Work Text:
Shen Anwei heated a pot of water to make some jasmine tea, rolling his stiff shoulders to relax them. He closed his eyes, taking in the scent of the floral drink before he took a small sip, slightly calming down as the tea filled his mouth.
It’d been a hard day.
Shen Anwei had always known that his precious disciple, his successor although he hadn’t publicly announced it yet, had had a tough life.
It was obvious in the way he flinched slightly at loud noises, the way he stiffened when someone touched him without permission, the way he ate too quickly when no one was looking.
He just hadn’t expected the sheer magnitude of the misfortune that seemed to hound his disciple’s every step.
It made something in Shen Anwei ache, the same something that had looked at a spiry teenager well past his cultivational prime and had seen a peak lord.
It made him angry too, so angry.
Because Shen Jiu was his precious disciple but only Shen Anwei seemed to be able to see his sheer potential.
It was maddening how the world had seen a tinier A’Jiu and had seen it fit to destroy him at every turn, how the world had held a child that burned with talent and had doused him with waves of suffering.
It was maddening how there was only a dim ember where there should’ve been a bonfire, made worse by the fact that that ember had been able to outshine even the brightest of his disciples.
It was maddening and sickening and Shen Anwei was angry.
Shen Jiu, his precious disciple, A’Jiu, little one, had suffered terribly and there wasn’t much that Shen Anwei could do to ease his pain.
It was disheartening to know that he was ultimately useless to his disciple, unable to even diminish his agony.
Shen Anwei was a near-ascension cultivator and he was useless and it was disheartening.
It was disheartening, and maddening, and sickening, and Shen Anwei was angry and the tea wasn’t helping.
He was angry and the tea wasn’t helping and Shen Anwei could feel a slow burn emit from his heart, spreading like fire through dry leaves.
He was angry and his spiritual energy burned with the need to do something him and suddenly Shen Anwei couldn’t breathe.
The Qing Jing Peak Lord was frozen, desperately trying to curb off the qi deviation but he was still disheartened, and the situation was still maddening and he was still useless and he couldn’t.
His spiritual energy continued to flow out of control, crashing against his meridians, ripping into them with wild abandon, burning him beyond repair.
The qi deviation washed over him like a forest fire on a hot summer day, leaving only destruction in its path.
Shen Anwei fainted.
He never woke up.
[Disrupting the fabric of spacetime...]
[Installing Memory Codex...]
[Optimizing system controls...]
[Repairing external damage...]
[Transfer complete in...3...2...1]
[Welcome Host!]
Shen Yuan wondered if reading Proud Immortal Demon Way had finally driven him to insanity. He wouldn’t be surprised if it did.
[Host’s mental state is well within the normal parameters for a human.]
Hearing Google Translate in your mind isn’t a sign of sanity.
[Valid point, Host, however, it is slightly irrelevant considering this System isn’t Google Translate.]
Shen Yuan scoffed before the action brought about a wave of nausea, his head pounding against his skull with the force of a thousand hippos.
[Host will need to endure some discomfort as his soul binds to his new body.]
Discomfort was an understatement, Shen Yuan’s head felt like it was bursting out of his skull.
The last thing he remembered was collapsing on his floor, his stomach cramping from the expired yogurt he’d consumed. He’d hit his head on the way down, a dull ache spreading through his scalp as the side of his face became slick with blood.
For all intents and purposes, he should still be in his apartment, lying on the cold hard floor, awakening to his phone buzzing with his mother’s calls.
Instead, he was lying on a luxurious bed, his body covered in expensive silk blankets that he didn’t possess in his apartment.
Silk was finicky and Shen Yuan was too lazy to properly care for it, thus he’d never owned it, despite his mother’s constant attempts to make his apartment more tolerable.
(Seriously, Shen Yuan did not need a king-sized bed, especially when it was bigger than his actual bedroom!
Of course, this only prompted his father into offering to buy him a bigger apartment, which was a different issue altogether.)
Shen Yuan looked around, tensing at the unfamiliar walls that surrounded him.
This...this wasn’t his apartment.
He’d never had those paintings, and he’d never had these clothes, both too fine to belong to the 23-year old shut-in that was Shen Yuan.
Was he dead? Did he die while cursing the name of his most hated author?
[Yes, Host has died due to trauma to his head.]
Well. It explained the headache.
It also explained why Google Translate was in his head. Obviously, it was a manifestation of his obsession with web novels at the time of his death.
The head wound just made it more likely that everything was a hallucination.
Shen Yuan relaxed, slumping back into sleep.
He had time.
He was dead after all.
Shen Yuan wasn’t dead.
Shen Yuan wasn’t dead, he’d transmigrated.
Shen Yuan would’ve understood death, it was the logical answer, but noooo, he’d trans-fucking-migrated.
So let me get this straight-
[System doesn’t think Host is capable of being straight.]
Oh, shut up. I died?
[System cannot shut up and respond to your question at the same time, Host.]
Shen Yuan took a deep breath, willing himself to not scream like a lunatic.
I died?
[Yes.]
I transmigrated?
[Yes.]
I transmigrated after I died?!
[Host, it would be exceptionally hard to transmigrate before your death.]
Why? The laws of physics forbid it? thought Shen Yuan, sarcastically.
[Actually, yes.]
How-you know what, never mind. I don’t want to know. Just-where the fuck am I?
[In Qing Jing Peak, specifically in the bed of the Peak Lord of Qing Jing.]
Shen Yuan startled, patting the vacant bed around him to see if there was any evidence of another person in the bed. He relaxed when he found no such thing, only soft, silken sheets that felt like heaven against his surprisingly calloused hands.
So, who am I?
[Shen Anwei, the Peak Lord of Qing Jing.]
Shen Yuan was relieved.
He’d been worried when he’d heard Qing Jing, snippets of Proud Immortal Demon Way running through his mind, reminding him of the fate of the scum villain.
He’d dodged a bullet apparently, he wasn’t Shen Qingqiu.
So who is Shen Anwei?
[Shen Qingqiu’s shizun, the previous peak lord of Qing Jing.]
Oh. Oh.
That was wonderful, it was wonderful.
Shen Yuan hated Shen Qingqiu, hated him to his bone.
He was the worst type of scum, an abusive, lecherous, lazy, arrogant young master who couldn’t deal with people who were better than him.
He was a spineless rat that would stab his allies while their backs were turned, a gutless coward who would take out his own frustrations about his ineptitude on the defenseless children he claimed as his disciples.
He was a leech and Shen Yuan hated him and he could now replace him.
Shen Yuan could see it now, a different Qing Jing Peak Lord, one who’d be kinder, fairer, nobler, and braver.
A different Peak Lord who wouldn’t torture his precious Luo Binghe.
It would be easy to do too, Shen Yuan would just have to make sure that Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t be his succeeding dis-
[ERROR! ERROR! Host is prohibited from changing major plot points!]
Then what exactly is my point here if not to better the world?!
[That is for Host to decide. This system is only here to aid Host in his goal while making sure that the integrity of the world remains intact.]
Fine! My goal is that I don’t want Luo Binghe to suffer!
[That cannot be achieved, Host. The Protagonist’s suffering is a key part of his character arc and it cannot be changed without altering the fabric of the universe itself.]
Shen Yuan counted to ten in his mind, calming himself down before he exploded.
Fine, I don’t want Cang Qiong to fall.
[Host needs to be more specific.]
Why?!
[It optimizes the function of this system and the aid it can provide in order to achieve your mission.]
I don’t want Cang Qiong to fall because of Shen Qingqiu. Is that specific enough for you? he asked, irritated.
[Yes, Host, that’s a splendid mission. Now, would you like to review {Shen Anwei-Peak Lord of Qing Jing-Shizun’s} memories?]
Shen Yuan let out a sigh of relief before he frowned, thinking it through.
Will it take a long time?
[It will take approximately 1 year, 9 months, 22 days, 23 hours, 56 minutes, and 39 seconds to view all of Shen Anwei’s memories.]
Shen Yuan swallowed, apprehensive of the task ahead of him.
Is this the condensed version? Because I really don’t need to see every single moment of this dude’s life.
[Yes, Host. This is a compilation of only the information that is necessary for your goal.]
Can I view them later, or do I have to see them all now?
[Memories can be stored for future use.]
Okay. Okay, here’s what I want you to do, for now, just give me the knowledge that I need to pass as Shen Anwei, nothing more, nothing less. I’ll look at the rest of it when I have time.
[Processing request....]
[Gathering data....]
[Debugging file....]
[Compiling....compiling....compiling complete!]
[Host, the new file will take you 1 hour, 46 minutes, and 57 seconds to view.]
Excellent.
Shen Yuan woke up to the sun streaming directly onto his face. He turned around, snuggling deeper into his blankets before a quiet voice interrupted him.
