In Tune - Angry_gremlin_commando - 人渣反派自救系统 - 墨香铜臭 | The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

It starts when Shang Qinghua is still just the head disciple. Mobei-jun (then Mobei Wu) is sleeping off an injury in his bed when some truly horrendous dizi music startles him awake.

His human is quick to reassure him that the infernal noise is not the sign of alarm or an impending attack, it's just one of the senior disciples practicing his music. "It's not uncommon for people to pick up music again once they move out of the disciple dorms, my king. Nobody cares as long as they only do it during the day." He sighs and closes the window, dulling the noise. "I do wish he stuck to the guqin, though. He's so much better with that."

After that incident Mobei starts listening. Not all the An Ding seniors have the sort of set daily routine as Qinghua, whose talent lies mostly on the paperwork side of things; they go out on constructions and night hunts and other physical assignments, then return to the sect for a given number of rest days before they are sent out again. Many of them enjoy music, although some of them are better than others. It takes Mobei only a few months to start identifying the pattern and double check it against some of Qinghua’s papers to find the senior who so rudely interrupted his rest that one time. (After that day senior disciple Lan finds his dizi mysteriously missing every time he wants to practice until he accepts this as a heavenly sign and returns to his trusty guqin. Qinghua is right, his guqin playing is much better than whatever noise he made with the dizi.)

Mobei gets thinking one day, a few weeks before an important court event where he, youngest son of the Mobei-jun, has to provide musical accompaniment and can’t find a good place in the palace to practice without interruption: what is stopping him from practicing his music here? So the next time he comes to hide away in Qinghua’s apartment (his human is away on a longer business trip with the An Ding peak lord, learning the finer tricks of trade at the side of his shizun) he brings his morin khuur with him. It’s a finely crafted instrument, its ornament a gilded carving of the head of a longma.

At first he is careful, ready to bolt if anyone comes to investigate the new music - he is banking on it that less educated humans will mistake the sound of the morin khuur for the erhu, but he is cautious about what songs he chooses first. When no trouble comes his way he starts practicing in earnest, the sedate tones of the few Jianghu pieces he ever learned abandoned in favor of his people’s music, fierce and lively like the galloping horses of his ancestors. Usually he would be expected to sing too, but that would certainly give him away and his father has long given up on making him sing when it’s a good day when he speaks more than three sentences altogether.

The time of his performance comes and goes and he remains undiscovered. Well, that’s not quite true; they know he is there. There is a short tune, a sort of hello the musicians play to greet each other when there’s more than one practicing at the same time. It’s one of the pipa players who greets him first on a lazy afternoon when he’s playing to center himself after an argument with his father. He recognizes the little flourish she puts in her greeting - she’s a hallmaster, he thinks, the one he hears most often - and tentatively greets her back. She acknowledges him by playing a riff on one of his favorite songs before she goes about her own practice.

For some strange reason his day suddenly feels a lot less bleak.

The next time someone greets him, he answers without hesitation. In the following months he becomes familiar with all the ‘usual suspects’, as Qinghua likes to say. There are many different instruments and temperaments among the An Ding musicians, from the twin hall masters and their energetic pipa and erhu duets, to the retired Bai Zhan master who oversees the An Ding night hunts and plays melancholic melodies on his dizi late into the evenings on the rare occasions when he is on the peak.

Qinghua finds out eventually when he comes home from a meeting early and finds Mobei playing in his living room, sitting by the open window in such a way that he’s not visible from the outside. He keeps careful eye contact with the human, slowly moving to put the bow down when Qinghua holds up both hands to stop him. “Please, my king, don’t mind this lowly servant! Pretend I’m not even here, I have so much paperwork to finish you wouldn’t believe.”

He brings Mobei tea, as is their habit, then sits at his desk and starts poring over the notes he took for his shizun at the peak lord meeting.

Mobei Wu goes back to practicing, pretending that his human isn’t in the room. There’s another function coming up and he needs to learn a song specifically for the guest of honor, the Eastern Sea Serpent King. It’s a slow and melancholic piece that’s not much to his taste, but his father made it clear that he either has to learn to play it or he has to sing, and when put like that it was hardly a choice. He is more than happy to leave the singing to his elder brothers.

Qinghue keeps sneaking glances at him, clearly curious, but he doesn’t say anything until senior Lan greets Mobei with the usual short melody - he started learning the xiao some time ago, but he’s miraculously much better at it than the dizi - and Mobei pauses in his practice to greet him back.

“I knew it!” Qinghua says with delight, abandoning his paperwork in favor of beaming at Mobei Wu. “I should have guessed it was my king playing when the others came to ask if I was the ‘mystery musician’.”

“Perhaps we should say that Qinghua is the musician,” Mobei suggests. “If the others have already located that the music comes from his room.”

His human flounders, shooting down the idea after a lengthy bout of simpering - he can’t play the morin khuur at all and he can’t measure up to Mobei Wu’s talent even with the instrument he does play, they would find him out in no time. “Besides, they would notice eventually that my king plays when I’m away. It’s easier to say I have a shy friend who practices in my room for the sake of anonymity and let them stew in frustration that they can’t find out who it is.”

Mobei Wu has to concede that it’s a good point. “Qinghua plays an instrument?”

“Only on an amateur level, my king. And not since I have moved away from my hometown.” Mobei gives him a look that hopefully conveys that he expects the human to tell him more eventually, but the matter soon gets forgotten. Mobei still plays, usually when he is alone, but sometimes when Qinghua is there. There is something very satisfying in watching the tension drain from the human as he listens to his king’s music, eyes closed, his papers forgotten and a soft smile lurking in the corner of his mouth.

The peak lord’s Leisure House is set a little distance away from the other senior residences, but the acoustics on this part of the peak are excellent. All Mobei needs to do is open a window into the garden - walled and warded against intruders, so his privacy is guaranteed - to disable the privacy wards and share in the music of An Ding. Qinghua sets him up a cool corner by the window where he can comfortably settle down to play even in summer, a cabinet for his supplies and a stand for his instrument - a new one whose ornament he carved himself based on the stocky, hardworking horses common in his kingdom rather than any of the more mythical breeds the court favored. (If he sometimes finds himself thinking of Qinghua when he looks at it, that is nobody’s business but his own. He is starting to despair that Shang Qinghua, having already risen to the rank of peak lord and with it to the height of power in the cultivation world, will keep spurning his courtship until he becomes king.)

Mobei arrives one day, in a foul mood from having to root through the staff of his palace for traitors after another assassination attempt (this is the third time already and the year has barely began! He just wants to feel safe eating a meal in his own residence, that should not be such a high bar.) when he finds Shang Qinghua nervously standing next to an instrument that wasn’t there the last time he came to the Leisure House.

“My king asked once what instrument I play and, well...” He looks awkward and hopeful and Mobei Wu is rapidly reevaluating their shared past because this feels like courtship, but two, even three steps beyond the trial of blood. Has Qinghua injured him sometime before Mobei realized his own feelings and started paying attention? That must have been the case.

“Qinghua plays the yochin?” As if they could fit any more perfectly together.

“We call it the yangqin where I’m from, but yes.” He sits down and takes up the hammers. Twirls them nervously for a moment before he plays the greeting, smiling shyly up at Mobei. “I don’t have much free time, so it took me a while to relearn how to play it, then practice northern music so we can play together. If my king wishes to, that is! He’s not obligated to play with this talentless- hmph!”

There are only a few ways someone can answer when presented with this kind of dedication and Mobei Wu is not the kind of fool who would let such an opportunity pass him by, now that he’s aware that he’s being courted by someone as crafty and brilliant as Shang Qinghua. He leans over the yochin and silences the self-deprecating comments before they can spill forth with a kiss. Once he’s certain that Qinghua is pleasantly speechless (the expression on his human’s face is such a delightful mix of bafflement and hunger that if he wasn’t obligated by the rules of courtship to answer in kind then Mobei Wu would kiss him again and keep kissing him until Qinghua either pushes him away or drags him to bed) Mobei sits down with his own instrument, testing it for a moment and finding it perfectly tuned. He answers the greeting, adding the flourish that has become his trademark over the years, then looks at Qinghua expectantly.

Shang Qinghua looks back at him, flushed and happy, and starts playing. It’s clear right away that Qinghua has vastly oversold his lack of talent. It takes a few minutes, but once his nerves calm and he gets swept up in the music he leads their duet with passion and confidence - and Mobei Wu, future king of the Northern Desert, follows his guidance every step of the way, hopelessly smitten.

There will be talking afterwards, hurt feelings, tears, misunderstanding and, eventually, reconciliation (Qinghua pinning him to the bed and lecturing him about all the ways he failed his courtship, every one of the young king's apologies accepted with a kiss until Mobei is pliant and welcoming, the way Qinghua needs him to be to unlearn the fear that settled into his nerves in the bruising grip of his king’s hands), but for now there’s only music and it’s even more perfect than Mobei could have ever dreamed it to be.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu is rightfully known as an unpleasant, cold man to work with - not that he initially set out to be so, no, but if his martial siblings and assorted colleagues just can’t help themselves when it comes to him, then why would it fall to him to keep trying? Bah! - but he isn’t neglectful when it comes to his duties. So when he finds out that there is a mixup with the reports that would cause both An Ding and Qiong Ding a whole landslide of extra work he immediately flies over to Shang Qinghua with the right papers to halt the administrative calamity before it could strike.

It’s one of the bi-monthly mandated rest days - Mu-shidi’s idea, as if three days of rest every two months would prevent anyone from working themselves to death - when even the ever-buzzing beehive of An Ding settles down, so he goes straight to Shang Qinghua’s Leisure House where a frazzled looking disciple tells him that he just missed the man. “Asking for Shen-shibo’s forgiveness, but we just received news that a group of bandits have raided one of our construction sites and shizun has rushed off to survey the damages. This disciple can take the papers and ensure they reach who they are supposed to.”

Shen Qingqiu asks for the disciple’s name, notes it down so he knows who to blame if the papers get lost again, then sends her on her merry way. An Ding peak runs like a well-oiled machine, so there is no reason for him to get any more involved than this.

He slowly starts walking down the path meandering through the leisure houses and other residential buildings reserved for the hall masters and other members of the senior peak staff. Many of the An Ding masters are passionate and often talented musicians, and after the day he had it’s a balm to his soul to walk down the gravel path and listen to the distant sound of someone playing a lively ballad on the guzheng.

Shen Qingqiu has walked maybe for a minute when he hears a new sound, a familiar melody played on an unfamiliar instrument, coming from behind him. The only residence there is the peak lord’s house and he knows his shidi enough that Shang Qinghua would not sit idle when one of his operations has been compromised, so it cannot be him. Perhaps one of his disciples? No, the only one who could reasonably get access to a peak lord’s residence is the head disciple, but that would be Le Zhongbo - the boy has a frightening amount of business savvy for someone coming from old money, but he is absolutely hopeless in the four arts and couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. It was the reason why Shen Qingqiu passed him over to An Ding when the kid came to the sect. The event lives vividly in his memory because the sect leader had to do a whole awkward bit of diplomatic dance trying to placate the Le family afterwards and he dragged both Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua into the whole farce.

He can likely rule out an intruder - who would even break into a peak lord’s house to play music? - so that leaves a guest, probably. Shang Qinghua is not obligated to notify them if he decides to entertain someone on his own peak - unlike Shen Qingqiu, who could invite the most reputable scholar for tea and within a shichen Liu Qingge would kick his door down to accuse him of kidnapping.

Still, by the time he comes to this conclusion he has already turned around and walked back to the Leisure House. He stands out in front for a moment, contemplating how to go about catching a glimpse of Shang-shidi’s visitor, unconsciously tapping his fingers in the rhythm of the music. It’s a lively song, one that reminds him of galloping horses. He suspects a rogue cultivator, one from the northern plains. They almost never join the great sects and get the chance to acquire a personal spirit sword, so many of them prefer to travel by horse rather than rely on the fickle temperaments of unbonded spiritual weapons.

The windows are spelled for privacy, but one of them has to be open, otherwise the wards would silence the sounds as well. With this in mind it’s easy enough for someone with Shen Qingqiu’s cultivation to jump the wall of Shang-shidi’s private garden. He has never seen much point in it, since his own bamboo house didn’t have a private area like this (as if his brats would dare approach his house without good reason!), but as a fellow peak lord he is keyed into the outer wards at the very least.

Despite this the music immediately falls silent as soon as he lands on the gravel of the walking path. “Who goes there?” A male voice, deep and slightly accented. Guarded, which confirms that this man is not from the sect and likely expects to be kicked out if he’s discovered.

He can see that one of the windows is opened just a crack - just enough to disrupt the privacy wards and let this guest share in the communal music of the peak. Shen Qingqiu takes a step closer and notices with a start that all the windows facing the garden are completely opaque, likely as a side effect of the disturbed privacy array. He can’t see the man and neither can the man see him, which might work out in his favor, actually. He would have a hell of a time explaining why the Lord of Qing Jing broke into the private garden of his shidi.

“Forgive this master. The door is closed, but I heard the music and thought peak lord Shang might be in residence.” Shen Qingqiu puts his best warm professional voice on, which is nowhere near what Shang-shidi or heavens forbid zhangmen-shixiong can do, but it’s serviceable enough. “It’s not that important. I wasn’t aware Lord Shang had a guest, master…?”

There is a suspiciously long silence, then a tentative: “Wu?”

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t know any rogue cultivator called Wu, but it’s a common enough name and there are more rogue cultivators than there are fish in the sea. “Well met, master Wu. This one is master Shen.”

“I don’t recall Qinghua mentioning an An Ding hall master by that name.” Well, that familiar address all but confirms that this Wu is likely an outside friend. Being mistaken for a hall master is very convenient, so Shen Qingqiu grabs onto the mistaken identity with both hands and leans into it.

“I work for Qiong Ding. The sect leader sent me over to ask about some property documents that might have been accidentally mishandled.” It’s not even a complete lie. There’s a grunt from inside, heavy footsteps, the noise of shuffling papers, more steps, then a folder is pushed very carefully onto the windowsill.

“Qinghua noticed the error earlier. No harm done.” Shen Qingqiu takes the report and is surprised to find notes on every page, written in a careful, elegant hand. “I made corrections in his absence.”

“Master Wu is very versatile.” At a glance the corrections seem all right, master Wu’s suggestions a comfortable middle ground between Qi Qingqi’s halfhearted handling of sect lands and Shang Qinghua’s no-nonsense ruthlessness. There are far too many people living on their lands who take Cang Qiong’s disapproval of slavery as a sign of weakness, and Shang Qinghua treats these self-important men like the wretched vermin they are. It’s one of his Shidi’s few redeeming qualities in Qingqiu’s eyes.

“My family has lands.” Master Wu is silent for a long time, unwilling to elaborate.

His family owns lands, but he doesn’t. If he learned how to manage property, then he’s likely a direct descendant of the main family branch, but so low in the chain of succession that he’s unlikely to ever inherit.

“Slaves?”

“No. Free men do better work.” The expected answer, but a relief all the same. If Shang-shidi found out that his friend was a slave owner then the end result would not have been pretty.

It doesn’t narrow things down nearly enough, but he’s most likely not directly affiliated with the other great sects, at the very least. Huan Hua Palace and Tian Yi Overlook both make liberal use of slaves and even Zhao Hua Monastery rents some during harvests.

He’s no closer to finding out his identity of this young master probably cultivator, but Shen Qingqiu thinks he’s starting to get a handle on Shang-shidi’s mysterious man.

“Wu-gongzi is wise.”

“Wu-gongzi was never here.” There’s not a lot of inflection to his voice, but Shen Jiu always had a good ear for what people tried to hide the most. In Wu-gongzi’s case it’s a subtle edge of anxiety.

“The sect has no rules forbidding senior staff and peak lords from accepting visitors. Even when said visitor is a rogue cultivator suspiciously cagey about his identity.” He can’t help taking at least a little jab at the outsider. His reaction will be telling about whether he is a danger to the sect or not.

After a long, tense silence there’s a slow exhale. “I travel the borderlands and the demon realm often and the energy of that realm… clings.” Just for a moment there’s a hand on the windowsill, its pallor an almost luminescent white and the nails blue-black. It’s gone before Shen Qingqiu can take a better look at it. “I don’t want to cause trouble for Qinghua.”

Shen Qingqiu stares at the spot where the hand disappeared. There are several equally likely explanations for what he saw. It is true that the demon realm’s energies permeate the bodies of cultivators if they spend a lot of time there, not counting the likely mishaps with curses and various magical and poisonous pollens all over the place. Without the resources of a great sect to purify the body, those susceptible to such influences will start to show signs of corruption after a while.

He could also be a demonic cultivator. The darker practices also leave a mark on the body. Shen Jiu thinks of Wu Yanzi’s claws that no amount of filing could get to look like human nails, his own too-sharp teeth and the care he has to take to always keep his mouth closed or hidden so nobody can notice his serrated molars.

Or this Wu-gongzi could be a demon. Right. Shen Qingqiu dismisses the ridiculous notion right away.

“Is gongzi a demonic cultivator?” he asks in a carefully neutral tone, his hand sliding onto Xiu Ya’s hilt.

“No.” The contempt condensed into that one word cannot be faked. “Demonic cultivators are more wretched than some demons. This one does not associate with such filth.”

Shen Qingqiu lets go of his sword. “Forgive me for the offense, master Wu. I had to ask.”

The icy silence on the other side of the window expresses disapproval better than anything the rogue cultivator could have said.

“I need to take these documents back to my peak, but please, stay as long as you wish. I’ll remind Lord Shang that he has free authority to entertain guests in his home. Unless the wandering master wishes to join the sect in an official capacity? Our Qian Cao peak is very well supplied with all kinds of medicine that can cleanse demonic energies.”

There’s a noise. It sounds almost like a laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” A beat of silence. “I believe I shall stay a little while longer. Have a good day, master Shen.”

“Likewise, master Wu.”

Shen Qingqiu is still turning the interaction around in his mind, walking down the winding path of An Ding once again, when the music behind him starts again. Caught up in the mystery of the rogue cultivator’s identity, he completely forgot to ask him about his instrument. No matter. If master Wu stays for a few days he might still get the chance.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu didn’t plan on being back the very next day, but then he ran into Liu Qingge. He’s not even sure what he said that set the brute off this time, but the next thing he knows they are flying through the air, and enraged Qingge hot on his heels.

It’s a coincidence that the most convenient place to shake his shidi is by flying through An Ding’s residential area. It’s a foggy morning and An Ding is one of the few peaks without an anti-weather array (they just have too many goods coming in that have unpleasant interactions with the arrays and nobody wants another Multiplying Goat Incident), so the logistics peak is currently under cloud cover, perfect for disappearing out of sight.

He dips Xiu Ya down, accelerates, then takes a sharp turn and cuts all his spiritual power, trusting his body and his memory of the environment to catch himself on the ground. He almost crashes into the very familiar wall of Shang Qinghua’s back garden - almost! - then it’s just a small effort to jump the wall, just like he did the day before and a moment later he has his back plastered to the wall of the Leisure House, hiding between two ornamental shrubs that are surprisingly lush despite winter being just around the corner.

A little distance away there is a crash, then the slow, creaking sound of a tree falling over, then finally another crash, this time mixed with the telltale sound of breaking roof tiles. Unlike Shen Qinqgiu, Liu Qingge is apparently unfamiliar enough with the layout of An Ding that he flew straight into a tree at full speed. Serves him right. If the brute broke a few bones in the sudden collision, all the better.

The slamming of a door followed by Shang Qinghua’s incensed yelling sounds almost comical, like it’s from a street play rather than real life. “What in the- LIU QINGGE, GET DOWN FROM THERE! Wha- why- GET DOWN RIGHT THIS INSTANT BEFORE YOU MAKE IT WORSE!!”

Liu Qingge doesn’t stand a chance. Despite his half-heartedly stammered protests Shang-shidi is verbally ripping into him as he drags the brute away, presumably to the sect leader. Shen Qingqiu stays unmoving where he is, just in case Shang Qinghua comes back to investigate why Qingge was flying around on his peak.

He’s almost unsurprised when there’s a light knock on the glass and the window above his head opens a crack.

“They are gone.” Master Wu sounds mildly amused. “They will be away for a while.”

“Good morning, master Wu.” Shen Qingqiu crosses his legs and smooths out his skirts so he sits more comfortably on the ground while he catches his breath. “Lord Shang has a good set of lungs on him, doesn’t he? I never realized.”

“En. He could call for me and I’d hear it even from the demon realm.” That’s likely an inside joke he’s not meant to get, but it sounds fond. “Tea? It’s a chilly morning.”

Well, why the hell not.

“Yes, please.” With the gentle clink of porcelain a steaming cup of Shang-shidi’s preferred milk tea is placed on the windowsill. “Thank you.”

“Salt? Sugar?”

Usually Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t put additives into his tea - especially not salt, where is this man even from? - but he’s not certain about the milk and his time on the streets left him with a sweet tooth. Even if it’s horrible, he can drink it if it’s sweet enough. “Sugar, thank you.”

He’s allowed to drink his tea - surprisingly pleasant; he will have to blackmail or bully Shang-shidi into telling him where he got these leaves - in peace for a few minutes before master Wu finally breaks the silence.

“The Bai Zhan Lord was chasing you.”

“Yes, that would be correct.”

“Why?”

“He can freely bully the hall masters. The sect leader will not interfere.” Both statements are true, even if they are not directly connected to what happened. Shen Qingqiu hasn’t yet resorted to begging for Yue Qingyuan to do something already, but he was sorely tempted the last time Qingge terrified one of his hall masters. She tried to confront the Bai Zhan Lord about his little brats raiding her classes and he brushed her off and berated her for bothering him.

“Chase them all over the peaks?”

“If he wishes.” Master Tang hasn’t been back to teaching since that day, flinching at every loud noise or sudden movement in the corner of her eye. Liu Qingge hasn’t raised a hand against her, but he did more than enough.

She was the daughter of a courtesan who managed to get one of her clients to buy her out and marry her. She was smart and refined, the best poet on Qing Jing Peak and most importantly, her mother taught her well about the ugly truths of the world. Shen Qingqiu poached her from Xian Shu not long after he became peak lord.

It will be a painful loss to let her go.

“What set him off?”

“Shen Qingqiu made him angry.” Master Wu makes a sound of disgust.

“Some ‘war god’, chasing weaker prey if he can’t get the one he wants.”

Shen Qingqiu drinks his tea in silence and swallows down the comment that he is weak enough that Qingge need not bother to go elsewhere to get his sport.

“Does the sect leader know?”

Shen Qingqiu glances up at the window, but even if master Wu was standing right there he still wouldn’t be able to see anything from this angle. “Know what?”

“About Liu Qingge.”

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t. Everyone else does,” he bites out bitterly.

“The sect leader isn’t everyone.” Master Wu is silent for a long time, but Qingqiu is starting to pick up on the subtle differences between his silences and waits for him to go on. “Does a king know everything that happens in his court?”

“No, but a sect is not a kingdom.” Shang-shidi would have rioted a long time ago if they made him handle the workload of an imperial court all on his own.

“Qinghua says the sect leader has only one aide and does all the work himself.” Shen Qingqiu almost chokes on his tea. Shang-shidi brazenly sharing sect matters aside (and oh, Shen Qingqiu is going to find a way to make him pay for gossiping), he has seen the sort of paperwork that goes through Qiong Ding on the daily. No wonder Yue Qingyuan is up there on Mu Qingfang’s top three list of people he nags about overwork. “A king who doesn’t delegate has no time to see. Tell him what’s going on. Then get someone to fix the chain of command. Sooner the better.”

“Easier said than done, master Wu.”

“En. But it needs to be done all the same.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this any more.”

“Understood.” He must be a very big man, Shen Qingqiu thinks, listening to the sound of heavy steps on wooden floorboards as master Wu moves away from the window. “Are you staying down there?”

“If you don’t mind. Pay me no heed, I will leave soon.”

He doesn’t leave soon. Master Wu starts playing again and he ends up sitting there under the window, listening to foreign music until the sky starts to turn dark. He thanks the rogue cultivator for his kindness, then forces himself to leave before Shang-shidi could come home and catch him squatting in his garden.

He’s halfway back to his own peak when he realizes that he forgot to ask about the instrument again.

Shen Qingqiu makes up his mind to bring the matter of Qingge up at the next peak lord meeting, but Liu-shidi isn’t there when they begin. He’s contemplating aiming a not-quite-insult at Qi Qingqi to cut the endless financial reports short with a nice and explosive argument when Qingge finally stomps in, his hair tousled and clothes torn. There’s a nasty stripe of frostbitten skin down the side of his face and disappearing under his robes, which is most likely the source of his stormy mood.

“Apologies. I was held up.”

“Liu-shidi! What happened to you?” Mu Qingfang catches him before he can sit down and forcibly checks his injuries.

“I was on the way back when I got a tip about demon movement on the northern edge of the borderlands. It sounded like something big so I went to check it out.”

The story comes out in petulant bits and pieces, but it goes something like this: Qingge barely got close enough to spot a group of demons - a mounted party of a dozen retainers and a few who looked like they might be nobles, but he couldn’t get close enough to confirm - when one of them engaged him, chased him around half the borderlands and when Qingge finally turned the tables on him, the demon fled into the demon realm and out to the stormy ocean. “I was sure I got the slippery bastard when I cornered him on the shore, but his demon horse can run on water like it’s a paved road and I couldn’t keep up through the storm.”

Liu Qingge looks genuinely disturbed by the fact that a demon outwitted him so easily. Shen Qingqiu hides his smile behind his fan, but from the nasty looks the others are sending him they can tell that he's smiling anyway. “A demon who can make a fool of the Bai Zhan war god is not to be underestimated. Can you tell what clan he was from, at least?”

“I think he was one of the Mobei princes.” Well, this story went from concerning to alarming all of a sudden. “I can’t tell which one, they all look the same to me. He could turn into wind, if that narrows it down at all.”

The murmuring starts almost immediately, theories and plans and Shang-shidi is trying really hard to say something about horses, but it all just melts into noise, growing louder by the moment as everyone tries to frantically talk over each other.

“A Mobei prince leading a hunting party into the human realm can’t be dismissed,” Yue Qingyuan says firmly, his voice raised just enough to force silence on the other peak lords. “We don’t know why they came, but demons boldly skirmishing in the human realm is never a good sign. Once Liu-shidi has recovered, he and his most capable disciples should track them down and follow them. In the meantime, I shall reach out to the other sects to-”

A bamboo scroll clatters loudly on the table, causing everyone to start. “We will do no such thing!”

Shang Qinghua is breathing heavily, clearly on the verge of a panic attack as every eye turns towards him.

“Does Shang-shidi know something about these demons?” Shen Qingqiu asks, eyes narrowed over the edge of his fan.

Their usually mousy shidi takes a fortifying breath and squares his shoulders. “An adult of the Mobei clan with wind powers and a blue longma that can run on water. Is that correct, Liu shidi?” Liu Qingge nods silently, struck speechless. “That would be Mobei Taifeng and his Asagi. What shidi stumbled upon is not a hunting party, but the Linguang-jun and his nieces escorting the herds to the winter pastures they lease from the northern nomads.”

“Herds- you mean horses? The Northern demons keep horses?!”

Shen Qingqiu has more dignity than to blurt his questions out like Wei Qingwei, but he is intrigued by the sudden spine their shidi is showing.

“I haven’t seen any horses, except for the ones they were riding,” Liu Qingge interjects.

“Of course you haven’t, shidi. They saw an unknown cultivator in black approaching with ill intent and thought you were a thief. Linguang-jun distracted you before you could get close enough.” Shang Qinghua sounds equal parts tired and irritated. “The demons, their retainers, and a few dozen hireling rogue cultivators patrol a large perimeter to keep potential thieves away, while the nomads guide the horses through the borderlands.”

“How does shidi know this?” Qi Qingqi asks, turning her suspicious glare to someone that’s not Shen Qingqiu for once.

“What, like it’s a secret? Everyone in the Jianghu who ever personally had to buy a horse that doesn’t spook at the smell of monsters knows this.” He spreads his arms in a shrug. “I daresay about half of our own horses come from Linguang-jun’s herd. All the ones branded with a star, anyway. I have good contacts and got a deal before they were even put up for auction, but I heard that Huan Hua’s and Tian Yi’s masters of logistics went to blows over the rest.”

Shen Qingqiu thinks about Shang-shidi’s rogue cultivator and the pale, almost blue-tinted pallor of his skin. That kind of discoloration could come from spending too much time in the Northern Desert. He wonders if master Wu is out there, riding along the demons and their horses. He will need to ask him next time.

Shang shidi rambles freely about horse trivia until Yue Qingyuan clears his throat. “That’s all very fascinating, Shang-shidi.” There is something slightly off in his usually unshakable calm and Qingqiu wants to laugh when he realizes that all this talk about horses made the invincible zhangmen-shixiong nervous. Seems like no matter how hard he tries to leave his origins behind, Qi-ge’s fear of horses is stronger than his will to forget. “Thank you for enlightening us and preventing further misunderstanding. Was there anything else on the agenda today?”

Grabbing this chance, Shen Qingqiu taps his fan on the table to get everyone’s attention. “Liu-shidi’s behavior only caused himself harm this time, but there have been several incidents…”

Perhaps because they are still reeling from the previous conversation, but nobody interrupts him. He walks away from the meeting with a promise that Bai Zhan in the future will organize cross-peak spars through the proper channels instead of letting Liu Qingge’s mob of children terrorize the other peaks, and a surprisingly heartfelt apology from the war god himself when it was laid out to him in plain terms how much harm his neglect and dismissal has caused. To top it all off, Yue Qingyuan was too unnerved by all the talk of horses to stick around and bother him after the meeting was adjourned!

Later that day he sits in his bamboo house and idly plucks what he remembers of master Wu’s songs on the guqin, especially the ones that remind him of galloping. They don't sound quite right, but they help him picture Liu Qingge’s humiliating chase after the mounted ice demon, and that mental image puts him in a wonderful mood for the rest of the evening.

Truly, this day couldn’t have possibly ended on a better note.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t hear from Shang-shidi’s friend for the next few weeks. The outsider is likely earning a living like all rogue cultivators do: wandering the Jianghu far and wide looking for trouble to solve. Shang Qinghua is away as well, accompanying Yue Qingyuan to a heated discussion conference between Cang Qiong Mountain, Tian Yi Overlook and Huan Hua Palace. Usually Shen Qingqiu should be the one with their sect leader, on account of being the sect strategist and second in command, but the argument this time revolves almost entirely around taxes and (Shen Qingqiu shudders even at the thought) slave trade. Namely Cang Qiong’s protocol of apprehending slave traders and setting the slaves free if they are caught on sect lands, which still happens with an unpleasant frequency.

Yue Qi has always been better at hiding his feelings than Shen Jiu. This is a matter where they both know that Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t be able to keep his calm once the Old Palace Master starts up his theatrics - not that Shang-shidi tolerates slavers any better than Shen Jiu, it’s just that their shidi’s fuming is much easier to brush off - so he gets to sit this one out under the guise of recovering from a severe qi deviation.

Despite knowing that the Leisure House stands empty for the time being, he still finds himself in the back garden often. The feng shui and the energy flow of the garden is passable at best, the aesthetics could be so much better and the spot under the window he staked out for himself is hardly the height of comfort, but the peace and quiet is unmatched. Qing Jing is often filled with off-tune guqin noise on the best of days, but this is the time of the year when his disciples start getting desperate to pass their exams and be allowed off the mountain to attend the Dongzhi Festival. They are desperate enough that they overcome their fear and start to bother him for advice. He can’t go a shichen without some snot-nosed brat walking up to him and begging him to correct this or that about their technique.

He will take the discomfort of sitting on the frozen ground in exchange for the bliss of being able to play his guqin in peace, thank you very much.

He is so absorbed in his playing that he doesn’t notice that the window has been opened until he hears the rogue cultivator’s deep voice. “Master Shen is an excellent musician.”

