair fell into Shen Jiu’s eyes, and he shook it away, but it fell again as the man’s belly pressed him hard against the wall, aggravating the bruises on his back. The man, ever so delicately, put the irritating strand of hair behind Shen Jiu’s ear.

Every muscle in Shen Jiu’s body fought against the crumbling veneer of a composed exterior that held him together.

The man opened his mouth. “Tell me, Xiao-Jiu, what exactly is it that you would do for me not to tell the young master about your nightly visits in little mistress’ bedroom?”

Shen Jiu smiled charmingly. He took that strand of hair from behind his ear and let it lie against his cheekbone.

“You think he doesn’t know?” His face asked a clear question: were you born stupid or was it a conscious choice to act so?

The man chuckled softly and twirled that one strand of hair between his fingers, pulling on it softly. “Oh, but I can tell him about a few things…” He looked at Shen Jiu’s mouth as he spoke. “Including that bottle of wine you stole.”

It was Shen Jiu’s turn to chuckle. He tried to angle his head away so that the strand would be pulled out of the older man’s hand. The hand gripped tightly onto it, immobilizing him.

Shen Jiu reminded himself to remain calm. “I didn’t steal anything, you surely are aware of that, sir. Little mistress asked me to bring it to her,” his young voice was polite. This man was pretty high in the ranks, many of other slaves and the guards had to obey his calls.

“Oh?” The man chuckled. “Did she tell you to bring Xiong Ning with you as well?”

Something inside of Shen Jiu was disgusted. Something was perhaps even scared. “What are you hinting at?”

The man kept an innocent expression of impenetrable stupidity on his face. “What do you think will happen to her? After they’re done…” The hand pulled stronger on the strand of hair, forcing Shen Jiu to angle his head down. “Will she jump from the roof? Cut herself open? Or will she use a rope? She seems like a rope type, very traditional, would suit her features.”

Shen Jiu smiled at the man, and tried to push him away. “Excuse me, I have to attend to—”

“You are free now.” The man kept him trapped. “Don’t you want your friend to live?” He continued to play with that strand of hair. “Hm… You’re so pretty… if only your smile was more genuine.”

Shen Jiu gritted his teeth. “I really have to go.”

“I don’t think your friend could survive another beating.”

Shen Jiu continued to smile respectfully. “She has a very strong body.”

“I’ve seen her burning her skin with a coal…” Shen Jiu glared at the hand twirling his hair, slipping it between the middle and the forefinger. “The marks are going to look pretty on her corpse… There is a way you could save her.”

Shen Jiu’s polite smile widened. “No.”

“Oh?” The man’s hand stopped playing with his hair, instead falling onto Shen Jiu’s chest and slowly going down onto his abdomen. “So you don’t care about her?”

Shen Jiu didn’t panic, instead countering the man with his own observation. “And what if I told the young master about your behavior?” Shen Jiu smiled sheepishly and angled his head, giving his own voice a worried and shy quality. “Do you think he’d keep a boy lover in his house? Castrate you? Turn you into a eunuch?” He pouted at the man.

The man laughed at him. “You won’t do this, you know the young Master Qiu would just have a chuckle if he heard about it.” The smell of garlic made him nauseous.

“And what if I told the little mistress?” Shen Jiu pushed forward, keeping the worried tone of his voice. “She would be very distraught at the idea of her favorite getting treated like this.”

The man licked his lips. His eyes kept looking at Shen Jiu as if he was a tasty meal. “Maybe, but I doubt the young master would do anything.”

Shen Jiu pushed against the man, ignoring the hand that was getting worryingly low, low enough that in a moment the man would be able to grab his— “But if it got out of the house that he keeps a pervert under his roof Master Qiu may have to take some direct actions,” Shen Jiu’s voice became harsh, like when he had to fight for best sleeping spots for Qi-ge.

The man finally looked into his eyes. “Killing me would only confirm the gossip.”

Shen Jiu’s skin crawled. He felt powerless, which in turn made him turn angry. He wasn’t some prostitute to be used! The man loosened his grip for just a moment, and Shen Jiu seized his only chance to kick the man hard in the balls and r u n. He r an until he could no longer hear the man’s screams. Ran until his heart stopped drumming against his ribcage. Ran until the threat of the man’s revenge loomed over him. When he finally stopped nothing could stop his body from retching.

His hair and clothes smelled of garlic.

There was gasping and rustling of fabric. The gasping could be his own. Everything was black. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t tell if his eyes were closed or open. He wasn’t the only one fighting for air.

His hands flailed through the darkness trying to grab onto something, until they fell on someone’s head. The head was next to his bed, which means whoever it had belonged to was seated on the floor.

“Qi—Qi—” He gasped.

“I’m here!” The figure grabbed his hand, but Shen Qingqiu pulled it away with all strength he had. Something inside of him wanted to bite that hand off.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

“Why are you still here!?” He screamed at the figure.

The figure—Zhangmen-shixiong—didn’t answer.

Shen Qingqiu covered his face with his hands. It was bad. Very, very bad. His dreams became more and more concrete, now taking the form of literal memories. The only good thing about it was that this particular memory had nothing to do with Haitang’s brother.

He groaned in the darkness, and someone’s hand touched his arm. Shen Qingqiu tensed on instinct, then threw the hand off. “Leave me alone!”

“I can’t!” Zhangmen-shixiong yelled back.

“WHY NOT?! You’ve already left me once!” His body fought against his lungs and screaming. His side felt as if someone had poured molten metal into him. This pain was good, it meant he wasn’t trapped inside his memories.

The gasping slowed and grew fainter, but Shen Qingqiu couldn’t tell if it was his own breath or Zhangmen-shixiong's attempt to steady himself before he answered. There was a sigh. A shaky intake of air. A calm voice wavered slightly, “They’re saying you’ve been visiting a child prostitute.”

Shen Qingqiu froze in the darkness. Xiu Ying…

“Please, tell me it’s not true,” Zhangmen-shixiong’s voice was tense and pleading. He was begging his Qingqiu-shidi, his Xiao-Jiu to deny the accusations.

Shen Qingqiu felt a mocking smile erupt on his face. He slowly calmed down, the question, the accusation pouring down his body. “Why? Because I’m vile, but not vile enough to defile a child?”

The silence that followed tried to choke them. He could hear the sigh that escaped Zhangmen-shixiong’s throat, and despite the blackness, knew the other man had hung his head down in defeat.

“Please…” was the only faint sound disturbing the heavy air of the room.

Shen Qingqiu froze for a moment. Frankly, he was pretty lost. He hadn’t known what to do for days. Should he somehow find a way to pay Xiu Ying a visit? The brothel keeper couldn’t be trusted with an egg! Should he go and find Qiu Haitang, the gentlest sister of the vilest man?

Shen Qingqiu had no idea what to do, but there was one thing he could always fall onto: being himself and destroying everyone else. If everyone saw him as a monster, he could at least keep true to their expectations, and then, he would find himself alone. It was always easier to scheme alone.

Shen Qingqiu laughed. “Sect Leader Yue has already made his judgment, along with every other Peak Lord. Why not stone the vile Peak Lord Shen while we’re at it?”

A beat of silence, then, predictably, “Qingqiu… Why are you saying these things?”

Shen Qingqiu had to make him leave. “Look at yourself, you’re the Sect Leader! Sitting here like some dog! You’re not even loyal enough to—”

A hand grabbed his forearm. Breath caught in his lungs. Shen Qingqiu was too weak to pull it away. A prodding spiritual energy entered his body and he couldn’t even fight it. He couldn’t fight it. He was too weak. It wasn’t moving.

“Scream at me if you must, insult me. I’m not leaving you alone in this state.” Yue Qingyuan’s grip was strong. It felt like a bruise, like fingernails cutting through his skin, like the sound of a whip in the air. Like the kick to his back and fall onto his face, unable, unable to keep himself upright.

Unable, unable to keep straight.

“No!” he shouted, pulling his arm. “LET GO!” His voice chocked on its own desperation. His body reacted on its own, trashing in the sheets. He had thought that the injury Liu Qingge had caused him would immobilize him, but the pain of memories was stronger.

The instinct to get away was stronger.

Not strong enough to allow his arm to be torn away. He let out a pained scream.

Yue Qingyuan finally let him go.

Shen Qingqiu found himself huddled in a far away corner of his bed while wheezing from pain. The injury in his side anchored him to the reality. There was no garlic in his room. There was no agarwood. There were no hands in his room. There was no Qiu Jianluo. It was his own bed.

The hands were dead. Qiu Jianluo had long died. It was his own bed. There was no agarwood. There was no garlic. Everyone was dead.

“Qingqiu—”

“GO AWAY! JUST GO AWAY!” He screamed at the top of his lungs. His breathing was erratic. His left side felt ablaze.

There were footsteps and the closing of door.

Yue Qingyuan finally listened.

Shen Qingqiu was all alone. Being alone allowed him to calm down. There was a bitterness rising in his throat, but he was used to swallowing it down. His breathing slowly evened out, the chocked gasps becoming quieter.

Just staying in a fetal position was almost unbearable. He was supposed to be all-powerful, yet here he was, pathetically unable to even rise from his bed. Even if he had wanted to find Haitang he would be unable to do so.

He weakly tried to touch the injury on the left side of his stomach. It was wet. The room was too dark to see anything, so he brought his wet fingers to his lips.

Blood.

He felt his head hit the headboard loudly.

The world was getting dizzy.

He tried to reach for his nightstand, but pushed something off it, and the things fell on the floor with a faint thud. He grabbed onto one of the things before it fell.

A withered plum?

The plum fell out of his fingers and hit the floor.

His hand tried to reach for something more, but he failed to find anything.

What was he doing?! He had to concentrate on circulating his Qi!

There were footsteps, and a light was brought into the room.

“Qingqiu!” The terrified voice of Yue Qingyuan carried into the room. He rushed to Shen Qingqiu’s bedside and put a flickering candle on his nightstand. His voice like that of a child. As if he was the one who had injured Shen Qingqiu. He reached his hand, but stopped himself. “Please, let me help you!”

Shen Qingqiu didn’t have enough power to fight anymore. He nodded his head in a silent agreement.

The spiritual energy invaded him. It slowly but steadily replaced the pain with warmth.

They sat together in silence for hours. Together they observed the harsh, blueish sunlight of the morning turn white and golden. The spiritual energy healed his wound enough that it wasn’t bleeding anymore, and Shen Qingqiu refused to allow Yue Qingyuan to touch him after that.

It felt good to have one’s body guarded from intrusions.

Mu Qingfang came by to check in on him, though he didn’t comment much, choosing to only look nervously between Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan. He declared that the wound had partially reopened, though it wasn’t anything too dangerous, the dehiscence being small.

Everyone in the Bamboo House’s bedroom breathed with relief upon hearing that.

At one point Yue Qingyuan tried to feed Shen Qingqiu, but his hands were swatted away. Yue Qingyuan gave him that look again, the look that Xiao-Jiu would never live to see on Qi-ge’s face, but one that was normal for Shen Qingqiu to see. It didn’t make Shen Qingqiu give in to his care.

If one was too weak to eat by himself it was better to starve than allow other’s help. Accepting such gestures was dangerous: you grew used to them. You started to see them as something normal, and when they finally were taken away you never knew how to survive without them again. They also could make you believe that you were something deserving their kindness.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t survive without food. He was a cultivator, after all.

A day later at dusk, Yue Qingyuan tried to offer Shen Qingqiu his own spiritual energy again. When he first spoke Shen Qingqiu failed to hear him.

“Could I assist Shidi with his healing?” Zhangmen-shixiong’s voice was small, perhaps scared as he repeated the question.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t spare him a glance, instead pretending to read his book, but took care to shake his head.

“This one would be humbled if Shidi allowed him to help,” Yue Qingyuan pressed on.

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t stop the snort that escaped him. “Shixiong has no self-respect,” he pointed out bitterly.

Yue Qingyuan’s hands trembled slightly before tensing on his knees, clenching painfully. There was a stack of documents next to him, his daily workload. He had already completed reviewing them, all while attending like a little maid to every wish Shen Qingqiu as much as implied. Most of the time anticipating every need before the other man had even the chance to express it.

Not like he would have expressed them, not to him, not to anyone.

The paper of Shen Qingqiu’s book was crisp, a little yellowed from age. The characters inside were written with beautiful, skilled calligraphy, but it was difficult to focus on the words. His eyes wanted to close by themselves, but he couldn’t allow himself to fail.

“Then Shidi should at least sleep, it’s been two days.”

Shen Qingqiu turned to look into his eyes. “This Shidi knows what he needs.”

Yue Qingyuan didn’t counter this statement, instead pressed his lips together, as if keeping himself from telling his Shidi some awful lie. Perhaps the lie would have been along the lines of ‘I care about you’.

After two days of inedia Shen Qingqiu finally felt strong enough to accept food. (Or rather hungry enough to try, as it turned out that his spiritual energy was too overburdened to take care of this awkward need.)

He ate the watery congee with painful slowness. It had something added, he could feel the supple spiritual energy in it, but couldn’t quite guess what it was from taste alone. His hands shook slightly as he held the bowl, but Yue Qingyuan didn’t comment on it. Shen Qingqiu could see the relief written all over his face. Like this, Yue Qingyuan looked a bit softer, a bit more like his younger self.

When Yue Qingyuan leaned forward to help him and had angled his head just so, a little bowed, with his eyes looking straight at him, Shen Qingqiu could see a faint fleck of gray below his right iris. It was just a small, darker spot marring the whiteness. Shen Jiu had noted its presence in his Qi-ge’s eyes during one painfully hot summer evening.

Shen Qingqiu wasn’t sure he liked seeing it in Zhangmen-shixiong’s eyes. Zhangmen-shixiong wasn’t supposed to look like this. Not now, not ever.

“Hold him in place—”

“Look at me.”

Shen Qingqiu jerked awake. He had drifted off, again. Yue Qingyuan wasn’t in the room, but would surely return soon.

His panting filled the room. He slapped himself across the face to wake himself up.

His body was failing him in its thirst for rest. As hard as he tried not to sleep, to wait out the creature plaguing him, his body had its limits. Cultivators could survive longer without sleep, but not indefinetly. Even Ku Xing disciples had their limits.

A shameful part of Shen Qingqiu wanted to give in. After all, if it truly was the Dream Weaver, the case was hopeless. Even the previous Sect Leader had failed at killing it. But then, if the creature was truly so powerful, wasn’t it even a bigger failure to fail to destroy it? Wasn’t it even worse to give in?

Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes in shame.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Thankfully, Shen Qingqiu didn’t have another dream that night. He had thought long about what it could mean, and reached a simple conclusion—Haitang wasn’t asleep on that night. Maybe there was no sense dragging him through memories if she wasn’t there to witness them. Or maybe she was under some protective array, having called cultivators for help after the strange dreams.

The sleep helped his body. He had slept for almost the whole night and a major part of the next day. Zhangmen-shixiong didn’t interrupt him and seemed much less nervous, knowing Qingqiu-shidi finally gave in to sleep.

Maybe that’s why he actually stood further away from Shen Qingqiu when he tried to walk around his bed on his own, instead of holding his arm. Or maybe he was simply too tired to fight.

“Don’t help me!” Shen Qingqiu snapped as his shaky feet barely managed to keep him standing. His right hand gripped tightly onto one of the bed posts. Every step hurt. The scar was still red on his skin, but the sooner he started walking on his own, the better.

Zhangmen-shixiong continued hovering just a step away from him, biting his lips in a futile attempt at containing his pride and happiness. His hands were outstretched, ready to catch his Shidi if he were to fall. It was something Shen Qingqiu was getting used to, which meant that he had to push himself to return to health sooner. The longer he kept relying on him the more it would hurt once he was left alone again.

Yue Qingyuan’s shoulders tensed in anticipation of a fall.

Shen Qingqiu took a slow step. His limbs weren’t shaking as strongly as they did last time he had tried. His hair covered his face, but not enough to obscure his view. He glared at Zhangmen-shixiong, who, despite everything, was smiling. When he noticed Shen Qingqiu’s glare his smile widened, as if it could outshine the bitterness.

A few days later hushed voices carried through the Bamboo House. He could hear Zhangmen-shixiong repeating, “Thank you,” as he accepted something.

Finally, there were footsteps and the shutting of door.

Yue Qingyuan stepped into his room carrying a basket full of fruit. “I’ve got peaches!” He offered the basket to Shen Qingqiu with a tentative smile. It was full of deliciously ripe peaches which seemed ready to burst with their sweetness.

Shen Qingqiu glared at the other man, but picked out a fruit for himself. Lack of sleep made his body waver, making it harder to grip onto the peach. The one he grabbed was a little soft under its skin. His teeth carefully sunk into it and the juice started to flow down his chin. He quickly brought his left hand and wiped the juice with his inner robe’s sleeve.

Yue Qingyuan’s smile finally managed to reach his eyes.

Yue Qingyuan hesitated before speaking again. “Shidi should stay inside a bit longer—”

“This Shidi isn’t dead yet to stay inside all the time.” Shen Qingqiu stepped carefully outside, gripping onto the door frame.

Yue Qingyuan was fighting a smile from showing on his face.

A group of disciples noticed them. Most of them took their chance to run away, spare for a group of two: Ming Fan and Ning Yingying.

“Shizun!” the girl started rushed towards them, she had a small bouquet of wildflowers in one hand. Ming Fan followed calmly behind her.

“Zhangmen-shibo,” they both bowed before Zhangmen-shixiong, who quietly dismissed them with a nod.

Shen Qingqiu was wearing his usual robes, which were good at hiding the gentle shakes of his body.

Ning Yingying held out the bouquet to him. “This disciple is happy that Shizun feels better.”

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help smiling faintly at her before taking the offered gift. “Thank you, Yingying.”

The girl bowed to him again, before grabbing Ming Fan’s hand and dragging him away.

The flowers smelled like a meadow, like Haitang’s favorite flowers, with their gentle smell. Wherever she might be now, he hoped there were flowers for her. And hopefully, their smell was enough to bring her pleasant dreams.

He hadn’t slept in a week, spending every night in silence, reading through every book collected on Qing Jing Peak, with Yue Qingyuan doing his administrative work. He worked tirelessly, never truly resting.

Yue Qingyuan gave him a searching look, as if he could see that his Shidi was troubled by something.

Shen Qingqiu scowled at him. His scar was fading, meaning he would be able to visit Xiu Ying soon and settle the bill.

Yue Qingyuan was checking through a stack of scrolls. They were the yearly essays his disciples had to write. He was seated on the floor next to Shen Qingqiu’s bed, with his back pressed against the bed frame. It had become a habit of his, absolutely unbefitting the Sect Leader. Still, there was no one to witness it other than Shen Qingqiu himself.

Shen Qingqiu pretended to read his own book, but his treacherous eyes kept looking over at the essays Yue Qingyuan was grading. The one currently in Yue Qingyuan’s hands was written in an awful style. The calligraphy was beautiful, but the content and word choice called for violence.

“That’s why, a person who may be in the process of debating another person, should debate fiercely, with debatable strength.”

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t stifle a snort when he read that, which made Yue Qingyuan turn his head to look at him. He was very clearly fighting to keep his own face from showing how much the awful writing affected him. “Does Shidi find my disciples’ essays entertaining?”

“No. This Shidi is reading his own book.” He glared at the sword forms sketched on the yellowed paper.

“Ah. I have always found guides amusing.” Yue Qingyuan smiled earnestly at Shen Qingqiu. “It pleases me to know we have something in common.”

Shen Qingqiu only frowned in response, glaring at the pages of his book.

With a quiet sigh, Yue Qingyuan returned to grading.

The silence lasted only a moment before Shen Qingqiu’s eyes betrayed him again, returning to the essay.

“How much strength is that? It’s highly debatable. That’s why it’s needless to say that debates are hard to win, and even if the audience claims you as the victor, you ought not gloat, as your opponent may think otherwise.”

Yue Qingyuan raised the essay as he read further, occasionally using a brush to mark a dot beside a line. The worst part about the essay wasn’t even the phrasing, but the careful placement of every stroke—placed with the conviction of someone certain they were producing pure, condensed wisdom.

Shen Qingqiu could excuse clumsy wording, especially in disciples that were not his own, nor Liu Qingge’s. (Because Liu Qingge deserved to know his disciples were idiots.) But this? The boy who wrote it shouldn’t be allowed out of the library for a few months!

Shen Qingqiu, of course, kept reading.

“That’s why, there should be implemented another method: in debates—ones without swords, to avoid more than just moral injury—each candidate should also try explaining their views to the dimmer of mind, as a test.”

Yue Qingyuan raised the essay further, and tilted his head to the side. Shen Qingqiu continued reading, a frown deepening on his face with every line he read. And all would be fine, if not one detail—Yue Qingyuan eventually turned to him with a knowing smile and extended his arm, intending to hand the scroll to him.

Shen Qingqiu opened his mouth, closed it, glared at the hand for a moment, then turned back to his book.

“Shidi can have it,” Yue Qingyuan said. “And the brush, too. Though gentleness is called for this time, Li Yi just grew his first mustache.”

Shen Qingqiu straightened, grimacing at the pull of flesh on his left side.“Shixiong should know then, that this Shidi wasn’t reading the essay.” He paused, frowning as Yue Qingyuan’s words caught up with him. “And what does a mustache have to do with anything?”

Yue Qingyuan looked at him innocently. “It’s rather wispy, but… he’s very proud of it.”

Shen Qingqiu closed his book, putting a finger between the pages. “Why hasn’t Shixiong told him to shave it?”

Yue Qingyuan’s smiled. “Shidi is ever unchanging in his judgments on facial hair.”

Shen Qingqiu opened his mouth, about to protest, to explain how scraggly hairs randomly sprouting on a youth’s face could ruin their entire presence, but he stopped himself. He knew exactly what Yue Qingyuan was doing. It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last.

It always hurt, because talking like this could be enjoyable, but later Shen Qingqiu would be alone again, and he would remember why they could never go back to this. It always hurt, and that’s why Shen Qingqiu put great effort into frowning deeply, opening his book, and turning onto his side, with his back to Yue Qingyuan.

The hand with the essay eventually withdrew as well.

“Where is Shidi going?” Yue Qingyuan looked torn: unsure whether he should remain seated not to enrage Shen Qingqiu, or stand up and help him as he combed his hair.

“Where this Shidi is going isn’t anything Zhangmen-shixiong should trouble himself with.” Shen Qingqiu was going to visit Xiu Ying. He hadn’t visited her in a month, but he finally felt strong enough to fly there. His face felt clammy and cold from how tired he was.

Yue Qingyuan looked at him with sadness. “I need to show other Peak Lords something that could clean you of the accusations.”

Shen Qingqiu laughed at this. “As if you truly believe them to be false.”

“Qingqiu, you know I do.”

“Sure. Lie to me if you must.” It was a bit too easy to slip into normalcy with Zhangmen-shixiong. Almost as if he hadn’t been forgotten by him. He started securing his hair in his guan.

Yue Qingyuan stared at the floor. “Then—then Shidi should let me go with him.”

Shen Qingqiu glared at Zhangmen-shixiong and shook his head. “No.”

Yue Qingyuan finally stood up. “If the accusation is true, I still want to go. To protect Shidi.”

First, Shen Qingqiu’s hands froze. Then they dropped. A smile appeared on his face. His eyes felt dry. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Something escaped his throat. It could be laughter. Or cackling. “So this Shidi was right.” He ran one of his hands over his face, then continued putting his guan in place. “Zhangmen-shixiong has already decided on his judgment. Good.”

Yue Qingyuan took a step towards him. “It’s not like—”

“I know what it’s like!” Shen Qingqiu stepped away. Lack of sleep made it harder to contain everything inside. His face twisted in anger. “Shixiong should leave.”

“I—”

“Leave.” Shen Qingqiu barked at the other man.

Yue Qingyuan stood in his beautiful dark robes. So much taller than Shen Qingqiu, so much more powerful, so much better. Yue Qingyuan stared, unsure of what to do. He stood in Shen Qingqiu’s way.

Shen Qingqiu tried to push past him, but Yue Qingyuan caught his wrist. “I don’t need to be inside the room, just close by. Wherever you choose.”

“What for?” Shen Qingqiu said, determinedly looking forward, away from him. “Shixiong surely knows this Shidi doesn’t need protection.”

Yue Qingyuan didn’t let go of his hand, but didn’t say anything either.

Shen Qingqiu scowled and tore his hand away. “If Shixiong is so determined, he may as well stalk this one—though, of course, does Zhangmen-shixiong truly wish to see his Shidi in the throes of lust?”

Yue Qingyuan bit his lip, staring at him. Shen Qingqiu pushed past, flicked his fan open, and left the Bamboo House without a glance at Zhangmen-shixiong’s clenched fists.

Inside the brothel Shen Qingqiu finally felt free. No guilty stares followed his struggle, no deep voice offered apologies nor help. This state of being alone was what freedom truly meant.

As he walked through the ground floor he a sharp laugh pierced his ears, coming from a young woman with flowers embroidered onto her pink dress and etched onto her circular fan. She coquettishly giggled at something the man talking to her said. He was older and much too ugly for her.

The air was saturated with the smell of flowers, as if it could hide the stench of sex.

Shen Qingqiu sighed before pushing his way to the brothel keeper.

“Master Shen finally decided to show up,” her smile was almost predatory, and her eyes greedily followed the pouch in his hand. “Xiu Ying’s calmed down. No need to pay for her so much, she could take normal clients, too.”

Shen Qingqiu smiled pleasantly at her. “No.”

“Eh, that’s why she wasn’t touched by anyone during your absence.” She took the pouch from him and poured the money onto the desk. “Xiu Ying!” She called into the colorful masses behind them.

So the girl was kept on the ground floor? Shen Qingqiu frowned.

The crowd shifted with laughter as women threw themselves into men’s arms. Xiu Ying pushed through the throng with a determined expression. She had painted her lips dark red and clearly did her best to appear older, but her dress ruined the effect—it was almost as dark as her lips and a bit too big.

Shen Qingqiu frowned and quickly looked to the brothel keeper. She was almost finished with counting the money, meaning they would be allowed to go soon. Seeing his impatience, she curled her right hand around a tall pole next to her desk, using her left hand to push some of the money aside.

Once finished, she let go of the pole, smiled at him and nodded in the direction of the stairs. “You can go.”

Xiu Ying kept quiet, but the was she took step after step, climbing the stairs was akin to a puppet with strings too taut.

Safely upstairs, Shen Qingqiu held the door to an empty room open and asked her gently, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she said stiffly as she stepped inside.

He closed the door after himself and sighed deeply before facing Xiu Ying. She stared dispassionately at the floor.

“I can’t fall asleep tonight.” His eyes drifted to the bed that surely would be oh, so soft under him and forgiving to his mind, willingly soaking away the clamminess.

Xiu Ying’s shoulders tensed, but she didn’t look up. There was a pause before she spoke with an emotionless voice. “Then why did you come?”

“I needed to get away from my own home.” He leaned against the door and crossed his arms over his chest.

Xiu Ying stared at him for a moment as if he had just said the most incredulous thing possible, then returned to staring at the floor. “But you only come here to sleep,” she muttered to herself and shook her head in disbelief.

“I do,” Shen Qingqiu agreed and closed his eyes. It was dangerous to do so, but he was just so damn tired.

“Why are you changing the rules of everything?”

He opened his eyes. She glared at him with open hatred, with her hands clenched into fists by her sides. “I am not.”

“Yes you are!” She spat, gesticulating wildly. “First you decide normal rules don’t concern you, so you find new ones, where you come here just to sleep! You make me believe I have a regular client, and then—!” Her voice grew quieter, venomous.