“Shizun?”
It was a male voice, the tone deep but soft.
Shen Yuan just wondered why the voice was saying shiz-
Right. Transmigration.
Shen Yuan opened his eyes, blinking past the sleepiness that threatened to close them once more. He sat up with a grimace, covering his face with his palms before he rubbed his eyes, removing the crusts that had formed overnight.
“Shizun?” asked the voice, still hesitant in its tone.
Shen Yuan turned to look at the person, his disciple presumably, and was immediately startled.
The young man in front of him was beautiful. His eyebrows were perfectly arched, his hair a dark, glossy black, while his nose was straight. His cheekbones were sharp, so was his jawline, giving his face an aristocratic look. His eyelashes were long and thick, framing his eyes, the most gorgeous part of his face, mesmerizing with their mismatched hues. One eye was the color of jade, a muted green that looked like an ocean when the light hit it at the right angle, while the other was a light lilac, the color of fresh lavender.
Shen Yuan knew that they had to be an important character, they were way too pretty to just be cannon fodder.
Who is this, System?
[That is character {Xiao Jiu-Shen Jiu-Shen Qingqiu-Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu.} He is currently eighteen.]
Suddenly, it felt like a bucket of cold water had been poured on top of Shen Yuan, shivers running up his spine as he looked at the man in front of him.
Shen Jiu, the scum himself.
Shen Yuan should’ve known that only that scum would have such an arrogant visage, that only a viper would have those deadly, unnatural eyes.
He schooled his features into an impassive face, his eyes freezing over as they gazed at the eighteen-year-old before him. “Mmh.”
Shen Jiu seemed to hesitate, apprehension flaring in his eyes as he gazed at Shen Yuan. There was another emotion there too, something unidentifiable flashing in his predator-like eyes. “Is Shizun well? Does this disciple need to call Cheng-shishu?”
This time, the system answered before Shen Yuan could ask.
[{Cheng Anshou-Peak Lord of Qian Cao-Mu Qingfang’s Shizun.}]
Shen Yuan narrowed his eyes, his face remaining glacial as he responded. “This Shizun feels fine, you need not worry.”
Shen Jiu nodded, his eyes gleaming with a variety of emotions before they settled on a distant confusion. “This disciple is relieved.”
Shen Yuan nodded. “Mmh, Shen Jiu is dismissed.”
Shen Jiu blinked quickly, surprised by the early dismissal. “Is the-that is-Are we not doing our calligraphy lesson today, Shizun?”
“En, this master has work to do. The lesson will be postponed.”
Shen Jiu nodded, the confusion morphing into unease as he bowed and left, leaving Shen Yuan alone in his bamboo house.
System! What the fuck was that? Why don’t I have the memories?!
[Host didn’t tell System to play the memories before he went to sleep, that’s why Host has no knowledge of them.]
Shen Yuan flushed, embarrassed at the silly mistake before he scowled at the bedroom door.
He really had his work cut out for him if Shen Jiu was already this spoiled.
For fuck’s sake, even his face was arrogant, let alone his personality, which was no doubt exacerbated by the preferential treatment his shizun seemed to bestow upon him.
Personal classes!
As if that scum needed another advantage!
Well, Shen Yuan was here now and he would sort out that disgraceful brat if it was the last thing he would do.
Shen Jiu was concerned.
His shizun was acting weirdly.
He’d expected it, he’d expected a certain amount of atypical behavior from his shizun. After all, he had just admitted to being a slave.
It’d been nervewracking to look his shizun in his eyes and tell him that he used to be scum, it’d been pure torture to tell him that he’d been nothing more than a mere gutter rat.
He’d been a sobbing mess by the time he’d gotten to the day he burned the Qiu Family to the ground.
(His shizun’s embrace had been comforting, a warm pressure that he could lean against when it seemed like the world itself wanted to swallow him whole.
Shen Jiu imagined that that was what it was like to get a hug from a father, an enveloping heat that shielded you from the icy hatred of the world.
It’d been nice.)
He’d expected a certain degree of...caution, especially with the way his shizun’s eyes had watered when he’d finished his tale.
He hadn’t expected the coldness.
It wasn’t an unfamiliar look for his shizun, a ruthless veil on his face that stripped the people it held until all of their secrets were laid out for him to read, but it’d never been directed at him.
His shizun had always been soft with him, his eyes a hearth fire instead of the ice storm that was reserved for the people his shizun didn’t care for.
He’d always been kind too, smiling to encourage him even when Shen Jiu was being particularly dense, having failed far too many times for any reasonable person to still be patient with him.
(Shen Anwei could see the look of intense concentration on his disciple’s face as he carved a piece of cheap jade, huffing with displeasure at the finished product.
The carvings were beautiful, rough, but beautiful, especially for a novice like Shen Jiu.
Except his precious disciple still seemed to be displeased with himself, frustration apparent in the way he worried at his lips as he worked on the jade.
Well, that wouldn’t do, not when his little one had done spectacularly well for someone who’d just started a couple months ago.
Shen Anwei patted his disciple’s head, his face displaying a warm smile that glowed with parental pride, a prize more valuable to Qing Jing students than mountains of gold.
Shen Anwei hoped it would be enough.)
But today, his shizun had been distant. Cold, like Shen Jiu was a dangerous visitor instead of the disciple he’d personally picked up from the quagmire of the Qian Cao infirmary.
It was frightening, to say the least.
(Shen Jiu had told his shizun he was a slave and he’d told him about everything he’d done but what if his Shizun decided that Shen Jiu was scum and that he wasn’t worth the effort and he left him to rot like Qi-g-
No.
His shizun had hugged him and he’d said that he wasn’t mad at him, Shen Jiu had to remember that.
........
But his shizun had was mad at him, what if-
No.
His shizun had hugged him.)
He’d even canceled their calligraphy lessons, something his shizun had never done, even after Shen Jiu no longer needed them.
(Shen Anwei knew that the early education of his succeeding disciple would have to be private.
He knew his peak and he knew who inhabited it and the poor boy didn’t need to be bullied on top of everything else he’d gone through.
Plus, the calligraphy lessons helped him gauge his disciple’s mood, A’Jiu’s reactions coming more freely in the comfort of Shen Anwei’s home, and-
It’d been nice.
It’d been nice to wake up and have someone to eat breakfast with, a luxury he didn’t know he would miss until his husband had died.
It’d been nice to look at his disciple and share his knowledge, pretending for just a few moments more that the one next to him was his son and that his husband was just asleep and that he had a family again.
It’d been nice to pretend like Shen Jiu was his family until he stopped pretending because Shen Jiu was his son, no matter the contradictions presented by blood or by society.
Shen Anwei had liked those calligraphy lessons. They’d been nice.)
The entire interaction had been weird and Shen Jiu was still concerned but there was nothing outwardly wrong with his shizun, so Shen Jiu let it rest, preparing himself for the classes he had for the day.
He prepared himself for the thoughts plaguing his mind, telling him that his shizun was going to abandon him, that he was going to give up on him like everyone else in his life, that Shen Jiu was going to be discarded once more by a person he cared for, that-
He prepared himself.
Shen Yuan gazed cooly at the files in front of him, detailing the progress of the students of Qing Jing.
Specifically, he was looking at Shen Jiu’s file.
And what a file it was.
He had a vague understanding of the way Shen Anwei taught his students, he’d even approved of it.
Shen Anwei was kind, extremely strict, but kind.
His expectations were fair and so were his punishments.
He’d even conducted himself with great impartiality until Shen Jiu had joined Cang Qiong when he was sixteen.
That was when Shen Anwei seemed to disregard impartiality in its entirety.
Shen Yuan was right in thinking that Shen Anwei had favored Shen Jiu but he hadn’t realized the extent to which Shen Jiu had been spoiled.
That scum had entered the sect at sixteen and yet he’d still been favored beyond belief.
His calligraphy, abysmal for his age when he hailed from a noble family, had been a constant source of praise for Shen Jiu.
His paintings, crudely done at best, were valued by the previous Peak Lord.
His carvings were amateurish and yet, Shen Anwei had been pleased with them.
As if a noble scion attempting the bare minimum was enough to earn his regard, as if Shen Jiu was a prodigious talent instead of the lazy young master Shen Yuan saw on paper.
The fact that made Shen Jiu all the more unbearable was that he’d improved at the speed of light, mastering the arts in mere months when other people took years to reach his level.
Shen Jiu could’ve been great, could’ve been the best if he’d only shown such initiative from the beginning.
It sickened Shen Yuan to his core.
This was the student that would be the future lord of Qing Jing! A degenerate young master that couldn’t be bothered to do any sort of hard work!
Shen Yuan wondered if it was too late to revisit his plans to get rid of Shen Jiu altogether, destroying any possibility of him being the succeeding disciple, but he was interrupted by the harsh reprimand of the system, its warnings blaring in his mind.