“Ah, good day to you, master Wu. Is Peak Lord Shang back yet?” How long has he been standing there? All he needs to do is open the window a little wider and look down and he would see that Shen Qingqiu is much too richly dressed to be a simple hall master.

“Not yet. But they are due to get back today.”

With a gentle click, a cup is placed on the windowsill. “Honey tea.” Shen Qingqiu catches a brief glimpse of the rogue cultivator’s hand before he withdraws it.

“Thank you, but I can’t help but notice that you are not drinking any.” Cultivator Wu let go of the cup very quickly, as if the warm porcelain burned. He also hasn’t activated any of the warming talismans in the house yet; absorbed in his music or not, Shen Qingqiu would have noticed that much. Must be far more affected by the icy qi than Shen Qingqiu initially thought.

“Later. It’s much too hot for me right away.” This, at least, isn’t terribly suspicious. The tea is outright scalding. “You can ask about my habits, master Shen.” It wasn’t a subtle attempt and Shen Qingqiu doesn’t feel a least bit guilty about trying, but very well, he can do straightforward if he has to.

“Forgive me for being nosy, master Wu. Our Bai Zhan cultivators cleanse any trace of the demon realm from themselves as soon as possible, so I can’t help but be curious of someone who has clearly been changed by it.” He runs his tongue along his too-sharp teeth, almost itching to ask the rogue cultivator about how he deals with the more unpleasant side effects of demon qi. Does he even suffer any? Shen Qingqiu thinks he might have seen a hint of claws, but he can’t be sure.

“You are forgiven.” Is the inability to speak more than five words at a time also the effect of exposure to demonic energy? “I tolerate heat, but less than an ordinary human. The cold, however, holds no danger.” He huffs his almost-laugh. “Qinghua has caught me sleeping in a snowdrift before.”

Shen Qingqiu pictures his Shang-shidi in a panic, fussing around a big figure, dressed in the practical grays and browns of rogue cultivators, deep asleep in the snow and can’t help his own smile at the mental image.

“I see. Thank you for sharing this with me, master Wu.”

He drinks slowly, savoring the warmth of the tea and the gentle sweetness of the honey. Then he notices that the warmth seems to suffuse not only his limbs, but his meridians as well.

“Master Wu, where did you get this honey?” He circulates his qi carefully and finds that it seems to flow a little smoother than usual. Curiously, there is a current of energy in his spiritual veins, the kind that comes only from the highest quality spiritual foods - one he’s very familiar with, because pills and cultivation-boosting foods are what Yue Qingyuan tries to bribe him with the most often.

“Mobei Er has a fascination with bees.” It takes Qingqiu a moment to mentally sort through the Mobei demons; the second prince is a fierce demoness with territory on the southern edge of the kingdom. In theory the area should be just barely warm enough for beekeeping. “But she doesn’t like sweet things, so she gives the honey away - as gifts or payment, depending.”

There’s movement on the other side of the window and Shen Qingqiu has the impression that master Wu is trying to get a look at him without being seen himself. “Is it contaminated? I checked it before I made the tea.”

“No, it’s fine. It took me by surprise, that’s all.” Northern demons (being far more civilized than their southern corpse-eating, underground-dwelling neighbors) like to build their fortresses near sources of pure spiritual power, because they are effective repellents against their lesser, more superstitious kin. Some demons would sooner chew off their own legs than walk through a field of spiritual flowers. He is not sure where exactly Mobei Er’s fortress is, but if this honey is anything to go by, then Mu-shidi and his herbalists would have a field day trekking the area. It has to be teeming with rare plants. “The spiritual purity is remarkable. If master Wu is willing to part with a jar, then this master would gladly take it off his hands - in exchange for fitting compensation, naturally. I believe Peak Lord Mu would also be interested in buying some for medicinal use.”

There’s a long silence while master Wu considers the offer. “Wait here.” He closes the window without another word.

Shen Qingqiu drinks his tea slowly, intrigued, and when it’s gone he returns to plucking his guqin idly. He can’t imagine what the man is doing, but he has nothing better to do and it’s a nice day. Almost warm, where he sits in the sun.

He realizes that he has spaced out when a qiankun pouch is dropped in his lap from above, stuffed to bursting. “What is this?”

“A gift.” Shen Qingqiu opens the pouch and pulls out a jar of honey. A few moments of careful feeling around confirms his suspicion that the pouch is stuffed full of jars. “I don’t like sweet things either.” He sounds almost embarrassed as he tags that on.

There have to be dozens of jars in there. If all of it is as pure as what master Wu put in the tea then he could likely buy a smaller sect if he sold the whole pouch. “Are you certain, master Wu? The sect can compensate you, I assure you.”

“Just take it. I don’t need the money.”

For someone who clearly has to be a close friend of Shang Qinghua’s, this wandering cultivator is really clueless about money. Shen Qingqiu feels a sudden, unusual urge to pay him back somehow - if for no other reason than because Shang-shidi would find a way to make his life miserable if he found out that he cheated his friend. “This master - this Shen Jiu - is awed by master Wu’s generosity, but we really can’t accept something this valuable without some form of compensation.”

The long silence feels weightier somehow while he waits for master Wu to speak again.

“This Xuebao asks that master Shen not divulge the source of this gift. Qinghua would disapprove.” Shang Qinghua would lock his friend into the house and not let him out until he bullied some financial sense into him, no doubt about it. “Also, that song that you played earlier. Teach it to me.”

“That is all?” Shen Qingqiu asks, still disbelieving.

“En.” There’s the sound of wood scraping on wood as Wu Xuebao takes a seat and picks up his instrument, playing a few idle notes to test if it’s still tuned or not. “I can get money elsewhere. Learning from a master musician is a precious opportunity.”

“I see.” Shen Qingqiu doesn’t feel warm from the compliment, he does not. He drums his fingers on the body of his guqin while he gets the unexpected pleasant feelings under control. “Do you play the guqin, master Wu?”

“No. Only the morin khuur.” He does something with his instrument that sounds very much like the neighing of an impatient horse. “One of my siblings plays the yatga. She taught me a little.”

Okay, good, at least Shen Qingqiu has heard about the yatga before. It’s very similar to the guzheng. “I see. You should have no issues following what I do, then.”

Teaching Wu Xuebao is different from teaching his disciples. He wants to learn and has enough mastery over his own instrument already that he needs very little guidance. So he teaches him the song with ease - a joyful piece he learned at the brothel that is supposed to be accompanied by singing that he absolutely refuses to share - and they practice it together for a few shichen before they part ways.

If only his disciples were this satisfying to teach then he wouldn’t hate getting out of bed every day quite so much, Shen Qingqiu thinks as he walks towards the rainbow bridge to Qian Cao, followed by the distant sound of the morin khuur.

“This really is remarkable.” Mu-shidi reacts exactly how Shen Qingqiu expects him to when he seeks him out later that day and presents him the qiankun pouch. “It’s strange to imagine a rogue cultivator holding onto something this valuable for so long, but on second thought I can understand why he couldn’t simply sell them on the open market.”

They have unpacked the contents of the pouch in the main area of Mu-shidi’s office, where the master of the medicine peak has all the tools necessary to test the purity of the substance - and then make them a pot of tea that goes well with the honey, because they both appreciate the finer things in life.

The jars are each marked with the Mobei clan’s seal and stamped with a stasis array. There’s almost fifty of them and they are all filled to the brim with the highest quality spiritual honey. If Wu Xuebao tried to sell them then a determined array-specialist could easily trace them back to him.

“This shixiong hopes Mu-shidi can make use of this generous donation.”

“Most definitely, shixiong. I already have some ideas about which patients of mine would benefit the most from this unexpected treasure.” As he speaks, Mu Qingfang pushes a few jars towards Shen Qingqiu. “I insist that shixiong take his share of this bounty. This sort of spiritual remedy should go a long way to lessen the scarring of shixiong’s damaged meridians.”

Shen Qingqiu flicks his fan open and readies to politely turn the offer down (he has already ferreted away five jars in another qiankun pouch) when they are distracted by the arrival of the sect leader and Shang-shidi.

“Mu-shixiong, if you could take a look at zhangmen-shixiong I think-” Shang-shidi falls into a stunned silence when he notices the jars, his expression shifting into something almost manic when he takes in the sheer number of them. “ Please tell me Liu-shidi hasn’t seduced Mobei Er while we were gone.”

“Why would that be the case, shidi?” Shen Qingqiu asks carefully.

“Well, this.” Shang Qinghua makes a wide gesture over the table. “With this much honey she’s either declaring a war or courtship. I’m trying to prepare for the worst-case scenario here.”

“Shang-shidi needs not worry. This hasn’t come from the lady herself, but a rogue cultivator who amassed it over the seasons and decided to donate it to our sect.” Shang Qinghua’s expression goes through half a dozen sudden shifts through confusion and suspicion and calculation until it settles on relief. “He has been compensated to his satisfaction.”

“Oh, that’s all right then.” Following a small gesture from Mu Qingfang, Shang-shidi guides a concerningly quiet Yue Qingyuan to the table. “That cultivator must be really talented to be hired this often and compensated so generously.” He takes a cup of tea from Mu-shidi and pushes it into Yue Qingyuan’s unresisting hand. “Or really handsome.”

“I couldn’t tell, shidi.” Shen Qingqiu takes in their sect leader’s uncharacteristically ashen complexion and the minute tremors of his hands, even where they lay on the table. “What happened to zhangmen-shixiong?”

“Minor qi deviation, I think? Or poisoning.” Shang Qinghua looks remarkably guilty as he admits that. “I might have sneaked just a bit of a laxative into the Huan Hua Palace’s tea supply to vent my frustration with the Old Palace Master. He couldn’t trace it back to us, but the following day he made everyone drink this horrible medicinal tea, ‘to mitigate the effects of any other poisons’ he said.”

“What kind of tea?” Mu Qingfang snatches up one of Yue Qingyuan’s hands to check his meridians, his expression pinched in displeasure.

“Twilight cleansing herb. I have checked, it had all the right characteristics: salty-sour in taste and gave the tea an oily sheen.” Shang-shidi’s expression turns back into one of concern when Mu Qingfang starts adding several dollops of honey to their sect leader’s cup until it’s almost more honey than tea. “Was I mistaken? Nobody else got sick like zhangmen-shixiong.”

“No, Shang-shixiong identified the herb correctly.” Mu-shidi waits patiently for Yue Qingyuan to drink his cup of honey-with-tea before he pours him a cup of proper tea to wash the lingering sweetness away. “The herb is indeed harmless to most cultivators, if unpleasant to consume. However, its effect of ‘flushing the meridians’ which makes it so efficient against certain kinds of spiritual poisons puts a strain on the meridians, which can have adverse effects on those with damaged or compromised spiritual veins.”

Yue Qi has damaged spiritual veins? This is the first time Shen Qingqiu has heard of this. On an impulse he snatches up Yue Qingyuan’s wrist when Mu Qingfang lets go of it, sending a thin stream of qi into the meridians to see for himself.

The first thing he notices is that all of Yue Qingyuan’s meridians are inflamed and there are small tears where the already broad pathways were forced to widen further, past their capacity. The other thing he notices is that they are almost eerily straight, without even the smallest twist or wobble. Of course most people don’t have the kind of twisted, mangled pathways that Shen Jiu’s few years of demonic cultivation made of his spiritual veins, but like in all aspects of the human body, there should be some irregularity.

Yue Qingyuan’s meridians are so straight and regular that if he didn’t know better he’d think someone drew them with a ruler.

He catches Yue Qingyuan watching him with an almost skittish expression and lets go of his wrist like it burned him. “The damage doesn’t seem too bad. Not enough to make a complaint and have the Old Palace Master humiliated for being a bad host, at any rate.”

“It warms my heart that Shen-shidi feels so strongly about my wellbeing that he would confront the Old Palace Master over it.” This is the first time since they have returned that Yue Qingyuan has opened his mouth, his words soft and warm like a banked fire, and Shen Qingqiu already wants to hit him.

“Zhangmen-shixiong shouldn’t mistake this one’s eagerness to see the old creep humiliated for concern,” he corrects sharply, but to no avail. Yue Qingyuan smiles at him and keeps smiling all the way through Shang Qinghua’s recounting of their trip.

It’s horrible. It makes him feel like Yue Qingyuan sees him, like he still cares and it’s just too much. His teeth ache to bite the sect leader and wipe that smile off his face, but he doesn’t, because Shen Qingqiu has iron-clad self-control and it would make Yue Qingyuan act all worried, which would be even worse.

So he sits and drinks his tea with the poise and elegance expected from a scholar of high breeding and channels his frustration into planning out how he is going to poison the Old Palace Master the next time they meet. And unlike Shang Qinghua, he’s not charitable enough to stop at a harmless laxative.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Mobei Wu sits on the newly placed stone bench and tries to feel out the energies of the garden. He put the smooth, carved stone where Shen Jiu’s qi lingers the most after the hall master’s visits, just underneath the window, so his frequent guest - friend? Maybe? Is this what a friend is? - won’t have to sit on the ground. The man has come to visit a handful of times since the day he taught Mobei the brothel song - Qinghua is rarely surprised by Mobei’s antics anymore, so his startled, delighted laughter was a treat, just as Mobei hoped it would be - but hasn’t lingered for long since the first snow. Hot tea can only do so much to make up for a weaker or damaged cultivation. If it was Qinghua then he could offer up his qi and fortify him against the cold, but there is no way someone as perceptive as master Shen would not recognize the pure demonic qi of the Mobei clan.

Mobei Wu frowns fiercely at the rest of the garden. The energy prickles against his skin unpleasantly, the feng shui completely unsuited for a demon, but he can’t tell if that’s by design to make it more fitting for humans or it’s just flat out wrong. He’s contemplating the merits of trying to fix it on his own anyway when the window opens and Shang Qinghua threads a warm hand into his hair.

“What are you scheming about out here?”

“Not scheming.” Mobei tilts his head back easily when Qinghua tugs on his hair, rumbling in pleasure when his human presses a kiss to his demon mark. “I have no need to scheme when I have Qinghua.”

“Right, right. You just decided to sit in my garden for no reason whatsoever.”

Mobei huffs, then reaches up and tugs on the collar of the sunny yellow An Ding uniform. With his strength it’s the easiest thing in the world to pull his human out through the open window and into his lap.

“My king is such a brat sometimes,” Qinghua grumbles, but makes no move to extract himself from the embrace, nor does he flinch away after being so suddenly manhandled. “Ugh. What’s wrong with the feng shui here?”

“You tell me.” He lets Shang Qinghua go and watches with fascination as the man surveys the snow-dusted garden like he sees it for the first time.

“My shizun built this garden. She was born under a super auspicious sign and was completely immune to harmful environmental qi.” A rare trait, very useful in some situations. Decidedly unhelpful in others. Qinghua pokes a decorative rock with the toe of his boot and makes a face when it unceremoniously falls over. “She used to entertain the worst kind of merchants in her private study - they thought she was trying to suck up to them, the stupid wankers - because the room gave everyone else a migraine in less than half a shichen, which made them very eager to finish negotiations quickly.”

“That explains a great deal about the state of this garden.” Mobei stands with a slight stretch, then with the lazy grace of a predator stalks over to stand next to Qinghua. This close to the center of the garden the stagnant energies are even worse. “How do we fix it?”

“Uuuugh. Do we have to?”

“Qinghua.” He bumps his shoulder (all right, technically his elbow) against his human’s shoulder. “The qi in your garden is rancid. Possibly deadly to anything smaller than a cat.” He links his hand with Qinghua’s and gives it an encouraging squeeze (very, very careful not to crush those delicate bones or cause discomfort).“How do we fix it?”

Shang Qinghua sighs. Squeezes back before he steps away and starts pacing the garden path, approaching the matter as seriously as any other puzzle Mobei presents him with. “All right. I don’t think we can fix it completely until the spring, but we can do something . Maybe. Make it less of a death trap of small fuzzy animals and just a regular eyesore.” He jabs a finger at a particularly offensively shaped rock. “First of all, that thing needs to go, like, yesterday. Then…”

Qinghua proves to be right, of course. There’s no way to fix the garden so the feng shui is optimal until they can replant the greenery, because all the plants Mobei can contribute - Succubus’ Silver Bells, Aurora Lotus and the likes - are all very heavy on the water spiritual element, and humans are complicated creatures who need things more evenly balanced than that. The end result is still leaps and bounds better than what it was before, not to mention far more pleasing to look at.

Once they are done, Qinghua looks like he wants to cry, or break something or curl up in a ball and sleep the rest of the winter away, so Mobei decides to reward him by joining the human in the bath. It’s always a worthwhile experience, in the prince’s opinion, but Qinghua doesn’t request it often because Mobei has to circulate his qi very carefully to stop himself from overheating at the temperatures his human prefers.

“You are so good to me, my king,” Qinghua sighs into the steamy air and goes boneless against the side of the pool when Mobei starts washing his hair.

“Qinghua worked hard today. He deserves it.”

“So, do I deserve an explanation as well?” It was Mobei’s mistake for forgetting that a relaxed Qinghua is no less sharp than when he’s walking the high-wire of anxiety and deadlines. “Don’t think that I haven’t noticed that you have been acting strange lately. First you tricked Liu Qingge into annoying Linguang-jun, then there was the business with the honey.” Qinghua turns around in the water and prods him in the chest before he can voice any denial. “Don’t even try to say it wasn’t you, I have checked the seals! Besides, I knew right away it could have only come from someone in the family, your Er-ge doesn’t hand out the high quality stuff to just about anybody.”

Okay, Mobei Wu has to admit that much is true. The honey distributed (oftentimes alongside very enthusiastic threats were the recipient try to turn it down; Guilian Er-ge’s apiary has been a runaway success, but her business skills are abysmal) amongst the rogue cultivators and sweet-loving demons is mixed blossom honey, made from the nectar of a dozen different spiritual trees and flowers. The honey she gifts to every family member she can get to stand still long enough to shove a jar in their hands is made purely from the nectar of her namesake, the highly coveted Midnight Blooming Ghost Lotus.

…Mobei might have forgotten about this detail in his eagerness to get rid of at least some of his stash.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. I have heard that Qian Cao Peak bought a few jars off a cultivator not so long ago.”

“ Buy , yes. The average stuff, which is still extremely good for one’s cultivation.” Oh no, Qinghua is exasperated with him. “You could straight up buy the whole Bai Zhan Peak, disciples included, with the honey you gifted us last week.”

That’s... Well, that was certainly a miscalculation on his part. It must have been a hassle to explain away why Shang Qinghua’s ‘rogue friend’ would just give something so valuable to Cang Qiong Mountain. Or why a rogue cultivator would have something like that in the first place.

He’s certain that Shang Qinghua has solved the issue already (he would be complaining with much more energy if he hasn’t), but a show of penitence is in order. With another demon he would offer to be struck without retaliating, so that his mate could vent their frustration on him, but humans are different . So instead of what his instinct and his formal upbringing dictates, he leans in with a quiet whine and nuzzles into Qinghua’s hair as an apology. “Forgive me, A-Hua. I didn’t know.”

Qinghua pets his shoulder and kisses his cheek, easily pacified by the affectionate display. “I know, my king. This is why we agreed that you would run any new deals and agreements with the human realm past me.”

This discussion - he hesitates to call it an argument when there are no sharp objects involved or blood spilled - is old hat at this point. It’s not that Mobei Wu is bad at finances, as such. He is quite good in the context he usually handles money - on the scale of a kingdom or handling the untold riches of the ancient Mobei clan - but budgeting for his territory or importing forty thousand dans of rice from the human realm to make up for a bad harvest is very different than buying a bowl of noodles at a street vendor.

And that’s not even touching on it that some things are just valued differently between the two realms. His courtship has been eye-opening in this regard, but at the end of the day being aware that there are differences doesn’t make them any less mystifying or confusing.

Shang Qinghua understands this, he knows. It is still an embarrassing blunder to make.

At least his impulsivity isn’t a new development and Qinghua handles it with the grace of someone who has put out much bigger and much more urgent fires before.

“Don’t worry about it, my king. It has been dealt with.”

Mobei Wu pulls him closer until Qinghua is sitting in his lap and tries to distract him from returning to the topic of Mobei’s newfound interest in the sect by kissing him senseless. It doesn’t work.

“Behave,” Qinghua warns, putting a bit of distance between them and tugging the demon’s head away with a firm grip on his hair. Mobei wordlessly purrs at him in answer; they both know he takes pleasure in a rough touch. “I will indulge you, but only if you tell me why you suddenly got so interested in fixing my garden.”

“It’s just a whim.” Qinghua looks both unimpressed and unconvinced.

“Try again.”

“Must there be a reason?”

“Put yourself in my place for a moment, my king.” Qinghua lets go of his hair and gently cups his face instead. “You had a lot of whims lately that involved my sect in some way. Is it so unreasonable of me to worry that something’s going on?”

“Fair, I suppose.” When put like this, he could see the logic in Qinghua’s worries. “You fixed the aerial wards after Liu Qingge crashed into the front porch. Now I could play in the garden when the weather is nice without anyone seeing, but the energies were all wrong.”

It’s not the full truth, not even the important part of the truth, but he’s not ready to broach the topic of hall master Shen yet. Shang Qinghua had a very stressful few weeks and he knows his cultivator enough that telling him everything right now would likely drive him into a panic - possibly even into a qi deviation.

“I see.” Qinghua’s firm demeanor deflates like a punctured balloon, replaced with clear relief and an uncertain smile. “Please, my king, don’t scare me like that. I was about to break out some really bad clichés - blink twice if you are being coerced and that sort of thing.”

Mobei Wu huffs in amusem*nt, then starts working his fingers through Qinghua’s hair again. He has never seen his human read in his leisure time, but Qinghua is still very well-versed in the popular tropes of cheap novels. “No coercion. Just coincidence.”

“I’ll take your word for it, my king. Back to the topic of the garden, I guess it would be nice to sit on the bench on a sunny day. Maybe plant some flowers, finally put fish in the pond…”

“It would be good for your cultivation to have somewhere safe and calm to meditate,” Mobei points out. That is supposed to be the reason for a peak lord’s private garden, after all.

“True, that too. Mu-shidi has been bullying me about neglecting my cultivation. As if I had the time!”

“You should make time. The peak won’t collapse.” He isn’t an expert on how humans cultivate their cores, but he has felt Shang Qinghua’s spirit veins before. He had the foundations to be a powerful enough spiritual cultivator if he could overcome his heart demons and delved into techniques other than the practical, mostly physical cultivation focused teachings of An Ding. “You have the potential for more.”

“Yes, yes, my king wants a strong lover he doesn’t have to babysit all the time.”

Mobei growls. “Qinghua. No.” Making Shang Qinghua stop his self-deprecating nonsense is a long, arduous work in progress. “If Qinghua wishes to stay smart rather than strong, this Mobei prince is plenty strong for both of us.” He would fight the world for the sake of his small, squishy human. “But you would be more confident if your cultivation was more in line with the rest of the lords.”

Qinghua doesn’t argue with that assessment. This, like the topic of Mobei’s handicap in handling money, is something they keep circling back to every now and then.

“At least I already have a core.” Mobei makes an encouraging noise to make him keep going and gestures for him to rinse his hair while he sorts through the oils. When Qinghua becomes King Consort of the North he will have to convince him to wear his hair in a different style. He has lovely hair, but the tight, practical bun that might as well be part of An Ding’s uniform is not kind to it. “Shen Qingqiu is still struggling to form his.”

“How old is he?” It’s strange for a peak lord to not have a core when some of the hall masters do, but the Qing generation is one of young prodigies.

“I think he’s the same age as you, my king.”

“He has plenty of time, then. The wandering immortal of the Khalkha people formed his core when he was a hundred and even my father respects his strength.” Even the early stages of core formation slow down human aging, so cultivation is not something that needs to be rushed.

“True, but try telling that to him.” Mobei can feel a rant coming on and braces himself to intervene if Qinghua starts spiraling. “He’s so insecure he makes me look well adjusted! Not without reason, no, his cultivation is beyond f*cked, but come on , his control is inhumanly good. If he wasn’t a paranoid bastard that pushes away and snaps at everyone who wants to care for him he would be so much better off! Or just suck it up and clarify things sometimes, because he can’t go three steps without tripping and stumbling into a new misunderstanding that damages his reputation, but NO!! The graceful master of Qing Jing Peak has the thinnest face on this entire damn mountain, I swear-”

“ Qinghua. ” The man stops at the firm tone and blinks owlishly up at him. “You are rambling.”

“Oh. Right. What were we talking about?”

“Sitting out in the garden.”

“Yes, right, garden. It would be nice, but please be careful, my king. A lot of people can still walk through the wards and see you.”

Mobei Wu hums in a vaguely affirmative tone. He has been thinking about that, actually. “You know all the relics and plants in the two realms.” “Not all of them-” “Is there anything that could hide this prince’s nature at a glance?”

Qinghua falls quiet again. He reaches out and with gentle fingers traces Mobei’s demon mark, then allows his fingers to trail down to the pointed tip of his ears. “Not fully, no.”

“Partially?”

“Demonic qi can be suppressed, but not hidden completely. Some marks are easy enough to cover up, but glamorous are too easy to spot. They say Tianlang-jun traveled the Jianghu masquerading as a bored young master and at times as a rogue cultivator, but he had the power of heavenly lineage at his disposal.” Qinghua looks uncertain about the request. “Why does my king want to hide himself?”

“For all that you rant and complain, you love your sect. And I love you.” Mobei kisses him, gentle and reassuring. “I want to walk the peaks by your side and see them as you do.”

Qinghua laughs into the kiss. “My sweet and spoiled king, what am I to do with you?” He treads his fingers into Mobei’s hair and holds onto him like he’s a grounding force, his anchor through a storm. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

The next time Shen Qingqiu visits the garden he hasn’t slept in a month. Between the winter exams, the stress of having to replace Master Tang and covering all her poetry and advanced music classes he simply didn’t have the time to come. When he jumps the wall there’s a long moment when he thinks that he might have fallen into an illusion array or teleported elsewhere entirely. The garden has changed drastically both in its aesthetics and its energies and if he didn’t know better he'd almost think that it is a completely different place. Most of the aimlessly thrown down rocks are either gone and replaced or moved to better positions. There are plants radiating positive spiritual energy lining the pathway. The formerly dry pond is filled with crystal clear water, purified by blooming aurora lotuses that glitter with rainbow colors and cast a gentle light over the garden. All the new plants on display are from the demon realm - perhaps as a subtle showcase of Shang Qinghua’s connections - but planted in the soil of this mountain, a veritable hub of spiritual energy, they grow the same as any spiritual flower, free of demonic impurities.

In his usual spot below the window there’s an elegant stone bench and next to it a matching storage container with a note that its contents - volcanic rocks charged with fire qi that radiate warmth and a thick, incredibly soft pelt that fits perfectly over the bench - are for his use.

He can tell that it’s still a work in progress, but the improved atmosphere and the clear attention paid to his comfort brightens an otherwise dreary day. It doesn’t even matter that the person he came to see is absent. He finds himself sitting there and playing all afternoon, joining in the communal music of the peak. At one point he ends up in a very pleasant duet with another guqin player and he makes a mental note to track them down and invite them to his peak because they are leaps and bounds better than the elderly hall master who came out of retirement to take over the intermediate music classes.

When night starts to creep in, he sets his guqin aside and indulges in some light meditation. He’s self aware enough to know that he could cultivate just as well in a desecrated cemetery as the most highly-praised meditation garden - which is to say, with great difficulty regardless of location - but something about being cozy in the calm winter garden has him breathing easier and his qi flowing smoother than usual. He manages a whole shichen of uninterrupted meditation before he hears Shang Qinghua’s voice approaching, the man giving out the last orders of the evening to his head disciple, and Shen Qingqiu slips away before he can be discovered.

His relaxed mood lasts even after he returns to his bamboo house. On a whim he dresses down for bed and after digging through the many qiankun pouches he has filled with Yue Qingyuan’s ‘gifts’ - really, could that oaf be any less shameless about trying to bribe him? - he piles his bed with soft furs and burrows into the soft pile like a fox into a freshly dug den.

He’s asleep as soon as he puts his head down.

Wu Xuebao doesn’t mention the change to the garden so neither does Shen Qingqiu. He does start to stay more often and for longer periods every time Shang Qinghua is away. Nobody bothers him there and he can rest, play his music and meditate to his heart’s content. The garden is becoming a place of comfort, a hideaway from the troubles and anxieties that wait on his own peak.

He considers making a private garden on Qing Jing, but soon dismisses the idea. The music of An Ding is a big part of his enjoyment and even his more talented brats can’t compare to musicians who learn and play for the joy of it.

Besides, Liu Qingge would come and bother him as soon as the brute got wind of where he was hiding away. He already had to chew his idiot shidi out once after Liu Qingge went down to bother the courtesans at the Warm Red Pavilion while looking for him.

The following peak lord meeting Liu-shidi tries to pressure him into revealing where he disappears to when he’s not on his peak, but Shang Qinghua of all people puts his foot down and cuts the interrogation short.

“Shen-shixiong is easily reachable via spirit messenger and close enough to home to respond in case of an emergency - unlike someone who went off on an unscheduled night hunt without notifying anyone just last week.”

Shen Qingqiu allows himself a smile behind his fan. Liu Qingge left in a huff after their confrontation and Shen Qingqiu was blessedly there when he returned three days later, with his qiankun pouches stuffed full with dead monsters. In the time he was away there was a monster attack that usually would have fallen under his duties - an abyssal rift opened up and started spewing horrors near enough to a settlement to be high priority, but not quite an emergency - and the Bai Zhan war god was nowhere to be found, venting his frustrations well outside the range of any spirit messenger or communications talisman they tried to reach him with.

Since their resident monster hunting expert was absent they had to go for the second best thing: Yue Qingyuan and his overwhelming strength. There is no pressing need for expertise on the weak points of the wretched beasts when they can’t stand up against the might of their sect leader.

Except the sect leader is the sect leader for a reason and dragging him away from his duties to beat up a bunch of monsters made Qiong Ding’s delicately built castle of cards go tumbling down. He has to secretly hand it to Yue Qingyuan that his planning skills have to be godlike to arrange work during his scheduled absences, because he was gone for a day and a half and nothing got done without him there. The cleanup afterwards put a heavy strain on everyone who has to directly deal with administration. Even the saintly Yue Qingyuan was irate with Liu Qingge when the man finally dragged himself back to the sect.

Shen Qingqiu made a few pointed comments about a staff restructuring at Qiong Ding to prevent this incident from repeating, but otherwise stood back and watched the fallout with glee.

And now at the meeting he feels the same glee when Yue Qingyuan pins Liu Qingge with a glare that has no trace of their ever-patient zhangmen-shixiong and all the usually concealed edges of Yue Qi. “It was recently brought to my attention that Liu-shidi has been making himself a nuisance in an attempt to pry into Shen-shidi’s privacy. This will stop. Now.”

The war god tries to halfheartedly defend his actions and Shen Qingqiu’s gaze drifts over to Shang Qinghua, uninterested in Liu Qingge’s excuses. He’s certain that the An Ding peak lord knows that he spends his time somewhere on his peak, so he’s the most likely person to have spoken to Yue Qingyuan.

Shang Qinghua notices him watching and his lips twitch into a fleeting, nervous smile before he turns his eyes back to his paperwork.

What a strange day this is, to find such a staunch ally in his least impressive shidi.

“Where do you keep your horse while you are here?” Shen Qingqiu asks Wu Xuebao one day. “Assuming you have one.”

They have already set their instruments aside after a sunny morning spent playing together and Shen Qingqiu graciously accepted the rogue cultivator’s invitation for dim sum. He’s not terribly familiar with southern food, but even they can’t ruin steamed dumplings and he trusts master Wu’s - who has referred to Shang Qinghua’s spice cabinet as his ‘poison collection’ before - assessment that the food is not spicy.

“Dun would never let me ride her again if I dragged her up the secret path.” Shen Qingqiu accepts the bamboo steamer and the chopsticks carefully placed on the windowsill. It’s filled with perfectly folded dumplings, kept fresh by a combination warming- and stasis talisman. “She’s a Mobei horse. She is fine on her own.”