Shen Qingqiu raised his eyebrows.

Xiu Ying glared at him. “You’ve been gone for a long time.”

He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I had a guest.”

“You’ve abandoned me!”

Her words hung over them in the air as neither of them moved. They could clearly hear what was happening in the other rooms, as well as some laughter coming from the ground floor.

Shen Qingqiu stared at her in surprise. He didn’t really imagine what their reunion would have looked like, but he had expected something… something different. Maybe for her to be happy to see him, or something.

At his silence Xiu Ying took something out of her sleeve.

Her eyes kept nervously flickering between him and the object, as if she was searching for something familiar in him. Her hand stalled when she was pulling the object out, as if it had caught on some thread of her robe’s lining.

Before he could process what it was, she quickly threw it on the ground, making it clatter sadly between them. It was the fan he had given Xiu Ying, now broken in half, barely resembling a fan at all.

She seemed to have been carrying it with her in wait for him, sure that her moment would come, the moment when she could hurt him by showing him just how little his gift meant to her. Revenge. Revenge over everything. Shen Qingqiu smiled against himself. Xiong Ning would have liked this kind of retaliation.

Xiu Ying stomped her foot on the ground, glaring at Shen Qingqiu. Her fists relaxed slowly, but her body remained tense. “Will you punish me now?”

Shen Qingqiu slowly bent down to pick up the fan. The scar on his side pulled against his movement as he straightened again.

Both guards were snapped in different places, along with every piece of wood. He straightened the paper in his hands. It felt rough, and was torn in a way that destroyed every flower that had been artfully painted on it. The damage was done meticulously.

In different circumstances he would have been angry. It was a nice fan, something he had never thought he would be able to own, yet alone gift someone else. It seemed like Xiu Ying thought it meant something to him. Maybe it even meant something to her.

Shen Qingqiu was too exhausted to care, his injury wasn’t quite as healed as he pretended it was, the cut reaching deep into his body. His spiritual energy was working as hard to keep him alive as if he was a Ku Xing disciple.

“No. It’s your own fan you’ve destroyed, not mine,” he replied leisurely, the hand holding it dropping to his side.

Xiu Ying inhaled sharply, as if he had just offended her. She stomped her way to the bed and sat on it in anger.

Shen Qingqiu rubbed his eyes. “Have you slept well today?”

Xiu Ying kept quiet. She had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, and held them so tightly it looked almost as if she was hugging herself.

“I’ve only slept twice in the last twenty days, I think,” Shen Qingqiu added. Children usually were intrigued by things like this, by little weird pieces of information about cultivation.

She turned her head to glare at him as she somehow managed to hold her arms even tighter. “Why didn’t you come?”

“There was a guest at my house.”

“Was she the personal matter? Kept you occupied for a month? Helped you heal your wounds?” Xiu Ying’s lips curved into a mocking smirk, but her eyebrows remained furrowed.

He stared at her and crossed his arms across his chest. “It was a he. He… He wouldn’t leave.”

“For a month?”

He dropped his gaze. The floor of their room was well worn, but clean. It sounded ridiculous, but what was he supposed to tell her? ‘Oh the sect leader wanted to try his hand at being a maid!’ Shen Qingqiu huffed. “He really wouldn’t leave.”

“Why not?!” she stepped closer, emphasizing her words with labored breaths.

“I don’t know! He’s just clingy like that!” Shen Qingqiu threw his arms. “What were you up to during my absence?”

She humphed angrily. “What does it concern you?! I am the one demanding answers now.”

Shen Qingqiu brought his hand to his forehead, pushing his fingers deep into his hair, and slumped further against the door. “You’re just a small girl.”

She stood up from the bed, pointing her accusatory finger right at his chest. “And you’re a man who doesn’t keep his promises!”

“There was no promise!” Shen Qingqiu’s hands dropped away from him. He had only started coming there every night, no strings attached. It was normal for someone who had decided to pay for a girl to disappear for some time, or to get bored of her.

She stomped her foot again. Her hands clenched tightly. Xiu Ying glared at him, then seemed to consider something and looked away. “What’s he like?”

Shen Qingqiu stared at her for a moment. “Who?”

“The man who kept you away from me.” Her voice was dangerous, yet even.

“Oh. He’s…” Shen Qingqiu frowned. How were he to describe Yue Qingyuan? “He’s… tall. And muscular.” This was probably the safest answer.

Xiu Ying stared at him as if he was stupid. “That’s about every cultivator I’ve ever seen!”

“How do you know if he’s a cultivator?”

“Well, you are one, and you guys tend to stick together.” She cocked her head. “Plus, I know you live on the Cang Qiong mountain.”

Shen Qingqiu stared at her. “Alright. Let’s say we have known each other for a long time. That’s all there is to him.”

“What you said tells me nothing about who he is as a person.” She walked close to him.

“And why do you need to know that?” Was she trying to find out these things so he would like her more? Would she pretend to be like Qi-ge for him? This notion scared him. Qingyuan was his own problem, his own weird fly that kept sitting on him in his sleep. “I don’t have to amuse you with facts about my life.”

Xiu Ying was fine as herself, as someone who was so similar to Xiong Ning.

“Tell me!” She pushed her hand against his chest, grabbing at his robes.

He tried to push away from her, but the door behind his back stopped him. “Why would I?!”

“I need to know what you like about him!” She repeatedly pocked his chest with her finger.

Shen Qingqiu stared at her with wide eyes. “You don’t need to know anything!” His own anger was rising. He pushed her away. “You’re just a stupid child!”

Both her hands dropped to her sides. Her eyes swept down and up his whole body. “Fuck you!” she spat.

Shen Qingqiu took a deep breath to calm himself and measured her short figure with his eyes. “Fine,” he said and turned around, reaching for the doorknob.

She ran to him and grabbed his hand in fear. “Where are you going?!”

He turned to glare at her. “Away!”

“No!” Xiu Ying tried to pull his hand away from the door. “Stop!”

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

She was so messy, so unpredictable, so tiring.

Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes and focused on calming down. Once ready he opened them and turned to her. “If I am to stay you need to stop arguing. This master doesn’t have the energy for it.”

She glared at him and stomped her foot once more while saying, “Fine!”

He quietly led her to the bed, as it was the only comfortable place to sit down in the room. She kept her distance from him, and Shen Qingqiu placed her broken fan between them. She glared at it as if it had deeply offended her.

There were loud and lewd noises coming from the room next to theirs. The moans bordered on shrieking and obscenely loud. It surely was a demand placed by the client, as the male grunts were quite loud as well. Shen Qingqiu winced against the noise.

He opened his fan and hid his face away from her with it. “Xiu Ying shouldn’t act more like the person I had been trapped with for the last month.”

She frowned at him and whined, “Why not?! You like him.”

Shen Qingqiu breathed deeply. “Not anymore.”

“Oh.” The line between her eyebrows disappeared. “Why?”

He assessed her face and replied coldly, “Adult reasons.”

She frowned again and scrunched her nose, “So you are a cut sleeve?”

“What? No!” He raised his hands in defense. “Why do you only think in these categories?!”

She physically pushed herself away from him, as if trying to shield herself away from this accusation. “Why shouldn’t I?!”

Shen Qingqiu shook his head from behind the fan. He squeezed his eyes shut then opened them. “Did every relationship in your life revolve around sex? Even the one with your mother?”

Xiu Ying considered the question, pursing his lips. Her eyes traveled over the room, as she considered his question, before she looked at him. “If I tell you will you tell me why you keep visiting me?”

Shen Qingqiu clenched his jaw. It wasn’t as if he had to tell the girl the truth to laugh at, he could sell her some stupid lie. “Alright.”

The girl sat with him in silence for a moment, then opened her mouth. “I lied. I do have a mother.”

The most depraved and desperate part of Shen Jiu that was still alive within him twinged with envy.

When Shen Qingqiu didn’t ask anything Xiu Ying continued on her own. “It’s just that… I don’t like her boyfriend. I think he likes it when I cry, and he visited me once during work. I kind of ran away here, because mom was jealous. And then you came and just…” She shrugged. “Now it’s your turn. Why do you keep visiting me?”

He didn’t expect her to just… open up to him like that. It wasn’t wise, it wasn’t wise at all for the girl to open up to one of her clients. “If you want conversations to go your way you should avoid being open like this.”

Xiu Ying glared at him, “What are you?! My mother?!”

He smiled against himself. Xiong Ning didn’t like being lectured by anyone either. “No, I’m not. But I am a teacher.”

“Not my teacher,” she reminded him. This comment seemed somehow to only underscore the similarities between Xiong Ning and her.

If he could he would have hidden Xiu Ying under the false bottom of his nightstand to stay there forever, unchanging. At the same time he felt some wicked need to save her. But it wasn’t like he could just tell it to her, or promise her freedom. He knew well how these promises tended to end.

“Now’s your turn,” Xiu Ying reminded him.

He sighed. “I like you.”

“No, what’s the real reason,” she insisted and leaned closer to him, as if it could push the truth out.

He closed his fan and put it his lap, but didn’t look at the girl. “Can’t I just be someone who likes you?”

“We both know you have friends here who aren’t me.” Xiu Ying continued to lean closer. “You could be paying them to stay with you, especially Meimei. I have asked her about you, you know?”

He turned to look at her face. Her eyes were very earnest, and big. She seemed to hope for some nice answer, something that would secure her in their relationship. “So, why me?”

“It’s a favor to the brothel keeper.” Shen Qingqiu had to make Xiu Ying know she wasn’t safe with him. He was just a fleeting moment of safety, not to be trusted. And if the moment somehow managed to last longer—it was a lucky accident. “She said you’re scaring away her other clients.”

She physically recoiled from his answer, putting more distance between them. “What?!” Her voice seemed pained “No. You’re lying.”

He stared sadly at her. “The truth is painful sometimes.”

“No!” She leaned towards him in her anger. He opened his fan to put more distance between them, hiding his face. She punched the mattress between them with her hand. It made her broken fan jump on it, before it clattered back into its place. “You’ve promised to tell me the truth!”

He looked into her angry eyes and finally explained, “This one doesn’t think someone this young should be working here.”

“Why not!” She shook her head while speaking. “My body is right here! I can make money with it easily!”

“I know.”

“Hm.” She stared at her hands that now lied limply in her lap. Xiu Ying seemed to consider it, and hesitated before she spoke again, “I didn’t like some of my clients, but a lot of them were nice.” A wall inside of her seemed to slowly break down, as if she was finally admitting to some dirty secret.

Shen Qingqiu considered this. It had always seemed so obvious to him that men who sought out children like this were something dangerous, something rotten. Maybe if he contextualized it somehow for her she would have the same epiphany. “Would you pay a six year old boy to spend the night with you?”

She looked at him as if he had just said something very, very stupid.“Why would a woman pay for sex? Women are the ones getting paid.” She brought her hands up to further show how she couldn’t even begin to comprehend his stupidity.

She was operating inside a different world than him. The case seemed to be truly hopeless. “Ah, well.” He sighed deeply. “Let’s just say I have my reasons to not like all of your past clients.”

She stared at him sadly, then dropped her gaze. Her back slouched, making her seem even smaller than she was. “No one has ever wanted me not to work before.”

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t tell if the silence that followed was because there were too many thoughts inside of her head, or because there really were none.

She swung her legs on the bed, and smoothed the material of her dress on her lap before finally speaking up. “I have a weird request.”

He frowned at her. “What request?”

She bit her lip and seemed to fight against herself for a moment. “Don’t make fun of me,” she looked into his eyes with a newfound vulnerability, seemingly having shed all of her masks. “I know I’m old enough to be self sufficient. Mom had always told me to never depend on a man.” She sniffed quietly. She swallowed loudly and tensed her shoulders. “Can I hug you?” her voice seemed incredibly hopeful and broken.

Shen Qingqiu stared at her for a minute, confused by her demand. He didn’t see himself as someone children would want to touch, much less as someone huggable. He reluctantly opened his arms.

The unexpected rush of Xiu Ying’s body punched a surprised breath out of him. Her small frame trembled as her arms found their way around his neck, and she nuzzled her face against his shoulder. He froze stiffly in her grasp, but she relaxed against him anyway.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, making him grimace as they brushed past his scar. Xiu Ying breathed in deeply against him, and he reluctantly wrapped his arms around her, the fabric of her dress slippery and cold to touch.

She was so small against him, smaller than Ning Yingying had been when she had first entered his peak. Xiu Ying was probably around thirteen at most. He couldn’t imagine how anyone could have looked at her with lust. Her warmth managed to reach him through the fabric of their clothing, which calmed him. The weariness he had kept fighting against for the last twenty days seemed to overtake his body as they slumped together onto the mattress. It made him feel strange, not fully content, not angry. Just strange. Intense.

As they lay on the bed hugging limply Xiu Ying seemed to gather more courage and said in a tiny voice, “You’ll never abandon me again?”

Shen Qingqiu breathed deeply into the crown of her head. “I can’t promise you that.” He wasn’t used to physical comfort. The last time he had held anyone like this was long before he had been accepted into Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.

It made Xiu Ying cling onto him even more, but she didn’t say anything, seemingly savoring the moment while it still lasted.

Chapter Text

Tap
Tap
Tap
says the silence
blindingly bright silence
Do you remember what it was like to see?

Tap Tap Tap
they Tap Tap Tap
into every bone
every tendon
every vein
every thought
every sight

Tap Tap Rap
they open you up
so open up
don’t protest
let the cold air kiss your insides
Do you remember what it was like to be closed?
Do you remember what is was like to be whole?

Rap Tap Tap
the bone marrow drinks the darkness
it has never seen anything as beautiful
the veins feel its wonder
they pulse in awe
they stretch to welcome the darkness
Do you remember what it was like to feel?
It’s the right moment to give up

Tap Tap Tap
it’s the life
dripping out
of you cadaver
as it drowns
in your determination
Do you remember what it was like to never give up?
Why are you still fighting, anyway?
Do you think it’s still worth it?
I don’t.

When he realized what these words meant his whole body jerked in a gasp.

Give up now.

Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
It’s your heart gasping against the darkness.
Give up.

He tried to stand up, but something held his body back. Or rather his body wasn’t capable of moving anymore.

Your body is growing cold.

Rap
Rap

Rasping.

Someone was yelling, their voice hoarse and filled with pain, the sounds it made being completely incoherent.

It’s time.

It was another day struggling inside the Ling Xi caves.

His mind pushed against the coldness, warming the air in small puffs.

I don’t. The silence repeated.

Something wet was sliding across his cheek.

Is it still worth it?

He wrestled the silence. It fought back.

Is it still worth it?

YES! He seemed to scream. YES!

His eyes snapped open, heart pounding in his chest in perfect synchronization with the screams from the dream. Ling Xi caves?

Did Haitang visit Cang Qiong mountain before him?

Someone moved in his arms. He looked down. Xiu Ying murmured something in her sleep.

That chamber in his dream… He knew which chamber it was. Was Haitang the person who had died there?

No. Stop. If she was dead he wouldn’t be seeing her dreams.

She must have been the one who had left these bloodied marks inside that cave. And the sword marks… Was she the one who had left them or was she fighting with someone? Was her spiritual base good enough to leave such marks?

Why was she determined to leave them?

Xiu Ying softly untangled herself from him in the darkness, and he didn’t hold her back, opening his arms to allow her easier departure. She sat upright on the bed and blinked blearily. Shen Qingqiu observed her in silence as she left the room without saying anything, visibly still half asleep.

He ran his hand through his hair and noticed that his guan had partially came off. He quietly sat up and fixed it firmly in place.

He frowned.

All these years he had assumed that Haitang had found some nice man to marry her, or something. Maybe some wealthy family in her city had taken her in. She was supposed to have a nice life, easy one, even though Shen Qingqiu had destroyed everything that was hers.

She couldn’t have understood.

Shen Qingqiu ran his right hand over his face and pushed his fingers deep into his hair. Was his decision to avoid sleep wrong? Did she need help?

The marks inside that cave had already turned black with age. It couldn’t be a pushing matter.

Did she come to Cang Qiong mountain in search for him?

The body inside that dream was profoundly destroyed, almost with a medical thoroughness.

Was she the cause behind Yue Qingyuan's discomfort with Ling Xi caves?

He pushed both his hands into his hair and pulled. Whatever he had uncovered tonight was… important? Confusing? New?

(What if it wasn’t Haitang?)

The door opened again and Xiu Ying slipped inside quietly. He dropped his hands and glared at her. The soft moonlight caught sharply on a bottle she carried.

“Here, A-Jiu,” she whispered and pushed a cup into his hand. “It’s wine.”

Her words echoed in his mind, just like the screams in his dream had echoed through the cave.

When he sat like this, hunched on the bed, Xiu Ying seemed to tower over him. Her face was smiling gently, offering comfort, almost as if she was a figure of a young goddess peasants would pray to.

She wordlessly wrapped his hand around the cup. “Drink up."

When he had been too ill to drink Big Sis would sometimes poured medicinal herbs into him while saying this phrase.

Xiong Ning had always preferred to sing lullabies for comfort.

He reluctantly brought the cup to his lips and hummed when the familiar taste enveloped his tongue. It wouldn’t actually help, mortal wine was too weak to affect him.

Xiu Ying sat next to him on the bed, making the mattress dip with her weight.

“I actually had a nice dream tonight,” she mused while swinging her legs. “I was once more in the field from my previous life. My husband sent me to gather firewood, and by mistake,” she turned to look at him, and her smile widened, “by mistake I stumbled into a wonderful fruit garden!” Her voice was soft and passionate. “There was a whole mountain of plums! They were purple and juicy! And I could eat all of them! And I gathered some of them to bring to my husband, and he loved them!”

Shen Qingqiu stared at her as he took another sip of wine. Her lipstick was smeared over her face, which probably meant his own robes were covered in dark red spots. It wasn’t a problem for now, though. Xiu Ying looked unburdened in the moonlight as she spoke, somehow melancholic, as if she longed for a husband to care for.

“You want to get married in the future?” He didn’t remember a time when he had thought about marriage with anything but defiance and disgust.

“Not in this life, this life is already broken,” she said sadly. “Maybe when I’m reborn I will.”

“Mhm,” he acquiesced quietly.

The cup was cold in his hand, just like the wine. The entire brothel seemed silent, probably pointing to the fact it was just before sunrise.

“I know you don’t have a wife. Why?” Xiu Ying asked him, while staring straight ahead at the wall across from their bed.

Shen Qingqiu frowned. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve already told you. You wouldn’t come here if you had one. Plus, I had asked about you while you were gone,” Xiu Ying seemed pleased with herself about this. As if she had outwitted him somehow.

“Do your clients usually have wives?”

“I don’t know, but they sometimes have daughters they want me to imitate.” She stared at her hands in the darkness, as if trying to judge the cleanliness of her nails. There was a clinging coldness in the air. “Why haven’t you married?”

“Immortal cultivators don’t need wives,” this was the explanation he had always given himself and others, but it was well known that it wasn’t fully true. Some Immortal cultivators did marry. It was just that at first it had never been an option for him, as he was a slave on the streets, and then… well. Who would have married someone like him anyway? And it wasn’t even touching on the issue that he was not, in fact, interested in marriage. He took another slow sip.

Xiu Ying hummed. “I could be your wife.”

Shen Qingqiu chocked on his wine, but remained stoic, holding his body against the cough that threatened to shake him. He winced. “You’re too young for me.”

She stared at him. “We could wait. Some people wait with marriage, don’t they?”

He sighed and cradled his cup with both hands. “They do, but this one wouldn’t be a good husband.”

He could see her frowning. “Why?”

He smiled against his typical scowl. “It’s simply how it is.”

Xiu Ying let herself fall backwards onto the bed. She stretched her arms and stared at them. “I think you’d be good for me.”

He stared at her silently. The bed wasn’t wide, being created only to house two people at a time, not made to be slept in, but Xiu Ying was short enough that even lying crosswise with her legs swung over the edge her head didn’t quite reach the other end of it.

“I had a lot of time to think and learn about you when you were gone,” she explained, still staring at her hands. Suddenly, he realized that she was actually staring past them, at the shadows they created on the ceiling. “You don’t beat us.”

He winced at this. She only trusted him because she didn’t know who he was outside of the world of the red light district.

“I’m starting to think it’s good you’re so weird.” She turned to him, her eyes glistening in the faint light. “I’d never ask you for a hug if you were normal.”

Shen Qingqiu shook his head and sipped at his wine.

“And you aren’t afraid to chase away bad clients.” She smiled and returned to staring at the shadows of her hands. “Meimei hasn’t forgotten what you did for her.” Then, pushed by a new whimsy she swung her legs harder and sat up. “I like you.”

“I’m dangerous,” he reminded her.

She considered him for a moment. “So what? I’ve seen worse, and at least you admit that you are.”

Shen Qingqiu felt himself smirk slightly at her bluntness. “Why are you saying all these things? Xiu Ying has never been so talkative before.”

She seemed truly surprised at his observation. Her eyebrows drew together as she said, “I don’t know.”

He swallowed the rest of his wine and wiped at his mouth as he put the cup on the floor. “I need to go back home.”

She seemed alarmed at his decision. “You don’t like me?”

Shen Qingqiu took his time assessing her. “I do. It’s just that someone needs my help.”

“The man who kept you away from me?”

Shen Qingqiu scowled. “No.”

Xiu Ying put her hands together. “You will come back tomorrow?”

Shen Qingqiu sighed. “This one can’t promise anything. Promises are rarely kept.”

“Bullshit!” She fisted her hands into the bedsheet.

Shen Qingqiu could feel himself growing tired. It was so quiet between them just moments ago. He stood up from the bed and started walking towards the door.

“Explain why you can’t promise me anything!” she said, but didn’t stand up from the bed.

He stilled with his hand on the doorknob. If all these years ago Qi-ge had never promised to free him, their reunion would have been a happy memory, and no bitterness would mark their encounters. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Why not?” she whined in the darkness. The darkness that was getting less and less dark with every moment, the sun slowly rising.

He shrugged without looking at her. “You’re too young.”

“Just tell me that you’ll come back tomorrow!”

His hand tightened on the knob.

There was shifting of fabric, and a sound of her feet hitting the floor. She stood up. “Just say you’ll try!”

Shen Qingqiu shook his head. “It’s better if I don’t.”

“Ugh!” unable to speak through to him with normal words, she stomped.

Shen Qingqiu left the room.

He was frantically combing through Qing Jing Peak’s records from the year of his servitude under Wu Yanzi.

That year had taught him exactly what Shen Jiu was capable of in order to survive.

Wu Yanzi had been a man who had prided himself on how quickly he could bury his conscience beneath the bodies of those he had ‘robbed’. After every job, he dragged Shen Jiu into the vilest brothels, where toothless prostitutes hadn’t minded abuse. Sometimes, when they robbed someone wealthier, Wu Yanzi took them to a better establishment.

That was how Shen Jiu discovered a wonderful fact: his usual insomnia didn’t bother him as much when he was surrounded by women. He could even joke with the prostitutes, who didn’t ask about his past and didn’t expect any explanations. He learned quite a few things about life in brothels.

But Wu Yanzi always found ways to keep him in line.

Shen Qingqiu hoped that wherever his ghost wandered now, it had no women to abuse and only vinegar to drink.

He felt sourness rise in him as he stared at all the disciples that had entered Qing Jing on that year, right before him. All records of Qing Jing Peak were simple, done in the same ritualistic concreteness all things his old Shizun did were. ‘So and so got admitted, so and so claimed this and that sword, so and so chose to leave the mountain.’

Scroll after scroll passed through Shen Qingqiu’s hands, their contents entirely unhelpful.

No mention of women entering on that year, which meant he would have to access other peaks’ records if he wanted to check for Haitang in them. He doubted anyone would let him do that easily, maybe spare for Yue Qingyuan, who might feel guilty enough, or Shang Qinghua, who might feel scared enough to let him.

The records were utterly useless anyway! She could have came to the mountain pretending to be someone—

Someone knocked at his door.

He went to open the door, half-expecting to see Zhangmen-shixiong there, perhaps offering some new apology. Maybe holding a new fan.

Who he didn’t expect was Liu Qingge, standing with his right fist raised and ready to knock again. His hair was gathered in a ponytail, accentuating his high cheekbones and showing off the beauty mark situated next to his left eye. His robes did their best to show off the war god’s muscular arms, maybe as a warning towards all those concerned.

Shen Qingqiu scowled against the other’s beauty. “What does Liu-shidi want?!”

Liu Qingge stared blankly at him and dropped his hand. “Shang-shixiong has told me what Shixiong had done for me.”

Shen Qingqiu scowled harder. “And Liu-shidi has decided to come here to try and finish the job?”

“No. Let’s call a truce,” the war god proposed, in his emotionally-constipated manner, while hiding both his hands behind his back, as if he had just declared his own demise. Maybe declared that he was going to commit honor suicide.

Shen Qingqiu frowned at him. Liu Qingge must have been away from the mountain, and the gossip about who the Qing Jing Peak Lord had been visiting at night must have not reached him yet. It was his only chance, because surely, if this idiot had heard the rumors he wouldn’t be offering a truce, but instead actively attacking Shen Qingqiu.

It was an easy decision, but he couldn’t seem too eager. “Was Shidi threatened into making this offer?”

“Sadly, no.”

“Alright then.” Shen Qingqiu nodded.

Liu Qingge stood awkwardly for a moment, then commanded, “Good.”

“Shidi isn’t the type to listen to rumors, is he?”

“No.” Liu Qingge insisted, then nodded his head, uttered another “Good,” and turned on his heel to walk away.

And that was it? The idiot had just accepted this new situation, without as much as turning his head in anticipation of a sneak attack?! Did he suddenly trust Shen Qingqiu or thought him weakened enough not to be a threat anymore?!

Still, maybe he could bank on this alliance sometime in the future. The Cang Qiong Mountain was becoming more and more dangerous everyday. Whatever he had seen in his dreams only pointed to the fact it had never been a safe space.

Could it be that what he saw was torture?

Were Haitang tortured for something?

Liu Qingge was mounting his sword when Shen Qingqiu called, “Wait.”

The war god turned his head and stilled his movement. He looked as if waiting for orders on a battlefield, or maybe listening to one of his advisors.

“Liu-shidi has been a part of this sect for longer than this Shixiong.”

Liu Qingge looked at him with a blank face, but his eyes seemed to declare him an idiot. “Yes?”

Shen Qingqiu pushed forward, stepping closer. “Liu-shidi surely has seen that one chamber in Ling Xi caves that is full of dark marks on the walls and reminders of old sword glares.”

“No.”

“No? But the chamber where Liu-shidi Qi deviated is right next to it.”

“Then maybe this Liu does know this chamber, but there’s a lot of them there,” as always, Liu-shidi was like a big stone that happened to have a sword embedded in it. Actually scratch that, a stone would be easier to read.

“Were there any rumors circulating about how it had came to be this way?” Shen Qingqiu unfurled his fan, trying to seem uninterested, as if he was simply curious for the sake of curiosity. “When Shidi was still a disciple.”

“Listening to rumors is unhonorable.” Liu Qingge glared at him.

Shen Qingqiu scowled. “Survival depends on more than just swinging a sword.”

They stared into each other eyes, ready to attack, but neither of them willing to fully break their new truce.

“Is that all?” Liu Qingge asked while holding his gaze.

“Yes.”

With that Liu Qingge bowed curtly and flew away on his sword.

Shen Qingqiu walked back inside the Bamboo House and closed the door.

He would have to wait until night, until Haitang was hopefully asleep so that he could sneak a peak into her mind to learn something. Hopefully she wouldn’t be the one getting shown anything.