So, Shen Yuan resolved himself to be stricter, steeling himself to properly discipline his delinquent disciple.
The world would be all the better for it.
The Qing Jing Peak Lord was acting weirdly, the entire sect could see that.
Oh, he was still kind, he would still smile at his disciples, he would still speak softly to the children, but there were small differences that couldn’t be overlooked.
The Qing Jing Peak Lord stopped visiting his husband’s shrine when it used to be a part of his daily routine, his hands would sway beside him as he walked when they used to be held behind his back, he would fiddle with his sleeves at meetings when, previously, he'd preferred his earrings.
The changes were minute but they were visible and the sect was concerned.
This was, objectively, a bad thing for the System.
While it was true that the presence of the Host and the System wouldn’t be detected by their tests for possession, the influence of Shen Anwei would decrease if people suspected him to be a different person, which would destabilize the entire timeline.
The situation would’ve been less dire if Shen Anwei had been a recluse, the System wouldn’t have had to interfere, but the Peak Lord of Qing Jing was a sociable fellow who’d had friends in every peak.
It was unfortunate but, thankfully, the situation wasn’t unsalvageable.
It would be costly, energy-wise, to influence the opinions of the sect but it would also solve the imminent problem at hand.
So the System weaved its web, laying it over the entire sect in order to confound the inhabitants of Cang Qiong into... adjusting to the new change in Shen Anwei, making them seem natural and expected.
It wasn’t that hard, Shen Yuan’s personality was similar to Shen Anwei’s and there wasn’t much damage control to do in the first place.
The System just hoped that it would be the last time it would have to interfere with the physical world at large.
It also quietly deducted 15 B-points from Shen Yuan’s account.
“Not so high and might now are we, Shidi?” mocked Chen Yehui.
Shen Jiu ignored him as he continued to walk to Qing Jing’s library.
Chen Yehui followed him, bracketed on either side by the more stupid disciples on Qing Jing Peak.
“Shen-shidi can still atone for his crimes, we are from the same martial family after all, this Chen Yehui will be lenient. All you need to do is beg for mercy,” said the bully with a smirk on his face. He hopped up on a small boulder nearby. “Come now, shidi, grovel at my feet and I promise to treat you well.”
Shen Jiu rolled his eyes as he kept walking.
Chen Yehui had started to bother him after he’d spent a year and a half on the peak. At first, it had been harmless, just snide glances and condescending looks every once in a while but everything had come to a head after Shen Jiu had rejected him.
It’d been a bet between their boorish friend group, Shen Jiu had heard them ranting about the ‘Ice-Prince of Qing Jing’ and how someone needed to teach him some humility. They’d been drunk, Shen Jiu was sure of it, but they’d come up with a plan for one of them to court him for a month before dumping him to reduce his self-esteem.
Their leader, dumb as a rock but smart in comparison to his friends, had taken up the challenge.
As a result, he’d been rejected. Thoroughly.
Chen Yehui had held a grudge ever since.
It was stupid and childish and Shen Jiu didn’t have time for it.
(He had to peruse an entire section of the library to find the books his shizun wanted him to read before their next class, he still had to finish his paintings, and the guqin he’d made needed more fine-tuning before he could actually use it, he had chess matches all week that he couldn’t lose, and this was on top of his daily sword-fighting lessons, meditation, and-
Shen Jiu didn’t have time.
He didn’t have time to entertain his shixiong’s bruised ego, not when his shizun would be displeased to see Shen Jiu slacking off on his work.
He didn’t know why his shizun was increasing his workload but that didn’t matter when he knew that his shizun would be displeased if Shen Jiu didn’t read and memorize those 10 books in a week. He would be displeased if Shen Jiu didn’t finish his paintings, he would be displeased if Shen Jiu didn’t win against the players who’d been playing chess for longer than Shen Jiu was alive, and he would be displeased if Shen Jiu didn’t make a breakthrough in his cultivation by the end of the month and-
His shizun would be displeased and Shen Jiu couldn’t afford it.)
“Still arrogant then? Even after you’ve lost Shizun’s favor?”
Shen Jiu stopped in his tracks, his body freezing mid-step.
He turned around slowly, his face blank. “What?”
Chen Yehui hopped down from his boulder, swaggering to Shen Jiu’s side with a twisted grin on his face. “Oh, don’t act so surprised, half the peak is talking about it and the other half is pretending to not talk about it. Shizun has stopped giving you private lessons and he’s berated you, in public, for your behavior. It was too obvious, honestly. Anyway, it was bound to happen. After all, you’re just a lazy, good-for-nothing, young master, Shen-shidi.”
Shen Jiu was punching him before he even finished his sentence.
Chen Yehui’s lackeys jumped into the fight, grabbing at his arms and robes to destabilize him.
However, Shen Jiu was slippery and he knew how to fight dirty.
There was no clear winner in their scuffle, Shen Jiu was a good fighter but he was at a clear disadvantage and the fight dragged on until a quiet voice cut through their scuffle.
“What. Is. Happening?” asked their Shizun, his voice as frigid as a glacier.
The disciples immediately stopped fighting, disengaging as they tried to clean up their robes hastily.
Shen Jiu couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his blood gushing through his veins, his pulse as fast as the flap of a hummingbird’s wings.
It wasn’t entirely from the physical exertion of the fight, heavens knew he was used to that.
It was due to his shizun, the reason his hands were shaking even as he tried to compose himself.
If Shen Jiu had been in this same situation a meer month ago, he would’ve been sure that his Shizun wouldn’t blame him, he would’ve been sure that he wouldn’t be punished, but a month had passed and Shen Jiu didn’t know if his shizun would support him now.
Too much had happened.
(And that always made his head hurt because too much had happened but none of it made any sense because his shizun wouldn’t do that, he’d hugged him-
No. It made sense for his shizun to act the way he did. Shen Jiu didn’t know why it made sense but he knew that it did.
It did.)
Too many punishesmints for the slightest of infractions, too many harsh critiques even when Shen Jiu had done his best, too many displeased frowns when he’d inevitably failed to meet his Shizun’s new standards because Shen Jiu was incompetent and he really was useless and-
Too much.
Shen Jiu’s shizun watched them all with cool eyes before he uttered a single sentence. “Who started the fight?”
And Shen Jiu felt something like ice settle in his veins.
Chen Yehui piped up. “Shen-shidi threw the first punch.”
But Chen Yehui had been the one to provoke him, a fact Shen Jiu knew his Shizun wouldn’t care about the moment he saw the anger flare up in those eyes.
The lord of Qing Jing narrowed his eyes. “Come with me, Shen Jiu.”
Shen Jiu followed his shizun with numb limbs, his mind empty of everything but the simple fact that his Shizun hadn’t even bothered to ask him for his side of the story.
(Just like his Qi-ge.
Just like Yue Qingyuan.
Just like the brother who’d betrayed him.
Just like the oathbreaker who believed the worst of him at every turn.
Just like Yue Qi.)
Shen Jiu didn’t bother to pay attention to his surroundings, he knew he couldn’t say anything to get him out of his punishment.
The first strike of the whip still startled him into raising his head.
Both master and disciple locked eyes before Shen Jiu looked away once more.
His shizun hadn’t been fond of this particular punishment, Shen Jiu hadn’t been whipped since he’d come to Cang Qiong but he’d seen it happen once in a while. 20 lashes to the disciple’s back, quick and efficient, used only for the more serious transgressions and never against someone who was under sixteen.
The flogging would leave him with angry welts on his back but it wouldn’t break his skin and Shen Jiu could handle it.
Especially when the pain radiating from his back was nothing compared to the chasm that had opened in his chest, ready to swallow him whole.
Shen Yuan frowned when he saw his scum disciple sit in front of him with his head bowed down.
Weeks had passed since Shen Yuan had transmigrated and yet, it seemed like the villain never got better.
Some days were better than others.
Some days that little rat would look at his fellow martial siblings and almost act like he was human, as if he had an actual, beating heart, instead of a rotten carcass in his chest.
Some days Shen Yuan would see him almost be nice to his fellow disciples, answering their doubts and questions with an impatient but gentle look in his eyes.
Then Shen Yuan would realize that that scum villain was only nice to the little kids, and bile would rise up in his throat as the acuations of pedophilia swept across his mind.
Shen Jiu would then be suitably punished but he’d go back to being a creep once more and Shen Yuan would be sick just looking at him.
(There were kids on the peak that weren’t from noble families.
They were rare, but they were there.
Kids from poor families who would rather send them to a sect far away than sell them to slavers because they had no money or food and the child was a burden but they couldn't sell off their child.