“Is there a cultural reason to name your horse such, or…?” He takes a tentative bite out of a dumpling. Its filling is light enough that even his easily upset stomach can handle it fine.

“A gift from my uncle.” There’s a crunch and the sound of chewing. Wu Xuebao apparently chose to eat something deep fried. “I didn’t want him to know how much I cherish her.”

“So you named her ‘Idiot’?” Shen Qingqiu is mentally reorganizing what little information he has of master Wu’s family. If his uncle is rich enough to give him a demon-reared horse then the man has to be the patriarch of the family, which would make Wu Xuebao… what? Most families don’t waste such wealth and education on a nephew, even a favored one.

A bastard, then. A spare, in case the legitimate heirs die or become undesirable. And based on the resentful tone of his voice, he knows this too.

“En.”

“Smart.”

“That she is. Causes so much trouble.”

“Really? What kind of trouble can a horse even cause?” Shen Qingqiu asks, disbelieving, so Wu Xuebao treats him to a story about his willful mare jumping the fence separating the regular horses from the longmas the Mobei lords ride and refusing to leave the warm stable until Linguang-jun himself led her out, all of it regaled in the least number of words possible.

“My uncle wasn’t happy,” master Wu finishes mournfully. “My entire group was banned from herding that year.”

“Unfortunate, but understandable.” It didn’t take too much detective work to find out that the Mobei clan’s herding events are highly sought after and well-paying jobs for rogue cultivators. That must have been a blow to all of them. “I’m surprised Linguang-jun didn’t take the horse back after the trespass. Or kill it.”

“To take back a horse willingly given or sold is stealing. To kill one is misfortune.”

That makes some sense. “Can I meet this troublemaker horse?” he asks on an impulse. “Ah, please forget it. I don’t wish to pry, but your story made me really curious.”

Wu Xuebao hums as he considers the request.

“She’s in foal, so not now.” Unfamiliar with horse terminology, it takes Shen Qinqgiu a moment to puzzle out that it means that the mare is pregnant, but that explains why master Wu is on the peak so often. Not having his horse to ride would limit his movements. “Maybe after, in the spring. You could meet her and her foal.”

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t fear horses the way Qi-ge used to, but he’s not enthused about them, especially about the bigger ones. Foals, however, are endearingly awkward critters, more leg than horse. When he was a child a coachman let the slave children pet the foal of his mare and Shen Qingiue remembers how much the gangly little filly charmed all of them, even Qi-ge.

Now, as an adult, he finds the idea of petting a little barely-horse and watching it frolic around on its too long legs fills him with anticipation.

“Thank you, master Wu. I shall look forward to it.”

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Yue Qingyuan has finally run out of excuses to not take on more aides, so a reform for Qiong Ding is put into motion, effective immediately. It’s a project that takes up almost all of Shen Qingqiu’s time, because they find out in short order that they can’t trust Yue Qingyuan to make choices about who to hire and who to remove from the bloated command structure of the sect.

The most frustrating part of that realization is that Yue Qingyuan is not blind to the uselessness of the people under him, oh no. But he’d rather do twenty times the work and allow these slackers to infest his peak to keep the sect connected, building them a safety net at the cost of his own blood, sweat and, Shen Qingqiu is starting to suspect, sanity. This was acceptable when they were newly ascended peak lords and Huan Hua Palace’s victory over Tianlang-jun was on the lips of everyone in the Jianghu - Shen Qingqiu’s shizun didn’t think to try and contest the Old Palace Master when the man took all the credit and by the time he realized his mistake, Huan Hua Palace had already swept up all their contacts and prospective work opportunities.

But one act of claimed heroism couldn’t keep Huan Hua Palace in the public’s goodwill and they soon started to remember that Huan Hua was most infamous for their unreliability and incompetence. Work and money returned to Cang Qiong Mountain, bolstered a hundredfold by their new Lord of An Ding and his daring, unconventional solutions. They are rich now, rich and famous for (mostly) all the right reasons and they have no reason to tolerate the parasites clinging to Yue Qingyuan any longer.

Of course the prospect of working this closely with zhangmen-shixiong for weeks on end tries Shen Qingqiu’s patience like nothing else. Somehow the oaf got it into his head that Shen Qingqiu still cares about him (which he does not, he will keep repeating this until Yue Qi finally accepts it or it becomes true). He lights up like Shen Qingqiu’s very presence makes his day better and no amount of barely-veiled insults can make the sect leader’s smile fade.

He lasts all of three days before something in him starts to crack. One of the spoiled young masters - a ‘hall master’ with no talent for cultivation or anything else who got into the peak through nepotism - spits in his face as he’s being led away and no matter how much Shen Qingqiu wants to, he’s not allowed to kill him for this slight or even mandate his punishment because the insolent wretch is not his subordinate.

It’s a blessing and a curse that Yue Qingyuan steps into the room just in time to witness it happen. Shen Qingqiu watches the benevolent Yue Qingyuan harden into the familiar, vengefully protective Qi-ge in the span of a moment and strike out, then slowly fade back into their guilt-ridden wet-blanket of a sect leader when the consequences of his impulsive strike dawn on him.

“Medic!” Shen Qingqiu calls sharply, watching the man who dared to disrespect him slide down a wall in the office next door, leaving a trace of red. “And someone get An Ding in here to check the integrity of the building.”

It’s a fortunate thing Mu Qingfang happens to be on site and can stabilize the young master, because someone with as weak a cultivation as his would not have lived through the backhand Yue Qingyuan gave him.

Shen Qingqiu tastes bitter smoke on the back of his tongue, the telltale sign of an oncoming qi deviation, and flees the scene. He’s afraid he’s going to spit fire for real if he has to speak with Yue Qi today.

His feet take him to the Leisure House. He’s not sure when An Ding’s music and Shang-shidi’s garden became his safe haven, but just the sight of the house and its grounds make the painful, tangled knot of feeling in his chest lighten. He presses his forehead against the cold brick of the outer wall and allows the smoke to seep out of him, carried away by the music.

That’s when he realizes that something is off. Wu Xuebao’s morin khuur is not playing alone; he’s joined in a duet of strange foreign music with the resonant sound of a yangqin. It’s joyful and nothing like what he has ever heard before, not even master Wu’s usual northern music and it should be fascinating, but today it only makes the smoke sour into bile in his throat.

In a different world, maybe he could knock on the door and be invited in, joining friends for tea and music until the embers in his chest cool and the taste of honey chases away the lingering bitterness of smoke.

In this world he slinks away like a fox that found his den ransacked, but unlike the beasts of the forest he can’t just dig himself a new one. He returns to his peak and restlessly wanders the paths of the bamboo forest until the last of the fire drains from him, his qi quieting enough that he can return to his bamboo house and attempt to meditate the rest of the night away.

They call an emergency peak lord meeting the next day, of course. It doesn’t go as horribly as he expects. Liu Qingge, in particular, is surprisingly incensed on Shen Qingqiu’s behalf.

“I would have broken all of his limbs! What kind of idiot dares to spit on a peak lord?!”

“Such disrespect of course demands punishment,” Qi Qinqi says, reaching up and trying to pull Liu-shidi back into his seat. “But surely everyone agrees that this was an overreaction-”

“It was just one wall, wasn't it? If zhangmen-shixiong put any amount of power into that slap then that cheap excuse of a hall master would have been reduced to a greasy stain out in the courtyard.” Liu Qingge shrugs and shakes her hand off. “The man was just weak - too weak to be in a cultivation sect, much less a hall master. We will be the laughingstock of the Jianghu if word gets out that we let our standards get this low.”

Many of the others murmur in agreement; most peaks keep those with lower cultivation as outer disciples or cycle them out altogether. The fact that someone with practically no cultivation could have become a hall master on Qiong Ding is a concern that has to be addressed, and might as well have it addressed now, when they are tearing the peak apart anyway. Qi-shimei makes one more attempt at calling for a more moderate course of action, probably because she will be expected to pick up some of the administrative duties while the full investigation is going on. Usually Shen Qingqiu doesn’t mind that sort of ambitious avoidance of responsibilities, but today he has no patience for it.

“Just this once I find myself in agreement with Liu-shidi: we cannot let our standards slide any further, or sooner or later people will start to believe that we are like Huan Hua Palace.” Mentioning Huan Hua works like a spell, turning everyone’s expressions to various shades of offense and worry. “Perhaps shimei is worried about what we would find if we were to audit her peak as well?”

Seeing her blanche in rage is really satisfying. “Shixiong is welcome to audit my peak himself in three months time at the end of the spring quarter!”

Shen Qingqiu hides a smile behind his fan. Qi Qingqi is a smart woman, but she is far too easy to bait with the right words. “I shall take you up on that, shimei.”

Shang Qinghua immediately jumps on this opportunity to start scheduling audits for every peak, writing up a list of standards they each need to adhere to for the sake of taking pressure off Qiong Ding Peak, which is likely to stay defunct for at least a handful of years. “We already had to ax two-thirds of the Qiong Ding senior staff. It will be much easier to screen and trial the new people we hire or train to take over if the peak doesn’t have to function at full capacity right away.”

There are displeased mutters and grumbles, especially from the peaks that delegated or slacked on their administrative duties, but every time someone protests too fiercely Shang Qinghua gestures towards Yue Qingyuan’s empty seat at the head of the table and any opposition he faces melts into nothing.

Shen Qingqiu spends the rest of the meeting in quiet contemplation; he has nothing to fear. He has high standards for his disciples and hall masters and he has been doing not only his own paperwork for these last couple of years, but that of Bai Zhan and Wan Jian as well. Shang-shidi’s suggested changes are going to lessen his burdens, if anything.

Maybe he really should think about building that private mediation garden, because if the changes go through then soon he will have so much free time he won’t even know what to do with it.

Shen Qingqiu holds out for one more week of this pandemonium - leading the Qiong Ding audit with Shang Qinghua while at the same time teaching his usual classes and the ones master Tang used to teach as well - before he admits that he’s overdoing it. He needs to hire a new hall master and his eyes are already on someone who will be perfect for the job.

He catches Shang Qinghua when the man is flying back to An Ding after a very long day they spent trying to untangle the absolute mess the incompetent clerks made of Quing Ding’s account books. Shang Qinghua is reading his reports and flying at a breakneck pace at the same time, a feat that few in the sect can replicate. If flying skills were the indicator of martial ability, Shang-shidi could rival even Liu Qingge.

“Shang-shidi, can I have a word?”

Shang Qinghua makes a twist in the air and comes to hover next to Shen Qingqiu. “Yeah, sure, what can I help you with, shixiong?”

“I have talked to master Sui about him joining my peak as a hall master. I’m not sure if he mentioned it to you or not.” Shen Qingqiu could only catch Sui Feng for a few minutes, but the man seemed amenable to the idea at the time.

“Oh, yeah! I heard that you are trying to steal my best warehouse manager.” Shang Qinghua rolls up the scroll he was reading and shoves it carelessly into his sleeve. “We are almost at my house, do you want to maybe come in and talk about this over tea? I have some of that fancy demon honey - really good for one’s cultivation! Or preventing stress-induced qi deviations. Hm, I probably should have started with that, it’s more relevant to us, isn’t it? Ahaha.”

Shen Qingqiu has no idea how to handle the nervous rambling of his shidi, so he simply waits for him to pause for a longer breath to interject. “Tea would be appreciated, shidi.”

Shang Qinghua fills the air with chatter during their short flight and the even shorter walk from the gate to the door of his house, but it feels less anxious than his earlier rambling. He shows Shen Qingqiu to the tea table and then disappears into his kitchen to prepare tea, only sticking out his head to quickly ask “Ah, how does shixiong feel about milk tea?”

“I don’t have any strong feelings about it,” Shen Qingqiu admits truthfully, allowing his eyes to drift over the room. Since he knows that Shang-shidi frequently entertains a guest, it’s only a matter of moments before he spots the sign of another occupant: a decorated bridle, torn and thrown carelessly over the back of a chair, waiting to be mended. “I have an acquaintance who treats me to it regularly enough that I no longer find it strange.”

“Oh, good. I much prefer it, but I know it’s a Southern thing. Or Northern. Sometimes it’s strange how many things are shared between the north and the south…”

Shen Qingqiu lets him ramble away, listening with only half an ear, and keeps looking around the room instead. The longer he looks, the more traces of master Wu he finds. A second mug set aside on the counter. Two containers next to the tea set, one for salt and one for sugar. A leather case with a pair of chopsticks and a knife, in the tradition of northern nomads. A luxurious fur coat much too big for Shang Qinghua draped over the couch. Maps, all collected carefully in one place, when he knows his shidi keeps all his work-maps in his office. The morin khuur on its stand, next to a heavy, robust chair, often used.

The only thing missing is the man himself.

Shang Qinghua returns with tea service, his smile tired, but genuine as he takes a seat opposite of Shen Qingqiu. “Forgive this one for the mess. Shixiong is the first one of his martial siblings to have visited him in his house.”

What a strange thing, to want others in someone’s house, but Shang-shidi seems to thrive in the company of others rather than on his lonesome. The few times Shen Qingqiu entertained him for tea in the bamboo house his shidi was delighted to gossip like old crones on market day.

“Perhaps Shang-shidi should try and be less overworked, so that others can visit you during the day,” he says instead, as if that was the reason why Shen Qingqiu has never tried to come for tea.

“Ah, well, maybe after the restructuring I will have more time. Unlike zhangmen-shixiong I have been delegating what I could.” Shang Qinghua takes a sip of his tea and, after a moment of consideration, dumps a big dollop of honey in it. “Let me tell you, shixiong, there are days when it feels like it would be easier to just fake my death and run away to be a rogue cultivator than solve all the problems that pass my desk.” Shen Qingqiu hums in vague affirmation and, following his shidi’s example, adds more honey to his tea. “Might even go to the demon realm! I’m not handsome enough to be arm candy, but if I could convince the Mobei Er to sponsor me, then I could spend the rest of my days in leisure, managing her apiary and eating honey like this every day…”

“Sponsor?” Shen Qingqiu tests the foreign word. It’s not a demonic dialect he’s familiar with, but it sounds like it could be one.

“Ah, yeah. Like, a benefactor of sorts? Rogue cultivators are very useful, even for demon royalty. No reason to send your hunters or guards to hunt down some nuisance of a monster or gather rare herbs from heaven-forsaken places when you can just hire a rogue cultivator and he gets it done, right? They usually pay in favors and goods rather than money - protection to pass through their territory, spiritual weapons, horses…”

“Mobei Er and her endless supply of cultivation-boosting honey?”

“Just so! She’s probably one of the most proactive about hiring rogue cultivators, now that I think about it. Hah, the lady has a new handsome ‘beard’ every other month, if gossip is to be believed.”

For a moment Shen Qingqiu pictures some demonic nonsense, before his common sense reasserts itself; he’s not ignorant to the reality that sometimes people who prefer their own sex would wish to hide this fact. “And why would someone as influential as a Mobei son try to fake a preference for men? Her family would hardly care.”

“Ah, but her lady friend is the princess of the Thousand Treasures Fox Clan and-”

Shen Qingqiu drinks his tea and listens to Shang Qinghua tell him a riveting tale of a Mobei prince and the fox princess who sneaked into her castle to steal a taste of honey. This is not what he came here for, no, but he’s surprised to find that Shang-shidi is a competent and captivating storyteller (even if he’s guilty of putting the focus on the wrong things at times) and listening to the woes and misadventures of someone living a realm away helps take his mind off his own troubles for a time.

But eventually the tea is all gone, the tale comes to an end and Shang-shidi is radiating the happiness of a satisfied storyteller. “Competently told, shidi. Maybe you should make it into a book.”

The change in Shand Qinghua is instant, joy melting into terror. “No,” he says, too-quick and breathless. “No, never again. I can’t write another book, I-” Shang Qinghua cuts himself off, takes a deep breath and then changes the subject. “Ah, but Shen-shixiong hasn’t come all this way to listen to me gossip.”

There is clearly a story here, but the haunted expression hasn’t fully left Shang-shidi’s face and this is not the time to bully that secret out of the mousy peak lord. Heaven knows without Shang Qinghua they might as well demolish Qiong Ding altogether because they would never have the peak up and running ever again. “I would like to transfer Sui Feng to my peak, in the position of a hall master. His duties would be to teach intermediate and advanced music lessons as well as intermediate poetry, if he’s amenable.”

“He would like that! He has already asked me to approve the transfer the day Shen-shixiong sought him out, but with everything going on with Qiong Ding I haven’t had the time to finish the paperwork.” He drums his fingers on the table, gaze drifting over the room as he tries to remember where he left the scroll. “I was reading it just yesterday… I might have left it in my bedroom. One moment, shixiong.”

Shen Qingqiu swallows a comment about the kind of workaholics who do paperwork in bed. “Take your time, shidi.”

Shang Qinghua flashes him a fleeting, nervous smile before he scurries off to get the scroll. Shen Qingqiu follows him with his eyes, for lack of anything better to do, so he sees the exact moment when his shidi steps through the door and freezes with a startled noise.

“My k- I. I didn’t realize you were here. When did you- is that blood?” Shang Qinghua’s voice is rising in panic and Shen Qingqiu gets to his feet, about to hurry to his side. “Oh gods, you are injured. What happened?”

“Nothing.” Shen Qingqiu freezes mid-step when he hears that familiar, deep voice. “Qinghua. It’s nothing.”

“That’s not ‘nothing’! Wait, let me get the medical kit.” Shang Qinghua rushes out of the bedroom and freezes when he comes face to face with Shen Qingqiu. “Shixiong?”

If he looks past Shang Qinghua, Shen Qingqiu can see a little into the bedroom. He can see black under robes and a broad back turned to the door, a cascade of thick hair the color of crow feathers.

“Shixiong, I can explain.”

There are many reasons why Wu Xuebao could be sleeping in Shang-shidi’s bed, but the simplest explanation fits the best: Shang Qinghua doesn’t have a friend from outside the sect - he has a suitor. A lover. Suddenly it makes sense why they try so hard to hide Wu Xuebao’s identity; if word got out that one of the peak lords was in a relationship with a rogue cultivator with strong ties to the demon realm, Huan Hua Palace would drag all of them through the mud.

Shen Qingqiu takes a stiff step back, so he can no longer see into the bedroom. Shang Qinghua watches him with the barely-restrained terror of a cornered beast.

“Shidi can host whatever guest he wishes. There are no sect rules against this. However-”

“However?” He can see the fight or flight instinct in Shang Qinghua’s eyes, the way his gaze wanders to the couch where his sword lies discarded. If Shen Qingqiu says the wrong thing Shang Qinghua, his least martially-skilled shidi, is willing to fight him for the sake of his friend.

For the sake of his lover.

“If one were to ask, this Shen has not seen a rogue cultivator in Shang-shidi’s house,” he says with a casual calmness, noting how his shidi’s eyes flicker this way and that as his thoughts race. “I especially have not seen one suffering from heavy demonic corruption. Do you understand, shidi?”

Shang Qinghua closes his eyes to center himself. He draws in a deep breath and lets it out in a slow exhale. “Yes, I understand, shixiong. Thank you.”

Shen Qingqiu nods. “I shall take my leave, then. Please send the scroll over when you have found it.”

“Will do, will do. Silly me, I will misplace my head next.” Shang Qinghua grabs the medical kit and clutches it to his chest, his smile shaky. “Thanking Shen-shixiong for his understanding. I will repay your kindness one way or the other, count on it!”

Shen Qingqiu leaves, before he can think twice about it. The part of him that finds solace and companionship in the time spent with Wu Xuebao wants to rush back, to render aid. He can’t lose the person who has been granting his life stability in the past months, he can’t bear the thought of his safe haven being tainted by the absence of- of his friend.

But the more rational part of him recognizes Shang Qinghua’s fear. Even if the relationship between Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu was better, he still wouldn’t want someone he doesn’t trust to the fullest around his injured lover unless the injury was life threatening.

Once upon a time Qi-ge used to be the same about his Xiao Jiu.

The thought makes bitter envy bubble up in his chest. He doesn’t know the specifics of their relationship, but it’s easy enough to imagine. When the sun rises with the promise of adventure Wu Xuebao leaves, wanders the Jianghu far and wide, but only in the way a migratory bird rides the winds: at the end of his journey he always returns. When the sun sets, when a storm darkens the skies, the crow comes to roost with his sparrow.

How would it feel, to know that the one you care about the most would always return to you, no matter how many times he leaves?

Shen Qingqiu has no place here. His Qi-ge left him behind (caged foxes are as good as dead, aren’t they?) and moved on to better prospects, like a stray dog pledging undying loyalty to the first man that fed him. He should stop denying what he is: a wretched thing, a starving beast of trickery and shame. The only way he can hold onto people is by digging his teeth into them and that only serves to drive them away all the more.

He lands on his peak, walks the perimeter of his bamboo house, leaving melting snow in his steps. There’s no smoke on his tongue, but he can feel the embers in his chest, so he hurries to his house, to the safety of his walls and his wards.

Without really thinking, he kicks the rug aside in the bedroom and activates the protective array around his house, the one not even the sect leader can pass. Unwanted thing that he is, he might as well burrow deep into his den where he is the safest, where nobody can reach him. They can’t reject him if he rejects them first.

He doesn’t make it to his bed before he passes out.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Shen Jiu dreams of choking on fire and blood, of burning from the inside out. He dreams of shadows, of cold hands and blue eyes.

Ice poured into his veins until his teeth chatter and he snarls at the shadows because the fire dies and he wants to die with it, smoke filling his lungs and spilling into the cold air along with the growl of a beast.

The shadows snarl back. Live, they tell him.

He wakes with a desperate gasp for clean air, fingers scrambling on soft bedding (nails, claws tearing into the quilt) and suddenly there are hands on his shoulder, on his back, helping him sit.

“Qingqiu-shidi!” His racing heart calms when he recognizes Yue Qingyuan sitting on his bedside, the traitorous thing. He claws at the arm holding him up on principle, but the man refuses to budge, supporting him with his arm around his back. “You gave us quite the scare, shidi.”

Yue Qingyuan radiates warmth, he realizes, slumping further into his shixiong’s hold. “Another qi deviation?” He hardly needs to ask. His voice is barely a croak and the tight, stinging discomfort of his healing meridians is unmistakable.

“A bad one, yes. Worse than usual, even.” Yue Qingyuan adjusts his arms slightly so Shen Qingqiu can lean more comfortably against him, head pillowed against his shixiong’s shoulder. He would usually fight harder against Yue Qingyuan, incensed by how much this position reminds him of their time as children, but he is chilled to the bone and he has never been good about denying himself comforts when he knows he can pay their price. He accepted all of Yue Qingyuan’s other ‘gifts’ as well, even if he hid them away and never acknowledged them (he thinks the sect leader knows this too, that’s why he keeps offering his bribery so brazenly).

He viciously shoves his icy hands into Yue Qingyuan’s sleeve, wrapping his fingers around his sword arm and revels in the surprised grunt of discomfort the action gets him. “I’m cold,” he offers by way of explanation. He can feel when his shixiong accepts his new role as a hand warmer. The tense forearm under his fingers relaxes and the trickle of energy under the skin turns into a steady stream when Yue Qingyuan starts circulating his qi. As a cultivator who has achieved unity of the sword his spiritual veins here are especially wide and Shen Qingqiu basks in the feeling of that warm, welcoming energy flushing the remnants of the cold from his hands. It’s almost like dipping his hands into a pleasantly warm river. “Any idea how that came about?”

“According to Shang-shidi, he came upon Qingqiu-shidi in the middle of a severe qi deviation when he went to deliver a scroll three days ago. He tried to render aid and managed to save your life, but you had an unforeseen reaction to his qi.” Yue Qingyuan gently untangles one of Shen Qingiu’s hands from his sleeve and raises it up so they can both see the sharp claws now tipping his fingers. “Mu-shidi believes that Shang Qinghua’s qi made an old tangle of demonic energy come loose. It has cleared some of the obstructions from your meridians, but also affects your body in other ways.”

There is blood on his claws from where he gripped Yue Qingyuan too tight. His awareness narrows down to that spot of red, the same dread pooling in the pit of his stomach that he felt when he spat out his first tooth. “What else?”

Wu Yanzi laughed at him and kept laughing every time it happened, collecting his human teeth in a jar and shaking it whenever Shen Jiu spat at him about leaving such a useless master behind. You have paid the entry fee , he said. You can’t turn away from this path now.

Yue Qingyuan doesn’t laugh. He folds Shen Qingqiu’s hand into his own and tightens his embrace until Shen Qingqiu’s senses are filled with the warm body holding him. It’s unfair that he remembers so clearly what Shen Jiu needs to ground him, that he can offer it so freely and thoughtlessly now. It's the same as always, isn't it? Yue Qingyuan only wants him when he's weak and compliant, a scared beast seeking shelter, the most like the Xiao Jiu he left behind.

Well, Shen Qingqiu is a weak man, because no matter how much it aches, he can't bring himself to push him away. He’s wrung out and empty where the qi deviation carved him open, but at least where the bittersweet ache fills him there is no space left for panic to seep in.

“Your teeth are sharper.”

“My teeth were already sharp.”

“I know. They are often visible when you yell at me, shidi.”

“You have noticed and haven’t said anything?”

“Should I have?”

“Zhangmen-shixiong is infuriating when he plays dumb.”

“Shidi is not the only one whose cultivation has altered his body. This… there is nothing to mention.”

“I should bite you, shixiong. See how easily you can dismiss it as ‘nothing’ then.”

“If that would put shidi’s mind at ease, I will gladly offer him an arm to bite once we are both dismissed. Mu-shidi would lock us both in here for the next decade if he found out.”

That comment, of all things, startles some sense of reality back into Shen Qingqiu. Yue Qingyuan is watching him with the same kind of earnest, worried expression he used to sport when Shen Jiu ate something questionable as a child. It’s the last drop that makes the bitterness overflow and Shen Qingqiu shoves him harshly away.

“Zhangmen-shixiong should not make offers he doesn’t mean. One day someone is going to come to collect on all his failed promises.”

Yue Qingyuan doesn’t have anything to say to that. He hangs his head in shame, then excuses himself and leaves, like he always does.

Embers stir in Shen Qingqiu’s chest, but his spiritual veins are still filled with meltwater and they can’t find purchase. The foreign qi makes him shiver and he curls up under the quilt, banishing Yue Qingyuan from his mind.

He sulks silently there until Mu Qingfang comes to check on him. The healer, mercifully, makes no comment on Shen Qingqiu’s obviously sour mood, focusing instead on his symptoms.

“Shixiong is facing an emotional bottleneck,” he declares after running through the usual series of questions. “Reflection and meditation should help you overcome it, but considering the severity, I would suggest strengthening your spirit first.”

“And how am I to do that, shidi?”

“The simplest method is to build emotional connections with others. Or to resolve the negative feelings obstructing the already existing emotional connections.”

Shen Qingqiu thinks about Yue Qingyuan and how every time he tries to talk to his shixiong, he is brought to the brink of another qi deviation. “Will shidi assign me a babysitter, in case all this self-reflection drives me into another deviation?”

“I’m certain zhangmen-shixiong would happily volunteer, but no. I don’t believe there is currently a need for extended surveillance.” Mu Qingfang hesitates, then reaches for Shen Qingqiu’s wrist to feel his meridians. “Shixiong’s spirit veins are clear and the demonic energy that got released from the blockage is mingling smoothly with his spiritual energy. I have not considered this course of treatment before, but we don’t have a lot of literature on demonic cultivators, much less ones that abandoned their cultivation path. If the long term effects remain positive, then we might need to consider the inclusion of demonic produce - maybe fruit grown in the demon realm - in shixiong’s diet to keep his meridians healthy in the future.”

“No,” Shen Qingqiu says firmly. “Not if it comes with more outward changes. I can bear with my ruined cultivation, but I cannot afford to become any more like a demon.”

“Think about it, shixiong,” Mu Qingfang says, patting his hand lightly. “There are a thousand ways we can explain or hide the cosmetic changes to your body, but this is the first hint I have found that your cultivation might be improved. Don’t squander it out of pride.”

Mu Qingfang eventually lets him go, albeit reluctantly. They both know that it would only make him more aggravated to not know what happened to his house. Yue Qingyuan hovers near him like a worried shadow, keeping enough distance to grant him a measure of privacy, but close enough that Shen Qingqiu can’t try and lock himself inside a closed array again.

He hides his hands in his sleeves and fiddles with his new claws. They are not the curved beast-claws of Wu Yanzi, not yet anyway, so some careful filing made them look almost normal, but they feel different. They are harder, sharper, and the amount of time he would need to file them short goes far beyond his patience. His preference for playing the guqin grants him enough of an excuse not to bother; it’s not uncommon for musicians who play plucked instruments to keep their nails on the longer side.

The protective arrays on his house are buzzing with disturbed qi, warm to the touch when he runs a hand over the etched lines. He expected no less; having a history of fiery qi deviations while living in a very flammable house requires some precautions. The arrays are working as intended, purifying the qi and bleeding it into the brook that runs near the house, so there is no reason for him to disturb them.

He disables the remaining wards and steps inside. He’s glad that Yue Qingyuan decided to stay outside; there is a scent in the air, cold like an approaching snowstorm. It’s the fading trace of the same demonic qi that is still circulating in his meridians. It is the most potent in the middle of his main room and trails off towards his bedroom.

Shen Qingqiu follows it to the scorched spot on the ground when he collapsed that evening, then stops next to his protective array and stares down at the ruined lines with a rock hard certainty: there was a demon in his house. A powerful one, that left traces of his energy on everything he touched. If Shen Qingqiu focuses his senses he can clearly trace each one of the demon’s steps - How did it get in here? It's as if it had stepped out from thin air in the main room - to where he knelt next to Shen Qingqiu’s unconscious body and remained kneeling - one hand against his throat first, to feel his qi, and then another against his stomach, to feed icy qi directly into his dantian and choke the fire at its root - until Shang-shidi arrived and took Shen Qingqiu away.

He walks to the bedside table, ignoring the crunching of melting ice under his boots and lights a stick of cleansing incense. Then he all but collapses onto his bed, his thoughts chasing each other wildly.

His first thought is that Shang Qinghua has to know about the demon. Was he spying for the demons? That can’t be quite right, if he was just a spy he would not have the means to call upon one this powerful - and for what? To save Shen Qingqiu’s wretched life. He can’t be stupid enough to think that Shen Qingqiu will not find him out right away. It’s not unexpected that Shang-shidi has relations in the demon realm - that his rogue cultivator friend spends enough time there to maintain a steady state of corruption is proof enough.

Shen Qingqiu’s thoughts snag on Wu Xuebao. Could the man be a demon in disguise? It would explain why he would hide himself in the house, but everything else about him, from his quiet, laid-back attitude to his fondness for music is at odds with the idea. Demons don’t sneak into a peak lord’s house to play music and have tea and lunch with Shen Jiu.

And that’s not even touching on it that he hasn’t felt even a lick of demonic qi from master Wu. No matter how good Shang-shidi’s protective arrays are, they couldn’t possibly hide the energy of a higher demon, one that wears his power like some prized pelt. Shen Qingqiu has never met a demon who didn’t try to cloak themself in their power, as if a little demonic qi could intimidate a cultivator of his caliber.

No, their shared rogue cultivator friend can’t be a demon in disguise. That doesn’t, however, mean that he is not connected to them. His thoughts drift back to Mobei Er and the ‘sponsorship’ Shang Qinghua mentioned the other day. Could that be it? Could master Wu…

Wu - five. He assumed it was the usual surname, but he could not find any notable Wu family he could have come from and with how tense his relationship with his family was, could he have picked up the moniker of the prince he pledged service to instead?

Shen Qingqiu walks stiffly to the bookshelf and flips the book on demon families open. It’s not one he reads frequently, but he has thumbed through it not so long ago and it opens readily at the Mobei family. He traces the names of the Mobei children and counts under his breath. Binghe, Songshu, Bingqi, Baixiong… Guilian . He’s almost certain he has heard his shidi mention Mobei Guilian recently. The name doesn’t evoke the kind of broad, masculine shadow from his memories, but the ghost lily is a flower notorious for becoming intangible during the day, hence the ‘ghost’ moniker - what better name for a demon that can walk through shadows?