(Whoever he was connected to wouldn’t be shown anything.)

The door rattled as he banged his closed fist against it.

The whole case was hopeless, but maybe at least he would learn the history behind that gloomy cave. He thought back to how it had all started—with the pleasant dream. And then the sword. Pain. Burned down Qiu Manor. Caves. His own dreams of living at the Qiu Manor.

IT HAD TO BE HAITANG.

The day’s workload was simple, but he couldn’t focus, his brain begging the sun to move faster on the sky. All he needed was the faintest shade, the lightest darkness, just enough to pretend he could leave his peak unnoticed.

Or so he thought, until he opened his door and heard screaming.

As the Peak Lord he had to investigate.

Every step of the way his feet hit the ground strongly and his robes clung to his skin only to swish aggressively in the air. The sounds were coming from one of the courtyards, usually reserved for studying.

A huge group of male disciples of all ages crowded in one place shouting:

“Ming Fan! Ming Fan!” over and over, all the while clapping a rhythm to their cheers.

When a single disciple noticed him it set off a chain reaction: the disciple quickly nudged his friends, who immediately fell silent and started poking everyone around them, signaling this was the time to calm down.

“Shizun!” one overbearing boy shouted and kowtowed before Shen Qingqiu.

The whole courtyard fell silent and the disciples parted to reveal a furious Luo Binghe swinging his arm at Ming Fan— and in the last moment, getting pulled away by Shen Hao, stopping his hand barely in time. Ming Fan almost jumped at them, but in the last moment he noticed Shen Qingqiu and stopped mid-movement.

Every boy gathered in the courtyard froze in their place, then bowed.

Power. This is what life was meant to be: order and control, just enough to satiate the spirit before it had to die. Shen Qingqiu looked around, but couldn’t see Ning Yingying anywhere. Good. Such scenes weren’t right for girls to witness. Still, she could show up at any moment.

“Ming Fan, what happened?” Shen Qingqiu asked.

“We—! We, uh!” Ming Fan struggled getting enough air in his lungs. “This beast tried to sneak into our dormitory, Shizun!”

Shen Qingqiu stepped closer, and the boys parted further, trying to put more and more distance between themselves and their Shizun. Luo Binghe had a bed assigned to him, but Ming Fan always meticulously shut him out of the dormitories at night.

Luo Binghe stared firmly at the ground.

Shen Qingqiu pushed his fan under Luo Binghe’s chin to make the boy look at him. His eyes had something broken inside of them, something of a scared animal. It enraged the fire burning inside of Shen Qingqiu.

His eyes snapped to Shen Hao’s determined face. Shen Qingqiu scowled, and Shen Hao immediately bowed his head and started glaring at the ground.

Shen Qingqiu returned to his assessment of Luo Binghe.

There was something unforgivable in his eyes.

“Qing Jing Peak doesn’t tolerate disobedience or in-fighting.”

“Shizun! It’s this disciple’s fault!” Shen Hao bowed before him.

Shen Qingqiu looked down at the boy. His outward composure was almost pristine. Like that of a future unforgettable cultivator.

A cultivator who had started at the right time.

“Ming Fan, settle your disagreements quietly next time.” The Qing Jing Peak Lord paused, inhaled and exhaled deeply, looking around to try and spot Ning Yingying, were she to appear. “Shen Hao, one more offence and your punishments will stop being light. You are to kneel for a shichens in the main hall before breakfast tomorrow.”

They all stood in silence as Luo Binghe blanched. Stupidly, because Shen Hao got away with nothing more than a slap on his wrist. Ning Yingying could be hidden somewhere in the crowd, the punishment couldn’t be too harsh, especially since Luo Binghe didn't actually hit anyone.

Every boy present stood facing the direction from whence Shen Qingqiu had came, with their heads bowed, not daring to look up at him.

“For me?” Xiu Ying stared at him with glossy eyes.

“Yes.”

“Thank you!” She jumped from the bed and wrapped her thin arms around him.

Shen Qingqiu swayed with the force of her impact, and almost fell down onto the bed they were sitting on. She untangled herself from him and looked into the basket he had brought. It was filled with plums that Yue Qingyuan had sent him. All of them were purple with slight waxy coating, and incredibly sweet.

Xiu Ying picked out a few of them for herself and started eating them greedily, as if they were to be taken away from her.

“Mm!” she let out an appreciative hum, and Shen Qingqiu wasn’t sure if the plums seriously tasted so well or if it was a performance she created just for him. “See! I have told you, you’d make a good husband!”

“Xiu Ying…”

“What?” She stopped stuffing her face for a moment. “I had only told you about a dream I had and A-Jiu has actually fulfilled it!”

Xiu Ying wasn’t aware of one thing: Shen Qingqiu never had any intention of eating these plums. They came uninvited from someone who believed the rumors, and only out of respect for food did he keep them from rotting on his doorstep.

Xiu Ying stared at him. “You’re n’eatin’?” she mumbled over an especially big plum.

He shook his head and lied, “No, I’ve had my fill.”

The girl shrugged and gulped down another mouthful.

He silently observed her as she devoured the plums. It was as if she was kept starving her whole life and was only now allowed to satiate her hunger. Shen Qingqiu knew this hunger. His first meal at the Qiu’s was nothing special, but it was warm. And filling. And then there was the next meal. And another.

He weakly wondered if Qiu Haitang was made to know hunger. If she had to beg due to how her only family had died.

If only Qiu Jianluo hadn’t been rotten from the inside out.

“What’re you thinkin’ bout?” Xiu Ying tried to talk while wiping her face with a handkerchief.

Shen Qingqiu sighed. “That I need to go to sleep soon.”

“Oh.” She gulped. “Right.”

After a moment he noticed her staring at him, with plums clutched in her hands. He gave her a quizzical look before it had dawned on him.

“Oh, not right now, Xiu Ying can continue eating,” he assured her, and she didn’t need much more prompting before she returned to ravishing Yue Qingyuan’s plums.

Xiu Ying was dressed in a simple, pink robe with flowers etched onto it. It was a bit too revealing, too easy to slip off like all clothes one could find in the red light district. Still, it made Xiu Ying appear gentler, despite the rushed and unrestrained way she ate the plums.

Her robes reminded him of one of Haitang’s dresses, even if the girls weren’t alike at all. Every dress Haitang had owned was picked by Qiu Jianluo himself, who had often given her new accessories or bolts of cloth, from which new clothing seemed to appear overnight (at least to Haitang, Shen Jiu had always known the story behind them, the sleepless nights full of terror, as the young master’s rage threatened to ruin everything at the slightest sign of a mistake).

“Hm, Xiao-Jiu? What do you think about this one?” Haitang would ask him, again and again, while twirling around to present the latest gift.

He would shrug, deliberately unimpressed. “Hm… The previous one was better.”

She would gasp, pout, smooth the fabric down her chest. “I think you’re right! A-Luo should have bought me lighter dresses—I look better in them.”

She would disappear behind a screen, where only female servants were allowed as they helped the little miss change her clothing. After a few minutes of silence, she would emerge again, dressed from head to toe in the lightest of pinks. Even her oval fan would be pink, painted with cherry blossoms.

Shen Jiu would smirk. “You know what? I’ve changed my mind. Little miss looked better in the dark green one.”

“You’re supposed to help me, not make fun of my troubles!” she would protest, or wordlessly throw a pillow at him, but there always was a soft smile on her face, so similar to the one Qi-ge often wore.

“A-Jiu?” Xiu Ying called.

Shen Qingqiu turned to her. The basket now lied empty between them. Haitang had a purple dress that had always reminded him of a plum. “It’s nothing.”

Xiu Ying gave him a worried glance, before her expression relaxed, and she started looking immensely pleased with herself. Then, she proceeded to make a show of yawning. “So, now we go to sleep?”

“Yes,” Shen Qingqiu answered.

As weird as it was, they had a routine when it came to readying themselves for sleep. It took them progressively shorter amounts of time to put out the lights and undress, for Shen Qingqiu to braid his hair. Under the covers, Xiu Ying always clung to him in the same manner.

They lay umoving in the darkness and silence—silence broken by vague sounds of thrusting in some room close by.

Shen Qingqiu stared at the ceiling. Why would Haitang even come to Cang Qiong? What if he just got his dreams connected to some random person, as a joke of fate?

Was Haitang already dead?

The thought made his heart beat faster.

It was only natural that she would have died after being left to fend for herself. She had none of his own or Xiong Ning’s determination nor skills. He forced this thought away.

All the reported cases had two living people involved. He had to be seeing the memories of a living person. Of someone who was perhaps still trapped on Cang Qiong Mountain. But then, who would kill themselves after seeing his memories, other than Haitang? The answer was simple: no one. No one cared enough.

(What about Yue Qi?)

((We don’t talk about Yue Qi.))

(Could it be him?)

((NO!))

“I can feel you aren’t sleeping,” a small voice called from where Xiu Ying’s head was laid on his chest.

Shen Qingqiu bit the inside of his cheeks. “Cultivators don’t need sleep.”

She raised her head to look at him. “Do you want wine?”

He shook his head.

“Then… then… I know from other girls you sometimes like us to play with your hair. I can do this.” She was keen to please, and before he could answer she was already seated upright and gesturing at her lap.

Shen Qingqiu stared at her.

“Put your head here,” she said gently.

Xiu Ying had become much gentler over his visits.

Was it her true self or was it simply another one of her masks, one she assumed to please him? It scared him how fast the girl could change faces, but at the same time he saw her potential. If she had reigned her emotions more she could become a good politician, masterfully manipulating her opponents and surviving tight situations without the need of raising her sword.

Too bad she was trapped in a brothel.

He reluctantly raised himself to lie with his head in her lap. She tangled her fingers into his hair, and began massaging his scalp gently, while humming.

Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes, trying to push away the tension of his body.

The air was permeated with the stench of blood.

“Please, let me out, I need to find him.” He couldn’t hear any sounds leaving his throat, and his body seemed immobilized, but he was sure this was what he was saying.

Deft hands worked over him, fixing his Qi.

The deft hands were flaying him.

“Please, I promise to come back!” No sounds were leaving.

His body started shaking.

A warm hand touched his cheek. “Hush, it’s going to be okay. You’ll survive,” said a male voice. Former Qian Cao peak lord. Fatherly.

He didn’t know how he knew what fatherly meant.

“I’m not supposed to let you know how long you’ve been stuck here…” The voice seemed conflicted. Something clanked. Some metals? Glass?

Something popped in his shoulder. Just breathing hurt.

“Just know that it’s been long. You need to focus on stabilizing your Qi to survive.” The voice tried to pour hope into him. He didn’t need hope. He needed to be let out.

Something snagged on the metal cutting through his hand. He felt as if he wasn’t inside of his body anymore.

Did it mean he wouldn’t be able to leave this cave? Was he destined to die there? No.

“Ever since you have came your Shizun has been absolutely impressed by your drive.” The voice said. “Keep fighting, boy. Keep fighting.”

Shen Qingqiu woke up gasping for air. The sheets were smooth and well worn under his hands. An uneasy realization crept into his mind. He had to get out of the brothel.

The walls were pushing against him, trapping him.

Xiu Ying groaned as he pushed himself off the bed. He took his right shoe in his hand. The foot went, hit resistance, he yanked it out, and tried again. The same. And again. He threw the shoe against the wall and snatched the other one.

Oh. This was the right shoe.

He calmly put his shoes on and grabbed Xiu Ya. His body crawled out of the brothel and his spirit observed it go. He knew whose body he had inhabited. It hurt, it hurt so much to know this.

I need to find him, echoed through Shen Qingqiu’s mind. He felt nauseous.

Shen Qingqiu had to support himself against a wall with his hand. He was dizzy with nerves. The world spinned around him as air whizzed in his lungs.

Yue Qi still lived inside of Yue Qingyuan.

Shen Qingqiu wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was panting. He closed his eyes and punched the wall.

No. It could not be Yue Qingyuan. Why? Because it was impossible, he had just put it in his head. Yue Qingyuan was too powerful to be affected by some stupid curse. And there was no way that he had tried to come back for Shen Jiu, Qi-ge had been so determined that he surely would have succeeded if he had tried.

The fact that Shen Jiu had to free himself simply meant that after Qi-ge, Yue Qi, Yue Qingyuan got accepted into Cang Qiong Mountain sect he had found his new life pleasant and sweet, and didn’t want to lower himself to save something as disgusting as Shen Jiu.

That’s why Shen Qingqiu had to claw his way through life.

It was just his brain playing tricks on him. The dream could have easily been just his own mind imagining things, and not something stolen from someone else. The entrapment he felt was just his mind’s way of portraying how he felt powerless to help Haitang.

Shen Qingqiu straightened himself. He had to go back to his peak.

The Qing Jing Peak was beautiful at night and eerily quiet. It was dark, but cultivation heightened the senses of men allowing them to gaze into the darkness. There were bats flying past him as he walked through the bamboo stalks. Moths seemed to search endlessly for open flowers. The world buzzed with anticipation.

There wasn’t much inside of him. He simply felt empty, like a wine bottle that had its contents poured out.

He let his feet guide him, letting them trace circles in the ground, cross the same path three times, or four, stumble on the same piece of ground.

Stumble once.

Twice.

Fucking thrice!

He gripped Xiu Ya too strongly, and his knuckles popped against the hilt. He and threw a sword glare against the bamboo stalks.

Everything seemed unchanged for a moment, but then the bamboos swayed and fell all around him.

He was lucky that no one was seeing him in this state, but the sky was getting lighter, heralding the oncoming sun.

His feet knew the way around the peak, but somehow they led him to the rainbow bridge connecting Qing Jing to Qiong Ding.

He turned on his heel and started walking back to the Bamboo House.

Shen Qingqiu felt himself going insane. Every past interaction with Yue Qingyuan crowded itself in his mind, pushing onto the memories of Yue Qi, of Qi-ge. He sat on his bed with his head inside his hands.

He thought back to the Immortal Alliance Conference, back to how happy Yue Qingyuan had seemed to see his Xiao-Jiu again.

Back to the disciples he had killed.

Back to Wu Yanzi’s body falling onto the grass.

Back to Yue Qingyuan’s hopeful and strong grip as they ran back to the old sect leader. The hope in his face, and the bitterness in Shen Jiu’s heart. How it hurt to see the other man as he was no longer that starved child, that frail teen but someone stronger, powerful.

Then a thought jostled inside of him.

That dream about the Qiu Manor…

The search for a body part…

NO! It had to be Haitang’s dream.

There was one sure way to check if it was Yue Qingyuan whose dreams he saw. He simply had to see him! That’s all!

If Yue Qingyuan had the same dream that night he would have been affected. And Shen Qingqiu knew him! It would be easily inferred what he had dreamed about.

Shen Qingqiu simply had to open a chance for Yue Qingyuan to visit him, and surely he wouldn’t be able to not use it. Then they would drink tea together and Shen Qingqiu would see right through him!

If Yue Qingyuan appeared unaffected—it wasn’t his dreams he was seeing.

Shen Qingqiu had requested to see the records of disciples that had entered Qiong Ding Peak the same year Luo Binghe had entered Qing Jing Peak. It was useless information, something he planned to keep with himself for a few days and then send back, just to pretend that he was doing something with it.

Maybe he could lie that something about Qiu Cheng city reminded him of one of the disciples that had been accepted back then, if Yue Qingyuan asked about it.

Shen Qinqgiu sat on a bench in the garden of the Bamboo House, drinking tea with osmanthus cakes on the ready. It was something familiar, something normal.

His hands shook slightly as he brought the cup to his lips. The burning sensation grounded him in the present.

He glared at the path leading to his bench. Any moment now.

His mind struggled to focus on the singing of birds.

Shen Qingqiu bit into one of the osmanthus cakes with too much force.

Yue Qingyuan was going to show up soon, apologetic, smiling. And when Shen Qingqiu trapped him into talking about dreams he was going to laugh and say something about plums.

Or someone Shen Qingqiu had never heard the name of.

Still, no one was coming.

His leg yearned to tap a nervous rhythm against the bench, but it was one of the habits that his Shizun had managed to beat out of him.

He sat still, waiting.

“Shizun!” Shen Qingqiu turned his head. From the opposite end of the path Ming Fan was running towards him, holding a box. “Shizun!” The boy bowed and placed the box on the bench. “One of Qiong Ding disciples asked this disciple to give this to Shizun! Zhangmen-shibo says there’s no need to return them, as they’re copies of the records Shizun had requested!”

Shen Qingqiu felt his whole body tense. How could Yue Qingyuan pass a wonderful chance like this?! In the past he would invent such situations himself just to catch a glimpse of Shen Qingqiu!

He sent a fucking box instead!

Shen Qingqiu felt as if he was going to explode. Or pierce himself with Xiu Ya. As if blood was about to flow down his face.

“Run twenty lapses around our peak,” he uttered, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Shizun?” Ming Fan’s voice trembled over the word.

“Now.”

The boy scurried away.

Shen Qingqiu gripped the teapot handle, and let the warmth seep into his skin as his knuckles touched the main chamber. The tea inside didn’t even have enough time to properly cool. His heart seemed to sink right through his body and into the ground—

His hand jerked and the teapot shattered on the ground with a loud crack.

Shen Qingqiu hid himself inside the Bamboo House for the rest of the day.

Why didn’t Yue Qingyuan just tell him the reason why he hadn’t come back?

It wasn’t as if it was obvious why, even if Shen Qingqui got this glance into his dreams. How did he even end up like that? Immobile, flayed open, inside a cave for whoever knew how long?

Did he think Shen Qingqiu was unworthy of knowing?

Did Yue Qi walk out of this experience bitter, feeling as if he had sacrificed too much for someone like Shen Qingqiu?

There was no answer waiting for him. No answer, until he was able to fall asleep at night. He could only hope that he would be granted the access to another shard of a memory.

Shen Qingqiu’s hands were a bit jittery, just like his steps as he walked into the brothel. Other patrons kept glancing at him, as if expecting him to explode and kill everyone inside.

The brothel keeper didn’t ask him any questions, she never did.

Xiu Ying waited for him quietly inside one of the rooms. She stood up when she saw him, seemingly happy, but once she noticed his expression her face fell.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Shen Qingqiu closed the door. “Yes.”

“You don’t look okay,” she stepped closer.

“I just need to sleep it off,” he lied, already taking off his shoes.

“Okay.”

Together they performed their nightly routine, but his limbs dragged through the motions, lingering on them, as if his body was trying to keep him awake for longer. He didn’t have enough energy to braid his hair. When Xiu Ying noticed it she tensed slightly.

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” she asked,

Shen Qingqiu stared at her. He was so exhausted and stressed it was difficult to think. “No.”

“Okay.”

When he finally crawled onto the bed the sleep refused to come.

His body lied, tense, in wait for something awful to happen.

Xiu Ying didn’t say anything more, instead deciding to pet his head, stroking his black hair.

The trees swayed in the distance, flocks of birds taking flight as if they were particles of dust blown off a beautiful tapestry. Shizun was by his side, her dark robes flittering, the sheer fabrics lingering in the air like smoke as they walked down the rainbow bridge.

The sword palace stood tall against other buildings on Wan Jian Peak, tall sculptures decorating it, showing off their teeth as the dark red walls called to him. The whole world swayed, or maybe it was him who swayed? This was his last test, the last obstacle before he could return.

They were greeted by the Wan Jian Peak Lord, as Shizun wrapped one hand around his shoulder.

“Shidi must have heard of my beloved disciple. It’s an important day for him,” she said, crowding him closer to her.

He bowed his head. Shizun didn’t like it when he spoke too much. He was to observe and learn. If she was in good humor, maybe she would let him leave the sect and he wouldn’t have to run away against her.

“Of course this one has heard of him.” It was a man speaking. His face seemed to swim, eerily distant.

There was a smell of tar biting into his nostrils, cloying around his throat. Distant sounds of someone arguing.

He couldn’t recall what was being spoken, just that now he was walking through a corridor with painted walls, seeing his distorted face reflected in the polished blades. His feet knew subconsciously where to go, and his Shizun followed behind him quietly.

“Careful, don’t rush as always,” she said in her usual, coldly detached tone.

He nodded, but he felt as if there was a rope attached to his body, pulling him in one direction.

Door creaked open. The sunlight caught on one of the swords, blinding him.

Then, he saw it. A black sheath, a simple, yet commanding blade. This was it. This was Xuan Su.

“Drop it!” someone yelled.

Shen Qingqiu pushed himself off the bed and quickly ran to the window.

He wrestled with the shutters, the wood clattering noisily as he flung them open barely in time. He leaned over the windowsill and retched onto the street.

The bile wouldn’t stop coming. His chest convulsed, trying to draw in air.

“You fucker!” A loud voice came from below. “On my hair!”

Shen Qingqiu quickly closed the shutters.

Something happened to Yue Qingyuan. Something had happened to Yue Qi. Something had happened to Qi-ge. SOMETHING HAPPENED.

He swallowed against the taste of bile. His whole body shivered. He was drenched in cold sweat.

“A-Jiu?”

He looked at the bed. Xiu Ying’s hair was tangled around her head as she stared at him with worry.

“It’s fine,” he said, though it felt like lying to himself more than her.

It didn’t seem to calm her, as she stared at him with slightly open mouth, unsure what to do.

He closed his eyes.

Shen Qingqiu ran one of his hands over his clammy face.

What was this dream even meant to be?! A retelling of how the ever powerful Yue Qingyuan had claimed his sword? What did it even interest him?!

His head swam, his mouth overflowing with saliva that he was barely able to swallow.

The Dream Weaver wanted him to break, but he wouldn’t—not like this. Not now. Not for such a stupid reason.

Shen Qingqiu felt an overwhelming urge to see Yue Qingyuan. To demand an explanation. To ask him to fight for death. To rip his heart out. To rip his own heart out before him. To ask him why.

Shen Qingqiu licked his lips and drew in a shaky breath.

The dream about the Qiu Manor.

He didn’t remember most of his dreams, or rather remembered only what they had made him feel without any lasting impressions or images. But the feeling of broken fingers digging through the rubble was something that refused to leave him.

Nausea threatened to take control over him once more. His hand clenched on edge of the windowsill, shaking. He pushed his fingers deep into the hair growing on the sides of his head. He had to bit his lower lip so he wouldn’t crumble. Why would Yue Qingyuan do this?

All of these were dreams! They could be not true at all! Instead of breaking down, he had to make Yue Qingyuan confess, to say ‘Oh, my sword? It’s just a sword, Shidi. I knew the boy who died in that cave.’

He quickly swallowed, forced himself to calm down and started dressing himself. Xiu Ying only observed in silence as he struggled to put on his shoes.

She didn’t say anything when he left her alone. He didn’t say his good-bye either.

The man he had puked onto was long gone when he stepped outside.

Chapter Text

The hardest thing was waiting. The worst part was planning. He would have to somehow create another trap for Yue Qingyuan, make him come to his peak then…

What then?

Shen Qingqiu’s hands shook as he brought the cup of tea to his lips. Something inside of him yearned for wine. The burning of tea on his tongue meant he was still alive and in control.

Maybe it should be Shen Qingqiu who visited Yue Qingyuan instead, surprised him, made him vulnerable, as he seemed to jump greedily on any chance to see Shen Qingqiu, his Xiao-Jiu and assault him with questions.

‘How’s your cultivation progressing?’

‘Are you comfortable?’

‘How’s Shidi’s guqin playing?’

All the while pretending he didn’t see the burnt down Qiu Manor. All the while pretending he didn’t… do something with his sword. And didn’t this have some consequences? Was it tied to how he refused to unsheathe Xuan Su?

What the fuck was he even doing in that cave for whoever knew how long?!

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

He placed his cup a bit too heavily on the table, spilling liquid over his hand.

(“Contain yourself!” whispered the stern voice of his Shizun.)

He shook the liquid off his hand.

Shen Qingqiu walking openly to Qiong Ding Peak just to see Yue Qingyuan would bring attention, attention which would make everything harder, but it wasn’t exactly as if he could just send a note saying ‘Zhangmen-shixiong needs to come to Qing Jing Peak to discuss his past.’

Shen Qingqiu looked around the room, until his eyes caught on the box of copied records and his calligraphy set.

He had the perfect plan.

First, he made Ming Fan bring Luo Binghe to him. The little beast stared at him with wide eyes, his face dirty and smeared with something that looked like blood.

Good. Yue Qingyuan had always had a soft spot for pathetic things.

“Give this to the Sect Leader,” Shen Qingqiu said while placing the box of the records in the boy’s hands. When he leaned down he made sure to groan. One of his calligraphy brushes rattled against the walls of the box, a carefully placed bait.

The beast never knew how to keep his mouth shut. Surely if Yue Qingyuan asked he would tell him everything about this interaction.

Luo Binghe’s eyes flitted nervously over his Shizun’s figure.

Shen Qingqiu put his hand where the mark of Liu Qingge’s sword was slowly fading on his side, steeling his expression.

“Don’t disappoint your Shizun,” Shen Qingqiu added for good measure. He knew he should feel bad about this, but his heart was too rotten to care. Luo Binghe could be at least useful in things like this, since he refused to die.

“This disciple wishes to thank Shizun for entrusting him with this task.” The beast bowed before scurrying in the direction of the rainbow bridge to Qiong Ding Peak.

Shen Qingqiu smiled tightly.

There was nothing left for him to do now, other than wait and get ready. Yue Qingyuan always fell for his traps when it mattered, it was a careful game they had been playing for years. Their own private dance.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t like osmanthus cakes. Frankly, Qiu Jianluo had loved them, and so did Haitang, which made them taste bitter in Shen Qingqiu’s mouth. What he had always liked about them, though, was the polite way Yue Qingyuan’s face fought disgust while eating them.

Just like he did now.

“I hope Shidi didn’t need his brush for anything important,” the Sect leader said earnestly.

Shen Qingqiu waved his hand. “No, not at all. It’s lucky Zhangmen-shixiong noticed its presence.”

Yue Qingyuan smiled softly at him. “I suppose it is.”

They sat on a bench placed behind the Bamboo House. Birds sang their love songs and the air was filled with the smell of flowers and incense, that wrapped around them like a warm blanket.

“Does it still hurt?” Yue Qingyuan asked, a little bolder than usual, but as always, checking in, checking in and never truly expecting an answer.

Shen Qingqiu grimaced as he put his teacup down. He unfurled his fan. The fan that Yue Qingyuan had gifted him. “Not at all.”

Yue Qingyuan stared at him with wide eyes, then something seemed to shift inside of him and his eyes smiled like they never did.

Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat. “Has Shang-shidi told Zhangmen-shixiong where he had found this Shen? When Liu-shidi had injured me?” his voice stayed unattached, unemotional, uninterested.

Yue Qingyuan blew air onto his tea before taking a sip. His hand tensed. “I don’t believe he had, why?” His voice was getting smaller.

“I was meditating in that terribly marred chamber, Shixiong surely knows which one, we had once cultivated there together,” Shen Qingqiu hid part of his face behind his fan, careful like a viper about to strike.

Yue Qingyuan seemed to fight against himself to remain calm and relaxed. He took his time carefully considering words. “Then it’s lucky Shang-shidi was there.”

Shen Qingqiu leaned closer, as if about to share a secret of his own. “Shixiong had never told me the story behind that cave.”

Yue Qingyuan stared at him with pleading eyes and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Shen Qingqiu smiled. “The person trapped there must have been desperate.”

Yue Qingyuan’s hand shook slightly as he placed his cup down. Shen Qingqiu gave him time to open his mouth, to explain, but no sound came out, no matter how long he waited.