Kids from homes that weren’t poor but weren’t homes either because a relative would always let their hands linger on their body, a parent would always slap them hard enough to knock them out, a meal would always be served with a side dish of comments about the child’s worthlessness, dishes would always be thrown at their head with reckless abandon, lives would always be wasted because those weren’t homes and they didn’t have families.
Kids from broken situations because the world was broken.
Shen Jiu could relate to those kids.
And so when they asked a simple question, Shen Jiu fought against himself to be kind to them like his shizun had been kind to him.
Until the inevitable happened, anyway.
Because the broken world had determined that Shen Jiu didn’t deserve kindness.
So neither would the kids like him.
His shizun had taught him that.)
It was an endless loop of transgressions and punishments and Shen Yuan was sick and tired of dealing with that waste of space.
“Why can’t Shen Jiu just get along with his fellow disciples? Are they really that far beneath you? What qualifications do you have to spurn them so? Hmm?” spit out Shen Yuan, his mouth set in a snarl.
Shen Jiu kept his head bowed, his frame as still as a dead tree stump.
“Your shixiong was kind enough to visit you, taking time out of his busy schedule to attend to you and yet you scorn him? Yue Qingyuan is a promising disciple-” the ‘unlike you’ was implied, “-and he is going to be the future sect leader. Shen Jiu must show him the respect he deserves, especially after everything he’s done for you!”
Shen Jiu looked up with outrage flaring in his eyes, immediately flinching when he saw the fiery visage of his teacher, looking down once more to stare at his lap.
Shen Yuan took in a deep measured breath as he tried to be reasonable. “Shen Jiu is to write a twenty-page report on why your behavior was entirely inappropriate. He is to then write a second fifteen page report on what he should’ve done instead. You will have until tomorrow night to finish. Keep in mind that you aren’t absolved from the rest of your duties. You also aren’t to be given any food until you have finished your report. Dismissed.”
No food.
No food and he was still being beaten regularly and soon his shizun would kick him out and then he’d have no shelter either and his Qi-ge wouldn’t help because Qi-ge was dead hated disgusted by him and Shen Jiu would starve and suffer like the filthy slave he was.
No food.
Shen Jiu had thought that he wouldn’t have to worry about food anymore.
He knew about the punishments and he knew he wouldn’t be liked because no one ever liked him but he’d thought that he would finally be able to stop worrying about food.
And he had, he’d stopped worrying about food a year into his stay and he’d stopped worrying about beatings six months after that.
But then he’d told his shizun about him being a slave three months into his eighteenth year and he’d started to worry again.
Worry about the punishments he would have to receive, the laps he would have to run, and the whips he would have to endure but he hadn’t worried about starvation.
His shizun had taken his food away, had taken away the one thing that he’d been able to trust.
He’d taken it away after Shen Jiu had told him about how he’d had to eat the rotten vegetables thrown away by the street vendors because that was still better than nothing, after Shen Jiu had told him about how a moldy bun had been a luxury, after Shen Jiu had told him how hot food had only ever appeared in his dreams.
Shen Jiu’s shizun had taken away his food because Yue Qingyuan couldn’t understand what ‘no’ meant, he’d whipped him because his martial siblings had attacked him, and he’d punished him for existing.
But no, his shizun-his shizun was good, he wouldn’t-
Shen Jiu’s shizun had taken away his food because Shen Jiu’s presence on his peak was due to Yue Qingyuan’s generosity, he’d whipped him because Shen Jiu was never to be trusted and he’d probably provoked his martial siblings in the first place, and he’d punished him because Shen Jiu was a vile, disgusting, filthy slave and now his shizun knew.
His shizun knew.
(The hug-
Why had his shizun hugged him?)
And he would punish Shen Jiu for it.
Liu Qingge wandered onto Qing Jing Peak, looking for the familiar, lanky silhouette of its head disciple.
He kept a hand on the pommel of his blade, gazing at the quiet sea of students before him to see if he could spot the one who’d been taking over his mind for the past week.
He’d been off balance ever since he’d remembered that more than three months had passed since their last fight.
He’d won, of course he’d won, but Shen Jiu hadn’t come back for a rematch and three months had passed.
He hadn’t noticed it at first. Days had passed after the three month mark with Liu Qingge none the wiser but suddenly an entire month had passed and Liu Qingge felt as if something was squeezing his stomach into pulp.
So, he’d journeyed into the land of the frail scholars, hoping to find the one who owed him that rematch.
Liu Qingge ignored the disciples staring at him, whispering about him, gawking at him. He’d gotten used to it. He strode confidently to the bamboo house that was the abode of the wayward scholar he was searching for, hoping against all odds that he would be there when Liu Qingge went to search for him.
(It had occurred to him to ask one of the disciples on the peak but most of them were scurrying out of his sight and the ones that stayed were the ones Liu Qingge despised even more than Shen Qingqiu.
Liu Qingge didn’t know why he hated Chen Yehui but his mere prescence had displeased him ever since he’d heard the rumor that Chen Yehui had tried to court Shen Qingqiu.
....
It was probably because only scum could like that cheating bastard.
Yeah, that was probably why he hated Chen Yehui and his minions.)
It was a longshot, Shen Qingqiu never did seem to spend any time in his actual house (and boy did that anger Liu Qingge, it was disgraceful of him to spend so much time in the brothels, why the brothels why why why whywhwywhywhy-), but maybe Liu Qingge could find him along the way there.
It seemed like he was in luck.
Liu Qingge’s eyes brightened when he saw the outline of his shixiong in the distance, languidly walking to his room.
He ran to catch up with Shen Jiu, his strides fast and sure against the cobbled pathway.
He grabbed Shen Jiu’s elbow when he caught up to him, turning him around forcefully. “Shen Jiu. Fight me.”
Liu Qingge stared at Shen Jiu’s face, his gaze as intense as an explosion, waiting for his response.
Shen Jiu clenched his jaw, twisting his arm out of the loose hold Liu Qingge had on his elbow. He flicked open his fan with that same arm, the semi-circle covering his face until Liu Qingge could only see his eyes.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. This shixiong declines Liu-shidi’s invitation for a spar.”
Liu Qingge furrowed his eyebrows, his arm still slightly outstretched as if to grab onto Shen Jiu once more should he try to run away. “Why?”
Shen Jiu’s eyes were as cold as gemstones when he spoke. “This shixiong simply does not have the time. Perhaps you should try to find someone who is more at your skill level, someone worthy of sparring with the War God of Bai Zhan.”
Liu Qingge felt as if Shen Jiu had attacked him, even with the blunt refusal of an actual spar.
He-the name-the title- Shen Jiu had called him the War God of Bai Zhan, the stupid title that should’ve been a compliment but only felt like a harsh slap to Liu Qingge.
It- that title- Shen Jiu never used that title, not seriously. It would always be mocking and teasing and never serious because Liu Qingge was always Liu-shidi to Shen Jiu and-
And it had been nice because Liu Qingge had liked to be seen as someone more human than the battle machine in that stupid title.
(It’d been nice.)
His stomach was being squished into pulp again.
(Was Shen Jiu ever going to fight him again? Would Liu Qingge lose the one person that made him feel again? Would Liu Qingge be left alone once more amongst a sea of people that admired him but never saw him because he was their War God and their future Peak Lord but he wasn’t Liu Qingge, he wasn’t their martial sibling, he was a legend, he was a warrior, he was a god, but he would never be their Liu-shidi-)
“Will you have time in the future?” asked Liu Qingge, his voice firm despite the thoughts threatening to drown him.
“No. I don’t think I will,” said Shen Jiu, his eyes holding an emotion that Liu Qingge couldn’t identify.
(Sadness.
Liu Qingge knew what it was, it was sadness.)
“Fine,” said Liu Qingge, his hands trembling even as he clenched them into fists, walking away with his head held high.
He didn’t notice the way Shen Jiu slumped when he turned away, his hand hovering over his elbow where a warm hand had held him more tenderly than anyone else in the past month.
Qi Qingqi waited by a pavilion near Xian Shu Peak, her hands tapping restlessly on the table in front of her.
It’d been a surprise to get an invite from the recluse that was Shen Jiu, made even more surprising by the fact that he’d needed a favor. From her.
She’d always thought that he was too cocky to ask for help, too prideful to lower his head and plead for aid, too confident in his own abilities to supplicate himself to beg for assistance, too supercilious and smug and haughty to beseech someone, especially a woman, for their service.
After all, the man, well, young man, visited the brothel like it was his own house, sleeping there day after day, night after night, week after week, as if he didn’t have a perfectly good bed in his bamboo home.
It’d left a sour taste in her mouth, she knew men like him, she’d dealt with them all her life, and now one of them would be the Peak Lord of Qing Jing.
(They all knew it, Shen-shibo never tried to hide his intentions for his prickly disciple.