Shen Qingqiu puts the book down and stares into the middle distance, unseeing. Wu Xuebao summoned his sponsor to teleport into the heart of a sect, into the warded house of a peak lord to check on him - to save him. Because Shang Qinghua saw the barrier and realized that something was wrong.

Demons never work for free, but in the eyes of a Mobei prince, what could be the price of such a stunt?

What’s the price of Shen Jiu’s life?

Cold dread grips his spine. He rushes out of the house and ignores Yue Qingyuan’s alarmed shout as he hops onto his sword and takes off towards An Ding.

He has never prayed to the gods before, but this time there is a silent prayer trapped behind his teeth.

Heavens, please let me be wrong.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu isn’t the fastest flier in the sect, but it’s well-known that Yue Qingyuan is among the slowest - a side effect of always keeping his sword sheathed - so he leaves his shixiong far behind before he even leaves Qing Jing Peak. It’s for the best; he doesn’t want Yue Qingyuan breathing down his neck when he arrives at Shang Qinghua’s house.

He can feel the wards snag on his skin when he flies straight into the garden. He barely stops himself from barreling straight into the back door, but he manages. He allows himself a few moments to breathe before he steps up to the door and bangs his fist against it, heart hammering in his throat.

It feels like an eternity until the door opens. “Lord Shen?”

He takes in the figure standing on the other side of the door and breathes a sigh of relief. “You are alive. Thank the heavens.”

Wu Xuebao’s expression softens. He is a handsome fellow - at least the parts of him not covered in bandages or ugly, red-and-purple bruising - but he is of an intimidating stature and Shen Qingqiu finds himself glad that they have only met face to face now, when he already knows the man not to be the brutish sort. Shen Qingqiu is a cultivator of passable strength who, by all rights, should not be intimidated by a set of wide shoulders or a pair of too big hands, but old habits die hard.

Xuebao shifts to the side, silently inviting him in. Shen Qingqiu hesitates on the doorstep; he has so many questions he wants to ask, but at the same time, he feels like an invader. “Please, forgive me for the intrusion. I did not mean to… that is, I know master Wu is shy and I don’t wish to cause trouble-”

His words get caught in his throat when Wu Xuebao reaches for him, cold fingers wrapping around his wrist, and gently tugs him inside. He’s led to the same area where he took tea with Shang Qinghua a few days before and kneels at the same spot by the table. Xuebao regards him silently for a moment before he rumbles “I’ll make tea.” and walks to the small kitchenette, conveniently staying in sight all the time.

Shen Qingqiu watches him through a curtain of soft confusion, his thoughts still chasing each other wildly. Xuebao holds himself proudly, but he moves carefully, pain evident in every motion. He’s barefoot, wearing only his black inner robes and pants and his hair is in a messy braid. He must have been sleeping or at the very least resting. He handles the teapot with the same caution one usually reserves for a venomous snake rearing to bite, wrapping his hands in cloth to avoid touching the heated porcelain. Before he joins Shen Qingqiu at the table he pours himself a cup of a medicinal tonic so pungent even Shen Qingqiu can smell it, and downs it with an extremely unhappy expression.

Shen Qingqiu stifles a laugh at the almost comical grimace of distaste and swiftly pours another cup of tea, cooling it by drawing the heat into his own veins. “Here. It’s not hot.”

Wu Xuebao takes it with a grateful nod. His claws are all cracked and his spiritual power is so weak that Shen Qingqiu can’t feel it when master Wu takes the cup and their fingers accidentally brush. “Master Wu-”

“A-Bao.” Wu Xuebao averts his eyes, but there is a stubborn set to his jaw. “Lord Shen is… a cherished friend.”

This man… clearly he spends way too much time with demons if he has even forgotten the proper bounds of etiquette, but strangely enough, Shen Qingqiu doesn’t mind it as much as he should.

“A-Bao,” Shen Qingqiu amends, a strange warmth taking root in his chest. It’s not the volatile sparks of qi deviation, more the cozy warmth of a nice bath. “If we are to be so friendly, then you should not call me ‘Lord Shen’ either.” He pauses, trying to decide what he wants to be called. ‘Qingqiu’ doesn’t quite match the familiarity on offer and he wants no variation with ‘Qiu’.

“Jiu-ge?” Xuebao suggests, taking a sip from his cup of cool tea. His eyes are a startlingly clear blue, bright like the sky.

Shen Qingqiu turns the suggestion around in his mind for a bit, before he accepts with a nod. “Yes. I would not mind being Jiu-ge.”

Wu Xuebao’s mouth quirks into a tiny smile and he makes a pleased huffing sound that reminds Shen Qingqiu of big cats. “A-Bao spends too much time around demons. His manners are positively beastly.”

The rogue cultivator considers this, then tentatively growls at Shen Qingqiu, watching his reactions carefully. Shen Qingqiu is taken aback, but after thinking about it for a moment he growls back; his sponsor likely filled Wu Xuebao in about the traces of demonic energy plaguing him. Xuebao’s eyes light up and he grins in delight. Unlike Shen Qingqiu’s, his teeth are perfectly straight and human. “Maybe,” he admits magnanimously, his eyes smiling even when his face settles back into a sort of cold neutrality that has to be his resting expression. After a thought he nudges a plate of osmanthus cakes closer to Shen Qingqiu.

“Thank you.” His heart is still beating faster than usual, anxiety tugging at his nerves, but there is something unfairly comfortable in being able to set at least some of his masks down. Wu Xuebao, with his frost-kissed, clawed hands, is not going to judge him for his own claws or his beastly teeth. That thought knocks a bit of sobriety back into him, the reminder of the lie turning the sweet treat to ash on his tongue, before he realizes that Xuebao is treating him no differently now than before. “You don’t resent me at all for hiding my identity, do you?”

Xuebao shakes his head. “Jiu-ge is not alone in having secrets.” His expression shifts minutely, to something akin to worry, and for a moment Shen Qingqiu thinks he wants to say something more, but he simply casts his eyes down to his tea, silent once more.

Shen Qingqiu thought he had already grown used to Xuebao’s silences, the way they stretch and crop up even at parts of a conversation where he would not expect them with anyone else, but it’s different when he can see his face. His expressions are subtle, the most miniscule shift of muscles around the mouth or the eyes, but Shen Qingqiu has met people who were more difficult to read, even if he can count them on one hand. There is a certain flavor to Xuebao’s silence, a kind of frustration, worn like the feet of a stool one has to drag regularly from its usual place so they can reach the top shelf. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t know what to make of it, so he diverts the conversation to something he knows how to deal with.

“Your injuries look severe. Has your sponsor been upset at being summoned to the sect?” If the demon took out his frustration with a beating, then maybe he wouldn’t have asked for anything more. Demons, in Shen Qingqiu’s experience, took great pleasure in pushing their subordinates around.

“These?” Wu Xuebao touches a hand gingerly to his chest, where the bandages peek out from under his loose sleeping robes, and shakes his head. “These happened before.”

He holds up a hand in the gesture to wait and leaves the table, then returns a few minutes later with a report that he silently hands over to Shen Qingqiu. It’s concise and proper, from one of Shang Qinghua’s Northern spies, and it explains a lot and nothing at the same time.

Mobei Er finally overcame Mobei Yi in one of their many, violent clashes - good riddance for that; Mobei Binghe had a horrible reputation and would have become an especially bloodthirsty Mobei-jun - and beheaded her brother for the slight of insulting her lover. This left only two princes left standing, Mobei Er and Mobei Wu, who maintained an amicable relationship prior to this, both hoping that Mobei Yi would take out the other so they would not have to clash personally.

To mitigate the damages of their fighting, the two set up a controlled battle to test their power against each other: the two princes and all their closest generals and retainers, clashing in a week-long bout. The end result was, as far as the person penning the report could tell, a draw. Mobei Er won out in personal power, using the control over plants she inherited from her mother to disrupt Mobei Wu’s shadow powers, but Mobei Wu’s retainers fought valiantly for their master and tipped the scales in his favor. They parted on still amicable terms with the resolution of the conflict still up in the air.

And this is where that leaves them: Wu Xuebao severely injured, hiding in his lover’s house, having fought for his lord. Shen Qingqiu glances over the text once more; after an unresolved clash like that, no demon would be eager to do the bidding of a servant out of charity. “Your prince,” he starts, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “What did he ask of you in return for saving me?”

Xuebao is silent for a long time, his expression closed off. “Nothing.”

“You can tell me! I’m not afraid of Mobei Wu! If it’s a debt I can help you pay-”

“Mobei-wang.”

Shen Qingqiu’s words freeze on the tip of his tongue. They only call the heir Wang when there is only one left, when the identity of the future king is set in stone. Something must have happened after the battle, something the spy is not aware of yet.

He waits, allowing the tension to grow to agonizing levels, for Wu Xuebao to drink his tea and work his jaw until the words line up as they should. “I convinced Mobei Er to withdraw.”

The fight for the throne of the Northern Kingdom is not a race one can simply withdraw from. To take on the title of Mobei prince is a commitment to fight to the death.

The only way to opt out of the race for the crown is through ritual suicide.

Shen Qingqiu struggles to believe that someone who says one word where others say ten could talk anyone into killing themself, but that’s a flawed view of things, isn’t it? It can take only as much as one word - the right word at the right time.

If Xuebao is honest, and Shen Qingqiu has little reason to doubt him, then it makes sense why the Mobei-wang agreed to come when Xuebao called him. Shen Qingqiu’s life - a friend’s life - might just be enough to repay that debt. “I see. That makes things simpler, I suppose.”

Xuebao casts his eyes down in something almost like sorrow, but nods.

Before Shen Qingqiu could ask more about what exactly went down with the demons, a spiritual messenger in the shape of a stoat hops onto the table. “ Sect Leader Yue is on the way, ” it says in Shang Qinghua’s voice. “ It would be best if he found Shen-shixiong in the garden, alone. ” It runs a nervous little circle before it dissipates.

“Sounds like Shang-shidi has a plan,” Shen Qingqiu says, because he has no idea what else to say.

“Always.” Xuebao’s certainty in his lover is more endearing than reassuring, but it’s not like Shen Qingqiu has a better idea.

“Well, let’s do as he bid, then. You should stay out of sight and I will go and pretend to meditate on the bench.”

Wu Xuebao starts packing the remnants of the tea service away with the efficiency of someone used to following directions. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t wait for him, but he fully expects that all the most obvious traces of the man will be gone by the time the sect leader touches down before the front door.

He has no time to lay out the fur as he usually would, but it’s a sunny day and the stone of the bench is not as chilly as he feared. Either way, he only has to pretend for a few minutes. Before he could sink into real meditation the door opens and Shang Qinghua leads the distressed looking Yue Qingyuan out into the garden. “There he is! Shen-shixiong, you gave poor zhangmen-shixiong a fright.”

Shen Qingqiu opens one eye and gives them a harsh look of displeasure, as if his meditation was interrupted for real. “I was not aware that our sect leader is so pathetically faint of heart.”

“Shidi was on the brink of death only a few days ago. Is it so surprising that I would worry for his well-being?” Yue Qingyuan asks, but after the day he had Shen Qingqiu has no patience left for him. Mu Qingfang suggested dealing with the negative energy in his preexisting relationships and he knows exactly how he’s going to crush this particular heart demon.

“I don’t have expectations for someone who has left me and then moved on with his life, making no attempt to reconnect until fate put me back in his path again.” He doesn’t have a fan with him, so he has no way to hide the way his mouth twists into a snarl. Usually having an audience would help him restrain himself, but Shang Qinghua has saved his life and potentially indebted himself to a demon for his sake and that feels far more meaningful than all of Yue Qi’s ridiculous gifts. “I grow tired of this game we play, shixiong. So tell me: if you have not cared for me when I needed you to care, then how am I to believe that you care now? How am I to believe that I mean anything to you when I asked for only one thing from you and you won’t even grant me that answer?”

He is breathing heavily by the time the last word tumbles out, his oldest grievance with Yue Qi spilling forth from the painful, rotting knot in his chest where it has been festering since the day he joined the sect.

Yue Qingyuan, predictably, has no answer for him. He stands there silently in his shame, hands clenching and unclenching, but no matter how long Shen Qingqiu waits, there is no answer forthcoming. Finally he lifts his gaze to Shen Qingqiu and with the utmost sincerity says “I’m sorry, Qingqiu-shidi.”

Shen Qingqiu feels like his blood is boiling. He growls like a beast and springs to his feet, ready to rip Yue Qingquan apart (with his words or his new claws, whichever he can get on the man first).

“All right, that’s enough!” Shang Qinghua throws his full weight into pushing Yue Qingyuan away from Shen Qingqiu, who stares at his suddenly intruding shidi like he’s seeing the lord of An Ding for the first time in his life. “Shen-shixiong is right as rain, so it’s time for zhangmen-shixiong to leave!” He keeps pushing Yue Qingyuan towards the rarely used gate of the garden. “Shen-shixiong, please let me treat you to tea! Go in, go in, I will be with you as soon as I’m done escorting Yue-shixiong out.”

The unexpected interruption has doused the fire of his rage and in its absence Shen Qingqiu finds himself exhausted and hollow. Without another word he flees inside, hoping to find solace in sweet tea and the company of someone who actually cares for him.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

Wu Xuebao waits for him inside, a fresh pot of tea already prepared. He looks thoughtful, his eyes flicking back to the window every now and then. “That man…” he starts, but whatever he wishes to ask, he can’t formulate properly.

“There’s nothing to be said about that spineless wretch,” Shen Qingqiu says sharply, folding down by the table. He tries to convey with his sharp tone and a dismissive flick of his sleeve that he doesn’t want to talk about Yue Qi, but Wu Xuebao is stubborn today.

“It’s important,” he insists, taking in Shen Qingqiu’s upset expression with narrowed eyes. “A secret?”

There’s a ‘yes’ on the tip of his tongue, but thinks better about it. Xuebao would not care, Shen Qingqiu has already sussed this out over the months, and out of the ones who don’t already know, Shang Qinghua is perhaps the only martial sibling he has who would see him in no way lesser for being a runaway slave. Heavens know the man gets some of his best disciples from recruiting from the street rabble. “Only in the sense that the sect leader would want to keep it a secret, I suppose.”

“Tell me,” Xuebao asks, taking a seat opposite Shen Qingqiu, turning into the very picture of an attentive listener. He is always very easy to talk to, making Shen Qingqiu feel heard when he speaks, but it’s even more devastatingly effective when he can see those deep-sea eyes watching him with obvious care.

It’s lucky (or maybe unlucky timing) that Shang Qinghua returns and ruins the moment. “Yue Qingyuan has been escorted from the premises! Heavens, our sect leader has missed his calling as a mother hen.” He takes in the two men sitting at his tea table. “I see Baobao got you the good tea! What have you been talking about?”

“Jiu-ge,” Xuebao says before Shen Qingqiu can change the topic. “And the sect leader.”

Shang Qinghua freezes before he could sit down with them, eyeing Shen Qingqiu warily. “I see. If shixiong doesn’t wish to share his secret with this one, I could, ah. I guess I have some paperwork I could go and do back in my office?”

A very courteous offer. One Shen Qingqiu has no intention of humoring. “It’s not a secret.” He reaches up and tugs his shidi down by the wide sleeve of his robe. “It’s simply that I had nobody I wished to share it with. If Shang-shidi wants to hear about my personal history, he can stay and listen. Besides,-” His eyes slide over to Xuebao, who has immediately shifted to sit closer to Shang Qinghua. “- I have no doubt that what I tell A-Bao, Qinghua-shidi will learn in no time.”

Xuebao growls at him, clearly offended. Shang Qinghua laughs nervously and elbows his lover firmly in the side to make him stop. “You’d be surprised, shixiong. Baobao is better at keeping secrets than you can imagine.”

Shen Qingqiu drinks his tea to hide his amusem*nt. “There is not much to say, anyway. When I was young I was a street urchin and a slave. Before he left to join the sect, Yue Qi promised to return and liberate me once he became a cultivator.” Even as bitterness settles on his tongue and ruins the taste of the tea, he is not quite petty enough to openly say that Yue Qingyuan was one of his fellow slaves. That is his shixiong’s secret to tell, but Shang Qinghua can likely guess it anyway. “But once he arrived at the sect, he forgot all about me and never returned. No matter how many times I asked him-” How many times he begged. “- he would never give me an answer why.” He drinks again, hoping that the sweetness of the tea would dilute the bitterness, but it lingers. “I’ve grown tired of empty apologies.”

“Shixiong…” Shang Qinghua doesn’t seem surprised, but it has always been difficult to read his shidi. Who knows what’s going on behind the nervous exterior?

“He tried.” Surprised, they both turn towards Xuebao. He’s wearing a complicated expression, fingers drumming restlessly on the table. “Outside. He tried to say something.”

“Another apology no doubt,” Shen Qingqiu says dismissively. “Zhangmen-shixiong can only stand his guilt so long before another senseless apology tumbles out of his mouth and he knows how much I hate them.”

Xuebao shakes his head, clawing at the table’s lacquer in frustration. “He tried. He couldn’t .”

“ Oh! ” Shang Qinghua lights up in understanding. “Like you?”

Xuebao gives a tired nod, but Shen Qingqiu finds himself more confused by the moment. “Can someone please enlighten me about what you are talking about?”

Shang Qinghua looks at his lover for confirmation before he settles down in what Shen Qingqiu is starting to recognize as his shidi’s ‘story telling’ posture. “Well, I’m sure you noticed that Baobao is not the most talkative of people around.”

“I assumed it was a matter of language barrier,” Shen Qingqiu replies truthfully. “His accent comes out stronger when he speaks at length, so obviously he’s not native. Understanding a language isn’t always the same skill as speaking it.”

“If only it was that simple. No, he’s quite fluent in Mandarin. It’s speaking in general he has trouble with. Although,-” Shang Qinghua looks pensive for a moment, then turns to Xuebao. “- I never did ask if it’s easier in your native tongue or not.”

Xuebao shakes his head.

“About the same? Or worse?” Xuebao taps the table twice. “Huh. Interesting. Anyway, it’s my understanding that he used to be a very talkative child. Almost as talkative as me, if his er-ge can be believed!” Xuebao makes an unhappy noise at the mention of his relative, but doesn’t comment in words. Shen Qingqiu quietly files away one more new detail about Wu Xuebao’s family. “But then there was an… incident . His uncle took him on a road trip when he was about four and lost him. He was found by a group of evil cultivators who held him hostage for a week before the rest of his family discovered and came to rescue him.”

“What would a group of demonic cultivators want with a child that young?” Shen Qingqiu asks, his hand clenched so tight his knuckles turn white. He has some ideas, all of them horrible.

“They were testing their trap arrays and their tracking spells on him, I think? He couldn’t tell me much about the details.” Qinghua-shidi notices that Xuebao has gone pale, their talk no doubt dredging up awful memories, and gently folds one of the big, cold hands into his own to comfort him. “Anyway, after he had been rescued he didn’t speak anymore. Couldn’t, rather. Not a word, completely silent for the next…” Xuebao lifts his other hand up to signal the number. “... Eight years, that’s more than I thought. He started to recover eventually and by the time we met his silence was more a habit than an impairment, but he still has days when he has trouble speaking - like today, I assume from the new claw marks on my table - and some when he can’t speak at all.”

Shen Qingqiu takes this information, turns it over in his mind several times and looks back over their past interactions through this new lens. It’s not terribly difficult, he finds, to mark the difference between the days when A-Bao is silent because he feels comfortable without filling the air with chatter and the ones when he’s struggling. There’s a frustrated quality to his silences then, his sentences clipped and he falls quiet more often in between sentences.

“I can see how this would affect A-Bao, but zhangmen-shixiong has no issues speaking,” he points out, but there is a doubt taking root in the back of his mind.

“Some words are harder than others,” Xuebao offers, nudging the plate of snacks closer to Shen Qingqiu.

“I have asked Mu-shidi about it once - in vague terms, since Baobao isn’t really supposed to be here - and the phenomena is caused by heart demons,” Shang Qinghua says, snatching an osmanthus cake off the plate before it can get out of he reach. “The more closely related events are to the trauma that spawned them, the stronger their effects are. It could be that Yue-shixiong really can’t talk about whatever caused him to miss meeting Shen-shixiong again.”

There is something in the wording that catches Shen Qingqiu’s attention. He looks down at his shidi with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “You know something about this that I don’t.” It’s not a question.

Shang Qinghua, predictably, starts squirming in place. “Weeell, I was only just promoted to inner disciple at the time so I didn’t meet Yue-shixiong often…”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“We were all strictly instructed not to allow him off the mountain. Not for a night hunt, not for shopping, not for anything . Word among the disciples was that he sneaked out before and the sect leader was still pissed about it.” He rubs his neck, looking uneasier with every moment Shen Qingqiu keeps glaring at him. “Not that he ever tried to leave again. He was wearing the mourning tassel, so rumor was that he sneaked out for the burial of a family member and had nobody left off the mountain. But shixiong has to admit that it aligns rather smarty, doesn’t it?”

It does align rather conveniently. If Yue Qi came upon the burned ruins of the Qiu house…

No, he can’t speculate. He has to know .

“How can I get an answer out of him if he can’t tell me?” he asks, frustration mounting. He’s itching for a fan, but lacking one, his fingers curl and his claws scratch satisfyingly along the lacquer of the table. He notices Shang-shidi looking mournfully at the scratched-up wood, but if he can provide him the means to finally get an answer out of his Qi-ge, then he will gift him a replacement that’s ten times this durable and of much better taste besides.

A-Bao catches his hand, holds it between two cold palms and straightens his fingers until his joints no longer ache. “Some words are easier than others,” he rumbles, tracing characters onto the back of his hand.

Yes and no .

Shen Qingqiu bolts upright like lightning struck him - in a way it has , in the form of the realization that he could have always gotten his answer, if only he asked the right question. “I need to go,” he says, scrambling to his feet. “Thank you for the tea.”

“Yue-shixiong said he was going back to his office,” Shang-shidi says, hiding a smile behind his teacup. “If Shen-shixiong moves fast, he might catch him before he gets buried under paperwork again.”

Shang Qinghua stands at the window and watches his shixiong fly off towards Qiong Ding to set the misunderstanding straight. He wears a look of satisfaction, the look of a schemer whose plan played out as intended. “Well, that’s that. From this point it’s up to them to sort things out.”

He is incredibly handsome when he’s content and Mobei-wang is a foolish, weak demon who can’t resist his charm even on the best of days. He wraps his human in his arms and rests his chin on top of his head. “You could have said more.” Now that the fright of their surprise visitor is over, the burning, constricting feeling in his throat is starting to abate and his words flow easier again.

“I could have,” Qinghua admits, slumping back against Mobei-wang’s chest. “But it was not my place to say it.”

“He doesn’t know what’s the right question to ask.” Mobei-wang dips his head low to kiss Qinghua. His cheek, his jaw, his neck; these blunt teeth are not suited for biting, but the difference in feeling is fascinating enough that he tries a nibble anyway. Qinghua humors him, reaching one hand up to thread it into his braid and direct his head wherever he wants it.

“Not to learn about the sword, no. But that’s not the important part. The most important part is that he wasn’t abandoned. That’s the pain feeding his heart demons.” Mobei-wang tries to lift his head despite the fingers holding him fast, only to find that he can’t . He is barely more than a powerless human right now and Qinghua is still a powerful cultivator. This realization is… thrilling . “Yue Qi can tell him about the sword his own damn self, once he conquered some of his own heart demons. ”

“Jiu-ge will bully an answer out of him sooner or later.” Mobei-wang wishes him the best of luck. He has heard Qinghua complain time and again about how the sect leader kept failing in his attempts to court Shen Qingqiu’s favor, something he finds more than relatable. Even with his senses dulled by the potion, he could tell that their energies are more than compatible and having a lover of his own that Shen Jiu could dual-cultivate with would do wonders to clear out the remaining blockages he felt in his meridians.

“You honestly like him, don’t you?” He can’t tell if Qinghua is amazed or jealous. Possibly both.

“Not as much as I like A-Hua.” Mobei-wang tightens his embrace. Being weak as he is right now, there is no danger in using the fullness of his available strength. “A plan expertly executed deserves a reward. We should make the best of the potion, before it wears off.”

Qinghua laughs and turns around in his arms. “Are you saying that you are at my mercy right now, my king?”

“If that’s what A-Hua wishes.”

Qinghua’s answer is a kiss that leaves him strangely breathless and all his dull, human senses overwhelmed.

Perhaps we should do this more often , Mobei-wang thinks when Qinghua demonstrates his strength by picking him up and carrying him to bed. The temporary weakness and the unpleasant sensation of his qi returning is trivial compared to the rush he feels at having their positions temporarily reversed.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu catches up to Yue Qingyuan outside the sect leader’s home, talking to some of his older disciples. Shen Qingqiu makes a mental note to memorize their names when he gets the chance. The same way his staff was infested with good-for-nothing trash, so was the student body of Qiong Ding, with most of the students barely qualifying as cultivator material aside from the handful he personally tutored. So those few that remain are important for the sect strategist to keep track of.

Yue Qingyuan notices his approach and shoos his disciples away. “Is Qingqiu-shidi feeling better?” he asks, with an open hopefulness that makes Shen Qingqiu want to rake his claws down that unfairly handsome face of his.

“Qingqiu-shidi is still upset,” he says sharply, giving into the indulgent urge to cross his arms and glower. “But Shang-shidi gave me an idea how to fix that, if zhangmen-shixiong can provide a place where we may speak privately.”

Yue Qingyuan takes his demand in stride and leads him inside, past the areas of his house where he usually entertains guests to a spacious room on the far side, hidden from prying eyes by the tall shrubbery in front of the windows. It’s an amalgam of a drawing room, kitchen and, based on the number of pillows and the soft quilt piled on the padded couch, bedroom as well.

“I must say, I did not expect this, shixiong,” Shen Qingqiu says. “Last time I was in here, this was still a regular, if bare, room.” Which was not long after they moved into their current residences, almost five years ago now, but it’s still a jarring change.

“When we ascended to our current position and Shang-shidi was doing the rounds taking everyone’s orders for the renovations they wanted, he suggested that if I have trouble feeling comfortable in the estate, then I should limit my living space to something I find less overwhelming.”

That makes sense. Shang Qinghua gave Shen Qingqiu the same advice, at the time. “Hm, I suppose I can see the merit in this advice. After all, our sect leader can’t move into a bamboo house, like myself.”

He picks up what seems like a robe being mended from the table, curious why the sect leader hasn’t sent it to An Ding for repairs.

Holding the rich silk in his hands, he realizes his mistake; the outer robe is not being mended, it’s being embroidered. It’s meticulous, high quality work, and Shen Qingqiu recognizes the craftsmanship from Yue Qingyuan’s other robes. “Since when do you do your own embroidery?”

“Since I was a disciple, on Mu-shidi’s suggestion. For much of the same reason Qingqiu-shidi started painting his own fans.” As an exercise to help him recover fine motor control after a hand injury, then. Curious; Shen Qingqiu first started to exercise because Mu-shidi had to rebreak his fingers and heal them again to set the bones mostly straight, although they still ache on cold days. Yue Qi, however, was very good with knots, tying them faster than even the slavers themselves, so they never broke his fingers as punishment the way they often did with the others. So how did he injure his hands? “I initially started with painting too, but needlework is much easier to set aside when they call on me during my leisure time.”

Yue Qingyuan steps in front of Shen Qingqiu and holds out a hand for the robe. Shen Qingqiu throws it on the table instead and pushes Yue Qingyuan, backing the surprised man to the couch where he half-falls onto the pile of pillows. Good, he feels more in control now that Yue Qingyuan is looking up at him instead of the other way around. “I let you stammer and divert your way out of answering me before, but no longer.” He cages his shixiong with his body, pins him in place so Yue Qingyuan can’t even think about running away from him this time. “So I will ask my questions again, but I will make it simple for even a stupid oaf like you.” Yue Qingyuan flinches and stares at him with a startled, complicated expression. “I will ask and you will answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Even you can do that much, can't you?”

“Xiao Jiu…” Shen Qingqiu hisses at him, so he swallows heavily and tries again. “What if- what if shidi doesn't like the answers?”

Shen Qingqiu grabs a handful of Yue Qingyuan’s hair and tilts his head up at a painful angle, so he can't even think about averting his eyes. “There is no answer you can give me that I would hate more than your silence.” He doesn't break eye contact when he jabs a finger towards the door. “If you don't answer me today - if I'm not even worth that much in your eyes - then I will pack my things and leave the sect tomorrow. You will never see me ever again.”

He has sacrificed so much for Yue Qingyuan, to stay by his side and make sure the sect he dedicated his life to is running as it should, and all he got back is empty smiles and meaningless trinkets. He can't do it anymore, not after getting a taste of what friendship should be like with Xuebao.

Yue Qingyuan nods once, uncaring that the gesture has to pull painfully on his scalp, before he goes limp in Shen Qingqiu’s hands. “Understood, shidi.”

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t let his guard down because of the seemingly easy victory. He moves his hand from Yue Qingyuan’s hair so the man can move his head easier and grips the broad shoulders instead, digging his new claws into the reinforced silk. “Let’s get the hardest one out of the way first: have you ever tried to come back for me?”

Perhaps it would have been better to start with something simple, to ease Yue Qingyuan into this game of questions before he springs The Question on him, but Shen Qingqiu is tired of waiting. He watches as Yue Qingyuan’s expression changes, from surprise to fear to guilt to sorrow to frustration and back again, silently mouthing words that refuse to form, until there’s a jerk of his head - a nod.

“You did come back for me,” Shen Qingqiu says, almost disbelieving. Yue Qingyuan nods again, more certain this time. Shen Qingqiu makes a sound, the relief of that confession almost painful, and Yue Qingyuan reaches for him to provide comfort, just like when they were children. “Stupid Qi-ge! This is all you had to say.” He allows himself to be drawn into a hug and digs his claws in until Qi-ge hisses - serves him right! “Write it in the sand, send smoke signals, do an interpretive dance - anything! Anything that didn’t leave me thinking that you don’t want me here.”

“Qi-ge is stupid,” Yue Qingyuan mumbles into Shen Qingqiu’s hair. “I saw that you weren’t happy, but I didn’t realize the cause.”

“Of course you are stupid! You always have been,” Shen Qingqiu grouses as he extracts himself from the hug (despite Yue Qingyuan’s kicked puppy eyes) and flops back down to sit shoulder-to-shoulder instead. “That’s why you have me to do the serious thinking.”

Of course Shen Qinqgiu doesn’t let something like his clingy Yue Qi distract him from getting to the bottom of what happened, to the best of his abilities at least. There’s only so much he can get from yes-no questions and conjecture, but the picture that unfolds makes him want to break something.

Two months. Yue Qingyuan missed him by two measly months and then spent the next three years mourning him, certain that he perished in the fire (“They said nobody other than the young mistress survived.” “Slaves and servants are the very definition of nobodies, you lug!”) until they met again. All because the former sect leader did not allow him to leave. The man is fortunate that he has already ascended, because Shen Qingqiu has a very sharp sword he wants to introduce to him, pointy end first.

“So you do care about me,” he says when he finally runs out of questions to ask and leans his head a little back so Yue Qingyuan can brush his hair easier. He started a little over half a shichen ago, when the emotional whiplash started giving him a headache.

He doesn’t expect Yue Qingyuan to put the brush down or lean over his shoulder.

He especially doesn’t expect the kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth or the confession whispered into his ear. “I love you more than anything in the world.”

Shen Qingqiu freezes, cold dread clawing its way up his spine. He stands stiffly and walks a few steps forward, putting distance between himself and the- the man behind him.

“Xiao Jiu?” He can’t face that tentative voice, he can’t face Yue Qingyuan when his skin burns with the sense memory of the last time someone kissed him. He can’t turn when panic and madness claws at the back of his throat, he can’t face Yue Qi for the fear that he would see Qiu Jianluo in the place of his dearest person.