“This Shidi thinks it’s safe to discuss some possibilities.” Shen Qingqiu hid his hands inside his sleeves to obscure the way they shook as he fanned himself. It did nothing to obscure the way the words punched through the air. “Debate what may have happened there.”

Yue Qingyuan moved to stand up. “I’m sorry, Shidi—”

“Stay!” Shen Qingqiu snapped at Yue Qingyuan. “Stay right here or I won’t ever speak to you again.”

Yue Qingyuan immediately sat back down, but remained silent.

Shen Qingqiu closed his fan and placed it on the tray with their tea. “This Peak Lord thinks that the blood inside that cave belongs to only one person. What does Zhangmen-shixiong think?”

Yue Qingyuan’s hands tensed in his lap, slightly bunching the fabric of his robe. He stared intently at the sky, but didn’t speak.

“I wonder, did that person die there?”

“Shidi, I’m—”

“It’s a normal question, Shixiong,” Shen Qingqiu interrupted, voice trembling just like his hands, but he forced himself to stay still. “Why were you in that cave?”

It all happened so fast, too fast. Yue Qingyuan was seated and calm on the bench one moment and the next he was kneeling before Shen Qingqiu tense like a board. “I have failed you.”

Shen Qingqiu stared. He should have been feeling… something. Anything. There was a distant echo of something angry, but it seemed far away as his breathing came in small hitches as if his lungs were trying to climb a steep staircase.

Yue Qingyuan froze and his shoulders shook gently, but then he leaned forward more, until he was almost kowtowing.

“Is that all you have to say? Kowtow and all is good?” his voice rose, becoming higher and more strangled with every word. Yue Qingyuan was breaking down before him and all that mattered to the disgusting Shen Qingqiu was answers.

Yue Qingyuan apologized again. Shen Qingqiu stared at him with wide eyes. His whole body recoiled.

“What did you do, Yue Qi?” his voice wavered.

Yue Qingyuan shook his head. “Not enough.”

“SHUT UP!” Shen Qingqiu stood up. “Why were you in that cave?”

(“Contain yourself!” the voice of his Shizun whispered in his head.)

His neck, his hands, his shoulders, his knees, his stomach, all shook. He tried to clench all his muscles in an attempt to keep his body still, but it wouldn’t work.

Yue Qingyuan was back bowing his head low, curling into a ball against all possible strikes.

Shen Qingqiu’s shaking hand pressed itself against his mouth, and he tore it away forcefully. No matter how quick his breaths came, they couldn’t pack enough air into his lungs.

“You disgust me,” Shen Qingqiu said and stepped over Yue Qingyuan’s head as if it was a slimy rock on his path.

Yue Qingyuan, as always, didn’t respond, even as his shoulders hitched.

Shen Qingqiu bit the inside of his cheek. Why was he so weak even now?!

The door to the Bamboo House creaked slightly as he opened it and walked inside.

He shut the door calmly and carefully, but as soon as he was alone—his body collapsed onto the floor. The floor was hard and unforgiving on his knees, punishing him even through all the layers of his robes. Was he supposed to feel triumphant now? Did he win? His breath hitched. He threw both his fists against the ground.

His hand pressed against his mouth.

The dreams were true.

It rung inside his head, it snagged against him, and he could feel his head shaking, but— That meant— That meant—

“No!” fell from his mouth, as if this simple word could swallow him whole and undo everything.

His mouth opened and he couldn’t force it back shut, even as another ‘No’ wanted to repeat itself, like some sick onomatopoeia for pain. It felt as if a dam punctured inside of him and washed out, destroyed some uncaring statue of Yue Qingyuan that he had created in his mind.

He struck the ground with his fists, and the floor grated against his knuckles, but he didn’t care. He wanted to strangle Yue Qingyuan, to beat him into a pulp, for all these years. His fists fell heavily onto the floor, each impact sending a wave through his body, misaligning his ligaments and joints, hurting his skin and shaking his bones. His wrists crunched as muscles tried to force their way through, to puncture an opening and erupt into the world.

Strike! Strike! Strike! Fist! Fist! Fist! It all didn’t matter even as his movements became desperate. The floor remained unmoving and unaffected, his body contained within itself. Open palms hit the floor.

His mouth repeated the ‘No’s. His ears heard it. His body, his mind, stopped feeling it. He panted, his face twisting in anger, but there was nothing more. As his hands hit the floor one final time, and the last strike of buzzing pain ran up his elbows, he stopped feeling anything.

He was panting, he was unable to control his face, but he didn’t feel it all.

What was even there to feel?

Should he cheer for how Haitang had been protected from his memories? Should he rise triumphant over Yue Qingyuan?

As his hands hit the floor one final time, the strength bled out of him. His breath echoed in his chest, tearing through his throat and his limbs sagged uselessly against the ground. He panted, face contorting against his will.

His head was empty. He was sitting on the floor, his head pounding around silence.

So, Yue Qi had rushed with his sword. Yue Qi had rushed with his cultivation.

Big thing! Disciples rush with things all the fucking time!

And yet, Shen Qingqiu could still feel the way his flesh caught on the knife in one of his dreams. A phantom pain sneaked its way through his arm. He smoothed the material of his sleeve with his other hand, trying to trap it in the imagination.

His body was just so, so tired. He pressed his hand against his mouth and his face seemed to twist for a moment in a crying expression. Still, no tears came. He inhaled deeply and only the tightness in his throat remained.

The sun seemed to mock him as it shone through the window.

It was a beautiful day outside.

Shen Qingqiu glared at the sky.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t think too much about it all. He knew that if he dared to start thinking about it only more questions would pop up, and he wasn’t sure what he would do with them. For the rest of the day he distracted himself with completing documents, with reading bestiaries he had accumulated over the years. No, he didn’t read anything about cultivation.

Why would he?

He did everything that could be done without leaving the house. He did everything, unable to truly focus, rereading the same pages over and over again, failing to remember what was written on them. He did everything without thinking about Yue Qingyuan, about Zhangmen-shixiong.

In the evening he busied himself with dressing into his best robes to visit Xiu Ying. He didn’t need to think in a brothel, no one needed to think there. It was the place of oblivion and deception—perfect for someone like him. Xiu Ying was volatile enough to distract anyone.

He frowned while putting his hair into his guan. It was a flashy piece really, but something inside of him wanted to mock Yue Qingyuan by wearing it. Show him that he didn’t care about being seen.

Show him that Shen Qingqiu was a wretched creature unworthy of saving, just like Yue Qingyuan probably believed deep down. Plus, it wasn’t exactly a secret he visited places like this, so what was the point in hiding?

He had to realign and realign the needle of his guan because his hands simply refused to stop shaking. His whole being just refused to stop shaking. He couldn’t put it in the hole.

He gritted his teeth and finally managed to secure the guan in place.

It was difficult to walk out of the Bamboo House at night. He half expected to see Yue Qingyuan still kowtowing, but the bench stood there, empty, as if nothing had happened.

The whole world seemed as if nothing had happened.

The stars still shone, the moon was there too, just like the moths and bats. Just like when he was owned by Qiu Jianluo. Nothing ever seemed to know. The warm air greeted him, just like Haitang always had when he crawled into her room.

That’s why it was important to stay composed.

The world didn’t have to know.

Shen Qingqiu forcefully relaxed his shoulders and breathed in deeply.

His sword seemed to shake under him when he flew, a little uncertain about its movements the entire way. He wrestled with it for control, and managed to land without much trouble.

The air inside of brothels always had a musky quality to it, a little burnt, a little stuffy, slightly sticky. It wasn’t a bad smell—no clients would visit a foul-smelling establishment. It drew him into the present for a moment, but his mind tuned it out almost immediately, slipping back into the daze.

Xiu Ying was waiting for him downstairs, and quickly came closer, excitedly catching his hand. She looked at him with a smile, but then she noticed the way he walked and held himself. Her face fell. Her tiny hand smoothed itself over his skin, and her gaze quickly dropped.

She frowned at his bloodied knuckles, bringing his hand closer to her face to see it better.

Oh, right. He should have healed them or at least washed his hands.

Xiu Ying pressed her lips together, before looking at him with playful hope. “The other one came out looking worse?”

He stared at her dazedly. The image of Yue Qingyuan kowtowing flashed before his eyes.

“He did,” he said flatly.

The answer didn’t seem to satisfy her, and she scowled for a moment before pulling him towards the brothel keeper. They hadn’t gone far before another hand caught his sleeve, halting him mid-step.

Meimei looked at him with a smirk. “Forgotten about me already?” she teased, her voice smooth and warm.

For a moment, he stared at her painted face with its dark red lips, that were painted in a way to make them appear smaller, almost as if they were permanently fixed in a pout.

“We haven’t spent a night together in a long time, have we?” she knew not to probe, to keep her distance from him. That’s why he liked her.

“I suppose we haven’t,” he said trying to summon a nonchalant, unbothered air.

Xiu Ying tugged on his hand, hard, humphing in annoyance.

He swatted her away. “I can pay for two girls tonight. Some wine.”

Meimei smiled, ready to answer, but she was cut off by a loud whine.“You can’t!”

Shen Qingqiu and Meimei both turned to look at Xiu Ying. Shen Qingqiu frowned at her.

Xiu Ying stood fuming as she stared at Meimei.

“Xiu Ying,” Shen Qingqiu said sternly, hoping it was enough of a warning. He was too exhausted to deal with a moody child.

Xiu Ying stared at him desperately. “But it’s our night!”

“It’s my night.”

Her lips fell open with a hurt gasp.

Meimei chuckled and touched Shen Qingqiu’s arm gently. “Go with her, she’s impatient.”

Xiu Ying tugged on his hand once more, wrapping her warm fingers around his wrist, incredibly smug and triumphant.

Normally Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t have tolerated such behavior. What he needed was perhaps a night with no sleep, some drunken stories about odd clients. Maybe he could pay one of the women to kiss him, to muss his hair, just so that if someone entered—Yue Qingyuan would get the right message.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t have the energy to push Xiu Ying away, and he said, “Goodnight, Meimei.”

Meimei chuckled again, and said in her smooth voice, “Goodnight.”

His fingers fumbled weirdly with the pouch of money at the desk, to the annoyance of the brothel keeper. Eventually, in frustration he pushed it into Xiu Ying’s hands, letting her fish out the coins.

She happily counted out the sum and left it on the brothel keepers desk, then wrapped her warm hand around his wrist, tugging him up the stairs. She found an empty room and pushed Shen Qingqiu inside before closing the door.

He barely managed to drag himself to the bed before sitting heavily on it. His eyes stared at the wall before him. It was a little dirty, a little splattered with something. There were handprints in one corner, barely visible in the candlelight. Before him there was a stain on the wall. A small dot.

His mind remained unfocused as he stared at it.

Yue Qingyuan couldn’t even tell him the truth.

“A-Jiu?” Xiu Ying called, uncertain.

He didn’t even look at her. “Do what you want, but keep quiet,” he said coldly as he scowled at the wall, trying to seem like he was solving some complicated logical puzzle. Like the state of his body and mind were some distant reality.

His head was empty. His eyelids felt heavy and puffy as he blinked. Yue Qingyuan…

Xiu Ying stood in place, silently observing him, before she slipped out of the room.

Shen Qingqiu continued staring at the wall, pretending that he didn’t exist at all. His hands twisted into the cold sheets. There was a distant echo of anger, coming into his skull like the sound of a horse galloping, drawing unmistakably nearer.

It felt like a dream.

As if he was about to wake up, alone, naked and cold in some stuffy room in the Qiu Manor

Or half-dead, by the side of the road with Wu Yanzi.

Qi deviating, in his bed.

Yue Qingyuan wouldn’t even tell him the truth.

“Drink this,” someone pushed a cup into his hand. He didn’t even notice when Xiu Ying had returned.

He downed the wine in one big gulp.

Xiu Ying tried to force more cups into his hand, but he just shook his head, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall. The taste of wine calmed him, usually, but now there wasn’t anything inside of him in need of calming. If anything he was too calm.

Xiu Yingresignedly sat down on the floor next to his right leg, and softly leaned her head against it. She swayed lightly as if in rhythm to some silent song.

“Could you sing something to me?” he called into the room. His voice was barely a whisper, yet it seemed too loud in his ears, it had the practiced harshness of a client demanding a service.

Xiu Ying yawned. “Sing?”

“Yes.”

Xiu Ying inhaled deeply, rubbing a hand against her eyes. Her voice was a bit uncertain, yet soothing, as she began, “The moon is bright, the wind is quiet.”

Shen Qingqiu’s hands fisted into the fabric of the bedsheets.

“The tree leaves hang over the window.”

Not this song. Not Xiong Ning’s lullaby. Sung wrongly, too, to a slightly different melody—

“My little baby, go to sleep quickly.”

“Stop!” Shen Qingqiu called, his face turning in a grimace. It was just like that night, and Qi-ge wasn’t there. He wasn’t there. He wouldn’t come. He was in a cave. He wouldn’t come. “STOP!”

Xiu Ying turned to him with wide eyes.

It sounded hollow. He had to clench his jaw and hands to stop himself from shaking. It didn’t work.

“A-Jiu?” Xiu Ying asked softly.

“SHUT UP!” Shen Qingqiu stood up from the bed. His chest was heaving.

Xiu Ying stared at him and leaned back on her hands, slowly edging away, scared he would hit her. And he would! Because that’s who Shen Qingqiu was, and Yue Qingyuan surely knew it! He had to know who Shen Qingqiu was, and kept quiet because of this.

Shen Qingqiu’s hands tensed into tight fists by his sides, and Xiu Ying’s eyes wouldn’t leave him as she crawled backwards behind the corner of the bed, putting more space between them.

He couldn’t stay there.

As he was about to open the door he stopped himself and took out his pouch of money.He pulled it open, pouring its contents onto the small table meant for wine.“In case I don’t return tomorrow give these to the brothel keeper.”

Shen Qingqiu quickly ran out of the room, slamming the door behind himself.

Every laugh he heard downstairs seemed to mock him, point at him, say how he had failed to pull the full truth from Yue Qingyuan and let his emotions rule him.

He needed to get damned openly by Yue Qingyuan. To be discarded loudly and proudly, not shamelessly by implications and half-truths. He needed to be told ‘I didn’t think you worthy enough to save’ openly.

It was night, and the moon shone brightly, and so did the stars. There weren’t any clouds behind which the sky could hide.

It was easy to find the Pine House on Qiong Ding. Surprisingly, there was light inside, spilling out of the building. As he descended his sword the air was damp and cool.

Shen Qingqiu had to collect himself. Or he could just decide to run away after hearing the words. It wasn’t like he couldn’t do the same thing Liu Qingge always did. He could visit every few months, maybe once a year. Never have to see Yue Qingyuan again.

Shen Qingqiu gripped Xiu Ya tightly. It felt right to use it like a normal sword instead of a spiritual weapon. It was like paying a homage to their past.

He knocked on the door and waited.

No one came.

He knocked again, with more urgency.

Silence. His heart thumped in his ears. He banged his fist over the door, but it remained shut.

In frustration he kicked at the door, and immediately regretted it as pain spread through his toes, and he stumbled away from it.

“Sect Leader Yue!” he yelled and pointed Xiu Ya’s blade at the door.

The door finally opened and showed a painfully tired Yue Qingyuan, dressed fully. As always, Xuan Su was at his hip. His eyebrows rose when he first noticed the sword pointed at him, then followed its length right to Shen Qingqiu’s face. He smiled, almost as if trying to hide pain.

“Fight me,” Shen Qingqiu commanded.

Yue Qingyuan froze, and exhaled sharply. “Qingqiu—”

“Unsheathe Xuan Su or I’m going to hurt you.” His hand shook slightly, but he quickly grabbed the hilt with his other hand, holding it firmly.

Yue Qingyuan stared at him with the saddest eyes Shen Qingqiu had ever seen. “Then hurt me.”

“Unsheathe it or I will kill you!”

Yue Qingyuan kept his gentle smile as he shook his head. “I’m not going to.”

Shen Qingqiu’s hands trembled on the hilt of his sword. The blade hummed faintly as he directed it at his own throat. “Unsheathe it or I will kill myself.”

Yue Qingyuan’s expression broke. His eyebrows shook as they drew together and his hand slowly reached for his sword, and without drawing it, begged, “Please.”

“What is wrong with Xuan Su?” Shen Qingqiu’s cold voice pressed into Yue Qingyuan. He ignored the way Xiu Ya was dangerously close to his throat.

Yue Qingyuan stared at him. “Please, get it away from your neck, Qingqiu.”

“Answer me.”

“Will you promise not to hurt yourself if I do?” Yue Qingyuan’s voice was small, as if it was trying to squeeze itself against something wet in his throat.

Shen Qingqiu’s hands shook, and the blade scraped dangerously close to his skin. “I can promise you what I’m going to do if you don’t answer.”

Yue Qingyuan stared at him. He bit his shaking lip, before he said quietly, “It’s tied to my life force.”

Shen Qingqiu automatically pointed Xiu Ya at Yue Qingyuan, while shaking his head. “It can’t be!”

The tall and muscular man looked like a broken child. “I’m sorry.”

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Shen Qingqiu sheathed Xiu Ya before he could hurt either of them. He hid both his hands in his sleeves. He tried to be calm, he really, really tried, but his voice didn’t listen. He couldn’t help the slight wavering of it. “Why is it tied to your life force?”

Yue Qingyuan stepped closer while staring into his eyes. “I have failed you.”

“You—” Shen Qingqiu took a deep breath and grit his teeth against how his body seemed to shake. “Answer me.”

Yue Qingyuan dropped his gaze. “I— I—” he had to stop himself and swallow, his breathing frantic. “I had… pursued the Way of Unity of Man and Sword.”

Shen Qingqiu ran one of his hands over his face and held his forehead. His own breathing seemed shaky and unstable. “Yeah? And why is that?”

“I’m sorry.” Yue Qingyuan’s shoulders tensed.

Shen Qingqiu laughed. Was he truly laughing? He rubbed his hands together to calm himself down. “Why?”

Yue Qingyuan’s shoulders shook. He shook his head. “It seemed like the fastest path.”

Shen Qingqiu glared at the side of Yue Qingyuan’s face as he continued staring away from him. “And why would someone like Shixiong pursue the fastest path?”

Yue Qingyuan’s hands turned into fists. “I wanted to come back for Shidi.”

A nervous, mocking laugh left Shen Qingqiu. “Me? Why would someone like you come back for someone like me?”

Yue Qingyuan didn’t answer.

“And what? You had rushed with cultivation, what happened?” Shen Qingqiu crossed his arms across his chest, but the way they shook made this simple gesture hard to achieve, as they seemed to lie wrongly against his chest.

“Qingqiu?”

“Is that a question?” Shen Qingqiu couldn’t stop himself from sneering.

Yue Qingyuan’s shoulders shook as he bit his lip.

Shen Qingqiu clenched his hands into fists. “What did you do in that cave?”

Yue Qingyuan looked into his eyes and made another step forward. “I don’t know, I don’t remember! I know I wanted to get out for Shidi and they wouldn’t let me out!”

“What do you mean?!” Shen Qingqiu’s hands dropped to his sides. “How long have you been there?”

Silence.

“Answer me!”

Yue Qingyuan looked away again. Looked at Xiu Ya in its sheath. “A year.”

“Oh?” Shen Qingqiu could feel the mocking tone of his voice. “And then what? You had stayed there, trying to get out, and when they let you out and you decided I wasn’t worth your time?!”

“No.”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyebrows shot into his hairline and he smiled in disbelief. “Then what did you do when you had left that cave?”

“I failed.”

“At what?!”

Yue Qingyuan swallowed, his eyebrows scrunching together. “The Qiu manor was already burned down when I got there.”

“You idiot!” Shen Qingqiu stomped.

Yue Qingyuan was really close, close enough that he probably could feel how Shen Qingqiu‘s spiritual energy surged off him. Shen Qingqiu’s heart twisted.

“You’re right to be angry,” Yue Qingyuan said.

“Shut up!” Shen Qingqiu screamed. He couldn’t bear looking at Yue Qingyuan in this broken state, it made him feel nauseous. He turned around, and when Yue Qingyuan reached for him he swatted his hands away. “LEAVE ME ALONE!” He yelled and walked away. His whole body seemed plagued by strange tremors that he just couldn’t fight. It probably wouldn’t be wise to fly now, so he walked.

The path to the Qing Jing Peak was long and lonely.

The damp air seemed to bite into his nostrils, trying to wake him up, and failing. He made a small detour to get himself a bottle of Zui Xian wine, avoiding his own mind by mindlessly staring at his feet as they carried his body back home.

There weren’t any disciples around, all of them asleep. Shen Qingqiu rubbed at his face, wincing. He couldn’t deal with his normal life right now, and he walked into the disciple dormitories, quickly finding Ming Fan’s room, knocking sharply at the door.

It drew attention to him, to his state, but he had to do this first. Just a moment before he could disappear.

Ming Fan opened them, squinting at him in the darkness, half asleep. It took him a moment before he realized who he was looking at and jumped in place, quickly bowing. “Shizun! This disciple didn’t realize it was you!”

Shen Qingqiu scowled, hiding the bottle of wine behind himself. “This master has been given a very important task, to decipher a document. If any disciple will intrude in on him tomorrow there will be punishment for the whole Peak.”

Ming Fan bowed to him, muttering “Yes, Shizun! Of course, Shizun!”

Shen Qingqiu threw a glare into his room, at the other boys lying on their beds and groaning at being disturbed. He quickly closed the door to the room, not waiting for Ming Fan to do so.

Crickets cheered loudly as he stepped outside, observing his steps.

His bamboo house invited him with forgiving silence.

Once his door was safely closed and locked he wasted no time before rushing to the cupboard where he kept various cups. They rattled against each other, as his hands uncertainly shook and knocked them over. He managed to grab one without smashing everything else.

The trickling sound of pouring wine seemed oddly discordant in the silence. Its taste barely registered on Shen Qingqiu’s tongue before he was pouring a second cup, pushing into his bedroom.

Yue Qi had rushed with cultivation, had almost died because of it, was permanently crippled because of it.

Shen Qingqiu downed his whole cup and sat on the floor by his bed.

Yue Qi had been shut inside a cave for a year. Shen Jiu had once been shut inside a cupboard for a day.

He couldn’t imagine living there for a year.

In a beautiful, unmarred cave that slowly changed with the desperation of its guest.

Shen Qingqiu’s hand found its way to the nightstand, placing the cup on it with a thud. He took a swing directly from the bottle.

Once Yue Qi had left the cave he had sprinted to that cursed city. Looked for Shen Jiu’s, for his corpse in the Qiu Manor’s ruins. They had just missed each other by a… day? Days? Week? Months?

They had just passed each other by. Wu Yanzi could have been avoided.

He swallowed another mouthful of wine.

And then Yue Qi decided not to tell Shen Jiu about all of this. To quietly suffer his abuse.

How could he just keep silent?! How could he just so, so idiotically endure him? It seemed even more cruel than just never coming, than forgetting about him. Almost as if Yue Qi saw what Shen Jiu had become and decided that, nevermind, it wasn’t worth it.

Was it truly not worth it?

Shen Qingqiu tried to stand up, but it made him dizzy, the room swimming before his eyes, and he sat back down on the floor and pressed his woozy back against the bedframe. He closed his eyes against the pounding of his heart.

He needed to stop existing for a moment. Make some bad decisions. Cripple himself. Destroy something. His hand slammed on the handle of his nightstand’s drawer and pulled it open. He grabbed a few of the sleeping tablets and popped them into his mouth before putting the neck of the wine bottle to his mouth and drinking until there was nothing left. His lips got sucked into the bottle and he pulled away with a pop. The bottle clattered from his hand onto the floor, falling on its side and shattering into three pieces.

This sight amused something inside of him, almost as if the bottle was the representation of his life. He laid himself down on the floor and looked at the bottle next to his face.

Yue Qingyuan probably thought him a monster. What was Shen Qingqiu if not some broken wine bottle? Too many people were cut by his rough edges.

(They deserved it. Any sane person knew not to touch broken glass, and if they did—it was on them. They were stupid.)

Yue Qingyuan had probably decided that this mess couldn’t be helped.

His legs and arms felt too heavy to lift, and it got difficult to form actual thoughts as something throbbed in his chest. His eyes slowly closed themselves against how the room spinned around him.

.

.

.

.

.

He opened his eyes. His head was pounding with a headache. He tried to remember whatever he had dreamed about but drew up blank.

Hopefully it meant the connection was severed.

He rubbed at his eyes and face as he slowly sat up from the floor. A very familiar pain in his upper abdomen told him that he had pushed himself to his limits. He had suffered a small Qi deviation at night. Thankfully, he wasn’t awake to experience it in all its glory.

Whatever he could see of the sky through his window looked like sundown. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and groaned.

The way he acted was not befitting an Immortal Master. At his level he shouldn’t have problems controlling his Qi. He should have been much more composed and unaffected by earthly matters.

And not succumbing to old habits like that. His Shizun would have been disgusted.

His hands dropped into his lap and he licked his lips.

Maybe the lack of dreams meant Yue Qingyuan didn’t fall asleep. After all, it wasn’t normal to sleep during the day.

He got up and cleaned the glass himself, wincing from pain every time he had to bend down. He had to do it himself—it wouldn’t do for his disciples to learn just what their Shizun was busy doing. The whole mountain would probably gossip about how the evil Peak Lord Shen not only abused children and women, but now wine as well!

He sighed.

Surely, the mystery of how someone as vile as Peak Lord Shen maintained such a high level of cultivation kept many people awake at night, endlessly speculating. The thought of Qi Qingqi tearing out her hair put a small smile on his lips, and the idea of Liu Qingge brooding with his sword, trying to solve the puzzle made the smile widen.

Maybe that’s why Yue Qingyuan had never told him the truth—he knew Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t graciously accept it, instead destroying everything.

He looked around the room. Everything seemed normal, but him. What was Yue Qingyuan doing? He couldn’t exactly shut himself just like Shen Qingqiu did, not as the Sect Leader. Not if he wanted to keep the facade of normalcy.

Shen Qingqiu stretched and felt many of his bones pop into place, despite the dull pain. He turned to the mirror in his bedroom, giving himself a quick glance. His face was a bit puffy and his hair was… it was actually strangely in place with the guan only slightly loosened.

He had to get himself together before anyone could see him like this.

He took his comb out of his nightstand, which made him remember the fan gifted to him by Yue Qingyuan. His disciples had to have cleaned it up by now and probably put it away with his other fans.

That fan wasn’t anything special, really. In Shen Qingqiu’s collection there were many beautiful works, some more simplistic, some with beautiful scenes. There also were fans with poetry written on them, so the fact that Yue Qingyuan’s fan was beautiful and had hidden poetry meant nothing.

His disciples probably saw it lying on the bench and put it away with his other fans.

That’s why he slowly, unhurriedly made his way to that cabinet and pulled the drawer out.

It wasn’t there.

His hand hovered over the neatly arranged fans. If they didn’t put it in here, where could it be?

He opened every other drawer and searched them, but there was no sign of the fan ever existing. As if he had never been gifted it.

He rushed out of the Bamboo House, scanned the cursed bench and its surrounding area, but the fan was nowhere to be found.

Was it… Was it stolen?

He slowly made his way back inside.

His students didn’t care for things like that, it was just another fan, and they knew better than to steal from their Shizun. Most of his disciples were boys from wealthy families, there was no reason for them to steal like that.

Did Luo Binghe steal it? There had always been something wrong with that boy! Thief surely wasn’t above him.