She’d been hearing rumors of him becoming stricter with his future succeeding disciple but that didn’t mean much when compared to the previous accounts of his favoritism.)
She hated it.
She hated the fact that her future colleague was a disgusting man who would buy pleasure with coin from vulnerable people who only agreed because they had to, because they needed the money, because they needed to survive, because they couldn’t refuse, she hated it.
Qi Qingqi hated him and she knew that her hatred was based on rumors but even rumors had a grain of truth to them and she couldn’t afford to give Shen Jiu the benefit of the doubt.
Not when he was a man.
Not when Qi Qingqi knew of the cruelty of men.
Qi Qingqi had been lucky, she’d been the product of a healthy marriage and the apple of her parents’ eyes ever since she’d been born.
Her friends hadn’t had that same luck.
Her maid, infinitely older than 5-year-old Qi Qingqi but oh so young with the power of hindsight, hadn’t had that luck. No, she’d been attacked when she’d been walking home, brutalised to a point where the only way to identify her was through her clothes.
Her best friend when she was eight hadn’t had that luck, betrothed to a man old enough to be her grandpa because she was disposable and the union would guarantee a favorable increase in her family’s coffers.
Her shijie hadn’t had that luck, splashed with boiling oil because she’d dared to reject a man twice her age with half of her accomplishments.
Her neighbor hadn’t had that luck, sporting bruises every other day because her husband loved liquor more than his own family.
Hell! Her own shizun hadn’t had that luck, tales of drugged teas and bruising holds littering every single one of her childhood stories, staining them like ink on paper
So, no. Qi Qingqi wouldn’t give Shen Jiu the benefit of the doubt, not when trusting men had only ever led to misery.
That was why she’d suggested the pavilion near Xian Shu instead of one on the peak itself. Qi Qingqi refused to let him near her martial siblings, all so young but already so scarred because men were cruel, she refused.
If he had a problem with that then Qi Qingqi would have a problem with him and she would rather separate his head from his body than let him prey upon her fellow disciples, even if it was just a leer.
(Gazes that felt like steel wool against her skin, lust in eyes that beheld a thirteen-year-old but saw only a beautiful possession, stares that focused on her body because they only saw an inanimate thing in place of a human.
Just a leer.
What a joke.)
Qi Qingqi looked up when she heard footsteps, furrowing her brows when she saw Shen Jiu.
He was....pale.
He was always pale but it was different this time, there was a certain fragility to him that she’d never seen before, a tinge of pure exhaustion on a face that had only ever displayed disdain.
It was slightly worrisome.
Qi Qingqi stood up and greeted Shen Jiu, receiving a bow in return as they complied with social pleasantries.
They sat down quietly, the succeeding disciple of Xian Shu taking every chance to observe the teenager in front of her.
Shen Jiu didn’t speak until he’d drank an entire cup of tea, his face set ablaze with anxiousness. “Qi-shimei, I-can this shixiong ask you for a favor?”
“It depends on the favor,” replied Qi Qingqi.
Shen Jiu sighed, his hands reaching into his sleeve to retrieve a pouch filled with money, setting it on the table between them. “Shizun forbid me from going into town for the foreseeable future but there’s a person there that I need to give money to, I was wondering if you could-”
“Who?” asked Qi Qingqi, her mouth set in a frown.
Shen Jiu hesitated before he spoke. “Qi-shimei will always protect women, will she not? No matter who they are?”
That. That was interesting.
Qi Qingqi would protect them, especially if they couldn’t protect themselves, but the fact that it was Shen Jiu who was asking her this made her hesitate.
“Shen-shixiong need not doubt this shimei,” she replied, her voice clipped but not overtly aggressive.
“It’s a person named Sisi, at-at the Warm Red Pavilion,” admitted Shen Jiu, something similar to apprehension flashing in his eyes. “Qi-shimei, she’s sick and she needs money-please, I know that this is a presumptuous request, but she needs help-”
Qi Qingqi could feel her mind bend and twist as she tried to absorb the information presented to her.
Shen Jiu, a man she’d previously thought to be womanizing scum, was asking, no, begging for her to help a prostitute he knew.
A prostitute.
She couldn’t refuse, not if she wanted to know more about this new side of the future Peak Lord of Qing Jing, not if she wanted to know if her future college had a shred of decency in his body, not if she wanted to know if the hope flaring in her chest was just going to disappoint her. “Fine, but you’ll owe me.”
Shen Jiu slumped, relief and something mysterious evident in his eyes, something that made them seem infinitely old and immensely tired at the same time. “Thank you, Qi-shimei, thank you.”
“Qingge.”
Liu Qingge turned around when he heard his shijie’s voice, lowering his sword as he stopped hacking at the deteriorating training dummy in front of him. “Qi-shijie.”
Qi Qingqi strode near him with her face set in a determined frown. “You need to come with me. We’re going down the mountain.”
Liu Qingge sheathed his sword, his face lighting up. “Mission? A beast? Is it strong? Are we going to fight?”
Qi Qingqi rolled her eyes, hooking her elbow around Liu Qingge’s arm as she dragged him away from Bai Zhan’s training field. “Nothing like that, Chengcheng.”
Liu Qingge huffed at his childhood nickname, he hated it when his cousin sister used it. “What are we doing then?”
“Investigating,” she said, with narrowed eyes.
Liu Qingge groaned. “Why me?”
“Because it has to do with a certain shixiong of ours.”
Liu Qingge stopped in his tracks. “Shen Jiu? Really?”
Qi Qingqi nodded.
Liu Qingge wanted to go, he did, he wanted to know but-
‘....someone worthy of sparring with the War God of Bai Zhan.’
“I can’t.”
Qi Qingqi frowned. “But-”
“A-jie” whispered Liu Qingge, his voice weak. “I can’t.”
Qi Qingqi’s eyes gentled, her cousin never called her ‘A-jie’ unless it was something important. “Okay, that’s okay. You’re okay, A’Cheng.”
But Liu Qingge wasn’t.
‘....War God of Bai Zhan.’
“...sweet child, really, he’s a perfect gentleman,” said Sisi, the Madame of the Warm Red Pavillion, with pride evident in her voice.
Qi Qingqi had been expecting a young woman in her prime with a sweet face and a tinkling laugh.
She’d been expecting smooth skin and soft hands, rouged lips and blushing cheeks.
She’d been expecting opulent clothes, a petite figure, a coy smile.
She hadn’t been expecting to see an old matron, her once youthful face marred by the passage of time, her hands wrinkled and old, her eyes wise and knowing.
Shen Jiu really didn’t make any sort of sense.
“A-Jiu held only the greatest respect for you, Miss Qi,” said the matron, her smile exuding maternal comfort even when there was a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “I’m glad that he was able to befriend you, he’s such a wonderful child but I’m afraid he was never quite good with people. I will admit, I had my reservations about you, but I’m glad that they were just the paranoia of an old woman.”
Qi Qingqi felt a pinprick of guilt at the evidence of her deception but she couldn’t find it in herself to correct the misunderstanding.
Qi Qingqi widened her smile. “I’m glad too that I was able to get past my initial reservations for Shen-shixiong.”
Sisi laughed. “He does have a tendency to create a bad first impression, doesn’t he? You’ll forgive an old woman for rambling, but even I had my doubts about him when he first came here, he looked like the typical noble, haughty and overbearing, but then it turned out that the child had only wanted a place to sleep peacefully, and well? It really isn’t that hard to love him, especially when you learn what he’s gone through. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Qi Qingqi just nodded, digging her nails into her palm to make herself stay in the moment.
She itched to ask, her blood buzzing with the need to find out but she couldn’t because then her cover would be blown but she needed to know and she couldn't ask-
(What had he gone through? What pained him? What did Qi Qingqi miss?
Shen Jiu was defensive and haughty and cold and standoffish and he was unpleasant to be around.
But Shen Jiu used the brothel like an inn and he was nothing but a gentleman to the prostitutes there and he was kind even when he wasn’t nice and what did she miss?
Shen Jiu was defensive but what was he defending himself from?
Shen Jiu was haughty and standoffish but weren’t they all prideful in some way, shape, or form?
Shen Jiu was cold but were they ever warm to him to begin with?
Shen Jiu was unpleasant to be around but why did he feel the need to be cold, haughty, and arrogant to his fellow disciples when it was clear that he was kind to the prostitutes?
Why did Shen Jiu act like the disciples on her peak, skittish and so very afraid?
What did Qi Qingqi miss?)
Well.
Actually.
She couldn’t ask Madam Sisi but she could ask Shen Jiu himself.
He did owe her, after all.
Shen Jiu waited for his martial sister to return from her trip down the mountain.
It’d been a last ditch effort from him, a desperate bid to ensure his grandmother’s survival.
He knew it was stupid. Objectively, he knew it was an idiotic gamble.