“This is not a rejection,” he croaks out. It’s mostly true. He can’t reject a possibility he has never considered before, not without giving it due consideration - not without weighing whether having his Qi-ge back is worth the shadow of that beast clinging to him. “I will come back, but I need to think. Will you wait for me?”

“I’ll wait as long as shidi needs me to.”

It’s not a promise, flimsy and so easily broken. It’s a truth, solid and unshakable like the mountain itself: Yue Qi will always wait for Shen Jiu. As long as it takes.

He’s sitting on the bench in Shang Qinghua’s garden a few hours later, staring at the rising sun and trying to make sense of his badly tangled thoughts and feelings when the window above him opens.

There’s a cup of tea held out, which is not unusual. The person holding it, however, is.

“Shixiong, don’t tell me you managed to blow it.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, shidi.” He accepts the tea. It’s made exactly how he likes it.

“Well, figure it out while I fix you some breakfast. Salty or sweet?”

“Salty.”

The window closes. Roughly a ke passes until the door opens and Shang Qinghua walks out, carrying two bamboo steamers filled with fresh baozhi. “So,” Shang-shidi starts after handing off one of the containers and makes himself comfortable on the bench next to Shen Qingqiu. “Tell this meddlesome shidi what spooked you so bad that you are back in my garden so soon.”

The baozhi are light and mildly flavored, a perfect fit for Shen Qingqiu’s tastes. A childhood on the streets always leaves a mark; heavy spices make Shen Qingqiu unconsciously brace for the taste of rot, while Yue Qingyuan prefers his food seasoned until it becomes borderline inedible for regular people.

“Where is Xuebao? I want to thank him for his advice.”

“The Mobei-jun called everyone who fought in the succession trials to Castle Aurora to announce the new Mobei-wang and he couldn’t wiggle his way out of it.” Shang Qinghua is the picture of nonchalance as he talks about his rogue cultivator lover being dragged to a castle full of higher demons. “It’s not the first time this happened. He’s safe there, surrounded by Mobei-wang’s forces.” He stuffs a steamed bun into his mouth and demolishes it with devastating efficiency. “Don’t think you can change the subject, shixiong. You look like you have seen a ghost - or like you are dancing on the edge of a qi deviation again.”

Shen Qingqiu eats in silence until all the baozhi are gone and he has no more excuse to stay silent. “Yue Qingyuan said he loves me.”

“Good heavens. I didn’t expect him to just admit it right away.” Shang-shidi shakes his head, like he’s talking about a foolish child rather than their sect leader. “Does it bother you that he does?”

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth, slipping out unbidden through the cracks in his armor. He doesn’t know how he feels about Yue Qi’s confession, how he feels about the possibility of the only man that he could see as a- as a person rather than a man, desiring him. “I thought… perhaps foolishly, I thought that if we could make up then things would go back to the way they were before.”

“Something friendly? Something… familial?”

“Maybe.” He stares up at the morning sky, unseeing. “Reconciliation felt so impossible before that I never really gave it much thought.” It hurt less to face rejection day after day if he didn’t even entertain the possibility.

Shang Qinghua makes a thoughtful noise and stretches his legs out. “I don’t know if this helps your conundrum or not, but I have a thought, if shixiong would hear me out.”

“Your lover gave me worthwhile advice. Might as well hear if you measure up to him in this regard or not.”

“Damn. That’s a high bar to clear.” Shang Qinghua is laughing, but when he pauses to choose his words, he is completely serious. “The way I see it is like this: people change. They grow, inevitably. That’s not necessarily a bad thing! But it means that when you meet again, you need to take a little while to familiarize yourselves with the new people you have become. Find out what’s new and what’s the same.” He brazenly reaches out for Shen Qingqiu’s arm and pulls up his left sleeve to bare his forearm, the stretch of unblemished skin where he was once branded. “Twenty years have passed and you are not the same slave boy who fled his masters. The same is true for him, too.”

“What should I do, then? Treat him as a stranger?”

“Does a sapling grow up to be a crane?”

“Wha- of course not!” He sputters at the inelegant metaphor, but he gets the point. Changed does not mean fundamentally different. He lets out a slow exhale and rubs his eyes. “I suppose there is sense in shidi’s advice.”

“I’m glad that shixiong thinks so!” Shang Qinghua stands with a stretch, then collects the steamers, the chopsticks and the empty teacup. “Just think about it, Shen-shixiong. Call it a hunch, but I think that whatever your feelings are in the end, Yue-shixiong will meet you in the middle, and you both will be happier for it.”

It takes Shen Qingqiu four days of contemplation and meditation to wrap his head around his feelings, to arrange his thoughts into words that would not offend. The wards let him in when he arrives at the sect leader’s house and finds Yue Qingyuan in his room, already dressed down for the day and working on his embroidery.

“Qingqiu-shidi!” His face lights up with tentative hope and he sets his needlework aside to meet him face to face. “Have you had enough time to think?”

“Yes. Yes, I believe I have.” He feels awkward, strangely itchy, like his skin is put on too tight. He lifts a finger in warning. “I must ask you to hear me out in full, before you do anything rash.”

“Anything for Qingqiu-shidi.” Yue Qingyuan sits back down, at attention and hanging on his every word.

“Your confession last time made me realize that I don’t know my own heart, my own feelings when it comes to you - when it comes to Qi-ge.” Shen Qingqiu takes a deep, fortifying breath. “After reflection, I came to the conclusion that I… no longer see Yue Qingyuan as Qi-ge.”

Yue Qingyuan’s face falls, despair creeping in through the cracks, but he forces it behind a mask of neutrality when Shen Qingqiu holds up his hand again and signals him to wait. “Qi-ge was a brother to me. My only family. I don’t think I could love Qi-ge as you want to love me.” He can see when the direction of his thoughts becomes clear to Yue Qingyuan, when hope returns to his gaze. “I don’t know yet how I love Yue Qi, but I know that I want to love him. I want to get to know him again, so I can learn if we are to be friends or something more.”

Yue Qi gets up again, approaches with a tender expression and slowly reaches for his hands so he can draw back if he wishes. He doesn’t flinch away, lets the big hands envelop his own. “Any drop of Qingqiu’s love is precious to me. After the time we spent apart, I could ask no more.”

“And if I can’t match your yearning?” Shen Qingqiu asks sharply. “I have been damaged by the careless hands of men. What if my love can never be anything more than that of a brother? Will Sect Leader Yue remain celibate as a monk until the day of his ascension, then?”

“Then I will endeavor to be a better brother in the future than I have been in the past.” There’s no hesitation in Yue Qi’s words, no doubt in his gaze. “It would be no different from how I’ve been before, but if it would put shidi’s mind at ease, if it’s needed to reassure him that I don’t harbor feelings that are unreturned, then I will open my heart to others and seek a partner. There used to be a carefree young lord among Su Xiyan’s acquaintances who often complemented both of us. I’m certain that if I put the word out that I’m looking to court, then sooner or later I would find someone.”

Shen Qingqiu’s first instinct is that of possessiveness - how dare Yue Qi imply that he would give away what’s Shen Qingqiu’s?! - but his second thought is that of relief. There is no pressure for him to offer his body if he doesn’t want to. They can stay as chaste as brothers if he never finds lust in his heart for Yue Qi and it will be fine. “That’s acceptable.”

Yue Qi’s smile of relief is radiant like the rising sun. “If we are to start over, as it were, then there is much to discuss. I shall brew-”

“I will make the tea,” Shen Qingqiu interrupts, digging his claws into Yue Qi’s wrists for emphasis. “You can’t taste the difference between swamp water and fine tea. All the fine blends the other sect leaders gift you are wasted on you.” He brushes his fingers over the red marks in apology, voice softening. “After that, we can discuss everything. On account of our long acquaintance, I think we can start with ‘friends’ and go from there.”

They talk long into the night, first over tea, then sitting on Yue Qi’s couch, leaning against each other. If Shen Qingqiu ends up spending the night, snuggled up in the warm cocoon of soft pillows and the safe bulk of Yue Qi…

He’s blaming that one on the feather pillows.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

The next few months go by in a flurry of activity. Wu Xuebao stays in the demon realm, apparently important enough to his master that he can’t flee from his responsibilities. His absence is keenly felt, but he is at least aware enough of the dangers of his position to send letters and, on one occasion, a brick of tea wrapped in cheap paper, printed with the demonic characters: Thousand Wretched Dreams. Suspicious, Shen Qingqiu immediately takes it to Shang Qinghua and plops it down in the middle of his paperwork. “Shidi, please reassure me that this is neither poison, nor a gift worth a king’s ransom.”

Shang Qinghua’s long-suffering sigh is setting off all the alarm bells in Shen Qingqiu’s mind. “It’s not poison. It’s a tea blend that quiets demonic energies and allows for restful sleep - a big favorite among demons and demonic cultivators. As for its value,-” Shang-shidi spreads his arms helplessly. “- if you were to ask for it in any Northern fortress or palace, you could drink it by the bucket. But the Mobei clan has a reputation to uphold and ‘tea merchant’ is not part of it, so they only ever produce it for their own use. You can only find it on the market if someone sneaks a brick out.”

Shen Qingqiu takes a deep, calming breath. “Shidi. I want a number.”

Shang Qinghua gives him a number. Shen Qingqiu curses at his shidi, curses at the tea and curses at length at A-Bao in his next letter. Xuebao sends back an obviously amused reply that they should sell the unused brick and sends another half-brick ‘with the prince’s personal recommendation’, showing clear signs of use. Shen Qingqiu gathers from the letter that it was previously used in Mobei-wang’s parlor, as if that would make it worth less. That said, going against the Mobei-wang’s word, even if it’s likely nothing more than a throwaway comment, is a bad idea, so they agree that Shen Qingqiu should drink the rest of the half-brick and they will add the selling price of the other one to Qing Jing’s yearly budget.

It’s unfairly nice, this tea. Shen Qingqiu tries it first when he’s spending the night alone in the bamboo house and is shocked when he sleeps in the next day. One of his hallmasters has to come and wake him or else he would have been late for his morning poetry class.

It has never happened before and it reminds him of someone else who suffers from nightmares and sleepless nights. He brings the tea with him the next time he sleeps over at Yue Qi’s mansion, but that idea goes down unexpectedly.

Yue Qi barely touches the cup when Xuan Su sends out a qi pulse that rattles the building to its very foundation. Yue Qi draws back, dejected, but not surprised. “Ah, it must be the demonic component. Xuan Su has some unusually strong opinions about the energies I partake in.”

“Why would it care?” Shen Qingqiu glares at the sheathed sword with narrow-eyed suspicion. “To be picky before battle when it has to share in your qi is one thing, but we are preparing to sleep. The trace of demonic energy will clear out of your system before you take it up again in the morning.” Xuan Su rattles in its sheath, disagreeing. It’s not unusual for the sword of a Unity cultivator to be a bit aware, but this is bordering on ridiculous. “I had Mu Qingfang test it.” Xuan Su rattles again, giving off the air of growing irritation.

“As long as it’s in the same room as me, my qi circulates through Xuan Su,” Yue Qingyuan says meekly as if that statement wasn’t complete insanity. “So it would perhaps be better if I don’t-”

“Put it in the master bedroom, then,” Shen Qingqiu says, unwilling to give up on sharing something nice with Yue Qi because of a stupid bit of steel. “I know you have a sword stand there for it.”

Yue Qi grabs Xuan Su with both hands to stop it from rattling, looking pained. “Would shidi be willing to place Xiu Ya next to it? So it would be less… lonely?”

“Xiu Ya isn’t self-aware,” Shen Qingqiu says bluntly, even as he hands over the sheathed blade. For spiritual cultivators, a sword is like a set of dress robes: a comfortable fit, full of personality, but ultimately just an accessory to their cultivation. They don’t have a habit of coming alive in the way Unity cultivators’ blades tend to and thank the heavens for that. Shen Qingqiu isn’t sure he could bear to carry the sword with him if it had opinions.

“That’s fine. They can still circulate qi amongst each other, like they do in the sword hall.” He takes the swords and disappears into the depths of the house for a short while. When he returns he seems relieved in a way Shen Qingqiu hasn’t expected. It’s suspicious, but he can’t pinpoint what’s raising his suspicion.

He lets the matter rest, planning to lull Yue Qi into a sense of security so he would have no excuses prepared when he springs his questions on him. They drink the tea (it’s excellent, the demonic herbs charged naturally with qi which miraculously bypass Yue Qi’s ruined sense of taste), chat about sect business (embracing lazily on the couch, Yue Qi a solid, comfortable presence by his side) and Shen Qingqiu rants passionately about the absolutely horrid novel that has become popular among his disciples (he’s detailing the most nonsensical elements of the plot when he feels a kiss against his cheek. “Why have you done that?” he asks, face coloring from the starstruck look on Yue Qi’s face. “For no reason, except…” He leans in close until just a breath separates them. “I love to see Jiu’er happy.” Shen Qingqiu doesn’t close the distance that night, not ready yet, but he bashfully hides his smile in Yue Qi’s neck.) until they retire to sleep.

Shen Qingqiu wakes up the next morning with his limbs entangled with Yue Qi’s, warm, safe and happy, and forgets all about the sword.

Despite the joy of the moment, Shen Qingqiu keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for fate or ill fortune to come and ruin his happiness like it always does. Navigating what they have is a slow work in progress. It’s all trial and error to find Shen Qingqiu’s boundaries, carved into stone by a childhood filled with trauma, and test them carefully, to see whether familiarity and comfort would erode them after all. Touching is easy and welcome. Kissing at first makes his walls rise in an instant, but he finds that if he’s the one initiating and setting the pace then it’s surprisingly pleasant. Thinking about being wanted still makes his skin crawl about half the time, bringing back the shadow of the Qiu household - explaining that was a discussion he wants to erase from his memory to the best of his abilities. Where Yue Qi’s heart demons have robbed him of words, Shen Qingqiu’s cataloged his traumas in their mundane vulgarity. He could recall every occasion when Qiu Jianluo decided to ‘play with him’ with the same detachment he would deliver a financial report. He detailed why the lust of men repulsed him until Yue Qi took him into a crushing hug and pleaded for him to stop. “I will hear Jiu’er out if voicing these things lightens his heart, but I don’t think dredging up these old nightmares is helping at all,” he said, holding Shen Qingqiu’s shaking hands. His focus was all on Qingqiu, his own guilt forgotten in favor of providing comfort and that was a more potent balm than anything in Mu-shidi’s medicine cabinets. “No,” he agreed, because it was true. Spitting up the poison didn’t lessen the strain of those scars, it just brought their vile rancor into the present. “I thought it might.”

So being wanted is a risky prospect, but he finds out, quite accidentally, that wanting is very much not. He wants Yue Qi’s soft looks of love, he wants the desperate little noises he makes when he's kissed just right, he wants Yue Qi. It’s looking at the same thing from a different angle, but he knows dozens of women who make their living by showing only their best profiles, their most beautiful selves to their paying customers. Both parties know it to be a lie, but does that make it any less real? From that angle, in that moment, in the eyes of the men who pay their price, those women are the most beautiful beings in the whole land. Shen Qingqiu isn’t above lying to himself a little if it allows him to bask in the slowly kindling warmth of his desire. He is selfish about everything else, why shouldn’t he be selfish about this as well?

It only takes him six months to figure this out. This revelation comes in the wake of the unpleasant realization that by encouraging this madness - the sweet words, the caresses, the kissing, especially the kissing - it would have been unfair of him to expect Yue Qi to not react like a healthy adult man would. “Ignore it,” Yue Qi whispers against his lips when Shen Qingqiu notices and freezes, pressing in for another kiss to distract him. “Shidi need not do anything, it will fade on its own.”

Shen Qingqiu is not the kind of person to ignore something just because it caused him discomfort. He takes a few days to meditate on the matter before he decides that he needs a second opinion.

“I’m going down to town to visit San-jie,” he says one morning when he’s brushing out Yue Qi’s hair. “Please distract Liu-shidi so he doesn’t come and make a nuisance of himself this time.”

“San-jie… I couldn’t track any of the others down after we got separated.” Neither of them cared for the other slave boys, but the three older girls in the group were the closest thing to family that they ever had. It’s a relief that Yue Qi still remembers then, that he has tried to find them, even if he failed - not surprising, since each one got a new name when they were sold. “Is she all right? Safe? Healthy?”

“All of those things.” Shen Qingqiu worries at a stubborn tangle. His shixiong has a bad habit of sleeping with his hair all loose, leading to an annoying amount of tangling that Shen Qingqiu mercilessly brushes out every day. He’s starting to suspect that it’s all a ploy to spend more time in the morning with him. “She’s the madame of the Warm Red Pavilion, so she has done well for herself, if you ask me.”

He waits with his breath held for Yue Qi’s reaction.

“Shidi.” Yue Qi pinches the bridge of his nose. “Would it have killed you to clarify that you were visiting family when Ji Jue and Liu-shidi picked a fight with you?” He’s using his zhangmen-shixiong voice, the one that says ‘we are all adults and I want my shidis to stop being stupid’ without spelling it out in plain words.

“They would not have listened. They caught me dressed down and sleeping with two jiejies.” He pulls sharper on Yue Qi’s hair than necessary when pinning his guan in place, but it doesn’t deter him from sticking with the subject. The last few months have given him the clues he needed - Shen Qingqiu’s fear of men and his frequent nightmares - to make sense of a riddle that has bothered him for the last fifteen years, so he is not letting the matter go that easily.

“Jiu’er has always slept the best with our jiejies,” Yue Qi says mournfully. Shen Qingqiu is almost surprised that he remembers, but perhaps he shouldn’t be. Qi-ge used to be quite jealous that he slept just as well sandwiched between Er-jie and San-jie as he did cuddled up to Yue Qi.

“I sleep just as soundly with you as I do with…!” He starts indignantly before he spots the calculating smile in the bronze mirror and realizes that he has been tricked. “I can’t believe you actually made me think for a moment that you are still jealous about that. What a horrible shixiong you are, wearing the face of a saint and playing such cruel tricks on your shidi!”

“Not just any shidi. Only my best tricks for my favorite shidi.” He catches Shen Qingqiu’s hand and presses a kiss to the knuckles. “I don’t want to cause a scene by showing up unannounced, but please, tell San-jie to come visit me for tea sometime. I would like to hear how the years have treated her.”

Shen Qingqiu huffs in amusem*nt. “It’s going to be quite the uproar if a courtesan visits our sect in broad daylight, even a retired one.”

“Good,” Yue Qi says with unexpected vehemence. Then, returning to something resembling his usual meekness, he adds: “Shang-shidi took me aside a few days ago and asked me about what I want for our sect: to preserve the status quo and the relative safety it provides or to try and make it better, public opinion be damned.” He sighs and turns around where he sits, burying his face in Shen Qingqiu’s chest and wrapping his arms around his shidi, holding him like he would slip from his grasp and disappear into thin air if he lets him. “I tried to keep this sect secure, so Jiu’er could have the stability I promised him before. Yet, he was still unhappy, plagued by nightmares, too uncomfortable to rest on his own peak.” He tightens his grip on Shen Qingqiu. “I will make this sect a place where you can be happy, even if I have to tear it down and build it anew from the ground up.”

Shen Qingqiu stares down at the top of Yue Qi’s head for a long time, speechless. What can someone even say to such nonsense?

He finally settles on his usual response: “Idiot.” He tugs on Yue Qi’s hair, uncaring that it messes up the sections he so carefully braided earlier, until Qingyuan lifts his head enough to be kissed. “I have read a lot of horrible stories since I became peak lord, many of them cheesy romances, but this must be the worst confession I have ever heard.”

Yue Qi has the gall to laugh at him, not chastised in the least.

“I will keep working on it and endeavor to do better next time, shidi.”

“See that you do! I expect only the best from you.”

They share something that’s half-laugh and half-kiss. It’s awkward and clumsy and probably the best kiss Shen Qingqiu has ever experienced in his whole life.

It’s a work in progress, which suits them just fine.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

The Warm Red Pavilion isn’t close to Cang Qiong Mountain, at least not by normal means of transport, but something that takes three days by carriage can be easily condensed into a few hours by sword. Shen Qingqiu sets out in the morning as if he was going on a night hunt, then lands near the edge of the city and has time to change his clothes to his plain, down-on-his luck rogue cultivator disguise before lunch.

He’s wandering the market, perusing the food stands to pass the time before the brothel workers wake up, when he senses an energy that sets his teeth on edge; faint, but there’s a trace of demonic energy in the air. It’s so faint he struggles to identify its origin, but he took on the essence of a huli jing when he studied under Wu Yanzi and like calls to like. No matter how a fox demon tries to hide their presence, he can sense them all the same.

He debates taking the matter to the teahouse other passing rogue cultivators frequent and putting in a notice there. His outfit is cheap enough that he could feasibly claim he doesn’t have the right spiritual tools to hunt down a huli jing after spotting one and leave it at that. Either the wandering cultivators would take care of it or the problem would end up on Cang Qiong’s table eventually. Both outcomes are acceptable.

Except when he approaches the teahouse and the attached inn there is a crowd around the entrance. The onlookers are watching a tall man heckle the manager of the establishment while his traveling companion stands next to him with an air of aristocratic amusem*nt. “I can’t believe they suggested that we come to this pigsty! I’ll sooner sleep in the forest than in this hovel!”

“Gongzi can sleep wherever he wishes, but not in here unless he brings money next time!”

“I have money, you talentless insult to cultivation! It is you who can’t even verify spirit stones when he sees them!”

Spirit stones? Shen Qingqiu looks at the travelers again, with a sharper eye this time. The gongzi wears a foreign style outfit - simple and practical in cut, but of a blue so dark it’s almost black, a very expensive dye - not in the same style as Wu Xuebao. The horses next to him are well cared for, their coats dark brown and shining, the tack similarly well-maintained. On the saddle hangs an ornament with the Mobei-clan’s star-and-glacier sigil and a foreign-style sword he vaguely recognizes to be in the style of the islands to the northeast. A foreign cultivator in service of the Mobei clan, just like Xuebao.

The traveling companion has the look of a rich lady, although her own outfit is also fit for travel. She watches the proceedings with an enigmatic smile, brilliant fox eyes scanning the crowd over the edge of her round fan. Their eyes meet, as if by accident, and she holds his gaze for what feels like eternity before she winks and turns back to watching her companion.

Shen Qingqiu glances up at the sky to judge the time, then takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. It doesn’t disperse the horrible idea that has taken root in his mind.

“This one knows a place where gongzi and his companion can stay,” he says, elbowing some of the gawkers out of the way so he can step out from the crowd.

The rogue cultivator turns towards Shen Qingqiu, the young man’s face almost startlingly beautiful, even for a cultivator. Behind him, the lady’s eyes curve in joyous mischief.

He already regrets stepping in, but there’s no taking it back now.

“Thank you for the timely save, master…?”

“Shen. This one is called Shen Jiu.” He keeps an eye on the young man walking next to him, watching for anything out of the ordinary, but he seems like any careless young master. He looks healthy and quite unbothered by the whole debacle. He keeps sneaking sweet glances at his lady friend, who sits on the horse he’s leading, like a princess.

“Jiu, like wine? A good name! This one is Wu Ren! And my beloved lady is Mi Chun.”

“Ren, like part of a blade?” Shen Qingqiu asks to keep the conversation going. Lady Mi watches them both, but she seems content to listen rather than engage in the conversation herself.

“Ah, no. I am from the foreign branch of my family. My father is from these lands, but my other parent is from Kyushu - from the northern islands?” Well, that explains all the foreign gear. “So my name is written as ‘lotus’, but it reads as ‘Ren’. You see-” He’s clearly about to launch into an explanation about how that came about when he’s silenced by Mi Chun covering his face with her fan.

“Please don’t mind my Ren-ge. He has his passions and he can talk endlessly about them,” she says fondly. “It’s one of the things I love about him, but I don’t think we have the time for the entire three-shichen lecture on how the Jianghu’s writing made it over the sea to Dongying.”

Wu Ren’s smile wilts a little. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t much care about the mood of a near-stranger, but the persona he assumes when he comes to town is of a much kinder man, so he quickly reaches for something that can cheer him up. “A passionate and scholarly young master. Mi-guniang has found herself quite the catch.”

Wu Ren brightens up, which is expected, but so does Mi Chun, which is not so much. “Ren-ge is the best!” Without the fan covering her face, Shen Qingqiu has a full view of her radiant smile. She looks at Wu Ren like he has hung the sun and the stars upon the fabric of the sky.

She is hopelessly, genuinely in love and it complicates everything.

San-jie meets them in the foyer and glares up at them like Shen Jiu is a child who turned up with a pair of strays and not an old friend bringing paying customers. Still, after she is introduced with her chosen name - Bailing-ayi - she dutifully hears out their story about how they have just recently returned from a long trip from the north through the demon realm and don’t have any mortal money on them. “Not local coinage, at least,” Wu Ren says awkwardly, producing a purse full of foreign coins that are quickly waved away. They can’t verify the metal content and the exact value of foreign money. “Understandable. If Bailing-ayi is willing to accept them instead, the spirit stones our last employer paid us with are really high quality!”

The stones they place on the table are beyond high quality. It sets Shen Qingqiu’s teeth on edge just to be in the same room as them now that Ren-gongzi poured half of his pouch out onto the table. They are big and evenly formed, bursting with demonic qi and beyond valuable to cultivators if someone can purify them first.

He can’t resist and picks up the most impressive stone to inspect it closer and the icy qi that runs up his arm after touching it almost makes him drop it immediately. It’s as oppressive as it is familiar. He has no doubt about it: these stones have been made by one of the Mobei princes, if not the Mobei-jun himself.

“We will take this spirit stone as payment,” San-jie says firmly, glancing at Shen Qingqiu for confirmation. Even if the stone loses some of its value when Shen Qingqiu purifies it, she knows just enough about spirit stones to think she will strike rich all the same. “If daozhang and his companion are willing to accept the change in mortal money, with a nominal fee for the exchange.”

Shen Qingqiu sucks his teeth and debates telling her bluntly that they can’t afford this. The exchange rate of demon-produced spirit stones is always a nebulous thing, because unlike cultivators who can only afford to condense their excess qi into spirit stones after a breakthrough, demons might as well shed the stuff. Especially the powerful ones. It’s not uncommon for a powerful enough ruler to supply their entire territory’s currency on their own, as a form of authenticity. However, something that’s abundant and cheap in the demon realm becomes a treasure in the human one. Purifying them is a bit of a hassle that requires time and demonic cultivation techniques (one of the few things he’s glad to have learned at Wu Yanzi’s side), but once they are properly processed their value is immense.

“Fifty taels,” Mi Chun says before Shen Qingqiu can voice his thoughts, holding a finger up to catch their attention. “We don’t know any illustrious masters who can process these stones for us, so if we wanted to spend them, we would have to return to the demon realm. Alas, with the fall of Mobei Er the value of her stones is already on a sharp decline and it won’t be long before they lose all value.” She glances at Shen Qingqiu, a knowing smile tugging on the corner of her mouth. “It’s a blessing that we have found a place where someone is willing to take them off our hands at all. Thus, fifty taels a piece would be a very generous exchange, from our point of view.”

It sounds like solid logic, but Shen Qingqiu suspects a trap. “You are aware that this one has dabbled in demonic cultivation before,” he says bluntly. She shrugs, waving her fan lazily, but doesn’t deny it. “The stone I’m holding alone is easily worth a hundred times as much.”

“That much is true and obviously it would be the most beneficial for us to have the stones purified rather than exchanged at such an unfortunately low rate, but tell me something, master Shen.” She plucks the spirit stone from his fingers and holds it up for all of them to see. It glitters in the light of the lamps, a blue gem the size of a cherry. “How long would it take for you to purify this piece here?”

Shen Qingqiu hides his hands in his sleeves and makes a show of thinking it through. In truth, with his level of cultivation and Mu-shidi’s help to cleanse his meridians while he works, he could probably get it done in a few hours, but the rogue cultivator he’s pretending to be would have neither the strength, nor the backing for such a stunt.

“A week,” he says, then averts his eyes. For ‘wandering master Shen’ cleansing a spirit stone in a week would be an incredibly confident estimate. She hums indulgently at him.

“See, that is the problem here: we don’t want to wait a whole week before moving on and it would be beyond selfish of us to drag master Shen along with us.”

“May this Shen ask why are you so eager to leave?”

“You may ask.” Mi Chun’s smile turns mischievous. “We may not answer.”

“Come now,” Wu Ren elbows her in the side. “It’s not a secret, no need to be mean about it.” He looks at Shen Qingqiu apologetically. “When Mobei Er set her retainers free, I took my chance in the chaos and eloped with Chun’er. It was only after we fled the Demon Realm that we heard that Huan Hua Palace started a hunt to round up all the rogue cultivators who worked with the Mobei clan and brand them traitors.”

That last tidbit is news to Shen Qingqiu, but it sounds plausible. Huan Hua Palace has a long standing feud with the Mobei clan in particular. They are an enemy of all demonkind, of course, but word has it that the previous Palace Master made it a sport to hunt down demons and in one of his hunting excursions managed to almost eradicate a whole generation of the main Mobei branch when he and his cultivators broke into the wedding of one of the princes. Exhausted by their ritualistic hunts and blood sports, the demons didn’t stand a chance against the then most powerful righteous sect.

Shen Qingqiu is not certain he fully believes the tale. He never met the previous Palace Master, but he has seen the trophy room dedicated to the man and it displays a certain… preference towards hunting them young. Not to knock on the skill required to get past the angry parents long enough to behead their young spawn, but he’s also very much not surprised that the Mobei-jun at the time declared a blood feud with Huan Hua Palace after the master managed to pick off a couple of his brats.

“A period when neither the Demon nor the Human Realm is safe for a cultivator on less righteous paths is not the smartest timing to elope with a fox princess,” Shen Qingqiu notes drily.

Wu Ren spreads his arms helplessly. Mi Chun smiles, but she doesn’t deny it.

San-jie narrows her eyes and glares at Mi Chun with a newfound hostility. “Absolutely not. No maneaters are allowed in this establishment, especially not of the demonic variety.”

Their vehement contests all melt into a cacophony until Shen Qingqiu holds up a hand to stop them. “All right, one at a time!”

“Master Shen and his friends are safe from this fox.” Her face red with embarrassment, Mi Chun hides halfway behind the reassuring bulk of her cultivator. “This one used to be a curious and foolish child, who ruined her cultivation base during her careless wanderings. She couldn’t devour the spirit of a man even if she tried.”

She bashfully offers her hand and Shen Qingqiu, under the watchful eye of Wu Ren, inspects her meridians. He doesn’t need to be medically trained to tell that she’s honest: her core is small and underdeveloped like that of a demon child, her meridians scarred and while his qi slips through the narrow pathways, they are not wide or sturdy enough to circulate the wild flow of demonic qi. “She’s telling the truth. If she tried her kin’s cultivation she would do more harm to herself than her victim.” She makes an offended sound at his assessment, but her face burns with embarrassment. “The only thing I don’t understand is how she hides her demon features if she cannot use qi to do it.”

After some awkwardly shuffling Mi Chun produces a much-used talisman kit from her pack, as well as several pouches of lesser spirit stones she uses to activate them. Shen Qingqiu inspects it and asks her a few questions to test her understanding, but it does indeed seem like she is a self-taught talisman expert. Huli jing live and breathe trickery and mischief, even those who are less talented at their craft, but she simply knows too much about the subject for it to be an idle pastime or something she simply cooked up for the sake of a ruse.

San-jie begrudgingly accepts his assessment that the demon fox is no more dangerous than any of the cultivators that frequent her establishment and allows them to stay. “Unless there are any other secrets daozhang and his lady wish to share?”

This time it’s Mi Chun’s turn to elbow her boy in the side. After some awkward coughing, Wu Ren quietly supplies: “This one has misled master Shen and Madam. She is not a gongzi.”

Shen Qingqiu starts and looks at him - her - again, carefully. She is tall and well-built, her shoulders reflecting the strength of a physical cultivator, but now that it has been brought to his attention he can see the stiffness in her stance, likely from binding her chest for too long or too tight.