His heart seemed to be pained, as if someone tried to rip it away from him.

Why did he feel so intense about a stupid fan?! It was just a fan, and Luo Binghe didn’t deserve to as much as look at it, but then, why would he stealit? Did he do so to poke fun at his Shizun’s lack of thought? Carelessness?

Did he think Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t notice? Did he just throw this beautiful fan along with that poetry book between some dirty logs of wood?

The thought made something boil inside of Shen Qingqiu. Some possessive animal wanted to beat that boy until he gave his fan back, but such rush would only make Shen Qingqiu appear weak and, perhaps, hurt by the fan’s disappearance.

He could not act rashly, but instead trap that boy into giving him his property back, make him trip and fall until he came to him begging for forgiveness.

If it even was him who took it.

It was probably hopeless.

Shen Qingqiu sighed as he closed his door behind himself. Or maybe Yue Qingyuan took it.

His heart seemed a bit more alive, a bit warmer when he realized that. Like an old, unused hearth that just had the first spark of a fire enter it.

He quickly put it out.

The fan could have been simply misplaced by some disciple, so he continued searching through every cupboard and closet present in the Bamboo House. It wasn’t even that he liked the fan, it just was something his, and if he couldn’t control where his things went, what control did he have over his life?

Everything was getting progressively darker and colder as he searched, the night setting in and silencing any unruly disciples outside.

Shen Qingqiu lit one candle. He stared in silence at the shadows it cast over his bedroom as he opened the drawer of his nightstand and took everything out of it. It was hopeless, but maybe he took the fan back himself, and didn’t remember putting it away. There was a faint flicker of hope as he lifted the fake bottom, but it disappeared once he saw that the fan wasn’t there.

Quietly, he put everything back and started combing his hair. In the dim light of his candle he noticed that his reflection had a red mark on its throat, as if someone had slit it.

Xiu Ya was a sharp sword, it only made sense it would leave a mark. The collar of his best robes was stained, and even though the dark green collar hid the blood well between its threads, anyone paying attention would notice it. It all was because he couldn’t control himself.

He undressed and quickly changed his robes to something more subdued, usual for him.

There was a stack of paperwork on his desk, something that had accumulated over the last few days.

As a good and proper Peak Lord he should have looked through them, completed all the work on time, but something pulled him in the direction of Qiong Ding. In the direction of answers. Maybe it was also the direction of his fan.

He was ready to leave, but his hand lingered on the doorknob, as if the paperwork was holding him hostage. Duty above personal matters.

Zhangmen-shixiong had given him all the answers about that period of their lives. Shen Qingqiu had a timeline now, but it seemed somehow incomplete, lacking something, maybe the most important part. The reason why he wasn’t just told the truth.

The reason why Shen Qingqiu had only now learned the story of that cave.

He put out the candle, quickly opened the door and walked outside. It was about Yue Qingyuan, he was above normal rules, it was just how life was. The Sect Leader always should be more important, just something that came with being in a sect.

It was a beautiful night, calm and warm. The birds were telling each other their good byes and good nights with bats only just waking up. Many moths and other insects swarmed in the air. Shen Qingqiu chose to savor the views in the not yet fully gone brightness of the sun.

The air felt heavier inside of his lungs the closer he got to the rainbow bridge, and made his feet drag. A small and scared part of his mind wanted to stay hidden in the Bamboo House or to run away, pretend he didn’t know that Yue Qi had returned for him, simply passed him by.

He had to push forward.

The rainbow bridge swayed more than usual, but it could have been caused by how heavy his every step was, and how more and more chaotic his movements became as he got closer.

Qiong Ding Peak greeted him with silence and darkness.

Some nameless disciples watched him as he made his way, respectfully keeping their distance. He ignored them.

The Pine House looked intimidating.

Still, he knocked on the wood of its door.

No reply came.

He knocked once more.

He was about to bang the door with his fist when the door opened and a very tired Yue Qingyuan looked at him.

Zhangmen-shixiong looked as if someone had just dug him from his grave after letting his corpse fester in dirt for a few days.

Shen Qingqiu stared at him, and could feel his rib cage rising and falling quickly as he struggled to formulate a coherent thought. He reached for his fan and realized that in his haste he had forgotten to take one with him. There was no physical barrier he could put between them or hide behind.

Shen Qingqiu pushed out, “It’s late,” and closed his mouth.

Yue Qingyuan smiled slightly, but it did nothing to make him appear less broken as he looked at him with the saddest eyes possible. “It is.”

Shen Qingqiu furrowed his eyebrows and clenched his hands. He knew what he wanted to ask. What he needed to ask. How to make sure. “What did the Qiu manor look like?”

The world seemed to waver, and yet remained the same, as if the words weren’t an earthquake, but just a butterfly passing by. As if everything was normal.

Yue Qingyuan lowered his gaze. “It was burned down.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “Everything looked just like black ruins.”

A question tore its way out of Shen Qingqiu’s throat. “Why didn’t you look for me?”

“I had assumed—” Yue Qingyuan shook his head. “People said every man living in that house had died.”

Shen Qingqiu stared in disbelief as Yue Qingyuan’s lips curled gently. “I had looked for your body in the ruins, but then this girl, she— she sat on a rock when I came and we stared blankly at the… what was left of the Manor.”

Shen Qingqiu’s palms sweated, his guts twisting and unfurling like an army of rats.

“I looked through the ruins…” Yue Qingyuan sighed. “After a while the girl came to me, I think, and said that everything valuable was already taken away, along with the bodies.”

The air was unnaturally cold and thick.

Shen Qingqiu could feel his hands shaking. “A girl?”

Yue Qingyuan stepped closer, as if it was an impulse he couldn’t fight. “Yes. She— she was around Shidi’s age?”

Haitang. Haitang stayed there. Haitang had met Yue Qi. Yue Qingyuan. Haitang had—

Shen Qingqiu forced himself to swallow, and his hands curled into the fabric of his sleeves to contain their shaking. “And then Shixiong just went back to his sect?”

“No. I—I was a ghost, I think?” Yue Qingyuan’s eyes returned to him. “I don’t remember… When I had left it was spring? And when I came back here it was already autumn.”

Shen Qingqiu staggered back, as if the words had just tried to curl around his neck. Yue Qi had cared.

“I know I should have looked for you better, I always knew you wouldn’t have given up…” Yue Qingyuan reached towards him, and his hand hovered in the air for a long while, almost as if he was trying to reach for some string of fate and pull Shen Qingqiu closer, but he didn’t dare.

And wasn’t this the most Yue Qingyuan thing to do? To yearn, to try but to never dare.

Yue Qingyuan’s voice was low and strained. “You had always fought. I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“And you didn’t tell me?!” The cold, damp air seemed to put a wall between them.

Yue Qingyuan’s lips twisted around some unsaid words as a gasp escaped him.

Shen Qingqiu’s face grimaced in pain. “How could you have let me be like this? How could you have let me treat you like this? How could you lie all these years?”

Yue Qingyuan’s eyes widened, his eyebrows rising into his hairline as he shook his head. “There was no lie.”

“No lie?!” Shen Qingqiu stepped closer to him and his hand curled over the phantom idea of a fan, pointing a finger at Yue Qingyuan’s chest. “You didn’t even think to tell the truth! It’s even worse!”

Yue Qingyuan stepped back as his voice raised on its own, his body shrinking into itself, his eyes becoming those of a scared child. A child that didn’t even know it had broken some arbitrary rules. “I’m sorry!”

“How could you have let me be like this?!” Shen Qingqiu continued pushing forward, pushing Yue Qingyuan deeper into the Pine House, into the darkness. A weak light was coming from behind one of the door, but it wasn’t enough for him to properly see Yue Qingyuan’s reactions. “I hate you so much it hurts!” He jabbed his finger in the air. Yue Qingyuan’s passiveness felt like salt in his wounds. “I fucking hate you! You were supposed to come back in time!”

Yue Qingyuan raised his arms as a gesture for surrender, absorbing the words with endless patience. “I know!”

“You just kept silent!” Shen Qingqiu’s hands fell heavily onto the front of Yue Qingyuan’s robe. The silk was slick under his palms as he shoved, slapping at him and crowding him, backwards, backwards. Against him, with him, for him, to him. His hands grabbed and pushed, his feet stomping.

Yue Qingyuan’s back hit the wall and he cried out, “I’ve failed anyway!”

“You’ve failed me!” Shen Qingqiu pointed his finger at Yue Qingyuan’s face.

“I deserve your hate!” Yue Qingyuan placed his right hand over his heart, as if trying to stop it from jumping out. “I shouldn’t be allowed to be happy! I’ve made you go with me to save Shiwu! It’s my fault you’re like this!”

The words rang in his ears, piercing through the eardrums and reverberating, mixing until they became gibberish. It was empty words, as always!

“You’re right! You don’t deserve to be happy! Not for what you’ve done to me!” Shen Qingqiu yelled as he gave Yue Qingyuan’s body one final push, grasping and pulling Yue Qingyuan’s robe out of the sash.

The worst part about saying this was how Yue Qingyuan didn’t even flinch, as if these words were only a retelling of an old tale he had already heard, tightening of old shackles. He didn’t flinch at his hands either, as if he knew that this was what Shen Qingqiu had always been.

Shen Qingqiu panted, and continued in a low voice, “But why didn’t you say anything?”

Shen Qingqiu waited for an answer to come, but it never did. It never did just like Yue Qi. Just like Qi-ge. Yue Qingyuan’s face twisted in pain.

Shen Qingqiu stifled a nervous laughter that wanted to escape.

“Xiao—” Yue Qingyuan’s opened his arms, as if unconsciously waiting for an embrace.

“Don’t you dare mention him!”

Yue Qingyuan stared. “Him?”

Shen Qingqiu shook his head as he scoffed sharply. “We both know he’s dead. Qi-ge has long died, too.” He stepped closed to Yue Qingyuan, mocking him. “Qi-ge would have never let me believe he didn’t care. His corpse holds you tied to Shen Jiu's cadaver, but that’s all there is left of them!”

“No.”

Shen Qingqiu laughed. “No?”

“No, Qingqiu.” Yue Qingyuan stepped closer to him as he spoke with the softest of voices, the most inappropriate of voices to use now. “I… please. You still frown the same way.”

Shen Qingqiu stomped in frustration. His legs just—they just needed to do something!

“You used to sing, now you play.” He was getting closer at an awfully slow pace, his hands help up in a soothing gesture. “You are still skilled in music—”

“No!”

“—even if you never let me hear your playing, other than the times your Shizun made Shidi preform and I was invited.” Yue Qingyuan seemed to smile as he recalled that memory. “You’re passionate about everything and intense.”

“No!” It was Shen Qingqiu’s turn to slowly edge away. He turned his face away.

Yue Qingyuan was so close that they almost touched. His eyes seemed like a bottomless well of sorrow that tried to swallow everything. But Shen Qingqiu saw in them something more—was it guilt? Or even worse—pity?

The thought settled heavily inside of Shen Qingqiu, almost making him want to puke.

Yue Qingyuan’s voice was just as guilty and pitiful. “Please, I deserve your hate but please…”

Shen Qingqiu glared at him and covered his face with his hands for a moment before crossing them at his chest. “You’re pathetic!” He glared at Zhangmen-shixiong. Something ugly opened its wings in his chest, something that demanded to fight and to be hurt. “You are always so pointlessly passive, like carrion waiting for the birds!”

You Qingyuan’s shoulders stiffened, his eyes searching for something on Shen Qingqiu’s face, before finally looking straight into his eyes. “I’ve wanted to protect you.”

This simple phrase made his insides twist. Protect?! Shen Jiu had survived it all—humiliation, invasion. He had to be the perfect slave, he had to wait patiently for something that had never came. And then, he had to survive betrayal!

A betrayal that wasn’t even true!

His right hand pointed at the door when he said it. He felt like crying. “Go and die! I don’t want to ever see you again!”

Yue Qingyuan looked at him with wide eyes, freezing. The darkness seemed so much more intense for a moment, almost as if trying to make them forget they were real. Yue Qingyuan’s eyes dropped down, at the ground, and only a hollow, “Alright,” sounded through the air.

“What?!”

Yue Qingyuan tried to keep his voice detached, as if he had just received a command from a leader that he couldn’t oppose. Pain still sneaked its way through, in-between the words. “If this is what you need.”

“NO!” Shen Qingqiu took a step forward. “What’s wrong with you?!”

Yue Qingyuan stared at him in confusion, before he bit his lip and looked away.

“Why aren’t you fighting back?” he said and pushed at Yue Qingyuan’s shoulder, who remained silent. “Why not?!” Shen Qingqiu repeated and pushed with more force, making Zhangmen-shixiong stumble back a step before hitting the wall again. All he needed was someone to finally push back, to fight him.

“I can’t,” Yue Qingyuan said softly. It was said as if it was an obvious truth about the universe, as if Yue Qingyuan wasn’t the most powerful cultivator on Cang Qiong Mountain, as if Shen Qingqiu wasn’t merely an insubordinate Shidi.

“Yes, you can!” Shen Qingqiu pushed him with both his hands, but the other man remained standing in place, firm, his face holding a pained expression as if he was dealing with some foolish child.

He pushed at Yue Qingyuan with his whole body, slapped at his chest with open hands. Momentarily, his hands would curl into fists before slapping and grabbing at Yue Qingyuan’s arms, trying to force them to slap back. Yue Qingyuan barely moved under the assault. Shen Qingqiu stared in horror as arms closed around him, holding him gently in place against the assault.

This only made him try and kick Yue Qingyuan in the shin, or wherever it hurt the most, but the gentle prison remained wrapped around him, and Shen Qingqiu could feel the power draining from him. Shen Jiu was alive inside of him after all, the huddled husk of a child who had spent the nights imagining his ever powerful Qi-ge saving him.

And the child needed this comfort, needed to cling onto it like on a lifeline.

There was also a pleasant smell around him, calming him, taking the edge off his emotions, as he fisted his hands in Yue Qingyuan’s outer robe and clung to him.

They stood like that for a long while, before Shen Qingqiu whispered, “I wanted you dead.”

“It’s alright,” Yue Qingyuan rocked them slowly from side to side.

“No, it’s not,” he chocked out. Shen Qingqiu’s body seemed to melt into the embrace. His stomach ached dully because of the Qi deviation. The open door allowed some moonlight to sneak its way into the pine house. The light form the room tried to reach them, too, but failed. They were alone against the darkness.

Shen Qingqiu pressed his face into Yue Qingyuan’s shoulder, his hand splaying over Yue Qingyuan’s heart. Warmth seeped through the layers of clothing, and he could feel the quiet rhythm of a steady heartbeat. It seemed to beat a little too fast. Shen Qingqiu’s hands pulled him closer. The heartbeat quickened.

He bent his knees, and lowered himself, resting his head on Yue Qingyuan’s chest to listen. They remained pressed like this, Shen Qingqiu’s hands twisting into the fabric of Yue Qingyuan’s robes and tugging, tugging closer. The heart kept beating. He was allowed to hear it. He was allowed to cling.

Yue Qi had cared. Qi-ge had tried. Shen Qingqiu’s breath shuddered in his throat. It was hard to breathe, it was hard to exist. Yue Qingyuan’s body was warm, so warm.

It was safe.

Yue Qingyuan’s hands were gently desperate to hold him close. He exhaled into the crown of Shen Qingqiu’s hair. It was unbecoming to cling like this. It was against everything.

It was all Shen Qingqiu had.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Shen Qingqiu could feel himself smiling against the tightness in his throat, and he straightened, pressing his chin into Yue Qingyuan’s shoulder.

Silence hung around them, filled with the rustling of fabric trapped between them, and their soft breathing. They stayed like this, rocking from side to side, as if silently dancing to some long forgotten music. They could pretend everything was alright. Shen Qingqiu was tired of pretending.

The way Yue Qingyuan smelled ordered his voice to be somewhat softer, gentler and quieter as he spoke. “I still haven’t forgiven you for not telling me you had tried.”

He could feel Yue Qingyuan nod, his jaw brushing against his hair. “That’s alright.”

The silence that followed sounded awkward. They hadn’t as much as touched each other’s hands for years and now they just… stood there together. Hugged.

Yue Qingyuan tensed and they stopped rocking.

“Can I…” He didn’t sounded like a small, shy child. “Could this one give Shidi his fan back?”

Shen Qingqiu straightened and leaned back to see his face. “His what?”

“The fan I gave you. Does Shidi want it back?” Yue Qingyuan’s deep voice carried through his chest, nervous and worried.

Shen Qingqiu huffed a small laugh. It was so perfectly like Yue Qingyuan to ask this. He sighed and stepped back, away from the embrace. Yue Qingyuan’s hands didn’t stop him, but they lingered before falling away from his body.

“This Shidi will accept this gift.” He wiped at his eyes. “But under two conditions.”

“What are they?”

Shen Qingqiu stared at where Yue Qingyuan’s eyes twinkled in the darkness, and hesitated for a moment before saying, “First: Shixiong will show this one the rest of that poem and tell me why he chose it.”

Yue Qingyuan’s voice was barely louder than a whisper. “Yes, Qingqiu.”

“And second…” Shen Qingqiu took his time, but didn’t move. “You will light a candle or something because it’s too dark.”

There was a sound akin to a small laugh and rustling of fabric. “Of course.”

Yue Qingyuan moved silently, opening some drawers and light exploded in a corner of the room, drenching Yue Qingyuan’s face in warm hues. It jumped off his skin brightening everything around, as if he was a sun that had decided to descent onto earth.

His face was much more relaxed, almost thankful as he carried the light to Shen Qingqiu. There was gentleness around his eyes and a small smile danced on his lips, as if there was no place he’d rather be in. Shen Qingqiu stared at him, feeling out of place.

Yue Qingyuan looked up from his candle at him, then turned around to put the light on a cabinet behind himself, and dropped to one knee before Shen Qingqiu.

“What are you doing?” Shen Qingqiu looked at him in confusion, as Yue Qingyuan produced the fan from thin air and presented it to his Shidi with his head bowed.

He stared at the offering, presented like some sacred figurine, and couldn’t stop his hand from hiding his eyes as he spoke, “You’re the Sect Leader.”

“This one knows.” Yue Qingyuan didn’t raise his head.

Shen Qingqiu pressed his face into his hand, not sure whom exactly he was embarrassed for. “Why are you kneeling?”

“I’m offering you a fan.” He finally raised his head, and Shen Qingqiu dropped his hand to glare at him, but when his eyes saw the barely contained smile and the happy, sincere face he couldn’t do it anymore.

He finally took the fan, unfolding it with a flick of his hand, and put it between them to cover his face as he muttered, “You’re so stupid.”

It made Yue Qingyuan’s face finally break in a wide grin, that refused to leave even when he stood up.

Shen Qingqiu sneaked glances at the weirdly excited, yet careful Yue Qingyuan, who seemed almost as happy as when they had reunited. Shen Qingqiu felt small. Inadequate. Like something rotten, like he should be screaming and scratching at him to show just how misguided his happiness was.

Yue Qingyuan almost vibrated with excitement, but his voice remained delicate, as if he was talking to an easily scared animal. “This poem made me think of Shidi.”

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t bear looking at him, and he held up his fan as a barrier. As if it could hide him from the light he seemed to emit.

Yue Qingyuan’s smile faltered a bit, before he cleared his throat and started reciting from memory, with tenderness enveloping every word, as if he was saying some prayer.

“Alone I sit, in the bowers of the bamboo trees,
My zither I pluck, then, long and loud I sing.
Deep in the forest, none knows I exist,
None but the moonlight, to me, solace you bring.”

Shen Qingqiu shut his fan. What was he even meant to say to this? He wanted to stay there with him, to spend the night simply being together, for the first time in so long.

It still hurt to see Yue Qingyuan’s care. Once, he had dreamt that ‘if only Qi-ge managed to free him, everything would be okay’, then it became ‘if he found Qi-ge again, everything would be alright’. Finally, it turned into ‘if only it turned out Yue Qi had cared, didn’t choose not to come, everything would become normal again’. Now he had it all—and yet, nothing felt normal nor alright.

Shen Qingqiu slowly stepped closer to Yue Qingyuan, who didn’t protest when he wordlessly wrapped his arms around him. He nuzzled his face against the crook of Yue Qingyuan’s neck. It felt like a dream, one that was so unreal, so impossible that it made the dream break, waking up the person who had dreamt it.

When he was held like this it was easy to pretend, that after all, it really was okay, even if he would wake up alone or in a brothel, as always.

Chapter Text

The sun was slowly climbing out of its resting place, and their candle had burned down to a stub. They were lying together in Yue Qingyuan’s bed, with their swords leaning against the bed frame at their feet. They were stuck like this the whole night, silently holding each other, as if they had found land after being left to drown in icy water.

Yue Qingyuan lay on his back with Shen Qingqiu curled against his side. Their legs got tangled together, Shen Qingqiu’s wide robes covering them. He could feel Yue Qingyuan’s breath against his head, making the soft hair tickle his forehead.

His fingers traced spirals against the fabric covering Yue Qingyuan’s chest. The touch was so light it almost tickled, at times becoming harsher, his fingernail digging into the fabric, almost as if he was trying to reach the heart beating under the surface and rip it out.

Still, his touch never failed to return to softness.

Yue Qingyuan’s forefinger traced gentle circles against his shoulder, sometimes stilling as the hand tightened in his robes, as if trying to make sure Shen Qingqiu was truly there. In these moments his heart beat a little faster, as if already preparing itself for disappointment.

The sun was about to rise soon.

They had to separate now, before any disciples could see them together. Shen Qingqiu silently untangled himself from Yue Qingyuan, who looked ready to protest.

“I need to leave before the day starts,” he explained, his hand smoothing over Yue Qingyuan’s wrist to calm his nerves, or maybe to kill the feeling inside of him that called for them to stay like this forever.

Yue Qingyuan pursed his lips and nodded. He silently walked Shen Qingqiu to his door. Neither of them wanted to leave the other, not now, not when a peace was created between them. Something so much more meaningful than any other truce.

Still, their lives couldn’t be paused just because they wanted to.

Yue Qingyuan stood in the doorway with pleading eyes, like a puppy begging for a second feeding. “Could I walk Shidi back to Qing Jing Peak?”

Shen Qingqiu shook his head. It would draw unnecessary attention. “I’m going to fly on my sword.”

Yue Qingyuan’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t object, instead simply nodding.

As Shen Qingqiu walked away, he kept glancing back—at the man still standing in the doorway. It was the hardest ten steps he had ever made, as if once he had turned his back on him they would never meet again.

He had never truly wondered before what Yue Qingyuan—Qi-ge had felt when he had to leave Xiao-Jiu on that day. Did he realize what they would have to face just to truly reunite again?

When Shen Qingqiu mounted his sword he forcefully tore himself away, and caged whatever feelings might have been freed during the night, so that they wouldn’t distract him. He also made up his mind to finally finish the Peak Lord duties and look through all the documents that had accumulated on his desk.

The rest of the day seemed to pass quickly and drag at once. The Twelve Peaks’ Annual Martial Arts Tournament was going to happen at the end of the next week. The whole mountain buzzed with preparations. Shen Qingqiu had almost forgotten about it, too enamored with his own problems. Thankfully, the brunt of preparations fell to the disciples themselves, and he could focus on the administrative work he had put off, leaving the progress charts for later.

Despite the boring work, there was a certain lightness about the way Shen Qingqiu wrote and thought—as if shackles were lifted after having worn through his skin, allowing the wounds to finally begin healing. It made him scowl less as he signed documents, and perhaps it also made him a bit distracted in how his mind seemed to wander in the direction of Qiong Ding. He even caught himself smiling a few times.

He couldn’t imagine not spending the next night with Yue Qingyuan.

As he stood before the door to the Pine House at night, he felt stupid. He had briefly visited his brothel earlier, sneaking in just to give the brothel keeper enough money for Xiu Ying to last the whole week. Luckily, Xiu Ying wasn’t there to protest as he quickly left the establishment, and the brothel keeper didn’t comment on his strange behavior.

He knocked, and before he could fully drop his hand the door had already opened.

“Shidi came,” Yue Qingyuan said with a relieved smile.

Shen Qingqiu raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t think Shixiong had noticed.”

Yue Qingyuan’s smile widened and he moved aside to let him enter.

The main room had five candles placed on small plates keeping the darkness at bay. Four were placed in the corners of the room, and one at a small table in the middle. Everything about the room reeked Qiong Ding, with its minimalist, yet strong design. Notably, there were no light pearls present, which made the room seem somewhat… not as opulent as the dwelling place of the Sect Leader should be.

The door closed after him.

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a while, and Shen Qingqiu toyed with his open fan, shielding himself from Yue Qingyuan’s smile. There was something special about last night, something that seemed unreachable now.

Yue Qingyuan seemed just as lost, but he was the first one to break the silence. “Maybe let’s sit, Shidi.”

“Alright,” Shen Qingqiu reluctantly took his place by the small table in the middle of the room, sitting on the floor, but kept his fan between them.

Yue Qingyuan glanced up, opened his mouth, and shut it. Shen Qingqiu mindlessly looked around the room.

There was so much to talk about, to discuss, but there was no easy way to reach these topics. They couldn’t be avoided either. When everything between them was still broken it was simpler—Yue Qingyuan would try to get any answer from his Shidi, and Shen Qingqiu would deflect any attempt at connection. But now… What do you say if the whole relationship is balanced on silence?

There was a tea set on the table—blueish green, with golden bamboos sketched into the ceramic—a beautiful, yet very simple design. There was a special kind of minimalist ruthlessness about the whole peak, as if the true leader had to be always strong and unforgiving. Yue Qingyuan took the teapot in his hands.

“It may not be as hot as you’d like,” Yue Qingyuan said in a soft voice, while carefully pouring Shen Qingqiu a cup, “but I didn’t expect Shidi to come by. I had hoped you would, but yesterday seemed more like a dream.” He moved the teapot to pour tea for himself as well.

Shen Qingqiu smiled behind his fan. “Maybe the dream simply didn’t end yet.”

“Then may I never wake up again,” Yue Qingyuan said sincerely while putting the teapot back down.

Shen Qingqiu shook his head. “I never knew you’d grow up to be like this.”

“Like what?” The tone was light, Yue Qingyuan’ss smile partially hidden as he brought his cup to his lips.

“Zhangmen-shixiong should write poetry.”

Yue Qingyuan chuckled faintly. “Isn’t it the domain of Qing Jing Peak?”

As if led by a reflex Shen Qingqiu wanted to find the sharp edge of that question, the painful lack of understanding and turn it against Yue Qingyuan. To pierce him with it. This violent thought flew into his mind like an arrow and deeply embedded itself there. He could only close and open his fan sharply, before finally answering, “It’s not one of the four arts, Sect Leader should know that.”

Yue Qingyuan’s smile diminished slightly, and he said, “I do.”

And even though Yue Qingyuan didn’t apologize, it was evident he wanted to. And because of this ‘All you ever know is to say sorry,’ pushed and elbowed every other thought in Shen Qingqiu’s head until it could declare itself the winner. The winner of what? He couldn’t say. The silence that followed seemed to belong to someone else, to their selves from a week ago, or some strangers they had never met.

When they sat like this it seemed like they themselves were the strangers.

The flames of the five candles flickered for a moment, drawing weird shadows against their faces. Shen Qingqiu closed his fan, picked up his cup and sipped on his tea. It wasn’t scalding hot and did nothing to help him.

Yue Qingyuan opened his mouth, then closed it. He had the look of a child that just noticed a big frog hiding behind a leaf, a child that wanted to observe the animal more closely but was scared any movement would scare it off. Shen Qingqiu wasn’t a frog, nor a toad, though, that’s why instead of jumping away he said, “Is there anything Zhangmen-shixiong would like to ask this Peak Lord?”