His grandmother was getting old and she wasn’t a cultivator, she couldn’t live forever, all the money in the world wouldn’t save her if it was her time to go.
It was more logical to cut his losses, deal with the grief if she didn’t get better instead of spilling his secrets to the gossipmonger of Cang Qiong in a frenzied attempt to at least try to help her in her time of need.
If Shen Jiu had been even the slightest bit smarter, he would’ve given up when he hadn’t been allowed to go down the mountain, when his means of communication with the world outside their sect had been taken away, he would’ve given up instead of letting Qi Qingqi in on what he actually did in the brothel.
Shen Jiu was under no delusion when it came to Qi Qingqi and her ability to sniff out even the smallest bit of information from a willing source. Her guiles would certainly be enough to reduce his strong grandmother to a doting old woman, he was sure of it.
He was also sure that she wouldn’t let the matter rest there, he knew she would seek him out to confirm her suspicions, would use the fact that he owed her to make him spill his disgraceful past to her eager ears, he knew it.
He just....
He didn’t care.
His shizun would remove him from the head disciple position any day now and he’d probably be kicked out of the peak not long after that.
His shizun hated him, Shen Jiu knew it, he knew it and it hurt but it had also been liberating because that meant that Shen Jiu didn’t need to care anymore.
He didn’t need to care about his fellow disciples learning about his shameful status, he didn’t need to care about his martial siblings finding out about the horrors he’d inflicted onto the general populace under the care of Wu Yanzi, he didn’t need to care about his future colleagues finding out about his miserable life in the Qiu Family Manor, he didn’t need to care.
After all, it wouldn’t affect him.
His shizun would remove him from his head disciple position regardless of the state of his reputation and soon he wouldn’t even have fellow disciples or martial siblings or future colleagues because his shizun would probably kick him out of the sect so it truly didn’t matter if Shen Jiu’s past was revealed to the entirety of his sect.
So, Shen Jiu had allowed himself to be foolish and had begged Qi Qingqi anyway, willing to pay the price for his reckless actions.
(His grandmother would scold him, would tell him to let go, would tell him to give her up, but that was his grandmother.)
Shen Jiu straightened up when he’d heard the echoing footsteps, his hands smoothing out his impeccable robes, brushing away the invisible dirt as he prepared himself to bare out his soul to the one person on Cang Qiong who had the contacts necessary to spread it like wildfire through dry wood.
(Shen Jiu wondered how his Liu-shidi would react, when he found out.
Would he feel contempt?
Contempt for the way Shen Jiu had cowered when he’d been beaten ruthlessly by Qiu Jianluo because cowering made it hurt less and Xiao Jiu couldn’t die before his Qi-ge could rescue him.
Contempt for letting Wu Yanzi wreak havoc on innocent cultivators instead of stopping his dastardly deeds.
Contempt for Shen Jiu stabbing Wu Yanzi in the back instead of fighting him face to face like a truly honorable person, contempt for the way Shen Jiu had fought just to be allowed to breathe for even a second more, his contempt-
Maybe he would’ve believed in a brighter fate before-
Before his shizun.
His shizun, the only other good person Shen Jiu knew, the only one who could claim to be righteous and not be a hypocrite, the only one who-
Their contempt-)
He would walk into the fire with a grin if it meant his grandmother would be safe.
Shen Jiu stood up smoothly, his back bending into a perfect bow as he greeted his fellow disciple. “Qi-shimei, welcome.”
“Shen-shixiong,” greeted Qi Qingqi. “She’ll be okay. It’s not serious.”
Shen Jiu relaxed his shoulders minutely. At least one thing had gone well. “This shixiong thanks Qi-shimei.”
“Mmn,” intoned Qi Qingqi, her sharp eyes burning with intelligence. “Shen-shixiong has a debt to repay.”
“I do,” replied Shen Jiu, gravely.
“So tell me,” said Qi Qingqi, crossing her hands against her stomach. “Tell me what I want to know.”
Shen Jiu hesitated, his hands reaching up for his collar as he avoided the intrigued eyes burning holes into his skin. He loosened his robes, letting his collarbone show for just a moment.
There was a brand there, the character ‘Qiu’ burned into jade-like skin, small enough to be hidden but large enough to be visible.
“I’m the runaway slave of the Qiu Family that massacred them.”
Qi Qingqi blinked back her tears, her mouth open in a horrified little gasp.
She swallowed desperately, holding back her guilt and anger by sheer willpower.
How could they?
How could a human, a human, be so depraved?
(She knew how.
She thought it would get easier, over time, hearing the same stories all over again should’ve made it easier.
It-
It never did.
Nothing about it ever became easier.
It just became more common.
But that’s why she knew how they were so depraved.
They were never human to begin with.)
How could her kind shixiong, the one who called Shen-shixiong ‘Xiao Jiu,’ the one who was to head their sect, be so treacherous?
(Inhuman.
That’s how.)
How could her Shen-shibo be so ruthless?
(Monsters, the lot of them.
Qi Qingqi thought she knew who the monsters were.
She was wrong.)
Qi Qingqi stood up quickly, making her way over to her shixiong’s side of the table.
She dropped to her knees.
“Qi-shimei, what are you doing? Get-”
“Please accept this humble one’s apology, Shen-shixiong.”
“There’s no need! Just get up-” sputtered Shen Jiu.
Qi Qingqi looked up with red-eyes. “There is. Please, accept this humble one’s apology for failing you.”
She was supposed to be better than this, how-
How could she have missed this?
Liu Qingge hopped on his sword the minute he heard that his cousin sister had taken off the ban on Shen Jiu.
She wouldn’t-
It couldn’t be pressure, his cousin sister was strong, she wouldn’t bend to anyone, not even the sect leader, not when it came to the safety of her girls, which meant-
Which meant that Liu Qingge had been wrong about Shen Jiu.
He’d been the one to tell everyone that Shen Jiu frequently went to the brothel, the one who made that particular rumour into fact, but Xian Shu Peak opening its doors to Shen Jiu meant-
Meant that Shen Jiu wasn’t lecherous.
And Liu Qingge had wronged him.
“Oh, for heavens’ sakes! Is your entire family like this, Liu-shidi?”
Liu Qingge tried not to slump in relief at being called Liu-shidi again. “This humble one needs to apologize for his transgressions.”
“Then do it while sitting at the table,” hissed Shen Jiu at the prostrating form of his Liu-shidi.
Shen Jiu camly sipped his tea as he stared at his Qi-shimei from over the lip of his cup.
She’d been doing this a lot, visiting him every week or two, bringing along a book or her cousin brother when the mood struck her.
It had baffled him, especially when Liu-shidi remained oblivious of most of her reasons and the sect remained in the dark about his origins.
She was alone today, only bringing an ancient tome along for company but there was something sad in her eyes.
“Shixiong knows that this shimei will never break his trust, right?”
What trust?
(But no rumors-
No.)
Shen Jiu smiled blandly. “Of course.”
Qi Qingqi smiled, melancholic. “I promise to never divulge your secrets without your permission, shixiong.”
“This shixiong never doubted you, Qi-shimei.”
No, Shen Jiu never doubted for a second that she would spread it sooner or later. He just didn’t care anymore.
(No new rumours, and she’d apologized, maybe he should-
No.)
“Neither of us believes that Shixiong but I’ll prove it to you.”
(Shen Jiu wished she would-
NO.)
“Please,” sobbed Shen Jiu, his forehead hitting the ground as he kneeled in supplication.
There was a thud soon after, gentle arms wrapping around his body to lift him up, the scent of lavender emanating from the person in holding him.
Shen Jiu kept his eyes closed as he wept, unable to rein in his emotions. “Please, Qi-shimei, I-I’ll do anything, please, just save her.”
“Shixiong,” started Qi Qingqi, her voice gentle and laden with grief. “I-there was nothing left to do, it-it was her time-”
“Please! I’m begging you, please!”
Qi Qingqi rubbed Shen Jiu's back soothingly, her own tears kept at bay by her instinctive need to comfort the people she viewed as younger siblings. “Little one, it was her time.”
Maybe-
NO.
Maybe he could-
NO.
Maybe he could tru-
NO.
Maybe he could trust Qi Qingqi.
Maybe it was him.
Maybe Shen Jiu was the problem.
Shen Jiu clutched his bruised elbow, his eyes eerily blank as he tucked himself away in his favorite hiding spot, in between a particularly dense cluster of bamboo, the one that was always warm but never hot.
He remembered his shizun’s eyes, the way they had lit up with glee, with triumph, after he’d beaten Shen Jiu soundly in a spar.
They were Chen Yehui’s eyes.
They were Wu Yanzi’s eyes.
They were-
They were Qiu Jianluo’s eyes.