From the sudden stormy look on her face, San-jie has come to the same conclusion. “Furong!” she barks, startling the couple. There is a chorus of giggles from the balcony above them and a handsome looking courtesan peeks down at them. “Yes, nainai?”

“Xiao Meimei here has chosen to play dress-up, but it’s clear to my eye that she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Set her right, would you?”

“At once!”

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t carry a fan when he’s dressing up as a down-on-his luck rogue, so he delicately lifts the wide sleeve of his robe to hide his smile as the jiejies flock down to drag Wu Ren away. After a beat Mi Chun follows after them, her expression a mix of fascination and concern.

San-jie, however, does have her fan and when all the gawkers and gossips have dispersed she swiftly smacks him over the head with it. “A-Jiu, what kind of nonsense have you brought to my establishment?” Her displeasure doesn’t stop her from guiding him into her very well -warded office.

“In my defense, I was certain she would be no trouble.” As if to refute his words, his keen hearing picks up another wave of giggles. Thankfully, San-jie can’t hear it. “They have tried to get a room at the cultivator’s inn. That either meant that she’s powerful enough to hide and smart enough to lay low-”

“-or weak enough to be beneath notice. And the talismans?”

“No more dangerous than any of the cultivators that visit the Pavilion.” He sighs wishfully. “Her brushwork and the application of the fundamentals is excellent. If only she was human, I would snatch her up to teach our advanced talisman workshop in the blink of an eye.” The artificer's peak, which usually oversees their talisman and cultivation item workshops, has a tendency to attract the tinkering type of cultivators and cultivators who tinkered with the wrong thing or at the wrong time tended to end up in just as many tiny pieces as their inventions. There is an unfortunately high turnover rate there.

“So smart girl of unfortunate lineage. You softie.” She gestures for him to sit at her table and starts preparing tea. “It’s still not like you to be so charitable .”

Shen Qingqiu hesitates, but he has come here to fill one of his oldest friends in about the happenings in his life. There should be no harm in talking a little bit about A-Bao. “The cultivator, Wu Ren. I think she might have a connection to a friend of mine. Might even be a relative of his.”

San-jie’s eyes go wide. “A-Jiu has befriended someone? A man even? Heavens, miracles do happen.” She leans closer, hungry for gossip. “Tell me everything! Don’t spare a detail. I want to know how such a wondrous thing could have come to pass.”

Fully aware that by morning everyone in the Pavilion would have heard about the news, Shen Jiu smiles into his tea and starts telling her about everything that happened in the year since he last visited.

There is so much to talk about and for once in his life, almost all of it is good.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe they kicked me out!” Mi Chun wails, collapsed dramatically over the sturdy table in the brothel’s kitchen. “The jiejies are so mean! They said I’m distracting gege too much!”

Shen Qingqiu levels her a flat look over the weiqi board. “Still calling her ‘gege’? Your turn.”

“Her family is weird.” She sniffs, but casts a calculating eye over the board before slamming down a dark stone with a petulant pout. “She is one of the oldest and most competent siblings, so they treat her like a boy. And her parent from Dongying is a speaker for the forest: they don’t subscribe to being man or woman, because the trees they represent are neither man nor woman. Or both?” She shrugs an elegant shoulder. “I don’t know much about trees. They are more her interest.”

“She’s an agricultural cultivator?” He invited her for a game of weiqi after he had to cut short their talk with San-jie so that she could tend to her business and he arrived at the kitchen to find Mi Chun moping there with a cup of lukewarm tea. Despite the dramatic presentation of her every move, she has the signs of a solid, if defensive player so far.

“It’s closer to beast taming by your standards, I believe? She sometimes made the bees dance to cheer me up on gloomy days.”

“Mobei Er allowed her human cultivators to meddle with her precious bees?” That sounds like a bit of a dubious claim.

“Oh, yeah! The flowers of the Midnight Blooming Ghost Lotus are only tangible in moonlight, but that’s the same time when the two-headed wraith bats are out and about too, so she employed beast tamers - cultivators mostly, but I know she had a bat demon steward who also helped - to keep the bees and the bats separated.”

That makes some sense. He faintly recalls the wraith bats being a staple food for at least one of the local demon tribes, so she couldn’t simply eradicate them all. There is little overlap between demons who can control bats and those who can control insects, so it’s more convenient to employ cultivators who can command both if necessary.

He hums in acknowledgment and considers the state of the board. “What a shame Mobei Er isn’t there any longer. What will happen to her lands and retainers now, I wonder?”

He barely places down his stone when she slams down one of her own.

“Her retainers are let go until the mourning period is over, then they can be rehired by whoever gets to manage the apiary afterwards. Linguang-jun, probably.”

“Not the new Mobei-wang?”

“He wouldn’t know the first thing to do with it. He manages his own lands competently enough from what I hear, but he doesn’t have the time to learn how to manage something as specialized as an apiary.” She yawns, hiding her face behind her wide sleeve. “There’s been an uptick in the opening of abyssal vents, so the old king has him surveying all the ritual sites in case it’s the sign of something big trying to come over. Wangwang’s been bouncing all over the kingdom since the winter equinox.”

With a raised eyebrow and an air of annoyance Shen Qingqiu flicks her sleeve. “Take the stones out. Honestly, does that ever work on anyone?” She pouts, but places the stones back to where she took them from. “You know the prince?”

“We have met. Cute guy, he’s about fifty now I think? Young by our standards - and yours too, now that I think about it.” That is pretty young for a demon to be the last man standing in an inheritance feud, even if part of it was likely due to his older siblings ignoring him while they killed each other. Shen Qingqiu tries to recall anything about his meeting with Mobei-wang, but the demon only lives in his memories as a broad, blurry shape. “His mother died early, so he spent a lot of time under Mobei Er’s supervision before he declared his intention for the crown.”

“Do you know any of his retainers?”

“Only the ones that got regularly sent to us on errands. Why? Looking for a friend?”

“Something like that. Ever met one called Wu Xuebao?”

Mi Chun drums her fingers on the edge of the weiqi board, gaze drifting here and there while she thinks, until finally her eyes go wide in recognition. “Oh.” A girlish giggle bubbles out of her. “I think I know the guy! Tall, not very talkative? With broad shoulders and nice big…” She trails off, momentarily distracted by the door opening, and looks over Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder to direct a wide, starry eyed gaze at… “Boobs.”

“What?” Shen Qingqiu stares at her, dumbfounded by that declaration, but Mi Chun pays him no mind. She springs up from her seat and bounces towards the door.

“Gege! Where did you get that dress, it looks so good on you!”

Shen Qingqiu turns in his seat to follow her trajectory as she launches herself at her girlfriend. They look funny together, now that the huli jing isn’t pretending to be a reserved, cultured noble daughter anymore. She’s a small slip of a thing, overflowing with restless energy and Wu Ren is both tall and unshakable. It calls to mind the absurd image of a fox trying to climb a pine tree.

Once Wu Ren peels her lover off her neck and placates her with kisses (Shen Qingqiu averts his eyes to give them something resembling privacy) he finally gains an understanding what distracted the demon so thoroughly. Wu Ren is very generously endowed and her curves are emphasized all the more by the dress she has clearly borrowed from one of the courtesans.

“Master Shen, please tell Renren how beautiful she is! She never believes me!” There’s something hopeful in Mi Chun’s expression, but Shen Qingqiu has dealt with huli jing and their tendencies before and he’s quick to shut that hope down.

“This Shen would not know. This one’s not interested in women.” He turns back to the go board and pretends to think about the next step.

This, regrettably, doesn’t have the desired effect. Mi Chun lights up at the prospect of new gossip. “Is that why master Shen asked about Baobao?”

“Wait, wha-?” Before Wu Ren can ask for clarifications or Shen Qingqiu can shoot that misunderstanding down, Mi Chun grabs her by the arm and drags her outside, slapping a silencing talisman on the door on the way out.

He's tempted to abandon some of his dignity to go after them, but he can’t justify it in the end. Whatever rumors start to circulate about ‘Shen Jiu’ won’t make it back to the sect and hopefully A-Bao will forgive him if the rumor reaches him. They are back shortly anyway, both of them regarding him with a sharp, calculating gaze.

“So, master Shen. You have asked a lot, but I think it’s time you answered a question that has been on my mind since I set eyes on you. ” Mi Chun sits back down at her previous spot, picking up a stone and toying with it idly. “You fashion yourself as a righteous cultivator, but you have the essence of one of my kin in your core.”

“You want to know if it was willingly given or I took it by force.”

“A smart one. I like that in a man.”

“I might have to disappoint: I don’t know. Before I found the righteous path I apprenticed under a demonic cultivator named Wu Yanzi.” He directs a raised eyebrow at Wu Ren who hastily raises her hands.

“No relation. I have plenty of horrible relatives, but he’s not one of them.”

“...Anyway, receiving the demon essence was part of my initiation as his disciple. I don’t know where he got it.”

“Mhmm. You see, master Shen, my aunt and her maid tried to seduce a shady cultivator once. He was a tricky bastard, however, and mixed corpse powder into the wine they were drinking, then generously offered up his shack so they could sleep off the horrible sickness and headache the powder caused. He even helped them braid their hair for the night and then retired outside to guard them. Believing him fully under their charm, they let him do all this, but come morning they realized that he stole not only the whole length of their braided hair, but two handfuls of fur from their tails where it was the most lush! What do you think of this, master Shen?”

Shen Qingqiu winces and curses his old master. Trust the man to get him in trouble even beyond the grave. “That does sound like something Wu Yanzi would have done.”

“He must be very disappointed that his disciple hasn’t turned out to be a swindler matching his caliber, but do you happen to know where he is now?” Mi Chun seems to have abandoned their weiqi game in favor of this interrogation, but at the same time Wu Ren has taken an interest in it. After examining the state of the board she places down a stone to finish one of Mi Chun’s defensive formations.

“This one killed him. He tried to attack someone that was mine.”

“I see.That does make this a little tricky.” She leans back against her girlfriend and taps her fingers against the table as she thinks. “We have been robbed of our revenge, but you are imbued with my aunt's essence, master Shen. If I accept you as part of the clan, then vengeance was claimed by one of our own and all is good.”

Heavens, that sounds like the worst possible way to resolve this situation. “And if I refuse? Forgive this one, but I have spent several decades of my life trying to distance myself as much from the demonic path as possible. Forging ties with a fox clan now would be unfortunate.”

“Does master Shen have anything against demons?” Mi Chun asks, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Not if they stay out of trouble.” That’s Cang Qiong’s official stance: they turn a blind eye to demons and some demonic cultivation practices as long as they don't cause people harm. It has been the official approach of the sect since its founding days, when the man who became the first Lord of the Medicine Peak used his extensive knowledge earned as an infamous gu cultivator to devise the first treatment plans for qi deviation. It's the policy that allowed Shen Jiu to join the sect straight from Wu Yanzi’s questionable tutelage. “However, this Shen has built much of his life around regular employment by one of the sects as a substitute hall master. It's expected to keep our cultivation on the righteous path to not encourage impressionable children to make decisions they will regret for the rest of their lives. I hope Mi Chun can see why becoming involved with a demon clan would endanger this one’s position.”

Mi Chun pouts, but concedes when Wu Ren places a firm hand on her shoulder. “We don't want to get the kind master in trouble. Perhaps if he ever breaks ties with the sect he might reconsider the offer? The protection of the Thousand Treasures Clan is not to be underestimated.”

Absolutely not. He might have entertained feigning interest if it was a smaller fox clan, but Thousand Treasures is much too big. They hold the territory just south of the Northern Kingdom and have been thriving on acting as a buffer between the starkly different cultures of the antisocial North and the loud and boisterous South for at least the last thousand years. Getting involved with them in any way is much too risky.

“This master will think about it.”

They play their games of weiqi, the topic shifting back to less hazardous matters. Shen Qingqiu is eventually treated to that lecture on the linguistic connections between the writing of Dongying and that of the Jianghu. It’s enlightening and entertaining in equal measures, at least for someone of a scholarly persuasion. Mi Chun, who has heard it multiple times already, excuses herself after the first shichen and goes to join some of the jiejies in the staff bath.

“Don’t hold her pushiness against her, master Shen,” Wu Ren says when the fox disappears beyond the range of the privacy charm. “She has ulterior motives, but not bad ones.”

“I shall be the judge of that.” Playing against Wu Ren is a very different experience than playing against Mi Chun. The cultivator doesn’t waste energy on theatrics and pushes forwards with a steady offense.

“Her aunt has, ah. What was the term again? Empty nest syndrome. All her brood are grown up now, many of them married already. By giving her a cultivator to infuse and train up in the ways of the clan they might win a few more decades before the old fox gets on their tails again about the matter of children.”

The plight of young people with doting older relatives everywhere. It would be a little funny, but something in the phrasing catches his attention.

“By ‘infuse’ you mean…”

“It’s a matter of personal affinity, as I understand, but under the right circ*mstances a cultivator can become something indistinguishable from someone born a demon.” There’s a bright blue glint in her eyes as she regards him; some kind of spiritual inspection spell, no doubt. “If you ever find yourself in a situation where you must leave the world of cultivators behind, think back on this offer. You would make a very handsome huxian.”

Shen Qingqiu shivers. When put like that, this offer has suddenly become much more tempting.

They are clearing the board and setting up for the next game when one of the courtesans rushes to the kitchen, wringing her hands in anxiety. It takes some careful coaxing and a cup of soothing tea to calm her down enough that she can succinctly pass on the message from San-jie:

The noble prick and his posse and retainers that decided to rent the Warm Red Pavilion for the next week to celebrate some big promotion or other are making a stink about the two unknown horses being kept in the stables for the duration of their stay, citing that they have rented the whole establishment. Shen Qinqgiu would bet money on it that the mortal moneybag is worried that the servants he stashed away in the stables would steal something from the clearly very expensive gear Wu Ren and Mi Chun left in the stable along with the horses. Not that he had anything to fear in that regard; demon-reared cultivator horses would sooner eat a thief than let them get away with the tack.

That scenario wouldn’t be any better as such, but it would sure be funnier, in Shen Qingqiu’s opinion.

“I know a stable where master Ren can keep their horses for the duration of their stay,” Shen Qingqiu says, cutting off the poor girl’s hasty reassurances that they are not kicking out ‘daozhang and her Chun’er’. “It’s on the edge of town, some walk away, but it’s the most secure stable you can possibly find for your horses.”

Wu Ren raises a sharp eyebrow at him. “Oh? It was my understanding that master Shen travels by sword. I would not have expected him to know anything about accommodating horses.”

“I have my connections. You might recall I mentioned my occasional work as a hall master?” He stands and offers her a very unnecessary hand up that ends up pointedly ignored. “It’s the private stable where An Ding Peak keeps their caravan horses.”

Shen Qingqiu truly doesn’t know much about long distance travel by horse, but he was present for the meeting when Shang Qinghua, still just a disciple at the time, first pitched his idea for what he called ‘express shipping’. The idea proved such a success that it evolved into a whole unique thing over time, something that seems to generate more money the more effort gets cycled back into it.

It goes something like this: special made carts and carriages (reinforced by arrays both for durability and to lighten them and their load, parts of them made from the most durable steel Wan Jian is willing to spare for anything that’s not weapons) pulled by two to eight cultivator-bred horses, with a specially trained master or disciple from the beast peak driving, running on roads that are made and maintained to accommodate for their speed can get goods very far in a very short amount of time, as long as they change horses daily.

“...it’s my understanding that under the management of an experienced master they can easily keep an average speed of 20 li a shichen.” They are walking on the edge of forest towards the stables, Wu Ren listening with rapt interest as Shen Qingqiu describes Shang Qinghua’s delivery system. They have chosen to take the somewhat longer route on the edge of town after a drunk idiot approached Wu Ren (still dressed in the clothes the jiejies have lent her) with unsavory intentions.

“I see. That’s an ingenious idea, I must say.” She’s walking by his side and the two horses walk obediently behind them as surely as if she was holding their lead. “Now I understand why the Mobeis have such a fondness for Cang Qiong: even hardy as they are, I imagine the horses can only last through such intense work for a few years before they are retired to lighter fare. Your friends at the sect generate about half of the Clan’s annual horse sales, master Shen.”

“And your masters milk them for every tael they are willing to spend, as I heard,” he says drily. Ever since his regular trade with the demons came to light, Shang Qinghua often complains about how cutthroat their pricing is. “It was one of the things that almost sunk the idea. The previous generation masters felt it was wasteful to use cultivator horses when An Ding already had a stable of sturdy workhorses and mules both.”

“I suppose that’s fair. The Mobei’s aduu are largely bred for light transport and riding. I would never have thought of anyone using them in such a manner, but the results speak for themselves.” She sinks into thought and Shen Qingqiu lets a comfortable silence settle over them. This far from the buzz of the market and the nighttime establishments the evening air is filled with the soothing sounds of the forest rather than the city.

The sudden shriek that cuts the silence like a rusty blade has them both alert and reaching for their weapons in the blink of an eye.

“What was that? A demon or a beast?” Shen Qingqiu grips the low level spirit sword he borrowed tightly and glares into the dark forest. Another shriek sounds, far to their right, and a sudden buffet of wind washes over them. Shen Qingqiu braces against the assaulting winds and the demonic energy that fills his lungs with the scent of fresh snow.

He curses that he can’t pull Xiu Ya out without giving himself away.

“Kamaitachi,” Wu Ren hisses, unhooking her blade from the saddle of her horse. “Go, take the horses to the stable. My cultivation is stronger, I will see if I can ward it off.”

“I can help!” Even without his real sword Shen Qingqiu is hardly defenseless, but Wu Ren discourages him with a pitying glance.

“Master Shen, please don’t endanger yourself. The demon’s claws would cut through that blade of yours like it’s paper.” With that she disappears into the forest, looking like a vengeful sacrificial princess with her sword and her dress.

Shen Qingqiu stands there, his face burning with shame and offense at being perceived so pathetic, until one of the horses nudges him in the back. It brings him back to the present and reminds him of his disguise. Of course Wu Ren would think him weak, he is not Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu right now.

He keeps an eye and ear out towards the forest, but he doesn’t hear anything unnatural.

The An Ding stables are situated just outside the main road leading into town, three sturdy buildings reinforced with all sorts of arrays and talismans to ward off anyone foolish enough to try to steal the horses or the cargo they sometimes store overnight in the warehouse. It’s security enough that only the servants tending to the horses stay there on a permanent basis, none of them cultivators.

He takes a moment to explain why he’s there to the stablehand slacking off behind the complex, claiming to be Shang Qinghua’s friend, and gets directed towards the side stable. “Go right in, master Shen. The Lord is here, I’m sure he’ll be happy to see a friendly face.” The stablehand regards the two unfamiliar horses with suspicion and they look back at him with matching looks of hostility. “Heaven knows it must be the Lord’s birthday. All his friends are around today…”

Shen Qingqiu raises an eyebrow - what is Shang Qinghua even doing here? - but doesn’t comment. As he approaches the stables he can hear Shang Qinghua’s familiar cries of distress, although he can’t make out the words, until he opens the stable doors.

The distressed tirade is cut short when Shang Qinghua realizes that someone is there, turning wide, startled eyes towards Shen Qingqiu.

“Shen-shixiong! What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same from you, shidi.” He steps out of the way so the horses can walk inside and pulls the door closed behind him.

“Jiu-ge.” The familiar voice makes Shen Qingqiu turn around so fast he startles the horses. Xuebao is standing in one of the stalls with a mare that regards Shen Qingqiu with uncanny intelligence in her dark eyes, that’s how he avoided Shen Qingqiu’s immediate notice.

All of Shang Qinghua’s friends indeed.

“A-Bao! I didn’t know you were back from the demon realm.”

Xuebao makes a noise that Shen Qingqiu can’t decipher.

“He’s not supposed to be back yet, actually,” Shang Qinghua says awkwardly. “But there’s something he needs my help with so… here we are.”

Xuebao opens his mouth, likely to explain, but he glances at the horses again, his eyes lingering on the Mobei sigil, and his words desert him. Instead he opens the stall and gently nudges the mare outside.

She walks confidently up to Shen Qingqiu, regarding him with curious eyes. Unsure what to do, he stands frozen in place until she nudged his shoulder with her nose; it’s a friendly greeting if he has ever seen one. “The infamous Dun, I presume?”

“The one and only,” Shang Qinghua confirms, his voice losing some of its anxious edge. “Everyone’s favorite troublemaker.”

Shen Qingqiu hums, petting her neck. Her mane is intricately braided and her coat is shiny; one would need to be blind to not realize how well-loved she is. “She has eyes full of mischief,” Shen Qingqiu says when she makes an attempt at sticking her nose into the qiankun space in his sleeve.

There’s a soft noise from the stall and Dun turns sharply around, whinnying quietly to call her foal forward.

There is a tension in the air and all the humans hold their breath as the tiny beast sticks its head out from the safety of the stall and trots up to its mother.

Shen Qingqiu stares, almost uncomprehendingly, as Dun nudges her foal forward, as if to proudly say ‘look what I made!’.

Shen Qingqiu, of course, has seen qilins before, usually at the parades of the mortal emperors. It’s almost a requirement for the throne to have one. They are majestic and golden and he has never been closer than fifty steps to one, jealously guarded as they are.

This one is standing on awkwardly long legs, bouncing around with barely restrained energy until it stumbles and rams Shen Qingqiu’s shin with its two nubs that will one day become horns. When he reaches down to steady it, its shining blue-silver scales are soft and warm under his hand. It wiggles and presses its head into his hands for pets, nudging him for more when his hands stall.

He’s in awe. He feels blessed.

He feels really f*cking confused.

He directs a very lost look at the others and they look back at him, almost as lost as he is.

Behind him the door creaks open once more and he spins around, trying to hide the qilin foal from sight, but it’s too late. Wu Ren’s gaze drifts over the wide-eyed faces and lands squarely on the little beast. Her eyebrows pitch down in thought, but she doesn’t seem surprised.

“Oh good. That explains so much.” She shoulders the door open and pulls on the lead in her hand. With heavy steps a longma marches inside, shining blue scales accented with red, its breath filling the balmy evening air with steam.

Shen Qingqiu hasn’t become a Jianghu-renowned strategist by being slow of thought. An argument can be made that he has been distracted lately and failed to account for every possibility, but he would need to be an absolute simpleton to not connect these dots.

“So,” he says, forcing a calm into his voice that he doesn’t feel. “Do we have any idea what we are going to say when Linguang-jun shows up and accuses us of stealing his dragon horse?”

His answer is a long, painful silence.

It sounds like a death sentence.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

Wu Xuebao introduces Wu Ren to Shang Qinghua as a distant relative on his father’s side, a cousin, which Shang-shidi takes in stride. Wu Ren’s two dark horses are safely stashed away in two neighboring stalls, because they start nervously stomping as soon as the longma gets too close to them. Shang Qinghua produces snacks and tea from somewhere, so they all settle down around an empty crate to discuss what to do next.

Shen Qingqiu tries to focus on his tea, but his eyes keep wandering back to the little qilin and the longma ( Asagi , he thinks the beast is called. Linguang-jun’s personal mount) that has laid down on the ground to provide a ‘mountain’ for the foal to climb all over. “Is this how qilin are born? From a longma and a horse?” he asks, watching as the qilin runs up and down its sire’s wide back.

“This is the first I hear of this, to be truthful,” Wu Ren admits. “Longma and horses aren’t really… related. They don’t speak the same language so they don’t get along usually.”

Wu Xuebao nods in agreement and whistles a command, sharp and short. The horses all whinny in answer, but Asagi lifts his head and makes a sound that can only be called a bark.

“...Just so. It depends on the kind, but some even howl like wolves.”

“Wen-shigu - the former Lord of the beast peak - once tried to get hold of a few of them, because she thought it would be impressive if all the peak lords rode longmas instead of horses when swords were impractical to use,” Shang Qinghua says, pulling his teacup away from the very curious Dun. “But those were an ornamental breed, I believe?”

“I remember that. Zhangmen-shibo shut the idea down immediately. Said they were fishes with delusions of grandeur and not fit for a cultivator.” Shen Qingqiu’s brain catches up a moment too late to his words and it’s only long years of practice that prevents him from flinching at the telling slip of the tongue.

Wu Ren smiles at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You lasted longer than I expected, Peak Lord Shen. I’ll have to let Chun’er know that she won our bet.”

“How long have you known?”

“The ladies at the brothel let it slip. We felt that it would be impolite to call you out on it.”

Now that he has been found out, Shen Qingqiu straightens his back and schools his expression into something resembling his usual cold mask.

Across him, Wu Xuebao’s mouth shifts into a frown. “Brothel?”

“Visiting family,” Shen Qingqiu says swiftly, which dispels the frown as quickly as it appeared. “Back on the topic…”

“It could be that Dun is just weird. Just like Baobao.” She reaches over the table and roughly ruffles her cousin’s hair. Xuebao growls, but allows it with the resignation of someone who suffers this treatment often enough that he knows it to be inevitable.

Shen Qingqiu watches them interacting, but doesn’t really see it, lost in thought. “How curious that we have all met here. One coincidental meeting can be the whim of fate, but this is beyond strange.”

Shang Qinghua rubs the back of his neck. “When I heard that you have left the sect on a night hunt it reminded me of the other times you left and of this town. So we decided to meet here because it’s neither too close nor too far from our sect, just the perfect distance. We hoped that no demon would dare to approach, but we are far enough from the border with Huan Hua that they would not discover the qilin. I didn’t know you would be here, I swear! When you come to the brothel you usually leave in the afternoon, not in the morning.”

That- Shen Qingqiu has a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down when he realizes that Shang Qinghua is right. When he comes to the brothel he usually comes to sleep and leaves the mountain so he can arrive as the sun sets.

“Mi Chun and I… when we crossed over from the demon realm, we heard that Linguang-jun was in the area, looking for Asagi,” Wu Ren admits, drumming her nails on her teacup. “He hasn’t put out a notice for retrieval yet, but we thought we might be able to find it first and get a favor. We wanted to find lodgings before going out to search, that was when we ran into Lord Shen.”

“And Asagi came here because Dun and the qilin foal were in the area,” Shen Qingqiu finishes, closing the circle. How strange, having the connections laid out nice and tidy makes the tension in his shoulders relax a fraction.

A strong wind rattles the tiles on the roof and whistles in through the small tears in the paper windows. Shen Qingqiu suppresses a shiver. Although it’s already the start of the summer, the evenings are cold in this region.

He almost brushes it off as nothing, but there is a heavy, muffled thump on the roof that makes all of them freeze. It’s followed not much later by the sound of something sharp scratching the slate. Asagi lifts his head, staring up at the ceiling intently. There’s a silent communication between the cousins and they both get up, Xuebao leading the qilin back to the stall with Dun where it would be out of sight and Ren coaxing Asagi back on his feet.

Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu exchange a meaningful glance of their own, Shang Qinghua silently begging Shen Qingqiu to trust him. He nods, finding that much to his surprise, he does trust his shidi to handle… whatever this is.

“Here goes nothing,” Shang Qinghua mutters before he raises his voice, loud and clear. “My lord, the door is unlocked. Please do not rip the building apart.”

The silence stretches for a long time, long enough that Shen Qingqiu almost believes that the demon is gone. He stretches his senses, but feels no demonic energy, only the cold evening wind. If he wasn’t facing the wall and the windows he wouldn’t see the silent knife as it cuts through the paper or the luminous yellow-green eye that peers in through the hole before the shadow slides down the side of the building.

Shen Qingqiu sends Shang Qinghua a questioning glance. His shidi silently mouths ‘weasel’ at him before shifting his gaze to the door, expectant. It makes something in his memories click.

Kamaitachi, Wu Ren said. A weasel traveling with the wind. It has been so long since he last read about the demons of the northern islands - he was still a disciple and they’ve been called to deal with an umibozu that got washed south after a storm and started terrorizing the shore - that he didn’t immediately make the connection.

Linguang-jun is a wind demon . It feels like a profound revelation, even if it shouldn’t be. Of course the demon clans mix, through alliances and marriages, so there should be nothing strange in some of the Mobei relatives taking after their other parents rather than the frosty ice demons that make up the core of the clan.

His mind is still turning this new fact around when the door is pushed open and a soft-faced young man steps inside. His apparent youth is startling and obvious, despite the heavy white that streaks his brown hair, and becomes even more so when he spots his longma standing unharmed in the stable and his eyes soften with relief.

“Asagi!” He rushes inside to inspect the beast up close, scolding it fiercely in a language that Shen Qingqiu can’t understand, but finds quite familiar after a whole afternoon spent with Wu Ren and her linguistic lecture. Unlike the cultivators under his clan’s command, he wears robes in the style of the Northern demon court, similar to the martial cut robes and heavy armguards physical cultivators prefer. Only the coat’s cut seems a little strange, but Shen Qingqiu has never followed mortal or demonic fashion trends, so he’s not certain if it means anything. There are two things, however, that stand out in his outfit more than anything: one thing that’s there and one thing that’s missing.

He wears a carved and gold-decorated dragon bone token on his belt, marking him as the Northern Seneschal and he’s missing the braids from his hair the demons earn on their centennial hunt, the mark of true adulthood.

Linguang-jun is both far more important to the Northern court than the reports Shen Qingqiu read imply and he’s also very, very young to be filling that position.

When he’s finally done lecturing his beast, Linguang-jun turns his sharp eyes on the cultivators. As if on cue the Wu cousins bow their heads and salute the demon. “Cultivators Wu Xuebao and Wu Ren greet Master Taifeng!” Wu Ren says in a crisp voice.

A moment later Shang Qinghua cups his hands in salute too, but he neither stands nor bows; Shen Qingqiu follows his example. “Peak Lords Shang and Shen greet Linguang-jun.”

There’s a tense moment when the demon just stares at them and Shen Qingqiu braces for attack, but it soon passes. Linguang-jun cups his hands in a formal salute towards the peak lords. “Mobei Taifeng greets the Lords of Cang Qiong Mountain.” With that he clearly considers the trappings of politeness all done and over with, because he rounds on the Wu cousins, his sharp teeth bared in a snarl. “I should have expected to find you two whenever there is trouble! Why do you look like- ?!” He hisses at them both, giving Wu Ren’s torn dress an especially nasty look, then sharply gestures at Xuebao to move out of the stall. “Out! Come here, I refuse to talk to you from the other side of the room.”

“Lord Taifeng, there is no need for such hostility. Come, the furniture might be shabby, but the tea is excellent; let us treat you to a cup,” Shang Qinghua coaxes with a welcoming smile. For a few blissful moments it seems like it’s working. Linguang-jun gives the tea service a longing look, his rage fading.

Then Dun, excited to get back out of the stall, bolts forward and knocks Xuebao into the demon.

“Imbecil!” He catches Xuebao on reflex, holding the heavily built cultivator up easily by an arm and the opposing shoulder, but then the reality of a lowly human touching him sinks in and he pales in rage. “What do you think you are doing?!”

He backhands Xuebao away with enough force that it makes Shen Qingqiu’s jaw ache in sympathy. When the cultivator crumples on the ground with a pained grunt Shen Qingqiu is on his feet before he can realize that he moved. “Xuebao!”

Linguang-jun hisses in warning that they should not approach him, but he makes no move to stop them when Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua rush to help up their fallen friend. “That was uncalled for, my lord!” Shang Qinghua calls out, pressing a hand to A-Bao’s broken jaw and trying to soothe it with spiritual energy.

“Do not presume to lecture this lord on how to discipline his family’s retainers! This useless trash should not even be here; he was stationed at one of the temples to assist in closing an abyssal vent and here I find him instead, literally a realm away from his post.”

Shen Qingqiu wants to spring to his feet and stab the arrogant demon, but Xuebao stops him with a light touch on his wrist and a firm shake of his head. “He’s right.”