All the formalities seemed to catch in the silence between them as if in a spiderweb, only making it much more visible.

Yue Qingyuan shook his head, but then said, “There is, but I don’t want Shidi to misunderstand.”

“Go ahead.”

Yue Qingyuan stared at him as if expecting an attack before exhaling. “If there was something, some influence,” he seemed to be consciously arranging every word in the least threatening way, “If Shidi has reasons to suspect that something unusual is happening, please tell me.”

It all just said: I know something’s wrong, and I want to help. It wasn’t too difficult to figure out just how Shen Qingqiu had learned about the cave, not with how he had acted.

The way Yue Qingyuan looked at him seemed to hurt and only accentuate further how Shen Qingqiu didn’t fit in this moment. How all these words weren’t something he should be hearing, didn’t deserve to hear, not in the way his mind saw in them the accusation of inadequacy, and how something inside of him was ready to growl and tear it to pieces before it could hurt him.

But there was one thing Shen Qingqiu knew: Yue Qingyuan cared. He wanted to show he cared too, in some nice and orderly way, but the only thing that Shen Qingqiu could say was a weak, “I will.”

(He probably would have to touch on the subject of their dreams one day. And the fake fortune teller being powerful enough to affect them both. Probably.)

((It wasn’t even that he didn’t want to, it’s just that… it wasn’t the right moment. And if it was the Dream Weaver, it sometimes lay dormant for years. They didn’t have to talk about it yet.))

“Shidi?” Yue Qingyuan said carefully, but there was still a small smile on his lips, something that he just couldn’t fight.

“Why is Shixiong so happy?” It’s not that Shen Qingqiu didn’t want to ask this question, but it left his mouth before he could really think about it.

Yue Qingyuan’s smile widened as he looked down. “Can’t I just be happy to see Shidi?”

“I haven’t seen you smile like this in years,” Shen Qingqiu downed the rest of his tea and placed the cup on the table.

Yue Qingyuan chuckled and placed his own cup on the table as well. “I’m just happy that Shidi decided to visit me today.”

“Does Shixiong rarely get visitors?”

“Not often, especially here.”

“Ah.” When Shen Qingqiu thought about it, then yes, truly, it wasn’t as if they got visited by other sects often, or at all, and even then between Peak Lords, to visit one another at home wasn’t something too common. It was usually only done if two people were close friends, otherwise other places to meet were preferred, like meeting halls or gardens. “The whole mountain would explode in rumors if we were seen together like this.”

Yue Qingyuan hummed a quiet agreement. “Then it’s lucky that Shidi is so careful.”

The only person Shen Qingqiu allowed himself to talk for years were the women at the brothel, and even then he had kept his distance by offering only playful questions and remarks, never fully engaging. His heart wanted to leap out and ask about every little detail, ask Yue Qingyuan how he had found Cang Qiong Mountain sect, when did he become the head disciple, how did his every night and day look like, ever since their separation. Ever since he had made his promise, a promise Shen Jiu knew not to trust, but one that had broken him as the years had progressed.

It seemed like this promise had broken Yue Qi as well. If only the promise didn’t exist they wouldn’t be sitting in tense silence like a pair of strangers.

Shen Qingqiu took the kettle in his hands, denying the propriety that said it was the job of the host, and poured them both more tea, which made Yue Qingyuan even happier, as if this was the best thing to happen to him.

And with every glance at Yue Qingyuan’s face, Shen Qingqiu felt like the slightest misstep would thrust Yue Qingyuan away, out of reach. Make him worried from a distance. Shen Qingqiu in some twisted way yearned for the days when Shen Jiu could fight everyone, prove his own worth, fight for Qi-ge, and for Qi-ge to just offer his soothing presence, his care when tending to his wounds.

Maybe if he asked nicely Liu Qingge would impale him on his sword once more, allowing them to spend together a month while having something to focus on, bringing back at least a ghost of the past. Spend it properly. If only Yue Qingyuan had told him earlier, he wouldn’t have rushed into the Ling Xi caves.

Yue Qingyuan said quietly, “I’m happy you still want to spend time with me, even though I have failed you.”

Everything inside of Shen Qingqiu stilled. He opened his fan, hiding himself from all that softness. “Zhangmen-shixiong should think better of himself.”

Yue Qingyuan tilted his head. “Why?”

“Maybe he wouldn’t be saying such foolish things then.” The fan hid his whole face.

There was only silence. Nothing answered him, but the soft sounds of fabric and creaking of wood as Yue Qingyuan shifted. Shen Qingqiu lowered his fan slightly to look at him. Yue Qingyuan seemed conflicted. “Everyone should get to act foolish sometimes.”

There was a lot of ways to reply to that, a lot of beautiful phrases and declarations, but what did they matter? He wanted to pretend that there wasn’t anything heavy between them, only foolish softness. “Even Mu-shidi?”

Yue Qingyuan’s eyes twinkled in the candlelight. “Especially Mu-shidi.” he insisted, “I believe Qi-shimei is helping him with that.”

“Oh?”

“They’ve been spending more time together recently,” Yue Qingyuan took his cup in hand and drank from it slowly, without any rush.

Shen Qingqiu shook his head and his fan dropped some more, barely shielding him. “I fear what may come out of this combination.”

“Why?”

“Either Qi-shimei is going to pull him into her ploys, or Mu-shidi is going to pull her into his experiments,” he couldn’t help but incline his head slightly towards Yue Qingyuan, as if his body wanted to get closer. “It’s hardly anything good.”

Yue Qingyuan looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes, as if he was seeing through him. “Qi-shimei doesn’t have ploys.”

“Zhangmen-shixiong can tell himself that,” Shen Qingqiu closed his fan and hid it inside his sleeve. “but it won’t change the reality.”

“Maybe the reality wants to be changed.”

Shen Qingqiu was in the process of reaching for his cup, but this phrase made him freeze, and he gaped at Yue Qingyuan. With difficulty, he smiled and brought the cup to his lips.

“Does Shidi remember when that rumor got spread about us?” This question was asked softly, carefully, as if testing the waters of what they were allowed to talk about.

Because of how weird Yue Qingyuan had always acted around him there were many rumors circulating at any given time about them. (Booklets, too.) “What rumor?”

There was something sincerely tired in Yue Qingyuan’s face. “That we had been in love with the same woman.”

Shen Qingqiu winced. “I do remember that one.”

“Every woman in our sect seemed deeply moved by it at the time.” Yue Qingyuan nodded as if agreeing with something inside of his mind.

Of course Shen Qingqiu remembered that one! He got nasty stink-eyes from every Shimei and Shijie, and whatever other woman had also heard about it! But the worst ones were those who somehow were charmed by him and this tragic story. The story? Shen Qingqiu once counted ten completely different stories circulating at the same time! Every single one had one common thing: there was a beautiful woman, both he and Yue Qingyuan fell in love with her as young teens, then she died some tragic death.

The most notable of the stories said that this imaginary woman had sacrificed herself so that Shen Jiu could live, leaving a piece of her soul in him. And Yue Qingyuan tried to talk to that one piece every time they met.

Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes and tried to shoo this memory out of his mind. “Why does Shixiong bring it up now?”

“I don’t believe I have ever told Shidi this story,” Yue Qingyuan put his cup back on the table and leaned closer to Shen Qingqiu. “There had been once organized a committee, that wanted to bring peace between us.”

Shen Qingqiu could only shake his head in disbelief.

“They had found a moment when this Yue was alone, and sincerely offered to help. It was a group of ten Xian Shu disciples. Qi-shimei among them.” Yue Qingyuan’s hands tensed in his lap, before he raised them, as if trying to explain something difficult. “I didn’t know what to do so I just… ran away.”

Shen Qingqiu let out a snort before he could stop himself. “Zhangmen-shixiong must have been so brave, facing them.”

“Well! I had no other option than to run!”

“Isn’t Shixiong supposed to be good at diplomacy?”

“But they were so sincere!”

Shen Qingqiu realized that he was smiling. It was so easy to fall into this rhythm. He raised his cup in mock-celebration and declared, “To all the Shimeis and Shijies that had tried to help the poor head disciple of Qiong Ding.”

“Qingqiu…”

“Raise your cup, Shixiong, or I will let them know.” He kept his hand in the air, and when Yue Qingyuan had reluctantly also done so, he took a sip of his tea, with Yue Qingyuan mirroring the action.

The silence filled the room again, and Shen Qingqiu felt as if they were intruding on some private moment between the silence and the candles. He fumbled with the hem of his sleeve for a moment. Maybe they just needed to tackle the awkwardness head on?

“I’m…” he searched for the second word, something appropriate, nice and distant, but all he could say was, “relieved that you had tried. To return for me.”

Yue Qingyuan’s eyes saddened when he heard that. “I have failed Shidi.”

“In a way, yes.” He fought the urge to glare and scowl, and he hesitated before saying, “But the fact you had tried changes everything.”

Yue Qingyuan shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t—” He bit his lip and exhaled. It was all supposed to be easier by now. He observed quietly as Yue Qingyuan toyed with the edge of his sleeve, pinching the fabric.

An idea seemed to enter Yue Qingyuan’s mind, as his smile took on a more quiet, private quality. “Maybe we should change places.”

“What does Shixiong mean?”

“Let’s sit on my bed instead.”

Shen Qingqiu bowed his head to hide his smile as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “It’s women who should be scared of you.”

“Qingqiu.” Yue Qingyuan was already standing.

“What?” Shen Qingqiu raised his head to stare at him as he smoothed his robes.

Yue Qingyuan outstretched his hand. “Come.”

And Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help but shake his head as he took the hand, and Yue Qingyuan pulled him gently to his feet, but didn’t let go, instead pulling him around the room as he put out three of the candles. Then he reached for the small plate holding the candle on the small table, carefully lifted it, and lead Shen Qingqiu to the last point of light in the room—a cupboard next to the bedroom.

He understood perfectly what he was meant to do and mirrored the motion of taking the candle.

Yue Qingyuan smiled at him, and then they passed through the open door to the bedroom. There wasn’t anything special about this room, it was very sparsely decorated, a bit ascetic in its simpleness. A mirror hung next to the window, and Shen Qingqiu could see their reflection in it.

They didn’t fit together.

Yue Qingyuan’s hand burned against his skin, and he pulled his hand free from the grasp. It was the right thing to do, but now they just stood in a bedroom holding candles. Yue Qingyuan stared at him, as if wanting to drink in every little detail about the way he moved.

Somehow it reminded Shen Qingqiu of his nights at brothels, of finding a soft looking prostitute and asking her to sing for him.

He had to get away from the suffocating feeling that enveloped him. He glanced in the mirror—his face was visibly scowling. He changed the hand holding the small plate. He felt strangely on edge. “That committee must be really jealous of me now.”

Yue Qingyuan cocked his head. “Why?”

Shen Qingqiu smirked, and walked up to the bed, placing his candle on the nightstand. He sat on the bed, as if asserting the fact of his presence. “I get to be in Zhangmen-shixiong’s bedroom.”

Yue Qingyuan placed his candle on a small bookshelf on the wall opposite of his bed. “Shidi was always special.”

The softness sparked something inside of him before he could think. “Not special enough to hear the truth.”

Only now he noticed how relaxed Yue Qingyuan had been, because he instantly tensed and became somehow smaller, as he lowered his head, the weight of guilt visibly squashing him.

Shen Qingqiu wanted to slap himself. He had to get out, before he did more damage. Something inside of him had toppled over and the avalanche it caused wasn’t anything their fragile peace could stand against.

“I—” He shook his head and glared at his feet.

“It’s okay, Qingqiu.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I should have told you.” The bed dipped as Yue Qingyuan sat next to him.

“You should have,” Shen Qingqiu agreed without taking his eyes off his feet.

Yue Qingyuan sighed.

Silence reigned over them once more, a distant yet commanding queen.

One of Yue Qingyuan’s hands was placed on the bed between them, as if helping support his weight. Shen Qingqiu placed his hand next to it, just so that their fingers brushed and he could feel its warmth. His whole being focused inside his pinky finger as it pressed itself against Yue Qingyuan’s thumb.

Yue Qingyuan looked at him in surprise, and then his face melted into a new smile.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t need Yue Qingyuan to survive, just like Shen Jiu had never needed Qi-ge in this way. Still, the thing that lived inside of him, that sometimes seemed more like a scared and angry animal, was actually just a small boy. And that boy asked through his eyes, ‘We are going to be okay, right?’

Yue Qingyuan’s grabbed his hand and squeezed. ‘Yes.’

This sincerity was dangerous, but the night felt lighter after this moment, as if some heavy curse was lifted momentarily, and they stayed like this. Nothing needed to be spoken between them, maybe it never had needed to be spoken, maybe it was alright to just enjoy silence together.

As the night progressed they slowly slumped, first against each other, then onto the bed, and before Shen Qingqiu knew it, they were lying in silence, watching flickering shadows on the walls. It was just like in their childhood—Yue Qingyuan’s bigger frame acting both as a cushion and a blanket, trapping warmth between them.

It wasn’t smart, but he let himself relax. All connected dreams be damned.

You fall asleep in a flower.
It sways in the wind.
The petals rustle
as raindrops slide against them.
You’re warm.
It will fight off the cold
for you.
The soft cushion under you
has a heart.
It drums a peaceful beat,
just for you.
It smells of the first mouthful
of water
after a hot intense day.
It sings a lullaby
just for you.

You feel your eyelids grow heavy.
The flower doesn’t mind,
it happily sways in the wind
thinking of you.

Shen Qingqiu slowly stirred. The lingering softness of his dream still wrapped snugly around him. His mind was swaying as if he were adrift on a gentle sea.

It was another dream stolen from someone capable of love—stolen from Yue Qingyuan.

This realization only made him cling more to Yue Qingyuan, whose breath brushed against his forehead, mingling with a stray strand of hair. It tickled him, and he reflexively shifted back, as if retreating from the closeness. He opened his eyes.

They were lying facing each other, with their legs intertwined, as if they had danced together during the night. Yue Qingyuan’s hair framed his face, obscuring it slightly, the guan usually holding it in place lying discarded somewhere.

He stared at his hand next to Yue Qingyuan’s. Their skin tones were distinctly different, their paleness only accentuating this fact. Yue Qingyuan had always had a certain warmness around him, as if sun had decided to kiss him as a child, and its glow had lingered ever since.

Everything about Shen Qingqiu had always been cold and severe, even his skin tone, pale as if belonging to a dead man, which, well, it fit him.

“Good morning,” Yue Qingyuan murmured, opening his eyes.

Shen Qingqiu nodded to him as he sat up on the bed, wholly withdrawing from the warmth. “I need to go back to my peak before anyone sees us.”

“I understand,” Yue Qingyuan’s voice seemed a bit too composed when he said that, almost as if he was trying to mask disappointment.

Shen Qingqiu stood up and marched to the mirror, tugging his guan free with a wince.

“Give me a comb,” he commanded into the room and extended his hand, and Yue Qingyuan rose from the bed, graceful even this early in the morning. He stepped over and opened the upmost drawer of a cabinet placed next to the mirror. Inside it were one comb and three guans.

Yue Qingyuan took the comb and placed it gently in Shen Qingqiu’s hand. The comb was cool against his palm as he started untangling his hair, trying to ignore the devotion that seemed to radiate from Yue Qingyuan. The way he looked at Shen Qingqiu said it all: he didn’t see the real Shen Qingqiu, but instead some idealized illusion.

And it was just a question of time before the illusion broke.

Shen Qingqiu fussed with his hair, making sure everything was in its place, and he placed the comb down. “Shixiong should get ready, too.”

Yue Qingyuan sighed and listened to the order.

Done with his hair, Shen Qingqiu moved to adjusting his robes, pulling them into place. It was quite late for sneaking out unnoticed, he had to make sure that if someone did see him, they wouldn’t get the wrong idea.

After securing everything was where it was supposed to be—along with the scowl on his face—he turned to Yue Qingyuan.

The morning sunlight illuminated his face, the gentle curve of his lips and eyes that were bent into happy little crescents. Shen Qingqiu didn’t think he had ever seen him this relaxed and content, yet there was a flicker of some other emotion, of deep sorrow.

The only thing he could do was scowl harder and purse his lips. Something inside of him had already started counting days until Yue Qingyuan had decided Shen Qingqiu didn’t deserve his kindness.

Yue Qingyuan walked him to his door, his smile never dropping from his lips.

As Shen Qingqiu was stepping through the threshold he turned briefly to him and said, “Have a good day, Sect Leader.”

Yue Qingyuan’s eyes widened at first, taken aback, then widened again, along with his smile and he replied with reverence, “Have a nice day, Qingqiu.”

As he walked away Shen Qingqiu had to fight a small smile, only letting it fully show on his face once he was safely flying away. His heart was beating a bit too fast, almost like when he had managed to steal tanghulu as a child.

(One memory especially came to mind, it was during autumn, on a day where they had managed to pity passers-by into giving them more money than usual.

Shen Jiu took a few coins out of their pouch. “Stay here, Qi-ge,” he commanded to the older boy, who only gave him a quizzical look.

Then, he sneaked his way to a tanghulu stand, one that Qi-ge couldn’t see over the sea of people.

He hid the coins between the layers of a small patch sewn on the front of his robes, and pushed through the throng of happy families with children. The stand owner was busy managing a big order, counting all the coins that were given to him. Shen Jiu had to be careful, if he got caught the consequences could be more than just a harsh beating. Waiting for the perfect moment he reached for two skewers.

The stall owner smiled at another customer, Shen Jiu grabbed them and…

RAN!

As he pushed his way through the crowded street he couldn’t help but smile—he was getting better at stealing and begging, meaning that he would be able to surprise Qi-ge with more sweet treats. Maybe they would be able to somehow buy themselves warm meals during winter, without the slavers learning about it.

He calmed his steps before finding Qi-ge, who shook his head when he saw the tanghulu.

“We deserve it after a long day!” Shen Jiu said while smiling and handed one of the sweets to him.

From the way Qi-ge had looked at him it was obvious the small charade didn’t convince him, but nonetheless he smiled, and said, “Xiao-Jiu, it’s dangerous to steal alone. What if they caught you?”

“Who said anything about stealing? You saw me take money with me,” he said before sinking his teeth into the sweet treat, savoring the cracking of sugar under his teeth.

“Alright. When we grow up Qi-ge will buy you as much tanghulu as you want,” Qi-ge said while shaking his head.)

The Qing Jing Peak Lord was supposed to be not only a master of the four arts, but also an excellent teacher of them. He was supposed to inspire his students to greatness in cultivation and art, to be the perfect scholars. His presence during lessons was supposed to breed admiration.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t know how to be this perfect Qing Jing Peak Lord, and neither had his Shizun. It seemed more like a myth than a guideline.

That’s why Shen Qingqiu shut himself inside the Bamboo House, avoiding his bothersome disciples and doing his best to keep his good mood intact. There always was time in the future to control everyone’s progress, and the hall masters were skilled enough to handle the daily duties by themselves.

Still, although Shen Qingqiu had chosen his favorites for the Annual Martial Arts Tournament long ago, he had to look over their charts, check whether they had slacked in their progress. It was customary, though unknown by most disciples, that the Peak Lords were betting on which students would win, which place they would take, and from which peak the winner would come.

It was also customary that the Peak Lords mostly bet on their own students. Of course, everyone had favorites. Shen Qingqiu always wondered if his Shizun had ever bet on him, but the one time he had gathered enough courage to ask—Shizun had brushed him off. Which probably meant a firm, unshaken no.

Shen Qingqiu pored over the charts, seeing only steady martial progress. Ming Fan was very… steady, reliable, but completely unsurprising. He didn’t have any shocking breakthroughs, everything happened just when it ought to. Shen Qingqiu had to stop himself from grimacing at the charts. No disappointments and no surprises from either of his disciples. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t stop his bored mind from wandering in the direction of art.

He didn’t paint often, but now his mind seemed to buzz with the need to paint something, some piece where he could trap his feelings. Nothing grand, nothing too beautiful, just a piece of paper that would tell him in the future, when his good mood ended, ‘You were alive once, you truly had felt that.’ Something he could destroy once the happiness was over.

After dinner he prepared the supplies. A piece of paper, cup of water and ink. It seemed appropriate to use the Ink Wash method, creating only with the color black, capturing the essence. His brush hovered over the piece of paper as he tried to visualize the final piece. He wanted to paint a mountain scenery, a stream flowing down a rocky cliff, with a willow tree partially obscuring the view.

His old Shizun had always liked the way he was able to control the ink in his drawings, how easily he created complex images with only a few brushstrokes. For some reason, Shen Qingqiu had always been a good imitator, easily pretending to be just like the other Qing Jing disciples when it came to art: good boys from wealthy families.

Painting had always calmed him, and made him content when it turned out the way that he wanted it to.

(When it didn’t he just ended up tearing it apart.)

Shen Qingqiu knocked on Yue Qingyuan’s door. He felt a little stupid holding the fan Yue Qingyuan had given him. It seemed a bit manipulative. It felt like exposing a weakness.

The door opened to show a stupidly happy Yue Qingyuan. “I have tanghulu.”

Shen Qingqiu blinked at him, taking a moment to process what was being said. “That’s… congratulations on obtaining it?”

Yue Qingyuan moved aside. “I know Shidi likes it.”

Shen Qingqiu shook his head in disbelief. “How did Zhangmen-shixiong even get it up the mountain?”

“It’s a secret.”

On the table in the middle of the room there was an assortment of tanghulu made of various fruit, the sweets filling four plates. The skewers piled on themselves, arranged in neat stacks. Reddish hawthorn fruit, green grapes and orange tangerine pieces shone brightly, enveloped by hard sugar. There was also the same tea set as yesterday, along with the five candles keeping the room well-lit.

They took their places by the table, across from each other, and Yue Qingyuan poured them tea.

“Zhangmen-shixiong is using sect funds to fulfill his childhood dreams? Shang-shidi isn’t going to be pleased,” Shen Qingqiu teased as he picked up a skewer with hawthorn tanghulu. He twirled it between his fingers, watching as the light glinted off the sugary coating.

“We are allowed some personal expenses,” Yue Qingyuan said lightly as he observed Shen Qingqiu. He reached down for his cup, his eyes never leaving his Shidi. As Shen Qingqiu bit into the tanghulu, Yue Qingyuan’s hand slipped slightly, tipping his cup and spilling tea all over his side of the small table. “Oh.”

Shen Qingqiu raised one eyebrow as he chewed, but was in no rush to help Yue Qingyuan as he quickly stood up to avoid the tea staining his robes. Shen Qingqiu stared at his slightly panicked expression as a slight blush spread on his cheeks.

After a moment’s hesitation, Yue Qingyuan rushed to another room. He returned with a few cloths, his movements hurried and flustered. His cheeks flushed as he focused intently on wiping up the spilled tea, avoiding eye contact as Shen Qingqiu slowly finished eating.

“Yue-Shixiong,” Shen Qingqiu raised his own cup and took a sip.

Yue Qingyuan raised his head from where he was concentrating on wiping the liquid. “Yes, Shidi?”

Shen Qingqiu placed the cup back on the table and opened his fan, hiding his face. “It’s nice to know you’re still human.”

Yue Qingyuan froze and stared at him in awe. For some absurd reason, his face only flushed further, and he quickly looked down, his hands tensing on the wet cloth.

Shen Qingqiu used his free hand to raise the plate of tanghulu closest to Yue Qingyuan. “Here,” he said gently.

Yue Qingyuan immediately returned to his task, his movements a bit more careful, as if trying to regain his usual composure. After a few more wipes he seemed satisfied with the dryness of the table, and sat comfortably to the left of Shen Qingqiu, who only raised one eyebrow at this decision.

Shen Qingqiu reached for another tanghulu, also made of hawthorn fruit. The sugar crumbled under his teeth, giving way to sharp sourness.

Yue Qingyuan propped his head on his right hand and stared at him, smiling.

“You know you’re allowed to eat?” Shen Qingqiu asked after sitting in silence for a while.

Yue Qingyuan straightened in his seat. “I do.”

“Then why isn’t Shixiong eating?” Shen Qingqiu shut his fan and gestured towards the table.

Yue Qingyuan reached for a grape tanghulu, and Shen Qingqiu recognized it as him saving the hawthorn ones for him. It made him want to challenge Yue Qingyuan, push the hawthorn tanghulus into his hands, tell him that it’s useless to pretend to care this much.

Still, he remained silent.

As he bit into another hawthorn fruit the sugar crumbled and a piece almost fell out of his mouth. His hand reflexively tried to catch it, forgetting that it still held his fan. He was stuck in a state of panic as the piece of sugar fell into his lap before rolling onto the floor.

Yue Qingyuan hid his smile with a thoughtfully placed hand. Shen Qingqiu could feel his ears burning. The Qing Jing Peak Lord was supposed to be the picture of grace.

He opened his fan and hid his face behind it, while his other hand picked the piece of sugar off the floor and put it on his plate, as one was supposed to do in situations like this.

The starving child inside of him was yelling at his body to reach for it, to not waste the sugar, to plop it into his mouth. He picked up his cup of tea instead and put it to his lips in an attempt to drown that child, but was unable to take his eyes away from the piece of sugar.

It was calling to him, whispering of hunger, of sweetness, of the last chance to eat it. There was something hypnotic about it, even as he bit into the same tanghulu it had fallen off. It bore itself deep into his mind and never stopped digging.

“Sometimes it feels wrong to waste food, even something like this,” Yue Qingyuan’s voice brought him back to reality.

Shen Qingqiu looked at him and smiled stiffly.

“It does,” he admitted aloud. It was probably the first time he had done so since entering Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. It felt as if he was acknowledging something deeper about himself, something he could only afford to deny.

.

.

.

.

.

Shen Qingqiu had no dreams that night. He accepted this simple fact with relief. After all, he knew that Yue Qingyuan had slept next to him the whole night, so this could mean the connection between them had been snapped.

Li Dongmei stopped having dreams right after her suicide attempt, and it seemed so did her mother. After that, within a few days they returned to normal.

It felt good to pretend everything was back to normal.

Shen Qingqiu even ventured out of his hiding to oversee his disciples’ sparring matches—a constant part of preparations for the yearly tournament. He observed the boys fight, all too proper, precise and predictable. Neither of them stood out. They all avoided ‘dirty’ tactics and tried not to overexert themselves, while still performing well.

That is, until Ning Yingying joined the latest winner on the green square mat lying atop the training area. The boy wiped his hands on his chest, nervously smiling at her. His eyes briefly went to Ming Fan, who protectively took a step forward in a warning.

Shen Qingqiu leaned back in his seat.

Ning Yingying bowed deeply to him. “This disciple will do her best, Shizun!”

And with this, the practice began. The boy kept looking to Shen Qingqiu, scared of being too harsh or injuring Ning Yingying. As he should be! Most of the boys gathered around the square mat held their breaths, instead of shouting the name of their favorite.

As usual, Ning Yingying easily found the weak spot of her rival, throwing him back onto the mat. Shen Qingqiu smiled at her as she bowed to him.

Next was Luo Binghe. Shen Qingqiu glared at him, lest he dared hurt Ning Yingying.

The little beast awkwardly stepped onto the training mat. He looked almost out of place, his hair slightly ruffled. Both disciples bowed, to their Shizun, to each other. The fight began, Luo Binghe stood in place, unmoving, Ning Yingying charged at him, her practice sword having a life of its own.