The spar hadn't been like the ones with Liu Qingge, his shizun hadn’t yielded when he’d tapped out, hadn’t taken care to stop immediately once he’d admitted defeat.
No, his shizun had pushed, slashing through his robes when he didn’t stop mid-swing, cutting into his arms with his sharp spirit sword-
Punching him in the face even after he’d held up his hands in surrender.
Looming over him with triumph and glee and joy as he was knocked off his feet, sprawled across the hard, sandy ground as he gasped for the breath that had been knocked out of him.
Shen Jiu couldn’t imagine the shizun that had so lovingly taught him calligraphy taking enjoyment from beating him up.
No, his shizun had been kind.
Had been good.
He was still good, Shen Jiu saw how he treated the other disciples, he was always kind with them, gentle and encouraging, so maybe-
Maybe it was Shen Jiu.
Qiu Haitang had always said that Qiu Jianluo was the best person in the world, Shen Jiu had always thought that his Qi-ge was the epitome of kindness and selflessness, his shizun had always been praised for his gentle nature so maybe it was him.
Maybe there was something in Shen Jiu, something inherent, something deep and dark and disgusting that made all these men hate him, leave him, hurt him.
Maybe it was Shen Jiu.
“Who did this to you?” asked Liu Qingge with a deadly calm, his grip on his anger a fraying thread, ready to snap.
He’d hoped he could spar with Shen Jiu, they’d been getting closer as time went on and every now and then, Shen Jiu would have time for a quick spar, so Liu Qingge had come over to see if today would be his lucky day.
Today was not his lucky day but that didn’t matter because Liu Qingge was going to destroy the person who hurt his Shen-shixiong.
Shen Jiu stared at him with blank eyes, his entire face devoid of emotion. “I’m fine, Liu-shidi.”
Liu Qingge kneeled down on one knee, his left hand setting his sword aside. “I can help you, Shixiong. Just tell me who did it and I’ll fight them for you.”
Shen Jiu’s eyes flickered. “I’m fine, Liu-shidi.”
Liu Qingge hesitated before he brought a hand up to his shixiong’s cheek, his hand gently caressing the giant bruise forming on those bloodless cheeks as he spoke in a soft voice. “Who was it?”
He didn’t miss the way Shen Jiu leaned into his hand, his eyes becoming watery.
A single tear dripped down Shen Jiu’s face. “I’m fine, Liu-shidi.”
Shen Jiu waited anxiously, his hands itching to twiddle with something, anything, that would get his mind off his current situation.
His shizun had called him for a private meeting.
They weren’t exactly rare, not before, not when his shizun liked him, but after....
Well, suffice to say, private meetings had become rarer than a kind slaver.
He knew what it was about, half the peak and their grandmothers knew what it was about.
Shen Jiu was going to be kicked out of his position as the head disciple.
Whether he would stay in the sect or not was less clear, but he certainly wouldn’t be head disciple anymore, not after this.
Shen Jiu was....well, he wasn’t fine with it, he’d worked for that position, put in more effort than everybody else on the damn peak combined, but he didn’t dread it, not anymore.
Not when it would mean that Shen Jiu would finally be able to escape his shizun.
He just wished his shizun would get it over with, already.
It seemed that the gods had answered his wishes because his shizun chose that moment to open his mouth.
“Shen Qingqiu,” said the Peak Lord of Qing Jing, a slight sneer prominently displayed on his lips.
And Shen Jiu’s world crashed down around him.
“What?” said Shen Jiu, momentarily forgetting himself as he gaped at the Qing Jing Peak Lord.
Shen Anwei scowled. “Don’t make me repeat myself, stupid child. That’s your name,” he said, scowling at the last word. “You are to be the future Qing Jing Peak Lord, Shen Qingqiu.”
There was acid in his shizun’s voice, a thin undercurrent of pure disgust that couldn’t be masked despite his best efforts and Shen Jiu.
Shen Jiu-
Shen Qingqiu-
NO NO NO NO NONONONONO-
That fucking name, the one single character that wouldn’t leave him alone, the disgust, the hatred, the pain, the FUCKING NAME-
The single character in his name, branding him for life in a way more permanent than any scar ever could.
The disgust in his shizun’s voice as he referred to the disciple he’d sworn, he’d sworn, to protect.
The fucking name-
“How could you, Shizun?” asked Shen Jiu, his voice trembling but never breaking as he glared at his shizun, his anger boiling out of his body in a stream of impulsiveness. “You-I told you- how could you- You know what that means, how could-”
“SILENCE!” barked Shen Anwei, his eyes set ablaze with a hate fit only for the most heinous members of society. “Not. Another. Word.”
The Qing Jing Peak Lord leaned forward slightly, his face set in an ugly snarl. “Scum.”
And Shen Jiu felt cold.
So utterly.
Damnably.
Cold.
Scum.
Now he understood why he was named Shen Qingqiu.
Shen Jiu-
Shen Qingqiu, he had to remember that, he wasn’t Shen Jiu anymore.
He was Shen Qingqiu.
Chen Yehui’s face had been comical when he’d seen him wearing the succeeding disciple’s robes, his semi-composed manner immediately collapsing as he started to shake, whether from indignation or fear, Shen Jiu-Qingqiu didn’t care to know.
The other disciples had reacted similarly, though Shen Ji-Qingqiu thought they were more sympathetic than outright shocked, but he didn’t care enough to truly observe them.
He was to be the future peak lord, lord of the peak of scholars, the tactician of Cang Qiong, the second most powerful person in the entire sect, in the entire world.
He was to be the person he’d always wanted safe-
But not like this.
He didn’t want to be peak lord if he had to become Shen Qingqiu to do so.
“Xiao Jiu!” a pleasant voice said, breaking him out of his thoughts.
Shen Qingqiu turned around with dread in his blood, a desperate need to not confront the person standing in front of him with a cheery smile.
A rebuke was on his tongue, ready to lash out, ready to hurt. He didn’t want to be Xiao Jiu, he wasn’t the slave child, desperate and broken and cold, how dare that traitor call him by that pathetic name, how dare he, but-
It was his fault, wasn’t it?
He was the only common denominator between his shizun, Yue Qingyuan, and Qiu Jianluo, all said to be men of honor, men of righteousness, so maybe the fact that they all hurt him was due to himself.
He was the problem, wasn’t he?
Wu Yanzi was the only odd one out but he was a disgraceful human and the fact that he’d decided to take Shen Qingqiu in further proved that he only had himself to blame.
So Shen Qingqiu held it in, biting his tongue to keep his distasteful self in check.
There was a hopeful smile on Yue Qingyuan’s face after he received no angry retort. “It’s a wonderful day, isn’t it Xiao Jiu?”
Shen Qingqiu nodded, his face a blank mask.
Yue Qingyuan grinned. “I’m so proud of you, Xiao Jiu!”
“You did it, Xiao Jiu!”
“It’s great that you’re the succeeding disciple now, Xiao Jiu! It's good to see you finally got past that little rough spot!”
“Xiao Jiu-”
“Xiao Jiu-“
“Xiao Jiu-“
Shen Qingqiu felt like he was on the verge of a Qi deviation.
“Greetings to Shen-shixiong, Yue-shixiong,” said a cool voice, cutting through the buzz in his brain.
Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help but be grateful when he saw Qi Qingqi’s stony visage.
She shot him a quick smile, small but sincere, before she turned to face Yue Qingyuan head-on, her face fit for war once more. “It would be prudent of Yue-shixiong to not call Shen-shixiong ‘Xiao Jiu.’”
Yue Qingyuan blinked quickly. “I-I don’t see how that has anything to do with Qi-shimei.”
“Shen-shixiong is my shixiong, his honor is a matter of my honor and Yue-shixiong calling him ‘Xiao Jiu’ is disgracing him.”
Shen Qingqiu hadn’t told her that his Qi-ge was Yue Qingyuan but he guessed that it wasn’t hard to figure out who he was.
Yue Qingyuan’s eyes became wide with shock. “You told her, Xiao Jiu?” he asked, turning back to Shen Qingqiu.
Qi Qingqi clenched her jaw. “I advise you to stop with that infernal name, Yue-shixiong. It is not befitting of Shen-shixiong.”
“Xiao Jiu-”
Qi Qingqi exploded, her voice contained within the muffling charm Shen Qingqiu had put up when she’d first started to confront Yue Qingyuan. “He’s not a number, Yue Qingyuan! How can you be so blind as to not understand that he doesn’t like that name?! Respect his wishes, and stop calling him ‘Xiao Jiu!’ Or I will make you,” she declared.
It wasn’t an empty threat, Shen Qingqiu realized, she wasn’t the most powerful, no one really was, not completely, but that didn’t mean that she was weak and his Qi-shimei could do a lot of damage if provoked.