Admitting that he abandoned his post seems to placate Linguang-jun. The demon huffs out a breath, then kneels in front of Xuebao and slaps Shang Qinghua’s hands away. “Out of my way. Lazy idiot or not, I can’t leave my nephew’s favorite toy broken,” he grouses, cupping Xuebao’s face in clawed hands. He’s not gentle with the application of qi; unnatural paleness creeps over Xuebao’s skin from where the demon touches him and when he opens his mouth to sigh, Shen Qingqiu can feel the coldness of his breath. When he finally pats Xuebao’s cheek and removes his hands, the man’s jaw is mended as if it was never broken in the first place.

Linguang-jun sits back on his heels and casts a glare at the cultivators around him. “Now that Baobao has been sufficiently cowed, will someone please tell me what you irresponsible lot are scheming about?”

Shen Qingqiu hardly ever finds himself this close to a higher demon, so he can’t help but take in Linguang-jun up close: the dark tips of his hair, the sharp points of his ears, the slight indentation of skin around his demon mark. But other than the clearly demonic features, there are mundane details too: a light mole on his cheek, chapped and bitten lips, dark, bruised circles around his eyes. All these details are an uncomfortable reminder that the demon before him is not just a beast, but also a person; he did not apologize in words, matching Xuebao’s glare with an equally intense one of his own, but then his attitude turned around and he healed the human. Mobei-wang’s favorite retainer or not, his cultivation should have been plenty to heal Wu Xuebao before he returns to the demon realm, his master none the wiser; so what else could that be other than an apology?

Shen Qingqiu watches as Dun walks up behind Linguang-jun and mouths at his hair and all the demon does is pat her nose and nudge her away so he can stand. From their position on the ground, he seems tall as a mountain in this moment, his eyes gathering a sickly green light as he slowly loses his patience once more.

Defeated, Xuebao makes a noise - a command for Dun - and the mare obediently whinnies for her foal to come forth. The little qilin bounces out of the safety of the stall with all the energy of a child on a sugar high and approaches the glowering demon without any fear, curiously tugging on the edge of his robes.

The range of expressions that flickers over Linguang-jun’s face is fascinating, until he finally settles on exasperation. “I see,” he grits out, looking between the qilin, the peak lords and the rogue cultivators in turn, until his eyes finally land on the makeshift table with the food and tea prepared. “I have not expected those two financial black holes to try and make a backroom sale, but I suppose fools are always blind to their own foolishness.” With long steps the demon walks to the crate and sits down with all the regality of a general meeting his opponents at the negotiating table. “Well, immortal masters: make your offer. In life or death a qilin is a rare and unique beast and as it was my Asagi that sired it, I have some claim to it. We have already wasted each other's time plenty tonight, so only one question remains.” His lips twist into a mirthless smile.

“How much are you willing to pay for the little beast?”

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

The way Shang Qinghua’s demeanor changes when it’s time to negotiate is a marvel to witness. There’s no place for meekness at the negotiating table, not when someone wants to give the impression that he’s at an advantage, so he sheds his carefully cultivated helplessness and faces Linguang-jun as his most confident self, sharp and calculating.

“Let’s get down to business then. I want to be done here nice and early this fine evening,” Shang Qinghua says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I expected to negotiate with master Wu today, so forgive me, my lord, but I have not come prepared with anything that would interest a demon.”

Shen Qingqiu exchanges a glance with Xuebao, but he can’t read the expression on the man’s face. Wu Xuebao slowly gets on his feet and moves to stand behind Linguang-jun like a big, reluctant shadow. Shen Qingqiu follows his example with a measured slowness, pulling a fan out of his sleeve as he sits next to Shang Qinghua.

He can’t help but notice how Linguang-jun’s eyes linger on his fan before he returns his attention to the negotiation.

“That is acceptable, if the price is right. Xiao Bao is the owner of the mare and thus the primary owner of the qilin. My involvement is mainly to prevent Xuebao’s ineptitude with commerce from bringing shame to my family.” His expression flickers into one of annoyance for a moment when Xuebao makes a dismissive huff behind him, but he is remarkably unbothered to sit with a cultivator standing in his blind spot. “I will be content with minor compensation for my involvement as an advisor.”

“I see, I see. That is reasonable, I suppose.” There’s a brief conversation between Shang Qinghua and Wu Xuebao, conveyed entirely through subtle facial expressions while Linguang-jun carefully picks out a meat-filled shaobing from the spread of snacks. “After having seen it in person, I’m prepared to pay 800 gold taels for the qilin.”

Shen Qingqiu keeps his face carefully neutral to hide his surprise; where has Shang Qinghua found that much money to spare on this venture? He’s not the type to embezzle funds from the sect.

Linguang-jun raises an eyebrow and with a flash of sharp teeth tears a bite out of his shaobing. “Not a bad offer, but you can surely do better. The last time we sold a qilin, it was to the court of the western emperor in your realm. He paid three times as much.”

“For a pure golden qilin, already trained, ready for riding and of a high level of cultivation,” Shang Qinghua shoots back, pouring tea for the demon sitting across from him. “And if the foal was of that color then purchasing it would be considered high treason by all three empires. However, while an off-color qilin will be a safe enough gift for our honored sect leader, it would be preposterous to demand the same price for it.” He gestured towards the qilin, which is running happy circles around its parents. “Can you even tell at this age what abilities it has?”

It’s a fair question that gives Linguang-jun pause. “No, it won’t become evident until it starts cultivating,” he admits with some reluctance. “It has silver and pearl markings, however, which usually signify healing and protective abilities. I assume the immortal masters will wish to train the foal themselves?”

“I don’t see why not. We have a whole peak dedicated to spiritual beasts, I’m certain they will be delighted to work with a qilin.”

Linguang-jun seems to consider this, eating his snack with slow, measured bites. “It would reflect ill on this one’s family if a qilin sold by us grew up to be ill-tempered and misbehaving. I can make arrangements for Xiao Bao to be allowed to copy Kaze-hime’s relevant training manuals.”

Xuebao stiffens, looking suddenly alarmed. Somewhere in the back Wu Ren stifles a laugh. Shen Qingqiu glances at Shang Qinghua for clarification, but his shidi is staring at Linguang-jun with an expression that can only be described as awestruck. “Lord Taifeng must hold us in high regard if he’s willing to involve the queen dowager in this sale.”

Shen Qingqiu has heard about the former Northern Queen before, if only in passing. She has withdrawn from the politics of the demon realm after the current Mobei-jun ascended to the throne, but Shen Qingqiu’s shizun was pushing 2000 when he ascended and he had plenty of tales from his youth, from before Tianlang-jun got bored of smoothing over conflicts between the realms and started enforcing his side of the border. He had a few passing tales about the foreign queen of the northern demons and the storms her ire blew over to the human realm whenever she quarreled with her husband.

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t know what to make of her involvement in this whole affair. He would find it alarming, but everyone else present is treating the matter like it’s a visit to an embarrassing aunt rather than an old and powerful demoness. Why, Shang-shidi is even asking Linguang-jun about her health and wellbeing!

“My honored mother is of fine health. Now that the fight for the crown is over she’s contemplating moving back to Kyushu and taking back leadership of her own clan,” Linguang-jun says, his demeanor taking on an awkward note, typical of mostly grown youths when they are asked about their parents. “She is eager to talk to Mobei-wang before she leaves. If Xiao Bao would be so kind as to convince his master to visit her…”

Suddenly Linguang-jun’s involvement makes a lot more sense. He can hold this act of ‘charity’ over Wu Xuebao’s head to get an accomplice in pressuring the Mobei-wang into this visit. Shen Qingqiu wonders, not for the first time, if Xuebao is more important to his master than just any human servant, but the conversation returns to the question of how they are going to pay for the qilin and this is not the time to ask.

“I don’t ask for anything of great value. My involvement is hardly worth the price of a rare cultivation treasure, after all.” Linguang-jun glances at Shen Qingqiu again. “I heard word of the Qing Jing peak lord’s artistic talents. Perhaps there is something he could offer up as a token to prove the legitimacy of this exchange?”

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t freeze when everyone’s attention is directed at him, but he allows himself a few choice internal swears. He does have a few paintings that he could reasonably offer up in an exchange of favors, at least in theory. He has never given away any of his art and he is actually making every effort to avoid ever doing so, just to see how long he can get away with it. His paintings, as it happens, are much less impressive than what the rumors claim and the few that live up to the expectations are much too personal to ever go on sale.

“This master’s speciality is music and he only dabbles in visual mediums on a casual scale, to paint his fans,” he says, fluttering said fan. “I’m afraid my work would not be fitting compensation in this situation.”

“Not unless master Shen can compose for the shamisen,” Wu Ren butts in. She has stayed out of the negotiations so far, but at the mention of music she comes bounding up to the table, the qilin chasing after the flowing hem of her robe. “Master Taifeng is a very talented player and I’m certain the honored Kaze-hime would find it touching if he performed something commissioned for her.”

Linguang-jun hisses at her, then hisses once more when she casually reaches over his shoulder to take a scallion-filled shaobing from the table. “Do you mind?!”

“Has Lord Taifeng discovered a so far unseen fondness for vegetarian fare?” she asks, batting her eyelashes at him in a bewilderingly playful and familiar gesture. Her antics, if anything, seem to make him more frustrated with her.

“Not that! You- !!”

“Master Ren is not familiar with the strategy of keeping one’s true intentions close to their heart, I assume?” Shang Qinghua asks, watching the shenanigans with a placid smile.

“Quite evidently not.” Linguang-jun’s way to hide his discomfort seems to be to double down on his annoyance and aggression; he glares with poisonous eyes at everyone within his line of sight, lips parted slightly to show a hint of sharp teeth.

Shen Qingqiu clears his throat and hides his unimpressed expression behind his fan. “I’m afraid this master is not familiar with said instrument.”

“It’s similar to the sanxian,” Xuebao offers, unbothered by the increasingly more irate demon sitting less than an arm’s length from him.

“But it doesn’t quite play like a sanxian,” Shang Qinghua corrects firmly. “While not art as such, I can perhaps offer a low-level spiritual tool - an embroidered qiankun pouch or an elegant qiankun ring would still be a thoughtful gift.”

After a few more moments of glaring Linguang-jun gets a hold of himself and reins his temper in.

“Very well. A spiritual device would be acceptable, but I have a suggestion that would still involve master Shen.” He produces a folded fan from somewhere and places it down on the crate in front of Shen Qingqiu. “Please, take a look.”

Shen Qingqiu picks the fan up with due caution reserved for an unknown spiritual device, but he’s soon engrossed by its history when he flicks it open. The fan is well-loved and much-used, carefully mended where it has frayed or torn, its colors clearly retouched when they have faded over and over again to keep the deep blue and silver pattern of a starry sky pristine. Shen Qingqiu allows his qi to spread through the fan, the painted silk and the carved bone ribs and feels like he could stir up an icy tornado with the flick of a wrist. What a curious thing; manipulating the air isn’t alien to Shen Qingqiu, but the icy qi that sneaks up his arm from the point of contact seems to originate from the fan itself. He doesn’t dare to guess, but he would not be surprised if the bone ribs of the fan are made from the remains of a late Mobei relative.

“Interesting. Are you looking to have a replacement made, my lord?”

“Heavens, no.” Linguang-jun holds out a hand and Shen Qingqiu promptly hands the fan back to him. “This one has too much sentimental value for me to replace unless it gets fully destroyed. What I seek is a fan in similar style, as a gift I can present to my honored mother before she leaves the country.”

Shen Qingqiu glances at the fan again and unconsciously rubs his hand; the icy qi lingers in his fingers, making them stiff and reawakening the old ache of his misaligned bones.

“I can prepare and paint the reinforced silk of a battle fan, certainly, but that is all. The arrays - I assume there are arrays carved into the ribs? - are beyond my expertise. Nor do I have any qi-infused remains to use as a base.”

“That is acceptable. I intend to use ordinary cherry wood and I can do the array carving myself. All Master Shen needs to do is paint.”

It seems Linguang-jun is set on this form of compensation. It’s a rather harmless request, Shen Qingqiu thinks, considering he can make a fan himself if he so pleases. “Very well.” He gestures at Shang Qinghua, expectant. “Shidi, paper, ink and brush. We might as well agree on the general design before this master leaves.”

They have to reshuffle things and carry over another crate to make enough space for Shen Qingqiu to spread the paper out enough that he can do his sketching. Xuebao is chosen to grind ink. Wu Ren hovers nearby and keeps the horses occupied after the qilin makes an attempt at clambering up the makeshift table, fascinated by the brush. Shen Qingqiu only has extensive experience with people commissioning music rather than any form of visual art, but Linguang-jun proves to be an agreeable enough customer. He has an idea for a theme in mind already, of simple and elegant maple leaves, and he listens intently when Shen Qingqiu explains his vision for the fan. Painting on one side, poetry on the other, although after seeing the poem the demon choses they decide that he will be the one to inscribe it:

ほの／\と有明の月のつき影に

もみぢふきおろす山おろしの風

Wu Ren is nice enough to translate it for them:

Dimly, dimly,

in the moonlight

at the break of dawn,

crimson leaves flutter

in the wind from the hills.

It’s all so harmless and mundane that Shen Qingqiu keeps glancing at Linguang-jun’s ears and the bright demon mark on his forehead to remind himself that he is indeed a demon, not just a young master looking to bring home a gift to his lady mother. His excitement for this project reminds Shen Qingqiu of his older students, the ones who already split their time between learning scholarly arts at the sect and being eased back into the manners and politics of mortal society at home. Many of them stay officially enrolled in the sect until they can take the imperial exams, but it’s inevitable that they would leave cultivator society sooner or later, so instead of forcing them to study advanced cultivation manuals Shen Qingqiu usually tasks them with an art project or other - although it’s not always strictly art; making instruments is a popular choice - so they can have something they can take with them once they descend the mountain. For many of them it’s the last chance in life when they can indulge freely in their creativity.

Despite the chaotic start to the evening, they part in peace.

“I’ll be back in three weeks time, as agreed,” Linguang-jun says, already saddled up, and bows to the peak lords. Wu Xuebao sits behind him, the very picture of discomfort. They have all agreed that it will be for the best to keep Dun and the foal here until the sale is finalized, out of the sight of anyone who might try to steal the qilin, but Xuebao still needs to make his way back to the Northern Kingdom before he is missed, so Linguang-jun very reluctantly agreed to ferry him back.

“I’ll have the painting ready by then,” Shen Qingqiu promises with a regal nod. Next to him Shang-shidi is stands frozen stiff with anxiety. Xuebao isn’t the only one who is unhappy with the idea of Linguang-jun carrying him off like a sack of rice.

“Don’t forget the manuals!” Wu Ren yells from the stable, halfway leaning out of the building. Dun sticks out her head over Wu Ren’s shoulder, staring longingly at her master. “And tell Kaze-hime I said hi!”

As if reacting to his master’s rising annoyance, Asagi huffs a big cloud of tepid steam and paws at the ground.

“Come with us and tell her yourself!” Linguang-jun shoots back and pats the longma’s neck to soothe him.

“Not a chance, my lord! I’m eloping with my beloved, I won’t be back until she makes an honest man of me!”

Shen Qingqiu unconsciously braces himself for the fallout that’s sure to follow such a disrespectful tone, but Linguang-jun laughs instead, amused.

“If Chun’er ever manages such a miracle, tell her to seek me out. I always keep a few positions open to people who can do the impossible.”

Wu Ren’s cheek immediately turns to offense.

“Why you-?!” She looks around wildly for something to throw at the demon, but Linguang-jun doesn’t wait around for her to actually find something. He urges his longma into motion and in the blink of an eye they are gone, swallowed by black winds.

An empty bucket clatters off the wooden fence, several moments too late, but thrown with great enthusiasm all the same.

Shen Qinqgiu glances at Shang Qinghua, who looks just as bewildered as he feels. They turn to Wu Ren as one and find her leaning against the doorframe, grinning again.

“Master Shen, your charms are unmatched. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Xiao Feng warm up to anyone this quickly.”

Shen Qingqiu silently mouths ‘Xiao Feng’, bristling at the overly familiar nickname. He really wishes he could rewind the last few minutes of time, when the world still mostly made sense, but he hasn’t gotten to his position by allowing unexpected situations to throw him for a loop.

“Shang-shidi, do you have some tea left? I could use a cup.”

Shang Qinghua looks up at him with a slightly manic expression.

“I’ll do you one better, shixiong: I have wine. The good stuff.”

On the one hand, it’s a terrible idea to get drunk with demons around. On the other hand, the world stopped making sense, so he might as well check whether that changes after a thorough sampling of whatever Shang-shidi considered good wine.

“Very well, why not. Let’s see this ‘good stuff’ of yours, shidi.”

What’s the worst thing that could happen?

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu wakes with a headache, squinting at the familiar ceiling of the brothel. The events of the previous day feel far away, the evening quickly devolving into something far too blurry to recall once Shang Qinghua presented them with the alcohol. He remembers the very beginning of Wu Ren’s retelling of a ten-year stint when she accompanied the young Linguang-jun to Dongying as a bodyguard/babysitter - there was tension in the Mobei clan following the death of the old king and Kaze-hime thought it best to send her young child away while things settled down -, but he can't recall anything else. Trying to force the matter only makes his headache worse and he must make an unconscious noise of pain because the person snuggled up to him reaches up with a blessedly cool hand to soothe him.

Slowly his awareness of his environment returns and he turns his attention to the person in bed with him. He’s no stranger to sleeping in the embrace of women - that is why he used to come here, after all - but he stiffens in alarm when he recognizes who this is. The very soft fox ear smushed into his cheek is rather hard to miss.

“Mi Chun. What are you doing in my bed?” She yawns and nuzzles her face deeper into his neck.

“You were restless when you got back, but the jiejies were already sleeping, so master Shang suggested it instead of waking one of the hardworking ladies up.” Of course it would be Shang Qinghua. Trust the peak lord with the second biggest spy network to know about his habit of sleeping in the brothel. “He thought gege would be a better bedmate, but we decided that I’m the safer bet.”

“I struggle to imagine the leap of logic that led to the idea that I’d be more comfortable in bed with a demon than a fellow cultivator, so please enlighten me.”

“Easy: I don’t care one bit for men. She has the occasional appreciation for them every now and then.” Less of a chance that she’d take advantage; not fully reassuring, but it's not the worst reasoning he has heard. “Go back to sleep, master Shen. It’s early, everybody else is still asleep.”

Shen Qingqiu is about to push her off and get up when he feels something touch his temple. The next moment leaden exhaustion spreads through his limbs and he sinks back into sleep before he could lift his hand to remove whatever she stuck to his head.

The next time he wakes up the brothel’s noises have changed. He can hear the distant hubbub of the courtesans and the staff getting ready, so it has to be sometime in the afternoon now. Mi Chun is no longer cuddling him - lucky fox; if he caught her still in bed with him he would have stabbed her without hesitation - but he can hear her in a hushed, agitated conversation with Wu Ren in the room.

“I can’t believe you slapped a sleep talisman on him.”

“Not slapped! Stuck it on very carefully. And then two more when it looked like he would wake right back up.”

“Did you have to stick them to his hair? Isn’t talisman paper adhesive?”

“It works the best on the head! I panicked!”

“Chun’er. Focus. Adhesive.”

“You are making it sound like I put glue in his hair.”

“Have you?”

“No! I don’t want to die! I have an oil that can get it out without a trace.”

“You’d better get the talismans off before he wakes up if you feel attached to your ears. I got the impression yesterday that he doesn’t take drugging lightly, regardless of good intentions.”

“Too late,” Shen Qingqiu mumbles, pushing himself up to sit despite the vertigo. “Three sleep talismans?”

“Master Shen has a remarkable resistance to them,” Mi Chun says. She crawls onto the bed, still dressed in her flimsy sleep clothes, and shoves one of the big pillows behind Shen Qingqiu’s back to prop him up. “I checked your spirit veins and would have called for help if you reacted unfavorably to the spell.”

Despite her careless chattering, she is paying attention and scrambles off to hide behind her girlfriend as soon as Shen Qingqiu raises his hand to smack her. She sticks her tongue out at him, cheeky, but stops playing around when Wu Ren clears her throat in clear disapproval. “Go get that oil, Chun’er. We don’t want to inconvenience master Shen longer than necessary.”

After the fox has bounced off, safely out of the range of Shen Qingqiu’s ire, Wu Ren sits carefully on the edge of the bed. “How is your head, master Shen?”

The question gives him pause, if only for a moment. His hangover is suspiciously absent. “Much better than I expected it to be.”

“Good, good. Your shidi got some medicine in you before you passed out this morning. You were rather ‘out of it’ as he put it, so he hopes that you won’t remember that he bribed you with the promise of a higher personal budget in the next decade.”

Shen Qingqiu scoffs. “As if I could forget such a wild bribe. He will regret it when I come to collect what he promised.” He doesn’t remember anything, but that’s fine. It gives him plausible deniability if it turns out that Wu Ren has lied to him after all.

On the note of not remembering…

“Remind me, have I done or said anything while I was inebriated that would bring me shame?”

“Rest assured, you are not an embarrassing drunk. You are, however, overly sentimental.” She leans closer and suddenly there’s an edge to her smile. “So, who is Yue Qi? From your words alone, one would think him the kindest and most handsome man in the whole wide Jianghu.”

Shen Qingqiu stiffens and thanks the heavens that he’s not prone to blushing. Of all the things to ramble about. “Yue Qingyuan is the sect leader. He and I… we are… it’s complicated.”

Her eyebrows rise until they disappear behind her bangs.

“You have the Xian Su sword’s affection and you still lead on our poor Baobao? Shame on you, Shen Qingqiu!”

Shen Qingqiu blinks in confusion, then pales. “No! No, your cousin is a very good man, but he’s not my type. Besides, he’s courting Shang-shidi and I’m not so wretched as to try and steal my martial brother’s fiance.”

He doesn’t feel even a sliver of remorse over throwing Shang Qinghua under the cart. Wu Ren is clearly not so backwards as to regard two men together with any sort of displeasure and honestly? Somebody else knowing about the relationship - someone clearly invested in Wu Xuebao’s wellbeing - could give them a push to come out in public and make it official. If that would enable Shen Qingqiu to invite Xuebao to the bamboo house for tea, that was nobody’s business except his.

“Shang Qinghua…” Wu Ren appears to turn this proposal over in her head for a few moments. “He’s not the War God, right? I know someone who very much wants to court that one, but hasn’t found the opportunity to approach him directly yet.”

“No, Shang-shidi is our master of logistics.” Internally he lights a candle for Liu Qingge. Being so entangled with demons and their culture, that unnamed Wu lady could very easily mistake Liu-shidi acting all… Liu-shidi as approval of her court. Shen Qingqiu is going to do nothing to prevent that, of course. The brute deserves to have something unpleasant in his life for a change and an unwanted suitor is hardly the worst thing that could happen.

“That’s perfect!” Wu Ren lights up in delight, which makes her rise a little in Shen Qingqiu’s esteem. People usually start to think less of Shang Qinghua once they learn what he does for a living, not more. “Having the expertise of a logistician by his side will be such a boon for Baobao when he becomes head of the family! I have to tell Father.”

Before she could bolt off - to write a letter or send a spirit messenger, Shen Qingqiu isn’t sure - he catches her sleeve. “Wait a moment! Xuebao is the Wu family heir?”

She sits back down, but practically vibrates with restless energy. “Yan. Our clan name is Yan, actually. Wu is, well. You know of Xuebao and Mobei Wu and I’m trying to be at least a little bit incognito, so people don’t immediately connect me to Mobei Er.” Not the most imaginative pseudonym, but Shen Qingqiu has been a spymaster long enough to know that people are usually rather bad at making up fake names. It could be much worse. “It’s a recent development, but he’s expected to take over as family patriarch in about…” She trails off, her mirth fading into something subdued and somber. “Twenty years. Thirty, possibly, if the heavens smile upon us.”

Wu Ren - Yan Ren? He will have to double check once he’s back at the sect, but he vaguely recalls the Yans as an allied clan from Cang Qiong’s foundation document - sits silently and stares at her hands, her sorrow palpable.

“My condolences.” Thirty years is nothing for a cultivator. She barks out a laugh that sounds more like a sob.

“Thank you, Master Shen, but he’s not dead yet. We have known for a long time that he will die younger than ideal, but the sudden Abyssal activity… A-Bao has taken over what he can from his duties, but the damage is already done.”

Shen Qingqiu awkwardly pats her shoulder, but mentally he’s trying to hastily reorganize what he knows of the family. The patriarch is suffering from Abyss sickness, no doubt - it’s easy enough to become overexposed to foul energies near the big rifts and the demons wouldn’t even think to take precautions against it, because they have a natural immunity - and not long for this world. His daughter was Mobei Er’s personal retainer - one of the princes who had a high likelihood of becoming Mobei-jun, solidifying the family’s alliance with the demons - before Mobei Er died and Yan Ren eloped with Mi Chun. So it stands to reason that they would want her replacement to be on equally solid standing with their allied demons. Mobei Wu was something of a dark horse in the fight for the crown - his service a perfect place for a less important, but rather competent cousin -, but now there’s nobody else left. Shen Qingqiu isn’t certain what’s going on with Xuebao and Mobei-wang, but he is a cherished and important member of the future Mobei-jun’s retinue.

And that’s how a less favored cousin becomes heir of the family overnight. Shen Qingqiu can’t say he has seen anything like it before, but the longer he turns it around in his head, the more sense it makes.

“Cang Qiong has an excellent group of healers,” he offers awkwardly, to fill the pained silence with something. “Perhaps my Mu-shidi could do something for your father?”

She smiles at him, but her eyes are filled with an old sorrow. “A kind offer, master Shen, but one I have to decline. Even if the wish is there to do anything about it, it is much too late.” She stands and this time Shen Qingqiu doesn’t try to stop her. “Please don’t tell Xuebao about this. He and Father don’t get along and this would only add undue tension to their relationship.”

Shen Qingqiu nods. This is really not his business, after all. “In return, may I ask you to keep Xuebao and Shang-shidi’s relationship private for now? Much as I wish for them to be more open about it, bringing too much attention might have the opposite effect.” Heavens know, if the Yan patriarch starts to pressure Xuebao - after all, having an heir with strong ties to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect through marriage would be much more beneficial than having one in a secret relationship with a peak lord - they might break things off altogether. Shang-shidi is much too secretive to appreciate that sort of scrutiny.

Wu Ren reluctantly accepts. “All right. I’ll hold my tongue, if you think that’s for the best. You know them better than I do.”

“Shang-shidi maybe, but Wu Xuebao is your cousin. Who would know him better than family?” Not that he knows anything about that, not really. But isn’t it how it’s supposed to be?

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But there are too many conflicting interests in our family. I’m not a good sister or a good cousin. I don’t even know what he likes. I know he doesn’t like honey, but accepts it anyway when I gift him a jar, because I don’t have anything better to give. There was never a good time to ask.” She rubs a hand down her face as if to wipe away her bitter smile. “Be proud, master Shen. There are very few he allows into his heart, as a friend or otherwise, but I think you are one of them.”

Shen Qingqiu knows he should probably say something. Something reassuring about how the cousins still have time to reconcile, perhaps. That would certainly be fitting for the situation.

But the words refuse to form and finally Wu Ren shakes herself and clicks her tongue to break the awkwardly stretching silence. “Well, I’d better go and get that oil from Chun’er. Your hair is gorgeous, it would be a shame if the talismans ruined it.”

She’s gone before he could think to stop her, leaving him all on his own, deep in thought.

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

Mi Chun’s oil smells like fragrant wildflowers and it dissolves not only the glue (because it is, indeed, some kind of animal glue that makes these talismans stick, despite the fox’s insistence), but also removes the very meticulously applied dye from his hair. He regards the gray strands unhappily, especially numerous at his temples and shining like spun silver from the oil.

He sighs and lets the lock drop, allowing the scorching water and hot, steamy air to relax him. The staff bath of the brothel is filled once a day with boiling hot water and bathing oils, and is allowed to cool over the course of the evening. While many of the courtesans prefer to enjoy the water when it’s hot, it’s currently still scalding and not suitable for anyone without a high level of cultivation, granting him some uninterrupted time alone in the bath.

“There you are, shixiong!”

Usually, at least.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t wait for permission and slips into the hot water with a slight splash. “Oh wow, this is good stuff!”

Shen Qingqiu turns towards his shidi, admonishments dying on the tip of his tongue when he takes in Shang Qinghua. He’s not unfamiliar with deceptively tailored robes - his own are strategically layered to make him look a little more robust where even Mu-shidi’s nutrient potions couldn’t fill him out quite right - but he somehow never realized that Shang Qinghua’s flowing sleeves and loose, practical robes were hiding this much muscle.

Or this many scars, for that matter. His eyes follow what seems to be the mark of some kind of beast bite down from wide shoulders to a broad chest when Shang Qinghua self-consciously crosses his arms. “What? I’m a physical cultivator! There’s no reason to stare.”

Shen Qingqiu immediately drags his eyes back from his shidi’s chest to his face, cheeks burning. “No, you are not.” Shang Qinghua has obnoxiously deep qi reserves and an infuriatingly good affinity to spiritual techniques, something that has always irked Shen Qingqiu because his shidi doesn’t do anything useful with his gifts. Sometimes Mu-shidi calls on him when they need someone to transfer a lot of spiritual energy at once, but that’s about it as far as Shen Qingqiu is aware.

“No, I’m not,” Shang Qinghua agrees easily. “But An Ding’s cultivation style is physical cultivation and I have to be an example to my disciples, so my personal predisposition really doesn’t matter.” He leans his head against the edge of the pool and stares pensively into the steam. “Spiritual cultivators can kind of learn physical techniques, but it’s not that easy the other way around. They are dangerous if you don’t have the qi reserves. I don’t want my kids risking qi deviations because they are trying to imitate me.”

Shen Qingqiu very deliberately doesn’t think about his own, miniscule energy reserves. “If that brute Liu Qingge could learn the Hundred Falling Swords array, then I don’t see what’s preventing your brats from bettering themselves,” he scoffs instead.

“Oh, that. Liu-shidi is a hybrid cultivator, like zhangmen-shixiong. ”

“What?!”

“Yes, that’s why he visits Lingxi caves so regularly. He doesn’t like to practice his spiritual techniques where his disciples can see them, but unlike me he kinda has to keep his cultivation balanced or it would weaken him.”

Shen Qingqiu narrows his eyes. “Logic dictates that if Liu Qingge’s cultivation suffers when he forgoes spiritual training, then the effect should be even worse for Shang-shidi.”

“Oh it is!” Shang Qinghua says merrily. “But nobody cares if I’m fighting fit or not, so it’s fine.” He airily waves a hand. “My strong and competent martial siblings can fight off whatever danger comes our way while I stay in the back and manage the supply lines and write the damage reports. That’s how it has always been.”

That certainly explains some things about Shang Qinghua. He makes a mental note to ask Yue Qingyuan about pressuring Shang-shidi into learning spiritual techniques from one of the other peaks. It would not do for them to allow one of their martial siblings to wallow in mediocrity when he could do so much better.

Happy with the scheme he cooked up, he magnanimously changes the subject (all to lull Shang-shidi into a false sense of security, of course). “What are you even doing here, shidi? I was under the impression that you have already left.”

“Well, I planned to leave early, but the madam asked me to stay for a while and, ah. Advise you on a certain matter.” Shen Qingqiu glares at him until Shang Qinghua awkwardly clears his throat. “I heard that shixiong wishes to learn about the ways of passion between two men.”

“You heard wrong!” Shen Qingqiu snaps, his face burning. “Who told you such a thing?!”

“Yue Bailing. She was very straightforward about the matter, there’s no way I misunderstood.”

Shen Qingqiu directs a few uncharitable thoughts towards San-jie. Of all the people she could have asked… “Even if you were correct, I would not ask you for advice.”

“Why not? I have plenty of personal experience to share.” Shang Qinghua has the audacity to wink at him.

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t want to imagine Shang Qinghua and Wu Xuebao being intimate, but he can’t help how his thoughts wander in that direction, despite his best efforts. The mental image isn’t as repulsive as he hoped it to be. “I don’t need your help, shidi.”