As soon as Luo Binghe raised his hands Ning Yingying seemingly tripped and felt right into his arms, squealing. “Ah! A-Luo!”

With this, the technical requirement for loss was fulfilled—Ning Yingying lost her balance, and her practice sword fell to the ground. Luo Binghe stared at her with wide eyes, his head turning nervously in the direction of Shen Hao, who stared back and seemed… almost proud?

Shen Qingqiu frowned. Was he trying to unite Luo Binghe and Ning Yingying? Shen Qingqiu would need to warn Ning Yingying against him. Shen Hao could hardly want anything good. But why would he be this proud? Did he know of some nefarious plans Luo Binghe had for her? But she was so young! They ought to be separated, seated far from each other during practice.

Luo Binghe managed to win the next three matches, but eventually, he too, lost.

The night came stealthily. The day stretched on and on, but Shen Qingqiu eventually forgot about the stress of the preparations. Darkness settled slowly, gently drawing a veil across the sky. The stars appeared one by one, like a maiden teasing her spectators, lifting her sleeve only a cun at a time to reveal a pale wrist. But like every spectacle—it eventually ended, at last the sleeve was raised, the clouds withdrawn, and the stars shone proudly, unhidden.

Shen Qingqiu gracefully bolted out of his house as soon as the noise from the disciple quarters quietened. It was easy to settle by Yue Qingyuan’s table, and even easier to drink tea with him. It was starting to feel familiar, and that thought put Shen Qingqiu on edge. He felt like a rug was about to be pulled from under his feet.

“At this rate we won’t finish the tanghulu before next week!” Shen Qingqiu said, hand curling around his cup. Yue Qingyuan had been observing him indulgently, and eating only a bite or two at a time, as if scared to eat too much. “Shixiong needs to help, or the food will waste.”

Yue Qingyuan nodded, gripping another skewer. Shen Qingqiu hoped he was aware that he had overdone it. Even cultivators could only stomach so much sugar. Shen Qingqiu felt as if he would need to fast all day—and refuse inedia—to be able to finish all the tanghulu by himself in one night.

The sugar had turned sticky, gluing the fruit to the plates and leaving a residue. His fingers clung to the skewer, and he had to tear them free. Afterwards, they stuck to his cup, and even his lips nearly sealed shut.

Yue Qingyuan carefully ate with him, almost apologetic. The crisp crack of sugar under their teeth was the only sound in the room. It was odd to eat something together, and even more so to do so slowly. 

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t bear the silence any longer. “Has Shixiong perhaps… told that disciple to shave his mustache?”

Yue Qingyuan stifled a smile and shook his head. “I wouldn’t take the pleasure from Shidi. Li Yi will be present during the tournament.”

Shen Qingqiu’s mouth fell open. “He is Shixiong’s responsibility. This Shidi can’t be the one managing the optics of your peak.”

Yue Qingyuan cocked his head at him, carefully buying himself time by chewing. “Then Li Yi will have to realize the hard truth by himself.”

Shen Qingqiu unfurled his fan with a frustrated click. “Teenage boys have trouble realizing truths. It could take him months.”

Yue Qingyuan sighed and toyed with an empty skewer, drawing circles on a plate with it. He bit his lip and put it back down, then said quietly, “What if the Sect Leader also grew a mustache?”

Shen Qingqiu frowned, and glared at him from behind his fan. “If it would be just as wispy, a blade may find his face at night, just to spare others the eyesore.”

Yue Qingyuan huffed a small laugh and Shen Qingqiu shifted behind his fan. It was long since he had heard his laughter. Yue Qingyuan looked at him with soft eyes. “And whose hand shall guide the blade?”

Shen Qingqiu hesitated, freezing for a moment and looking down, unsure. Then, he leaned closer. “Shixiong’s own hand would do it, unable to bear the sight.”

“Ah, of course.” Yue Qingyuan reached for more tanghulu. He smiled to himself, carefully pressing the plate down as it unstuck itself from the fruits. “But maybe some careful helper may be needed to guide it. Just so that it doesn’t cut my nose off.”

Shen Qingqiu caught his lip between his teeth, stifling a smile. He hid himself behind his fan. For a moment, he almost felt Yue Qingyuan's amusement filling him, sending warmth spreading through his cold fingers. And yet… There was a prickle in his back, in his limbs, almost as if he was being observed, seen too closely, dissected under a magnifying glass. 

He ignored it. Tried to ignore it. Tried to melt into the ease of joking with Yue Qingyuan.

The sweetness clung. His tongue felt stiff and covered with sugar, as if it itself was a tanghulu piece. He had to wet his lips to unstick them. Yue Qingyuan kept gazing at him with warmth as Shen Qingqiu raised his cup of tea. 

It didn't help.

Shen Qingqiu set his cup down carefully, as if buying himself time. The plate between them gleamed in the candlelight, half-finished, fruit glistening in hardened glaze. He leaned away from the table and stifled a yawn.

… gentle music

….a brushstroke…

…full stomach…

and laughter…

Banging. The sounds of laughter mixed with knocking on wood. Shen Qingiu blinked his eyes open and scrunched his nose. His head seemed full of gentle music. He tried to stretch but his hand was trapped under someone.

He rubbed at his eyes with his free hand, and pulled himself free.

Yue Qingyuan groaned.

The knocking repeated.

Shen Qingqiu tried to rub the sleep off his face but was unsuccessful. The sunlight filtering into the room was strong.

They had overslept.

This realization jerked him upwards. He started shaking Yue Qingyuan awake.

“Wake up,” he whispered furiously. “Wake up.”

Yue Qingyuan groaned again and scrunched his face. “What is it?”

“Someone’s knocking.”

As if on command the knocking sounded again.

Yue Qingyuan sat upright as if burned with fire. He looked at Shen Qingqiu in bewildered surprise. “I’ve told my disciples not to visit in the morning.”

Shen Qingqiu cradled his forehead as he hunched. “Great.”

Yue Qingyuan got up from his bed and started putting himself together in his mirror.

Shen Qingqiu had to hide somewhere, because if they—

If they—

If they were seen like this, together, everyone would think that booklet was true, that—

That Shen Qingqiu was weak, that he manipulated Yue Qingyuan, that he somehow—

Shen Qingqiu swallowed and calmed his breathing. “They cannot learn about me being here.”

Yue Qingyuan glanced in his direction, but immediately returned to brushing his hair. “Of course, Qingqiu.”

In this urgency something inside of him wanted to say Qi-ge, but he stomped that urge into obedience. “They absolutely cannot learn I’m here.”

Yue Qingyuan was busy tying his robes into place. “They won’t, Qingqiu.”

Shen Qingqiu looked around the room for a hiding spot. The closet was too small, the whole room almost bare. It gave him the weird sense that if Yue Qingyuan could, he would sleep on the floor. There was no way he could hide, he could only rely on Yue Qingyuan not letting the intruders see his bedroom.

His sword was leaning against the bed frame, but the tea set in the main room— He couldn’t go in there without the risk of being seen.

“You need to hide my cup,” Shen Qingqiu demanded.

“I will,” Yue Qingyuan promised while grabbing his sword and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind himself.

Shen Qingqiu rushed to the door and strained to hear everything that was happening behind them. Indeed, there was clinking of ceramic as Yue Qingyuan, supposedly, did hide the tea set. Then footsteps, opening of door.

“Qi-shimei! Liu-shidi” Yue Qingyuan seemed pleasantly surprised.

Shen Qingqiu scowled as he struggled to hear what Qi Qingqi was saying. “Zhangmen—… here to talk…”

There were footsteps, as Yue Qingyuan led his visitors inside.

“So? What’s the matter with Shen-shidi?”

“Zhangmen-shixiong must forgive this Shimei for coming in this early,” Qi Qingqi said in her usual, humble tone. Ha! This woman was always plotting something!

He strained to hear what it was this time.

“Surely the rumors about Shen-shixiong’s nightly visits have reached Zhangmen-shixiong’s ears,” her voice was full of fake concern and innocence.

There was a long stretch of silence before Yue Qingyuan answered. “There’s a lot of rumors going around.”

“I see,” was Qi Qingqi’s strained response. “The rumor going around now, as Zhangmen-shixiong surely knows, possesses a risk to our whole sect’s reputation,” she continued, as if completely ignoring that Yue Qingyuan supposedly didn’t know what she was talking about.

“If there is ever such a risk, Qi-shimei can trust this Sect Leader to act in the Sect’s best interest.”

“This one would like to point out that sometimes an intervention may be needed before things take turn for the worse.” Shen Qingqiu could hear quiet steps, as Qi Qingqi paced around the room. “Some behaviors are… atypical enough to attract the attention of outsiders. Maybe Shen-shixiong needs our support to start making more respectable choices.”

“We cannot just trust rumors,” Yue Qingyuan assured. “Shimei surely understands how they could be entirely unsupported.”

“Unsupported? Zhangmen-shixiong, it’s a child!” her voice became much more emotional and louder as she said that. “I don’t care what he does with adults,” as if! Everyone knew that Shen Qingqiu wasn’t welcome on her peak, even more than other men. “But Zhangmen-shixiong surely understands the importance of protecting children.”

“Qi-shimei, we need to hear out Shen-shidi before making any assumptions.”

There was a tense pause before Qi Qingqi pulled the supposed final move that was supposed to win Yue Qingyuan over. “Liu-shidi agrees with me.”

On command Liu Qingge cleared his throat, and Shen Qingqiu knew that their truce was about to end. “Actually this Peak Lord thinks we should give Shen-shixiong a chance to explain himself.”

Qi Qingqi gasped loudly, and Shen Qingqiu pressed one of his hands against his mouth to stop himself from making any shocked noises.

“Thank you, Liu-shidi,” Yue Qingyuan said politely, as if simply accepting some meaningless gift.

“We won’t trouble Zhangmen-shixiong any longer,” Qi Qingqi said stiffly, not entirely recovered from her defeat.

“It’s never a trouble to be visited by my sect siblings.”

Footsteps. Shen Qingqiu quickly put more distance between himself and the door and sat on the bed, as if he didn’t get up from it at all.

Yue Qingyuan opened the door with a weary sigh, and looked guiltily at him.

Shen Qingqiu stared at his fingernails, unmoved at all by Zhangmen-shixiong’s blatant favoritism. After a moment of guilty silence he finally glared at Yue Qingyuan, daring him to say something.

Yue Qingyuan smiled at him against his sadness and turned to the window. Shen Qingqiu often wondered: if it were Liu Qingge visiting prostitutes, would Yue Qingyuan cover for him? Had he been accused of visiting a prostitute as young as Xiu Ying, would he get to peacefully eat tanghulu with Yue Qingyuan? Would Qi Qingqi see the Sect Leader’s soft smile after having threatened her Shidis with death?

Most likely not.

Shen Qingqiu needed to see where Yue Qingyuan’s endless patience ended, to finally reach a punishment.

“It’s a nice weather today,” Yue Qingyuan commented.

Shen Qingqiu glared at him. “Is weather truly what Zhangmen-shixiong is concerned with?”

Yue Qingyuan’s shoulders tensed. “It is.”

“No children on your mind?”

Yue Qingyuan looked at him again, with his sad eyes, and Shen Qingqiu knew, were he any closer to him, he would be able to see that gray speck under his iris. “Please, Qingqiu…”

Shen Qingqiu smiled mockingly. “Why? Is it uncomfortable to talk about the truth?”

Yue Qingyuan shook his head. “No.”

Yue Qingyuan’s shoulders were slumped, his face slightly scrunched in a pained grimace. Almost as if the last few days were an illusion placed by some strong charm or array, that got broken by Qi Qingqi’s accusations.

Shen Qingqiu stood up from the bed.

Yue Qingyuan sighed and returned to looking out the window.

“Why not visit the brothel?!”

“I would be confirming the rumors by directly investigating. Showing I have no trust in you,” Yue Qingyuan’s voice was quieter, subdued.

So unlike the voice that had welcomed him yesterday.

“Why not? Everyone knows who Peak Lord Shen is.” Shen Qingqiu strode closer to Yue Qingyuan. “Maybe it’s time for Zhangmen-shixiong to learn as well.”

Yue Qingyuan kept looking away from him, even as his shoulders tensed. “I apologize. I can't.”

“All you do is apologize!” Shen Qingqiu glared at the other man. “How can you just—” he waved at him. Yue Qingyuan remained silent. “How can you hear all these things and ignore them?!”

“What else am I supposed to do?!” Yue Qingyuan turned to him, his voice rising as it rarely did. “You always pretend they’re true!”

Shen Qingqiu recoiled. Was this… Did he break Yue Qingyuan? Did he finally make him angry?

Yue Qingyuan shut his mouth with an audible clack. He exhaled, and reached for Shen Qingqiu’s arm.

Shen Qingqiu flinched away, out of reach. “And what if they are true?”

“Then I’m still going to protect you.” There was a special kind of intensity about Yue Qingyuan’s eyes almost as if he was asserting something he had long decided on. If Shen Qingqiu was a broken wine bottle, Yue Qingyuan in that moment was a hammer.

There must have been something showing in his face, because Yue Qingyuan softened and reached out again, saying in a voice barely louder than a whisper, “Qingqiu…”

Shen Qingqiu'ss mind was blank. He didn't move, even as Yue Qingyuan touched his wrist.

“Even if it all is true… I still want to see you smile.”

Shen Qingqiu scowled at him. “Why are you like this?”

Yue Qingyuan smiled at him. “I don’t know.”

Shen Qingqiu sighed. Maybe Yue Qingyuan wasn’t a hammer, but instead the bamboo forest inside of which he could hide as a bat. He looked out the window. It truly looked like a nice, warm day.

“You need to find me a way to get to my peak unnoticed.”

Yue Qingyuan squeezed his hand. “I will.”

It turned out easy enough, Yue Qingyuan ventured out of his house first to make sure no disciples were nearby, then he led the way through his garden, to a secluded spot, and Shen Qingqiu mounted his sword there, able to fly without anyone noticing him cutting across the sky.

Everything was so easy when they worked together.

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu had been avoiding Yue Qingyuan for days, so what? He didn’t owe anything to him, he hadn’t promised to keep coming, hadn’t promised to inform when he wouldn’t be coming. It was stifling to be constantly under Yue Qingyuan’s watchful eyes.

So what if Yue Qingyuan had sent him a note?

So what if Shen Qingqiu had ignored it?

He needed his space.

It was normal.

Shen Qingqiu repeatedly opened and closed his fan. The fan Yue Qingyuan had given him.

Tiny rocks cracked under his feet as he walked towards the courtyard.

It was a beautiful day, and Shen Qingqiu was going to his disciples’ sword practice. He needed something to focus on that wasn’t… the Sect Leader. There was something simmering under Shen Qingqiu’s skin, a restless energy. Almost as if a monster was about to jump out from under his skin and swallow the sun.

He pushed his way into the courtyard. As his disciples noticed him, they froze and bowed. First the ones closest to him, then those behind them and so on. Almost as if they were falling domino pieces.

“Continue,” Shen Qingqiu dismissed them.

He hid his face behind his fan as he paced between the disciples, observing as they assumed various sword forms. Their youthful enthusiasm burned itself into his eyes, the sweat that slowly slithered down their backs bringing forth the memory of his own painful limbs, as he was surrounded by younger children. The memory of being aware of what he had lost ringing painfully through every moment of practice.

He paced to the tall wall opposite the entry to the courtyard. He picked up the bamboo stalk leaning against it and gave a curt nod to the hall master. His grip tightened, and his legs itched with phantom blows, each strike correcting, forcing his limbs into place.

So what if he used it more than his Shizun? The brats had to learn somehow.

It wasn’t like Shen Qingqiu knew a different way to teach. It wasn’t like they would be irreparably hurt by a few strikes. It was just a way to keep them under control.

A boy next to him made a mistake and the bamboo stalk wheezed through the air to strike his legs.

Ning Yingying was in the same courtyard, but she was far away, hidden by other disciples. Even she understood that sometimes discipline was needed.

And he knew what boys grew up to be most of the time. They deserved to feel fear.

Another mistake, and the bamboo stalk slashed through the air to hit another boy’s legs.

Still, the practice continued. Every disciple knew better than to slack right before the tournament.

Shen Qingqiu stopped next to Luo Binghe. The boy’s legs trembled as the bamboo stalk brushed against them.

Luo Binghe pressed his lips together and continued practicing, his power easily visible even to an untrained eye. Something that perhaps was visible once in Shen Jiu when he had been a child, before he became older and mediocre.

If only Luo Binghe had dropped dead from that faulty cultivation manual.

Maybe Shen Qingqiu would have finally felt something stronger, something positive. Maybe, in a way, he would gloat. Something inside of him burned at the idea. He hoped that it was a good type of burning.

The boy progressed, becoming stronger in spite of any adversities thrown his way. Shen Qingqiu wanted to tear him apart with his own two hands. The bamboo stalk brushed softly against Luo Binghe’s shin, and withdrew.

Shen Qingqiu returned to pacing between the students, taking various twists and turns until he reached Ning Yingying.

She moved swiftly through the forms, even as her hand trembled due to the weight of her wooden practice sword. He observed her in silence, then said, “Good.” He placed the bamboo stalk between her legs and pushed at her ankle, “A little wider, Yingying. Remember this, especially tomorrow.”

Shen looked at him briefly and nodded.

Shen Qingqiu wasn’t scared of Yue Qingyuan visiting him, or believing him to be someone good. He wasn’t scared of that, but staying in the Bamboo House for another night unsettled him. Maybe he also missed Xiu Ying. Maybe he was a little scared… No! Not scared! Worried about how she would react to an even longer separation.

And maybe he had put it off, knowing that she would react badly either way. And maybe he also put it off, because he knew he was being observed, and Xiu Ying didn’t need people barging in on them, doing an ‘intervention’. But he knew he had left the brothel keeper only enough money to last a week, and he wasn’t going to push his luck.

Shen Qingqiu pushed through the door of his favorite brothel, the place brimming with clients, and smelling of burnt flowers. He barely managed to find his way to the brothel keeper’s desk, when she greeted him, “Look who finally decided to show up!”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Where’s Xiu Ying?”

The brothel keeper gave him a weird look. “And where is she supposed to be? As always when you don’t visit, she’s here on the ground floor.” She gestured to her right, to a fairly empty corner of the room.

Xiu Ying stood with her back against the wall, facing a man with a protruding stomach. His hand was braced against the wall next to her head as he loomed over her frail frame. She kept flirtatiously looking up at him, biting her lip. Shen Qingqiu felt cold sweat break all over him, and his heart started to pound. Something inside of him knew the man’s hands smelled of garlic.

He turned to the brothel keeper and said gravely, “I’m paying for her not to be pimped out like this.”

She smiled at him. “She doesn’t take them upstairs, just gets them in the mood.”

Shen Qingqiu instinctively gripped the hilt of Xiu Ya.

“Drawing swords? Master Shen surely knows there are many ways a girl can get lost in a red light district,” she warned him, eyeing him suspiciously.

Shen Qingqiu clenched his jaw and pressed his lips together. She didn’t need to say more. He let go of the sword, reached for his money and left a sum on the brothel keeper’s desk. “Call her to come here.”

The brothel keeper took his money and yelled in Xiu Ying’s direction.

Xiu Ying turned her head, still smiling flirtatiously and then—and then she saw Shen Qingqiu and her expression fell, giving way to barely contained fury. She stomped towards him, grabbed his sleeve and led them upstairs. She walked so fast it almost seemed as if they were running, and Shen Qingqiu struggled to keep up.

Xiu Ying found an empty room and pushed him inside, quickly shutting the door. Shen Qingqiu was too taken aback to protest. She took a few labored breaths, glared at him with the power of a thousand suns, and said in a low voice, “You didn’t come.”

Shen Qingqiu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Xiu Ying…”

“You—” She cut herself off, before pushing out, “Don’t you ever dare forget about me again!” Shen Qingqiu only sighed, and Xiu Ying stomped her foot. “IF YOU DO I SWEAR I WILL FUCKING KILL MYSELF AND HAUNT YOU!”

He stared at her in shock. Something fond and painful unfurled in his chest. For a moment in her angry eyes he saw something similar.

Xiu Ying stared at him the same way Xiong Ning had stared at him once.

Xiu Ying started screaming at him, and crying, and he just let her, but didn’t truly listen. Her face, so contorted by anger was almost the face of Xiong Ning. The tears rolling down her face almost weren’t hers, as if someone had gathered them all these years ago and only now let the droplets hit her face. Xiong Ning had put a lot of hope in the idea of ‘haunting’, too. Particularly haunting the Qiu household after her death.

Too bad she didn’t have anything to haunt now, if she had died.

Xiu Ying noticed him spacing out and kicked his shin. He caught her arm that was about to hit him as well. “Do you want this one to leave you?” he hissed.

Xiu Ying pulled her arm away. “No.”

“Then calm down,” he ordered.

Xiu Ying scowled at him, then bit her quivering lip, just like when she had been caged by that man. She was strong, but she wouldn’t be able to defend herself against an adult. The image of that man made him nauseous, that protruding stomach, these pudgy fingers. Something inside of him wanted to rush downstairs and skewer him with Xiu Ya. His heart started to hammer in his chest again.

“The brothel keeper doesn’t make you work?” he asked, just to be sure.

“No.” Xiu Ying shook her head.

He nodded and sat on the bed, quickly taking off his shoes. Xiu Ying reluctantly sat next to him. Her lips were painted a dark red that got smudged with her anger.

“I meant that,” she hissed at him and crossed her arms. “I will kill myself if you forget about me.”

He sighed and looked at her. “You’re weak if you do that.”

She stared at him with wide eyes, then shook her head. “It would be your fault.”

He closed his eyes and felt something painful in his throat. He turned his head away from her and glared at one of the walls. Why couldn’t she have all the good traits of Xiong Ning without the bad ones? As if it was so hard to be self-sufficient. At least Xiu Ying didn’t burn her skin with coal, probably knowing it would only reduce her worth.

They sat in silence for a long while, and Xiu Ying started to swing her legs.

“A-Jiu?” she said in a quiet, sad voice.

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you visit?”

He huffed a small breath through his nose. What was he supposed to say? His mind was brought to the warm mornings of waking up next to Yue Qingyuan, and the sugar coating tanghulu cracking under his teeth.

“I was busy,” he replied.

Xiu Ying stared at him, as if seeing through his lie. “I’m good at reading the needs of my clients.”

Shen Qingqiu quirked an amused eyebrow. “Oh? I remember our first meeting differently.”

She waved her hand dismissively, a gesture that Shen Qingqiu recognized as his own. “I was going through something,” she said with the practiced voice and tired air of an adult. “If you were busy with something so important you couldn’t even come here to sleep you would look more tired.”

Shen Qingqiu furrowed his brow. “Maybe I had to do work that doesn’t make people tired.”

Xiu Ying didn’t buy his deflection and scowled at him. She wrung her small hands in her lap. The swinging of her legs stopped. “You do look a bit troubled, I will give you that.”

A loud and obscene moan drifted through one of the walls.

Maybe it was due to late hour, maybe Yue Qingyuan’s softness had rubbed off on him somehow, but Shen Qingqiu said, “I haven’t forgotten about you,” in a soft, comforting voice.

She stared at him, unconvinced.

His hands tensed in his lap, and he thought back to Yue Qingyuan. To Qi-ge’s promise. It felt hard to breathe. “Sometimes people don’t come and it doesn’t mean they have forgotten.”

Xiu Ying looked at him in suspicion. “Why did you say it like that?”

Shen Qingqiu scowled, “Like what?”

Xiu Ying measured him with her eyes from the top of his head to his naked feet, then narrowed her eyes more. “As if I was pulling out your teeth.”

He shook his head, falling silent for a moment, only to say, “Xiu Ying.”

She looked at him expectantly.

He pressed his lips together. “Your corpse may rot unnoticed after you die.” It was probably the first time he had fully explained his philosophy to anyone, the reason why he was still alive. “You have to stay alive to show everyone you aren’t something disgraced. You can’t take back your own death.”

She laughed nervously. “I know! That’s the point!”

He noticed how hard his hands were clenched into the fabric of his robes and he forcefully relaxed them. They shook slightly, so he smoothed the fabric of his robes over his legs and inhaled.

“I’m alive only when you see me!” Xiu Ying’s voice was light, as if she was discussing the weather.

“But you’re alive all the time!” His hand gestured at her body, as if trying to prove his point.

She glared at him, but there was now something softer behind her eyes. “I don’t feel so when you’re gone.”

Shen Qingqiu shook his head again.

Xiu Ying pulled her legs onto the bed and crawled closer to him, then touched his arm. “A-Jiu? Can I hug you?”

He nodded and reluctantly opened his arms. The girl clung to his stiff form happily.

He had once clung like that to Qi-ge. Swung bricks just so he could be the only person calling Yue Qi Qi-ge. Would do anything not to be separated from Qi-ge.

He instinctively tightened their embrace, bringing her closer, and relaxed into it. Her dress was sleek under his hands, and he stiffly patted her back. Something inside of him wished he had Yue Qingyuan there with him.

“I hope your lipstick won’t stain my robes,” he tried to joke, but his voice was somehow subdued.

Xiu Ying froze against him. “I forgot I was wearing it.”

Shen Qingqiu peeled her off, glancing at the red stain on his chest.

“It washes off easily, though?” she offered.

He nodded weakly, dismissively waving his hand. There wasn’t anything he could do, anyway. The anger always simmering under the surface of his skin spiked, but he ignored it.

“Let’s go to sleep,” he told her, and she seemed to relax greatly at the lack of a stronger reaction.

He let himself relax more, too. He had to check if his dreams were still connected to Yue Qingyuan, if they would turn into memories.

It was difficult to fall asleep that night.

A new bruise blooms under the corpse’s skin.
You’ve pressed hard enough to feel the dead pulse,
forgotten pulse of a ghost.

It stirs in its coffin.
The dust lingers in its throat.
Hope is all it has.

A new sound rings through the empty halls.
It has clamored out, and walks the streets.
Hope shouldn’t have died.

It calls, and comes close:
it wants to swim in the sea,
it wants to float others to the surface.

Shen Qingqiu woke up in the middle of the night with something akin to an itch—except for the fact he had no idea which part of his mind or body itched. It was just there, restless and itching. He couldn’t fall back asleep, not like this.

He sneaked out of the bed without disturbing Xiu Ying. His hand hesitated for a moment before pulling the covers higher, over her small form. Her big eyes and pouted lips made her seem like a forever-innocent doll.

As Shen Qingqiu flew towards Qing Jing Peak he couldn’t help the way his hands clenched, as if trying to seize his nervous energy and throw it away. The whole mountain seemed asleep, every dormitory and building refusing to lend light to their surroundings. It was eerily quiet.

And yet, that itch made Shen Qingqiu circle Qiong Ding, pushing him in the direction of the Sect Leader’s house—oh. There was light coming from one of the windows.

And well, Shen Qingqiu was the second in command. He had to investigate. Something bad could have happened, or the mountain could have been invaded! It was only right for him to check.

Shen Qingqiu landed next to the Pine House and braced himself, trying to summon an air of nonchalance as he came closer to the door and knocked.

No reply came.

Yue Qingyuan was pretending to be asleep, to not hear the knock.

It was never a problem when they were young, they often woke each other up in the middle of the night by kicking in their sleep or rolling away. They had slurred apologies and insults, pulling each other close. Pretending to sleep wasn’t part of them. Shen Qingqiu’s hand hesitated before knocking again.

If Yue Qingyuan didn’t answer, it would mean he had decided to withdraw, which would be better for him. For them.