Yue Qingyuan frowned slightly. “I believe it depends upon Xiao Jiu to state what he wants to be referred to as and he hasn’t complained once since I got here.”
There was a thrum of delight in his sentence that sickened Shen Qingqiu to his core.
“And whose fault is that?! You constantly call him that despicable name, deferring to his wishes for a couple hours before reverting to your original state! You constantly undermine him, making him out to be a powerless wimp that needs someone to hold his hand when you know very well that he is a strong cultivator in his own right! You constantly mistrust him, believing every random cultivator when they say he has wronged them. Do you know what that does? Do you know how many people hate him because they believe you are the one covering up his ‘misdeeds?’ You’re not getting consent here, Yue Qingyuan, you’re getting defeat,” she said, her breaths kept forcibly even through willpower alone.
Qi Qingqi turned to Shen Qingqiu with latent fury dancing in her eyes, hooking her arm around his elbow as she dragged him away, ignoring Yue Qingyuan’s sputtering.
“What would you like to be called, Shen-shixiong?” she asked after they lost sight of Yue Qingyuan.
“Huh?” asked Shen Qingqiu inelegantly, his brain still not working properly.
“Your name, it’s-the character,” said Qi Qingqi, hesitantly. “Do you prefer another name?”
Shen Qingqiu didn’t speak for several moments, thoroughly dumbfounded as he urged his brain to make sense of his situation for once.
“Shen Jiu,” he said. “My name is Shen Jiu.”
Liu Qingge’s shoulder started to burn, stinging painfully as the hostile spiritual energy started to eat away at his existence.
It wasn’t strong enough to do extensive damage but it sure as hell wasn’t trivial, the wound hurt.
Liu Qingge turned around quickly, his instincts set to fight whatever had attacked him, his sword up to defend further attacks but the only thing standing behind him was his shixiong, his fan outstretched in an offensive move he’d seen often while sparring.
There was dread forming in his stomach, a dawning realization of what might’ve happened burning away every piece of goodwill he’d had towards Shen Jiu until he forcibly calmed himself.
There-there might be an explanation.
Liu Qingge had made this mistake once before, assuming things without at least trying to know the truth, and he didn’t want to make it again.
So he stayed quiet, his throat unable to form the words needed to ask his desperate query.
Did he-
Shen Qingqiu stared at him with wide, fiery eyes, his body stock still as he held himself rigidly.
They stood at a standstill, neither one of them willing to break the silence to find the hostility it might house.
Luckily, Shang Qinghua was there.
His mousey shixiong jumped up with surprising agility, considering he’d been playing dead for the past hour.
“There was a demon behind you, Liu-shidi! Shen-shixiong saved your life!”
There was true delight in his voice, a wondrous quality to his statement that seemed at odds with their situation, despite it further proving to Liu Qingge that Shang Qinghua was telling the truth. That sincerity couldn’t be faked.
Liu Qingge turned back to his Shen-shixiong, his eyes desperately searching for any deception in his shixiong’s purple-green eyes.
He found none.
Relief came with enough force to make him momentarily forget about his shoulder wound, his mouth pulling up in a smile that was carelessly free and hopelessly joyful.
There would be consequences to this singular action, the Liu Family, and Liu Qingge himself couldn’t let his savior go without proper recompense, but for now-
For now, Liu Qingge would just lose himself and enjoy his situation without caring about why proof that his shixiong didn’t hate him made his stomach flutter with butterflies.
There was a tense body next to him, beautiful eyes distant and unseeing as Liu Qingge waited patiently for him to start speaking.
It didn’t take long, the hazy look in his Shen-shixiong’s eyes never completely fading, only receding into his shixiong’s mind. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”
Liu Qingge didn’t have to ask about who his shixiong was talking about, he knew.
“Yes, shixiong, the previous peak lord of Qing Jing has ascended.”
Liu Qingge would have preferred it if he’d descended into hell, but as long as he could stay far, far away from his shixiong, he would take it.
Shen Jiu started to laugh quietly, breathlessly.
“He’s gone,” he said, his voice quiet and weak.
And Liu Qingge couldn’t help himself.
He wrapped his arms around his shixiong, bringing his lithe body closer to himself as he hugged him, his hold remaining strong but not constrictive.
Shen Jiu tensed up, his hands coming up to Liu Qingge’s chest.
The new Bai Zhan Peak Lord hoped it wasn’t to push him away, he would go if prompted, he would go without a fight, but he wouldn’t want to.
Luckily, Shen Jiu’s fists only curled up in his robes, his body slumping as he buried his face in Liu Qingge’s chest.
Liu Qingge tightened his hold, his eyes watering as he held his shixiong for however long he desired to be held.
There were butterflies in his stomach, his breath coming in short gasps, his heartbreak for his shixiong in tandem for his love for his shixiong.
His love for his shixiong.
His love for his shixiong.
His love for his shixiong.
Fucking hell.
Liu Qingge was in love.
Shen Jiu played with the soft petals of the jasmine plant his Liu-shidi had given him.
Spur of the moment purchase, he’d said.
Thought they looked pretty, he’d said.
He had other plants from his Liu-shidi, ones that were more expensive, more rare, more beautiful.
But something about the small, fragrant plant in his hand, something about the fact that his Liu-shidi had thought of him, something about the care in his actions made his chest flood with warmth.
Shen Jiu smiled as the sword was plunged into his chest, his hand coming up to rest on his Liu-shidi’s chest as his mouth filled with blood.
He closed his eyes, transferring all of his spiritual energy into Liu Qingge in an effort to calm him down.
He couldn’t let Liu Qingge die, not now, not ever.
The Qi deviation had been a surprise, Shen Jiu hadn’t thought that his Liu-shidi was anywhere near one, but it was a surprise Shen Jiu would have to handle and it was a surprise that would take his life but it was a surprise Shen Jiu would gladly take responsibility for because that was the only way his Liu-shidi would survive.
Liu Qingge would be upset, he knew that, but he had Qi-jie and his entire family and Shen Jiu knew how to repay his debts, he knew how to be loyal.
Shen Jiu let a broken smile spread across his face as blood dribbled down his throat, his eyes tearing up as he kept deescalating the tense situation, putting his all into healing the brute that had turned into his best friend.
(That had turned into his-
His love.
Shen Jiu loved him.
Gods, he wished he’d figured that out sooner.)
Shen Jiu let out a soundless, mirthless laugh as he slumped onto Liu Qingge’s chest, Cheng Luan still embedded in his heart.
The world darkened to the sound of his Liu-shidi’s screams.
Shen Yuan lunged at the scum when he saw him appear in the dimensional space, the face he’d worn for years distorted into one of pure malice.
He grabbed Shen Jiu’s collar, yanking him towards himself as he slapped him harshly, the scum’s lip tearing despite him being incorporeal.
“You worthless, disgusting, piece of shit! Is that how you treat disciples?! Huh? You shriveled up mistake! You should’ve been killed in the cradle! Why do you have to ruin everything?! All I asked, literally all I asked, was for you to not be a fucked up piece of trash, and what do you do? You go and abuse Luo Binghe! Whipping him for inconsequential mistakes, making him an outcast, letting him be bullied! What in the world made you think that was acceptable, you disgusting waste of space?!”
(The hold his shizun had on him, it was almost like that last hug.
Almost.
Except, it seemed more real this time, more true.)
Shen Jiu’s eyes were downcast, his gaze never straying from the bottom of the endless cave they were in, his hand pressed against the cheek that began to bruise from the slap. “I don’t know Shizun,” he whispered. “Wasn’t that what you taught me?”
Shen Anwei cradled his newborn son, his eyes clouding over with tears as he held him gently like the treasure he was.
Never again.
His A’Jiu would never be hurt again.
He’d failed so spectacularly last time and that blasted system had shown him the results of his failure and Shen Anwei vowed to never let it happen again.
He could still remember his son’s body, Cheng Luan sticking out of his chest grotesquely, the resigned, sad smile on his face, the blood-
Shen Anwei had turned away, unable to look for even a moment longer.
The memories were there in his mind, ready to access should he wish it, the identity of the imposter mere minutes away should Shen Anwei continue but-
He couldn't.
He couldn’t watch his son’s death.
Shen Anwei blinked away his tears, leaning further into his husband’s chest as he smiled at his son’s sleeping face.
There was a tug on his jacket, his older son’s curious face peaking up at him through his hair.
Shen Anwei leaned down, his smile widening as his love for his sons exploded in his chest, making breathing seem like an impossible task for a few moments.
“This is your brother, A-Yuan” he said, gently. “This is A-Jiu, my little star. He’s going to be your younger brother.”
“Little brother,” repeated Shen Yuan with a sunny grin. “I’ll teach him how to make hot chocolate and how to play hopscotch and how to read and I’ll be the bestest big brother ever! I’ll teach him everything!”