Shen Qingqiu knocked again, putting more power into every knock. After a moment a very tired Yue Qingyuan opened the door. Shen Qingqiu froze. Yue Qingyuan’s eyes were bloodshot, his shoulders tense.

Shen Qingqiu expected to see Yue Qingyuan in a state of undress—with only an outer robe hastily thrown over his shoulders, barely tied into place. Instead, Yue Qingyuan was fully dressed. The fabric at his chest was unnaturally rumpled, almost torn out of place.

Yue Qingyuan managed a weak smile. “Qingqiu? Is everything alright?”

Shen Qingqiu didn’t know how to respond. He stared at Yue Qingyuan, making him shift uncomfortably.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” Yue Qingyuan didn’t avoid his eyes, but the way he seemed, somehow broken, as if someone had died… Shen Qingqiu wanted to ignore it, but something inside of him wanted to shy away from the way Yue Qingyuan looked at him.

“Does Shixiong…” Shen Qingqiu paused and waved his hand at him.

Yue Qingyuan shook his head. “No, no need to worry.”

Then, he seemed to remember something, moved out of the way and allowed Shen Qingqiu to come inside. Inside of the Pine House there was nothing that could suggest trouble, or a late night spent working. It looked normal. There was light coming from the bedroom, and Shen Qingqiu walked there, expecting to see a sign of struggle, but once more: nothing. Normalcy.

Yue Qingyuan followed after him.

Shen Qingqiu sat comfortably on the bed. Yue Qingyuan movements were a bit slower than usual, almost as if he had invisible weights attached to his limbs. Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat. “Shixiong looks awful.”

Yue Qingyuan’s eyes scanned him and then caught on something on his chest, his body and face freezing for a moment. His eyes flickered to Shen Qingqiu’s, then back down, then away again. He made a small ‘Ah,’ sound as his eyes returned there and widened.

Shen Qingqiu looked down at his chest and—

The lipstick mark.

He crossed his arms in a faint attempt at hiding it and Yue Qingyuan looked away, pressing his lips into a tight line.

There was one candle standing on the nightstand, and Shen Qingqiu’s body threw a big and ugly shadow over one fourth of the room. He reached into his sleeve for his fan and opened it. Whatever Yue Qingyuan was thinking of was still better than the truth.

They remained like this, in tense silence.

Shen Qingqiu chewed on his words, careful to keep the stain hidden. He wasn’t sure why he bothered, since Yue Qingyuan wasn’t looking his way, anyway. Still, there was something shameful about being caught red-handed.

Yue Qingyuan determinedly stared out the window, with slightly slumped shoulders, and a faint worry line between his eyebrows.

Shen Qingqiu drew his fan higher. “If demons have invaded our sect it may be wise to confide in a trusted Peak Lord.”

Yue Qingyuan shook his head. “It’s nothing important.”

Shen Qingqiu glared at him. “It must be if Zhangmen-shixiong looks like this. Who did that to you?” Was it me?

Yue Qingyuan smiled. “What, does Shidi want to smash their head with a brick?”

Shen Qingqiu scowled. Was he being encouraged to threaten others? “I just might.”

Yue Qingyuan’s smile widened and he looked softly at Shen Qingqiu. “I’ve missed you.”

“So?” Shen Qingqiu crossed his legs and shut his fan.

Yue Qingyuan sighed and walked over to the bed to sit next to him. “It’s nothing, just a minor issue with my disciples,” he said, he toying with his thumbs in his lap. Almost as if this admission was something big, or bad.

Shen Qingqiu caught himself before asking ‘So what?’. Disciples got into trouble all the time, it was an unchangeable fact about them. It had to be something major to shake the stoic Sect Leader like this. Still, even if the problem was truly minor he didn’t want to see Yue Qingyuan this defeated.

Shen Qingqiu tried to think of something good to do, to calm him, to make him feel better, but didn’t have any ideas. A small part of him wanted to smooth a hand over Yue Qingyuan’s back and lie to him that everything was going to be okay. He had always been good at lying.

Shen Qingqiu opened and closed his fan with a click. “…if Shixiong wants to send a message to that disciple… this Shidi knows where to find, maybe not a brick, but a stone just the right size.”

He wasn’t entirely sure whether the joke had landed, but then Yue Qingyuan laughed. “Hmmm… it won’t be necessary, but the offer is appreciated.”

There was a certain gentleness about Yue Qingyuan’s eyes, a gentleness Shen Qingqiu wanted to hoard, so he pressed his luck. “It may help them to avoid making the same mistake in the future.”

Yue Qingyuan smiled at him, and said in a quiet, slightly strained voice, “I don’t think she’s going to.”

Shen Qingqiu stared at him, at the rumpled robes. Yue Qingyuan would no doubt beat himself over that arrogant disciple’s actions for days. Shen Qingqiu… was supposed to keep his distance. He had only ever hurt Yue Qingyuan, and would hurt him again.

Yet, something inside of him protested loudly at the thought of never seeing him again.

Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t be able to visit him the next night, due how Xiu Ying needed him. It was new, to be needed like that. He still wasn’t used to the idea. It was always Qi-ge who had dealt with emotions.

Yue Qingyuan’s gaze dropped, and his eyes traced the elegant curve of Shen Qingqiu’s hand holding his fan. His smile tensed, and he gently shook his head, before saying, “Are your disciples excited for the tournament tomorrow?”

Shen Qingqiu turned his head, fluttering his fan. “Yes. In a… way. They’re always excited for things like that.”

Yue Qingyuan nodded, hands falling from his lap and onto the mattress. He gripped the covers tightly, his head bowing. Shen Qingqiu carefully let his own hand occupy the space between them. It smoothed over the cool bedsheets, carefully edging venturing further and slipping over Yue Qingyuan’s hand. Shen Qingqiu dropped his fan from his face.

Yue Qingyuan, as if afraid this chance might never come again, squeezed Shen Qingqiu’s hand tightly. Yue Qingyuan’s hand was warm, and tense, his thumb smoothing over cold knuckles. They both relaxed, but didn’t look at each other or at their hands—there was no need to. Shen Qingqiu closed his fan, placing it in his lap.

The air inside the room seemed lighter, fresher. Shen Qingqiu let his body fall back onto the mattress, and his fan jumped in his lap. Yue Qingyuan turned at him in amused confusion.

“They’re going to stare at us tomorrow, again,” Shen Qingqiu said, staring at the ceiling.

Yue Qingyuan squeezed his hand. He lied down next to Shen Qingqiu, on his side. It was a bit awkward, as they both were taller than the bed was wide.

Shen Qingqiu turned to face Yue Qingyuan, his gaze lingering on his tired eyes and their joined hands. Yue Qingyuan’s thumb smoothed apologetically over his knuckles.

Shen Qingqiu let out a long-suffering sight. “Let’s just go to sleep,” he offered, and Yue Qingyuan nodded, almost excitedly.

As they prepared for bed Yue Qingyuan struggled with his guan, almost as if he was too eager to get it out. Shen Qingqiu’s heart softened by the awkwardness of it. His eyes lingered on the gentle curve of Yue Qingyuan’s neck.

When they slipped under the covers a heavy weight settled inside Shen Qingqiu’s stomach. He had Yue Qingyuan, and it felt good. It felt good to be allowed to spend time with him without the usual pain. Or rather, with less pain.

But Yue Qingyuan wasn’t the only person Shen Qingqiu wanted to be safe. He was afraid to admit it even to himself, to admit what it was that he wanted to do, so he settled just on one small action that had to be done. A small part of a bigger plan that kept looming over him.

He had to check Xiu Ying’s spiritual base.

.

.

.

.

.

He woke up early, as usual, his body having been trained in the art of sneaking out of brothels and back onto the mountain unnoticed.

He thought back to his dreams, but couldn’t remember anything. It seemed like the connection of his and Yue Qingyuan’s dreams was severed. Together with the rest of his dreams being back to normal—it probably meant that being—the Dream Weaver if Yue Qingyuan was right—had moved on. Or went into sleep, as it often did.

Shen Qingqiu nuzzled his face into the mattress, trying to straighten. His knees brushed against Yue Qingyuan’s. He opened his eyes.

Their hands were intertwined, resting right at his eye level. His fingers were wrapped tightly around Yue Qingyuan’s—his hand warm and soft. Behind their joined hands was Yue Qingyuan’s gently smiling face. They stared at each other for a while, and Shen Qingqiu smoothed his hand over Yue Qingyuan’s fingers, tracing every crease and line on his palm.

“I thought your hands would be a bit more calloused,” Shen Qingqiu whispered.

Yue Qingyuan sighed. “Mm, I thought yours would be softer.”

Shen Qingqiu scowled. “Hands too soft make it harder to play guqin.”

Yue Qingyuan watched their hands, savoring how Shen Qingqiu’s fingers traced idle patterns across his palm in an almost ticklish touch. A gentle smile curved his lips, and his eyes were half-lidded as if he were just waking up from a pleasant dream. With a sense of urgency, he pushed his fingers between Shen Qingqiu’s and squeezed tightly, as if afraid the contact would stop.

Yue Qingyuan had nice hands—big and strong, a bit wide but with long fingers. His fingernails were slightly oval in shape.

Shen Qingqiu’s hands weren’t smaller per se, but a bit narrower, a bit thinner, a bit colder.

They were only dressed in their inner robes and Yue Qingyuan’s neckline had slipped, giving a glimpse of his muscular shoulders.

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help the way his eyes lingered. Nakedness wouldn’t be anything new between them. They had bathed together as children, but… Yue Qingyuan had changed. His form was no longer awkwardly long, but instead sculpted of soft flesh.

Just as Yue Qingyuan pulled himself closer to him on the bed, and the neckline started to slip even lower—Shen Qingqiu averted his gaze and turned himself onto his back. There was no need to think about it.

Shen Qingqiu sat up on the bed, his hand nervously gripping the sheets. He felt Yue Qingyuan sit up on the bed behind him. “Better if I leave as soon as possible,” he said, without looking at him.

“Alright,” Yue Qingyuan replied in a soft voice.

Shen Qingqiu gravely regretted his swift departure from the Pine House. In his rush he had failed to tell Yue Qingyuan to act normal during the Tournament. What if Yue Qingyuan decided to get all cozy publicly?

Everyone would know something had changed between them. It wasn’t like they would be able to keep it hidden for long, not on such an overcrowded mountain, but… the longer they were left alone, the better.

Just like this: nervous and irritable, Shen Qingqiu took his seat on the raised platform. A seat next to Yue Qingyuan. The Sect Leader always sat in the center of the platform, even-numbered Peaks flanking to his right, odd-numbered to his left—a scheme more ceremonial than practical. Probably meaning to inspire inter-peak friendships, as if a seating scheme could do that. It also meant that Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge were separated by three Peak Lords and they could settle their grievances and rile each other up only after the event had ended.

On the ground before the platform were three sparing areas, with square lines carved into the stone. The grooves were deep enough to be felt through the shoe, and if a disciple stepped past them—they lit red to signify their loss.

After the opening speeches ended, the disciples swarmed with anticipation, standing across from the platform and facing their Shizuns. Some of the disciples were giddy, eager to prove themselves, some nervous, their hands gripping onto the wooden swords tightly. The head disciples formed the front row, meant to personify the best of each peak. Ming Fan kept his mouth tightly shut, his back straight and gaze focused.

Shen Qingqiu remembered standing in that same spot, feeling the stares of everyone on his back as Yue Qingyuan tried to ask him as many questions as possible. It was funny how different the front row looked like when seen from the Peak Lords’ platform. What seemed like endless antagonistic masses gathered behind him, now looked like an awkward gaggle of youth—some saying careful prayers, some joking with their friends, some calmly awaiting their turn.

But Ming Fan was hardly the same as Shen Qingqiu. For once, he didn’t have a shadow following him, whispering stupid things like—

“This one hopes Shidi has slept well tonight.” Yue Qingyuan leaned towards him, keeping the lilt of his voice light.

Shen Qingqiu bristled, raised his fan and gazed leisurely at the disciples stepping forward onto the three sparring areas. He gave a curt nod.

Yue Qingyuan opened his mouth, ready to say more, but Qi Qingqi stepped to his left. She leaned down, making her sleeves brush against Yue Qingyuan’s hand placed on the armrest. “There wasn’t a chance earlier, but this Shimei wants to forward a message from Mu-shidi. Li Hua has been stabilized, she won’t have to be carried into the Ling Xi caves.”

Just like this, Yue Qingyuan relaxed. His shoulders dropped, a small smile coming onto his face in relief. “Thank you, Qi-shimei.”

Shen Qingqiu frowned. So this is what had happened the previous night? A disciple’s Qi-deviation? His fan stilled before his face as he bit on the inside of his cheek. It was unlikely she would have got trapped in the Ling Xi caves for long, not with Yue Qingyuan as the Sect Leader.

Qi Qingqi nodded, her face illuminated by a smile. She tapped her round fan against her chin and straightened, giving Shen Qingqiu a pointed glare. Instead of returning to her seat on the left, she swiftly rushed to Mu Qingfang’s side, murmuring in his ear. Her bosom was exposed as she leaned forward, almost falling into his lap.

A sudden eruption of cheers made Shen Qingqiu jerk. A tall boy from Bai Zhan bowed deeply to everyone, as a Qian Cao disciple shamefully stood up from the ground, dusting his robes and walking back into the crowd, defeated.

Liu Qingge straightened proudly in his seat, chin raised and looking down his nose at everyone.

“That was a rather quick defeat, don’t you think, Qingqiu-shidi?” Yue Qingyuan leaned closer, his hand tightening on the armrest. He kept glancing at Shen Qingqiu, carefully assessing him, as if uncertain if he would get an answer.

Shen Qingqiu shut his fan with a nervous click. To not draw attention to himself he ought to stay silent—one answer every twenty questions was the rule he had kept to for years. Any deviation from normalcy would invite gossip. People would think Yue Qingyuan has been manipulated and he would lose other’s trust.

Shen Qingqiu gave a curt nod, and Yue Qingyuan leaned away with a disappointed sigh.

But then, if he needed Yue Qingyuan’s help soon, especially for Xiu Ying… even if she couldn’t be admitted into the sect, Shen Qingqiu would need help finding her a suitable place to live, maybe one where she could make money by being a seamstress.

And Yue Qingyuan already had been trying to talk to him both publicly and privately for years. A small deviation every so often could be tolerated.

Shen Qingqiu leaned in Yue Qingyuan’s direction. “Liu-shidi won’t stay this proud for long.”

Yue Qingyuan smiled at him warmly. “Of course.”

Shen Qingqiu opened his fan, keeping it high to hide the slight curve of his lips. At least, no one seemed to notice what he had just done. It made excitement spike through Shen Qingqiu’s stomach, settle in his rib cage, and cheerfully stay there.

Shen Qingqiu groaned as Qi Qingqi’s disciple won for the sixth time in a row. Xian Shu, as always, had the benefit of male disciples helplessly floundering, unable to focus and recklessly trying to prove themselves before the beautiful girls—and of course, making blunders in the process.

Qi Qingqi grew prouder every time, her chest puffing out like that of an over-groomed pigeon. Her face was carefully hidden behind her round fan, and Mu Qingfang smiled on her behalf, seemingly unshaken by his disciple’s awful performance.

It was disappointing, to say the least. Each boy helplessly repeated the same moves, as if they all had been replaced by a talentless hivemind.

There was one thing good about it, though. A satisfied smirk bloomed on Shen Qingqiu’s face as another Bai Zhan disciple got pushed out of the sparring area. He glanced at Liu Qingge—the initial smugness was almost completely wiped from his face. The War God of Bai Zhan forgot to equip his students against the female charms! Who would have expected such a failure? Certainly not Shen Qingqiu!

Yue Qingyuan leaned in his direction again, just as a tall Qiong Ding disciple forced his opponent to fall onto the ground. “Bai Zhan’s performance is worse than last year, or are my eyes deceiving me?”

Shen Qingqiu fought hard against the deepening of his smirk. His fan fluttered, and he inclined his head in a voiceless ‘said so,’ gesture.

Yue Qingyuan smiled to himself and withdrew.

When it was the turn of one of the Qing Jing disciples to spar with Xian Shu, Shen Qingqiu’s glee died down. Of course, the boy held out for longer, used to feminine charms by the presence of Ning Yingying in his daily life, but still failed spectacularly. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help but shake his head in annoyance. It wasn’t that hard to focus on the fight! Women were everywhere, the boys ought to be used to seeing them by now!

Yue Qingyuan leaned towards him again, picking up a sack of Dragon-Bone Cantaloupe seeds and presenting it to Shen Qingqiu. “Would Shidi like some Cantaloupe seeds?”

Shen Qingqiu turned to him and shook his head, shielding himself with his fan.

Yue Qingyuan sighed, and tried again, “Qi-shimei seems to have taught her disciples well, what does Shidi think?”

Shen Qingqiu flicked his fan in irritation, noticing Liu Qingge’s eyes tracking his movements. He said stiffly, trying to seem as if he was keeping quiet, “As the boys… grow older… she will loose the advantage.”

Yue Qingyuan smiled, leaning even closer, observing him intently.. “A loss will be more memorable for them than a boring lecture from their Shizun. Qing Jing will make a comeback next year, will it not?”

Shen Qingqiu only hummed in agreement, his eyes focusing on Ning Yingying, who stepped onto the sparring area with a girl from Xian Shu. The two girls couldn’t be more dissimilar: Ning Yingying was short for a cultivator, and the other girl towered over her. It was barely a fair match. Maybe if he had talked to Yue Qingyuan, Ning Yingying would get to spar with someone less… dangerous, next year.

Both girls still haven’t claimed their swords from Wan Jian Peak, and as such, only held wooden ones. As they bowed to each other, Shen Qingqiu’s hand tensed on the armrest. He hadn’t bet on Ning Yingying. She still had a lot to learn, but it didn’t mean he looked forward to her failure.

The wooden clack of swords scattered loudly on the training grounds. Ning Yingying had some upper-body strength, but with her height she ought to learn to be quick on her feet. Shen Qingqiu shut his fan, gripping it tightly in his fist.

Ning Yingying dodged an attack, but stumbled backwards. The Xian Shu girl renewed her assault, trying to hit her legs and force her to fall. Ning Yingying blocked every hit, stepping from foot to foot, trying to find an opening—the Xian Shu disciple hit her shin, pushing her legs closer together. Ning Yingying yelped. In a few neat strikes she was forced backwards and out of the square. The grooved outline lit deep red, and all was lost.

Ning Yingying looked at the ground in confusion, panting heavily. Her eyes flitted to her Shizun in apology. Shen Qingqiu raised his right hand and nodded, signaling that all was fine. Ning Yingying relaxed and grinned at him.

Yue Qingyuan leaned towards him, again. “Is Shidi satisfied with Ning Yingying’s performance?”

Shen Qingqiu sent him an annoyed glance. “She did her best, being matched with someone like this. Zhangmen-shixiong should focus on assessing his own disciples’ performances.”

This seemed to shut Yue Qingyuan up. He sat back in his chair and pressed his hand against the side of his face.

Shen Qingqiu breathed with relief. The disciples gathered in the back were starting to get bored. Shen Qingqiu had to control how much he indulged Yue Qingyuan. The eyes of bored disciples were always keener and more perceptive, their mouth more eager to spread gossip.

Yue Qingyuan, though, didn’t realize this. Or even worse, didn’t care. “Does Shidi think Bai Zhan disciples still have a chance to turn the tide?”

Shen Qingqiu sighed, cocking his head to the side. It was possible, but hopefully not, Liu-shidi deserved to feel failure ever so often.

Yue Qingyuan nodded to himself, his hands falling into his lap and gripping onto the fabric of his robes before straightening it. He looked almost disappointed, and a disappointed Yue Qingyuan wasn’t what Shen Qingqiu needed, but what could he do?

He nervously licked his lips and kept his fan drawn, focusing his eyes on the sparring grounds. He could see a few Qing Jing disciples in the distance—they were at the very back of the crowd, and they conversed loudly, scraping their practice swords against the ground. Shen Qingqiu glared at them, wishing them to quieten down. One of the boys jumped excitedly in laughter, and noticed his Shizun staring at him—at once, the smile dropped from his lips, he blanched and tugged on the sleeves of his friends, calming them down.

Ming Fan, as always, proved reliable and secured a win. Shen Qingqiu didn’t bother hiding his smug satisfaction. Even Luo Binghe managed to defeat a Xian Shu disciple—a nice change of rhythm, as for once the girl seemed more distracted.

Liu Qingge hid his eyes behind his hand, and almost slumped in his seat. Sadly, his Peak didn’t bring him utter disgrace, managing a reasonable ratio of wins to losses. It still did almost badly, and for Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge it was synonymous with disastrously.

They exchanged glances, full of tension, and yet, kept quiet. It must have pleased Yue Qingyuan because he didn’t try and divert their attention, instead soaking in Shen Qingqiu’s smug smile.

Qi Qingqi teased Liu Qingge. She raised her chin triumphantly, knowing that money from Liu Qingge’s pouch would be swiftly transferred into her palm. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t quite hear what they were murmuring, not with how the cheers broke amongst disciples, and the waves of whispers between them. He did try, though, for whatever Qi Qingqi was saying made Liu Qingge’s face redden in anger.

“Qingqiu-shidi,” Yue Qingyuan pulled his attention. His voice was a bit shy, even more lowered than earlier. “Will there be… an occasion to discuss today… later?”

Shen Qingqiu huffed in answer, lightly shaking his head. “No…” he answered carefully, and leaned away, scanning the crowd. A few heads were turned in their direction. A lump appeared in his throat. He needed Yue Qingyuan to be in a good mood. He had to do this for Xiu Ying. Still, his voice caught halfway between refusal and promise. “Tomorrow.”

Yue Qingyuan raised his eyebrows at him. “Tomorrow?”

Shen Qingqiu nodded. “Zhangmen-shixiong could… check on one of his Shidis tomorrow at noon.”

Yue Qingyuan made a startled noise, a light gasp and an intake of air. “Yes,” he said quickly, as if the offer could be taken away any moment. “Ah… This one will.”

It wasn’t anything big, you see, it was normal. No need to feel stressed. Shen Qingqiu swallowed. He was only scheming, nothing more.

Through the rest of the Tournament a small smile stayed on Yue Qingyuan’s lips. He kept stealing glances at Shen Qingqiu, but didn’t bother him more, probably knowing better than to overwhelm him and cause him to withdraw.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t feel much relief, though. Now that he had asked Yue Qingyuan to come, tomorrow loomed over him. He kept looking around, trying to sense if anyone had overheard them. Luckily for him, it was easier to keep their conversations private now that they were Peak Lords.

If Shen Qingqiu had made such an offer as a head disciple—oh! The disciples of all twelve peaks would burst into whispers, trying to decide why it had happened. They would undoubtedly think he had some nefarious scheme he wanted to pull Yue Qingyuan into, or that he agreed only to hurt him later.

But now, no one seemed to notice. The disciples got more and more tired with every passing moment, but there was no wave of whispers, of glances directed at Shen Qingqiu. Everything was… normal. As if Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan remained at odds.

They must have noticed Yue Qingyuan’s smile, though. It wasn’t exactly subtle. They must have seen it. And yet. Nothing happened. Even the Peak Lords seemed unaffected by the change, most of them more focused on the way Liu Qingge glared at his students, and Qi Qingqi gloated.

By the end of the tournament one of the Head Disciples got into an awful sneezing fit, spraying droplets of spit over everyone in his vicinity. But this too, eventually ended, just like the tournament itself.

Shen Qingqiu did his best to sneak into the brothel quietly. He landed far away from the red light district, carefully taking twists and turns meant to confuse anyone tailing him. He relaxed only once the brothel room door shut firmly, and enough time passed without anyone trying to open it.

Xiu Ying pulled her sleeves higher on her arms, and twirled. The lamplight caught on the shiny, violet fabric of her robes. “Does A-Jiu like my dress?”

Shen Qingqiu smiled stiffly from his place on the bed. Xiu Ying continued twirling, the skirt of her dress billowing all around her, like a flower a day before blooming. Her cheeks were artificially rosy and her lips dark as she tried to make herself look older. If Shen Qingqiu didn’t know better, she could have passed for Ning Yingying’s friend that got sent lipstick from a well-meaning sister.

“How old are you, Xiu Ying?” Shen Qingqiu asked. It was a good start. Age itself didn’t determine the spiritual base, but did affect it. It would be easier to plan her future if he knew it.

Xiu Ying stopped her movements and looked at him suspiciously. She shrugged, grasping the skirt in her hands, and repeated, “Do you like my dress?”

Shen Qingqiu sighed. “It’s acceptable. Now, your age?”

Xiu Ying shrugged again. “Why does it matter?” Her hands twisted into the fabric of her skirt. “As if it changes anything.”

Shen Qingqiu cocked his head, carefully taking in her height. Short, too short. If her spiritual base was weak he could find an old woman and thrust Xiu Ying into her money-hungry arms, pretending Xiu Ying was his niece, aged eleven.

Xiu Ying deflated, and she glared at Shen Qingqiu as if he had just ruined her night.

Shen Qingqiu’s hands tensed into the sheets uncomfortably. It would be best to settle everything quietly. Maybe paying the mother for silence would secure Xiu Ying could safely travel through the city without being hounded by past affiliations. “Where does your mother work?”

Xiu Ying inhaled sharply, as if he had just stabbed her. Her face turned into an ugly frown. She glared at him in silence. “Why?”

Shen Qingqiu raised his eyebrows. “Where?”

“I’m being good for you.” Xiu Ying insisted. “Isn’t it enough?”

Shen Qingqiu leaned back in confusion. “Enough for what?”

Xiu Ying’s lip quivered. “You want to spend the night with her, don’t you?”

“What? No!”

“I’m not telling you where she works!” she insisted, her hands forming tight fists by her sides. “I can be older, look, I already painted my face, isn’t it enough?”

Shen Qingqiu wanted to explain, but what could he say? ‘I’m going to find you a new life?’ What if he failed? What if she got carried away somewhere tomorrow before he came to buy her out, and was forever plagued by his promise? What if she thought she would get admitted onto Cang Qiong Mountain? Her cultivation base couldn’t be strong, if anything it would be barely passable, if even that.

Shen Qingqiu shook his head, keeping silent. If she didn’t want to share her background, fine. “This one only want to know who she is.”

Xiu Ying looked him down, and turned her head away. “I’m not telling you.” She crossed her arms and her fingers tapped nervously against her arm as she tried to look at him without turning her head.

Shen Qingqiu only inclined his head, forcing Xiu Ying to stay in silence.

“I can be prettier,” she said in a low voice, stealing glances at him and uncomfortably gripping her arms. “And nicer.” At his continued silence, she quickly stepped closer to him, kneeling before him and grabbing his leg. “Look, if you stay here, I can comb your hair. And you could bring me fruit tomorrow and I would be very thankful. Don’t you want it?”

Shen Qingqiu’s hands twisted in the sheets, and his sleeves fell over them. He looked at Xiu Ying’s quivering lip and big eyes. If he didn’t thread carefully this would easily turn into another tantrum. “Xiu Ying wants to live somewhere else in her next life?”

Her small hands slipped higher, gripping onto his thigh. A small smile curved her lips. “Only if A-Jiu will be there, too.”

Shen Qingqiu frowned. “Coming into the next life means leaving the past one behind.”

Xiu Ying sighed, her face twisting in the expression of a bored student, and she dropped down, sitting on the floor. “I would find a way, A-Jiu. But fine, as you want. I do want to live somewhere else in my next life.”

Shen Qingqiu nodded to himself, knowing that even if Xiu Ying had told him she loved the brothel, he would have found a way to move her somewhere else.