“Look, shixiong.” Shang Qinghua’s demeanor takes a sudden, alarming turn towards the serious. “Since you have confided in me and Baobao about your background, I did a little digging - just to make sure nobody from your past can come out swinging and cause you trouble, you understand? - and I don’t know exactly what happened to you before you joined the sect, but I can guess.” He waits a beat in case Shen Qingqiu wants to interject, but eventually goes on. “And it’s not the same, but I think I can relate just enough that I can help keep those past experiences from ruining what you have with Yue-shixiong.”

Shang Qinghua raises one of his arms out of the water and gestures at it. The scar isn’t very visible, only half a shade darker than the healthy skin, but Shen Qingqiu can see it clearly now that Shang Qinghua brought it to his attention.

A palm and five fingers, the shape of a humanoid hand. “Burn?” he guesses.

“Frostbite.” He runs his fingers along the outline of the scar, pensive. “Mobei Wu grabbed me through my robes and shoved a glass of horrible demonic alcohol - poisonous to humans, of course - into my hand. It was after the renewal of one of our trade agreements and he was trying to be friendly, although I hadn't realized it at the time.”

It hangs in the air, unsaid, that it wasn't the only occasion. Demons are durable beasts and even the casual use of their strength could grievously injure a human.

“Xuebao is not his master.” Even if the association was there, surely it wasn't strong enough to…

No, it would be so very easy to instinctively make that connection. Xuebao is a big and powerfully built man and the taint of the demon realm has settled deep into his bones. That's more resemblance he shares with the demons than Yue Qi ever had with Qiu Jianluo.

“You must have noticed that his manners are often very demonic,” Shang Qinghua says as he lets his arm drop back into the water with a splash. “He doesn't spend a lot of time around humans.”

“And all of this had a negative effect on your relationship?” Shen Qingqiu asks, genuinely curious now.

“The first time he tried to kiss my neck, I pulled my sword on him,” Shang Qinghua says, his face twisted into something that’s probably meant to be a self-deprecating smile, but looks more like a grimace. “I felt his cold breath on my skin and I panicked that he's going to rip my throat out.”

An overreaction, perhaps, but Shen Qingqiu isn't one to talk. One of their experiments with Yue Qi resulted in a spectacular black eye that was quite difficult to explain.

Shang Qinghua touches his shoulder to catch his attention again, which makes him realize that he might have spaced out for a little while. “We worked through it, eventually. Lot of it was plain old communication - ultimately, the only way relationships seem to work is if you actually talk to each other, no matter how much that sucks -, but I can give you some tips so you and Yue-shixiong can have a head start.”

It’s a heartfelt offer, Shang Qinghua’s face open and earnest. There is nothing for Shen Qingqiu to lose.

Perhaps it’s time for him to start trusting some of his martial siblings from time to time.

“Very well, shidi. Just this once, I’ll listen to what you have to say.”

When they get out of the water, Shen Qingqiu’s face is much too red to be blamed on the heat of the bath. Who would have thought that his shidi was this shameless?!

For lack of a wide sleeve or a fan, he tries to hide behind his hair, which reminds him of the matter of his gray locks. “Shang-shidi, I don’t assume you know where to buy quality hair dye in this city?”

Shang Qinghua actually seems to take a moment to think over the question.

“No, I don’t believe I know anyone. But you could just leave your hair as is. It’s very fetching, in my opinion. A little mysterious.”

“It makes me look old,” Shen Qingqiu says, squeezing his hair with the towel with far more force than necessary. “Or weak.”

“No it doesn’t. I think zhangmen-shixiong would like it.”

“Zhangmen-shixiong plucks his own gray hairs.”

“Yeah, but he has only like what? Five or six? Less than a dozen visible gray hairs. That’s a very different look.”

Shen Qingqiu makes a displeased grumble, not that it really matters. He doesn’t have the means to dye his hair, so he will have to go back to the sect looking like this anyway.

“Here’s an idea, shixiong: pretend you had a minor qi deviation while away. If it turns out fine, you can stop bothering with the dye. If you don’t like it, you can start up again in a month or two and say that the aftereffects of the deviation have faded.”

“That has to be the smartest thing you have said today, shidi.”

“No, the smartest thing I said was about you usi- HEY!” He falls back into the bathing pool with a loud splash, flailing and spluttering. “Shixiong! That was uncalled for!”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Shang-shidi.” He doesn’t know for sure what Shang QInghua wanted to say, but he has a few ideas and the very thought makes his face burn so hard he’s surprised that his skin hasn’t caught fire yet. That shove was perfectly justified, in his opinion. “You must have slipped.”

Shang Qinghua whines and curses, demonstrating his wide vocabulary in demonic swears and Shen Qingqiu can’t help but feel a little fond of his ridiculous shidi. Not fond enough to be goaded into lending him a hand though, he’s not stupid enough to fall for that and get yanked into the pool.

This is certainly not how he imagined his afternoon to go, but somehow, he doesn’t mind it.

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu is leaving the brothel next morning to have breakfast with Shang Qinghua - his shidi insisted he knows a place with excellent congee - when he runs into Wu Ren and Mi Chun, also dressed to leave.

“Oh, good. I was worried we already missed you.” Wu Ren smiles at him, but Mi Chun is a different matter. She fidgets with her fan, her posture stiff with anxiety.

“Leaving already? The jiejies will be devastated.” Shen Qingqiu nods at their traveling clothes.

“We planned to stay a few days longer, but your shidi shared a rumor yesterday. Something that, if true, has to be investigated immediately.”

“That sounds rather serious. Do take care, I would hate to see you killed for the sake of a rumor.” On a whim he reaches out a hand, fingers lose in an offer to exchange spiritual energy signatures. Usually he refrains from offering, because even with careful meditation the trace of demonic energy mixed into his qi is noticeable enough, but Wu Ren already knows his secret. “Send a spirit messenger if you need help. I can’t offer Cang Qiong Sect’s aid, but you may call upon this Shen Qingqiu.”

She hesitates for just a moment before she reaches out as well, their fingers barely touching. He braces himself for frost, the bite of the abyss-touched ice of the Northern Kingdom, but there’s hardly any trace of it in her energy. It’s drowned out by the pure spiritual signature of something earthy and alive, like Qing Jing’s bamboo, but much, much older. “A sacred forest?”

“Yakusugi,” she says, eyes warming with fondness. “My parent and their family oversee the old cedars and the shrine. I did cleansing meditations when we were visiting.”

It’s not the first time she has mentioned her foreign parent and the love she holds for them and their home is evident every time. The reminder of her family makes her mood noticeably brighter when they bid their goodbyes. “If you ever decide to ditch your mountain, master Shen, then I’ll make sure to arrange a visit.”

He makes some token protests that his sect wouldn’t let him go - all of them fully aware that he won’t leave unless they chase him off at swordpoint, of course - before they part ways, the ladies wandering off to check the markets before leaving the city and Shen Qingqiu walking in the opposite direction to meet up with Shang Qinghua.

It’s a nice, balmy morning in a nice, unremarkable sort of city, where he gets to share a pleasant breakfast with his least insufferable shidi. Truly an excellent start to a good day.

Their pleasant streak holds just until they land in front of Shang Qinghua’s house and find Liu Qingge pacing on the porch. He steps forward to accost Shang-shidi with a handful of documents, but freezes in his tracks when he spots Shen Qingqiu.

“What the hell happened to your hair?”

“Qi deviation, shidi. A minor one.” He makes an airy, dismissive wave with his fan. “Nothing of dire consequence.”

“Huh.” Liu Qingge takes an overly long moment to contemplate this information. “Strange. That place you like so much didn’t seem like they’d keep cheap cauldron girls, but I guess you’d never know. Anyway-”

“Liu Qingge!” Shen Qingqiu sees red with rage and he only realizes that he has reached for his sword when he feels Shang Qinghua’s grip on his wrist, his shidi’s hold harsh enough that the bones grind together painfully.

“Liu-shidi.” Shang Qinghua’s voice is deceptively placid and calm. “Do you have any idea what that even means?”

Liu Qingge blinks at them in confusion, as if he didn’t just utter the most vile, offensive thing imaginable mere moments ago. “Not really? I never cared for dual cultivation and its terminologies. I don’t practice it to bolster my cultivation and it doesn’t come up in my area of expertise.”

That confession mollifies Shen Qingqiu somewhat. Liu Qingge is their monster fighting specialist, so a degree of ignorance can be expected - when the War God has to deal with civilians, they are either in pieces already or are too busy being grateful for their lives to be overly concerned with much of anything. Cases where the opponent is smart enough to hold hostages or negotiate are what he keeps Ji Jue for, so at least someone on site can handle the human element.

Expected, but not acceptable.

“The only peak lord who does dual cultivation as part of his regular cultivation practice is Mu-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu says coldly and glares at Shang Qinghua until the mousy man removes his hand. He gingerly rubs the forming bruise on his wrist. Shang Qinghua’s concern that Shen Qingqiu might eviscerate Liu Qingge if not stopped isn’t unfounded, but he didn’t need to grab him that hard. “And Liu-shidi will go and ask to be educated on the matter at his earliest convenience, so he can understand what kind of colossal offense he spewed just now.”

Liu Qingge mumbles something unintelligible, but Shang-shidi changes the subject before Shen Qingqiu can work up the anger for a good, well-deserved shouting. “What do I owe the pleasure of Liu-shidi’s company on this fine morning?”

Liu Qingge suddenly looks cowed and uncomfortable, a stark and concerning shift from his earlier brash manners. “I was checking Bai Zhan’s papers, so everything can be ready for the audit - I know it’s still months away, but I wanted the time to become familiar with the process myself - and I found some worrisome things in the financial reports.”

“If there’s an apparent deficit that’s normal, shidi,” Shang Qinghua explains in an exhausted voice. “We track the emergency rebuilding funds separately to discourage further destruction of sect property. Your hallmasters are much too happy to let the disciples break stuff if they know there’s enough money left in the budget to cover for it.”

“And that approach works?” Shen Qingqiu asks, fascinated.

“Surprisingly, yes. It only took one or two occasions of repairs being delayed because Bai Zhan ran over budget - once for the dorm building and once for the senior residential buildings after a disciple sneaked in a pale moon rhino calf as a pet that ransacked most of the houses when it wasn’t fed enough - for them to stop treating the emergency budget as an endless resource.”

“That’s a curious way to go about it, but I suppose as long as it works...”

“I know all of that!” Liu Qingge’s outburst interrupts Shen Qingqiu’s musing, their Bai Zhan shidi still clearly agitated. “There is more money than there should be!”

That gives both Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu pause.

“That’s impossible.” Shang Qinghua holds out a hand for the papers and Liu Qingge hands them over so fast Shen Qingqiu has to wonder if they burn his hands. Shen Qingqiu subtly leans closer to Shang-shidi to read the numbers along with him to the best of his abilities, but he can’t keep up with someone who deals with these forms on the daily, especially when Shang Qinghua is muttering to himself and shooting the occasional rapidfire question at Liu Qingge at the same time. “Does the money come from maybe a generous donor? No? All of the masters and seniors pick up their wages, yes, yes, I can see. No bounties that go unaccounted either, that wouldn’t be this consistent. Maybe someone picked up some dubious treasure and is trying to launder it slowly through the sect…” His voice trails off into unintelligible noise for a few moments when he gets to the detailed breakdown of the various treasures and bounties Bai Zhan has collected in the last few years.

“How come this hasn’t been noticed before?” Shen Qingqiu asks, tugging a few pages out of the stack to double check them. Hm. The staff’s wage reports.

“The money is suffused into smaller repairs and requisitions, the things people sometimes neglect to write into the reports. A lost compass here, a broken fencepost there, one training dummy that fell apart before the others, a torn banner that needs replacing… nobody wants to fill out paperwork for just one small thing.” Liu Qingge rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “But Bai Zhan is big and the small things add up. I commissioned a spare scabbard for Cheng Luan a few months back. Not a huge sum of money, but it should have come out of the budget and it’s not here either. That’s why I started digging into things.”

Shang Qinghua finishes reading through the bulk of the documents and glances back at the pages in Shen Qingqiu’s hands. “Who handles the wages of the domestic staff?”

“The domestic…?” Liu Qingge looks stumped.

“You know, kitchen staff, gardeners, maids…” Shang Qinghua gestures impatiently. “The stuff handled by household slaves elsewhere.”

“Oh, that. My shizun made arrangements with one of his friends - a senior master who’s no longer teaching - and I didn’t see a reason to change things-”

“It’s Mo Wang, isn’t it,” Shen Qingqiu cuts in, trying to ignore the taste of bile rising in his throat. In the privacy of his mind he used to have a lot of uncharitable thoughts about the former Lord of Bai Zhan and the friends he kept.

“How did you guess?”

“Old Master Mo was reprimanded multiple times for his mistreatment of domestic slaves even before our generation took over,” Shang Qinghua explains, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off his growing migraine. “He regards them as less than human.”

“It was always suspicious how easily he accepted when we made the call to release the sect’s slaves and hire them back as paid work,” Shen Qingqiu notes, mentally calculating how many servants there have to be on Bai Zhan peak. “If he withheld the staff’s wages, there would be enough for these undocumented expenses and in the months when the young brutes somehow refrain from breaking their peak, he can pocket some for himself as well.”

Liu Qingge looks like he wants to say something, his face red with something that can just as easily be anger as shame, but he bites his tongue and glares at the ground instead.

“Well, there is an easy way to find out what’s going on.” Shang Qinghua shoves the papers into his sleeve and steps back onto his sword. “Off to Bai Zhan peak, shidi. Are you joining us, Shen-shixiong?”

“Yes. I want to get to the bottom of this matter and I don’t trust Liu-shidi to know how to speak to his staff without terrifying them into clamming up.”

“As if you knew any better!” Liu Qingge hops onto his sword and glovers down at Shen Qingqiu from on high.

“Yes. You will find, shidi, that I actually do.”

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

The plan they put together is simple enough. The less moving parts the better, Shang Qinghua says as he takes his peak lord jewelry off and hides it in his sleeve. He’s still dressed for travel, so between his youthful face and meek body language he’s easy to pass off as just another stressed and overworked An Ding senior.

They almost tour the entirety of the Bai Zhan administrative complex - surprisingly big and well-maintained, meant to serve as the sect’s headquarters in case of a conflict - before they spot a maid taking a breather in the shadow of the rarely-attended Bai Zhan library, her heavy basket of laundry placed down by her feet. “You there, girl! Come here.”

“How did you notice her?” Liu Qingge asks under his breath. “I didn’t see her until you called out.”

“I’ll explain later. Now watch and learn, shidi.”

“The Lords called for this lowly one?” The maid stops at a polite distance and bows deep, but she doesn’t waste her breath on empty apologies for slacking off. Smart. It would only make her situation worse.

Shen Qingqiu opens a fan with an elegant flick of his wrist and stares haughtily down at her over the upper edge of the painted silk.

“This master is the lord of Qing Jing. We are to hold an event together with An Ding in a couple months time - the exact date to be determined as soon as somebody can provide a schedule.”

At the sharp tone Shang Qinghua immediately lowers his head in deference. “Begging Shen-shibo’s forgiveness, shizun’s schedule has yet to be settled for the second quarter.”

Satisfied with Shang Qinghua’s acting, Shen Qingqiu turns back to the maid. “This master’s peak is hosting, naturally, and the expected number of guests demands that we prepare suitable accommodations, well beyond the capabilities of Qing Jing’s staff, so Zhangmen-shixiong gave this one permission to borrow staff from the peak that needs it the least.”

The girl, to her credit, listens with her head respectfully lowered, but Shen Qingqiu can see it in her posture that she’s fascinated: what does any of this have to do with her. A little more and he will have her hooked.

“However, this master will not abide lackluster performance, and Bai Zhan’s shamefully low standards are known to all.”

“Hey!” Liu Qingge has been miraculously quiet before and his outburst is exactly what Shen Qingqiu is looking for. He turns sharply to face his shidi, brandishing his fan in a show of temper.

“Have you not showed up to the last peak lord meeting with monster blood still drying in your hair, shidi?! I will not hear a word from you!”

Liu Qingge takes a startled step back and Shen Qingqiu makes a show of calming himself with a deep breath before he turns back to the girl.

“This master knows how to motivate his staff to do proper work.” He reaches into his sleeve and doesn’t even have to draw forth the bamboo tallies they have prepared. At the click of the wood the maid looks up with a sharp, calculating glint in her eye.

He might steal this one from Bai Zhan, if she proves to be as smart as he thinks she is.

“I see that you understand.” He allows a slow, satisfied smile to show on his face before he lifts the fan up to cover his mouth again. “This master wants to be certain that the right people are motivated by his generosity, understand? So, take this disciple to whichever overseer would be the most suited to handling this matter. They, too, will be fairly compensated.”

He leans forward, allowing his body language to turn menacing for a moment, pushing into her personal space - and, as if by accident, pressing a tally into her hand. “A clever little thing like you should know exactly who to approach, hmm?”

She doesn’t even flinch or allow her discomfort to show in any way. He definitely wants this one for himself.

“This lowly one understands, Lord Shen!”

He straightens back up and waves her away, as if already bored of this exchange. “Hop to it, then.”

Shang Qinghua knows this is his cue to take the maid away, so they both bow and scurry off, a pair of clever little weasels disappearing from sight as soon as Shen Qingqiu takes his eyes off them.

Next to him, Liu Qingge looks mystified. Shen Qingqiu takes pity on him and nudges him to move with a mild jab of his fan. “Let’s go to your office, shidi. Shang-shidi should be along soon and we don’t want to drag this charade out too long.”

Liu Qingge’s office is in a quiet corner of the main administrative building. It’s tastefully furnished, but obviously has become a victim of Liu-shidi’s investigation into his peak’s finances, because the desk and much of the floor is covered in stacks of paperwork. Shen Qingqiu nudges a dog-eared financial report out of the way so he can sit on the plush cushion next to the tea table. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, relaxing from the rigid mask of the Peak Lord into something more natural.

There is much to be desired about Liu Qingge’s manners, but at least he tries to be a good host. He makes the tea and pours Shen Qingqiu a cup before he starts accosting him.

“What the hell was that?! You said you wouldn’t terrify my staff.”

“I said I won’t terrify them into clamming up, which I successfully achieved. If there’s anyone on your peak who has insight into whether the domestic servants get paid or not and is honorable enough to tell us about it, that girl will find them for us.” Shen Qingqiu can’t tell what kind of tea Liu-shidi served him - it’s one of his shortcomings, even now - but it tastes floral and expensive.

“We could have just asked! I don’t understand why we wasted our time with that mummery. You acted like-”

“I acted exactly like she expected me to act: a standoffish immortal who is only wasting his time on talking furniture because that’s the only way he can get what he wants.” Liu Qingge flinches, although Shen Qingqiu isn’t certain it’s because of the words or the tone. He makes it a point to soften his voice before he continues. “Listen. If you went on a night hunt and found a twin-headed lava rhino that wanted to discuss poetry with you, you would be confused and wary. Things that don’t act the way you expect them to act are usually a sign of trouble. To a slave that has been mistreated before, there are few things more ominous than a master that approaches with unexpected kindness.”

To Liu Qingge’s credit, he seems to mull over this for a while. “I don’t mistreat my staff,” he finally says, but his voice lacks his usual confidence.

“You don’t notice your staff. There’s a difference. But you take every chance you get to shout from the top of the peak that I’m a cheat and a foul-tempered lecher. If I was nice to her, she would have assumed I wish to order her into my bed and I would not blame her one bit for that assumption.”

“Oh.” Liu Qingge falls quiet after that, staring into his teacup with a slightly constipated expression. Shen Qingqiu thinks he might be working up to an apology, but before he can get there Shang Qinghua arrives with the matron of the maids in tow.

Matron Xiaolan is an older, maternal looking woman, who listens intently to the future tasks laid out before her and brightens at the mention of her girls being paid a little extra as a motivation. Her expression falls, however, when Shen Qingqiu goes on to say “On top of the usual pay, of course. Qing Jing peak is not so poor as to insult these good servants with merely a pittance.”

A troubled frown creases her brow and she thinks for a long time before she dares to breach the subject.

“Master Shen’s generosity befits such a scholarly nobleman and this lowly one understands that he is above using slave workers on his peak. However, Bai Zhan peak is a little more behind on times and this old slave worries that his generous spirit will be taken advantage of.”

Next to him Liu Qinnge unconsciously sits up a little straighter. Thankfully the shift isn’t prominent enough for the matron to notice, but Shen Qingqiu leans forward to cover for the motion all the same. “Matron Xiaolan,” he says gently. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, but there are no more slaves in Cang Qiong Sect.”

She clearly wants to disagree, but holds her silence when he holds up a hand. “The year before the previous generation of masters ascended, our current Sect Leader became the talk of the land for his unmatched strength when he helped seal the heavenly demon emperor. The very same year, this master was generously commissioned to compose for and perform in the court of the eastern emperor, on the occasion of the empress dowager’s sixtieth birthday. After our rise to our current position, the two of us pooled our considerable personal wealth together and bought out the sect’s slaves - every slave from every peak - so that we could set them free and used the rest of the money to hire them anew and provide them with fair wages until Shang Qinghua worked his magic on the annual budget to account for these new expenses.”

“Even Bai Zhan?” Disbelief wars with hope on her face.

“Our sect prides itself on accepting people and providing them with an opportunity for a better life, regardless of their background. Bai Zhan is no exception.” He places a hand over his covered forearm, where the slave brand used to be. The gesture is meaningless to Liu-shidi, but he can see the way Xiaolan’s eyes flick to follow the motion, a sudden, awed understanding blooming in her eyes. “Slavery is a vile practice and this master would not tolerate it in his sect. If someone told you otherwise, they did so out of malice and will be duly punished for their transgression against the wills of this Lord and the Sect Leader both.”

Liu Qingge makes an alarmed noise when the matron starts sobbing, but it’s not surprising at all to Shen Qingqiu. They pour her tea and allow her to calm down before they start prodding more about the state of things on Bai Zhan. The chief perpetrator, as they expected, is senior master Mo Wang, who has been the master in charge of the servants even before the previous lord ascended. He told the higher ranking slaves that it was left up to the discretion of the individual peaks whether they would emancipate their slave workers or not and Bai Zhan simply didn’t have the funds to do so, so they would all just have to make peace with being one of the last peaks to rely on domestic slavery to function. The audacity of it all makes Shen Qingqiu’s blood boil and he can see the same, slowly kindling rage in Yue Qi’s eyes too when they finally take the matter to him.

Liu Qingge is quiet for much of the proceedings, clearly out of his depth, but finally he speaks up. “What are we going to do about this? He needs to be made an example of, but I can’t just go and beat him up, like I would the younger shidis.”

Shen Qingqiu slams his hand down on the table. “You are not beating anyone up! Shidi, seriously…”

“No, he will not,” Yue Qingyuan says slowly. There’s a smile in the corner of his mouth, one that’s all soft malice and so very unlike his usual, cordial masks. It dredges up something from Shen Qingqiu’s more repressed memories, a slow-blooming fear he can’t identify. “But I will.”

Chapter 21

Chapter Text

Calling the peaks together for anything of importance is never fast. They stake the date two weeks later, on the day of the Peak Lord meeting, so Yue Qingyuan can address the fallout afterwards without going through the hassle of getting the peak lords together again. It’s the soonest they can manage it, but it does leave Shen Qingqiu to stew in his anger for two whole weeks, with only his usual duties and Linguang-jun’s commission to distract him.

It’s a few days later and he’s waiting for the last of the colorful maple leaves he painted onto the reinforced silk to dry when someone pounds on his door with enough force that he would suspect they were trying to break it down if he wasn’t expecting this particular visitor. He still sets his painting supplies aside with remarkable speed when the pounding stops and gives way to ominous silence instead, and rushes over to open the door before Liu Qingge could kick it down again.

Outside he finds Liu Qingge, which he expected, in the company of a very irate looking Mu Qingfang, which he didn’t anticipate. “Shen-shixiong, I hope this is a good time. Liu-shidi has something to tell you.” With a hand that’s suspiciously already planted on Liu Qingge’s lower back, he gives the war god a nudge forward. Shen Qingqiu can’t help but notice how stiffly Liu Qingge is moving or the flash of the silver needle in Mu Qingfang’s hand before he hides them away in his sleeves. “I thought it best to accompany him, lest he make a public spectacle of himself.”

What a mortifying idea and something Liu Qingge absolutely would do. “Thanking Mu-shidi for his patience and foresight. I have it handled from here.”

He ushers Liu Qingge inside and closes the door very firmly behind them. It doesn't surprise him to see Liu Qingge fold down into a kowtow as soon as he takes his eyes off him, his shidi’s head colliding with the floor with enough force that he worries that he might crack the bamboo floorboards. “If you break my floors I will personally have you redo the entire thing, shidi,” he hisses at Liu Qingge before the man can get even a word out. The threat is warning enough to temper Liu Qingge’s almost destructive apology.

“This shidi is begging Shen-shixiong’s forgiveness for his vile words the other day. He has been thoroughly educated on the matter and realized the gravity of the offense he committed in the depth of his ignorance. He will accept any punishment Shen-shixiong deems proportionate to the severity of his crime.”

Shen Qingqiu stares down at him in wonder and with no little satisfaction. There is something viscerally satisfying in watching his most obnoxious martial brother grovel for his forgiveness.

“Shidi implied that this one was a rapist and murderer,” he says slowly, allowing tension and a sense of danger to build with every word. Liu Qingge flinches, but doesn’t lift his head. “And that his friends at the Warm Red Pavilion were the same and slavers besides. If these accusations were overheard by someone else, even made off-handed and in a dismissive context, this master’s life and reputation would be ruined once and for all. It is only a matter of luck that this has not come to pass this time.”

Not that he hasn’t done plenty of damage to Shen Qingqiu’s reputation before , hangs unsaid in the air. Liu Qingge trembles, almost imperceptibly, and pleasure curls around Shen Qingqiu’s spine at the sight. Consequences have finally caught up to the untouchable Liu Qingge and it’s delicious. “Are you certain you can afford to pay whatever I feel you owe me, Liu-shidi?”

“Yes. Trusting shixiong to be reasonable, despite this shidi’s uncouth behavior.”

Shen Qingqiu basks in the moment, circling slowly around Liu Qingge to let him stew. “Since your careless remark almost ended my life in all the ways that matter, a life debt would be fitting.” He lightly kicks Liu Qingge’s ankle “Get up, shidi.”

Liu Qingge lifts his head and looks back over at his shoulder at Shen Qingqiu. “That’s all? I expected…”

“ What , shidi? You are no use to me on the floor.”

“I expected you to crow about this a bit longer, so at least the paralysis has time to fully wear off.”

Oh . He did notice that Liu Qingge’s legs were unusually clumsy earlier. “You shameless brute.” Shen Qingqiu is delighted. “Did Mu-shidi needle you so you couldn’t kick down my door?”

“...Maybe.”

“And now you can’t get up on your own.”

“Not for a while longer, no.”

If asked, Shen Qingqiu would blame the stress of the week on the laughter that bubbles out of him, genuine amusem*nt at Liu-shidi’s misfortune. He half-lifts half-drags Liu Qingge to the tea table and deposits him on one of the pillows. “What did you even say to make him this annoyed with you, shidi?”

Liu Qingge shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“He didn’t appreciate one of my thoughtless remarks about people who rely on dual cultivation for their progress.”

Oh for the love of…

“I told you he does dual cultivation as part of his path.”

“I thought you were trying to save face and making things up!”

“He’s the head of the aphrodisiac department at Qian Cao.”

“I assumed that was a formality.”

Shen Qingqiu sighs. “No, shidi, it’s not. He doesn’t take urgent cases outside of very specific emergencies, but he is available as a partner for people requiring regular dual cultivation as a form of long term treatment.” He even made the offer to Shen Qingqiu once upon a time, as a potential method of stabilizing his cultivation, before they decided that with Shen Qingqiu’s personal history it would be best to keep medically-mandated intercoure as an emergency-only solution.

Liu Qingge turns a feverish shade of red. “I know that now. He saw it fit to educate me on this topic as well.”

Shen Qingqiu takes pity on him and pours him a cup of tea. “Why would you even think it was only a formality? Mu Qingfang is not the sort of person who would accept direct responsibility for a department he’s not qualified to lead.”

“I’m starting to realize that the rest of the sect does things very differently than my Bai Zhan peak,” Liu Qingge admits, stirring a dollop of honey into his cup. “I am, nominally, the head of our archive.” Shen Qingqiu raises an eyebrow at him. “The one for the historical map collection and where all the reports of the sect’s nighthunts are stored?”

“This is the first I hear of Bai Zhan housing such an archive.” Granted, he knows that the originals have to be somewhere , because the peaks only keep copies, but he pictured a less-used side building on Qiong Ding, not an entire separate archive on Bai Zhan.

“Not surprising, because the archive is not open to the public. Or much of anyone, to be honest.” He takes a sip of his tea and after some consideration adds another, much bigger dollop of honey to his cup. “If you need an old report, you are much better off looking up a copy elsewhere. Even I have only been allowed inside twice, both times to consult maps that were too fragile to be moved from their displays.”

Shen Qingqiu stares at him, in case this turns out to be simply a very elaborate joke.

“The caretaker of the archive - an old senior master, before our shizuns’ generation even - has very firm opinions about allowing ‘unrestrained youths’ to run rampant in her domain.” Liu Qingge is starting to look remarkably uncomfortable under Shen Qingqiu’s gaze. “I imagine that if there was a way to easily reach shizun in the heavens, she would demand I get a permission slip from him every time I request a document in preparation for one of my hunts.”

Shen Qingqiu suddenly recalls the complaints of Qing Jing’s own head archivist - being the scholar peak, they have the biggest library complex in the sect and hold an extensive catalog and often copies of every other peak’s reports - about how Liu Qingge seems to practically live in the library before his more involved monster hunts. He assumed it was because of their collection of bestiaries, but if he really can’t access their own report collection…

“Not that Liu-shidi has given much indication that he cares to do administrative tasks around his peak in the past, but it’s unprecedented for a peak lord to be barred entry to his own facilities.”

“I’ve gathered as much from the horror on your face, shixiong.”

Liu Qingge sounds dejected and perhaps it’s just a slip of the tongue, but he hasn’t called Shen Qingqiu shixiong in casual conversation since their early disciple days.

Shen Qingqiu stands up suddenly. “Drink your tea and don’t dally, shidi.” He’s still riding high on the apology and now the unexpectedly polite address. He doesn’t have anything else to occupy him until Mo Wang’s public questioning - the fan is done, his paperwork all caught up, there’s a lull in his schedule now that the new hallmaster has settled in and started his classes without supervision - and he feels like if he’s allowed to sit with his anger, he’s going to explode. “We are going to fix your archive situation.”

Chapter 22

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu’s new crusade to get the Bai Zhan archive opened to the public - or at the very least accessible to the rest of the sect’s librarians - is, quite obviously, a whim. Alas, it’s a whim he is tackling with the same determination he employs in his personal projects. He relentlessly bullies the old archivist - who really should have retired from her post already, because she has somehow reached an age where her mind is starting to go, despite her apparent youthful face and strong cultivation - and ruthlessly argues with the Bai Zhan senior masters who come to complain that they are disturbing the workings of the peak over nothing - Liu Qingge might be completely uneducated on peak structures and administrative roles, but Shen Qingqiu is not, neither is he meek enough to let the seniors gaslight him into believing that the peak is at all functioning as it should. Finally, he drags in every available librarian and clerk he can grab from the sect to help him make something useful of the archive, because in its current state it’s no better than stacks of moldy kindling organized by a cataloging system that’s approximately three thousand years out of date.

“This place doesn’t need librarians, it needs divine intervention,” the Qing Jing head librarian says when Shen Qingqiu leads her into the archival complex, a natural cave system within the bowels of Bai Zhan peak, the most bewildering place one could put a supposedly public-use library in a righteous sect. “The humidity is so high it’s debatable if any of this is salvageable at all.” She picks up a fragile looking book from a dusty reading desk, makes a face and immediately puts it back down. “We will need to get Qian Cao involved to make sure nobody gets sick from all this mold.”

“Then do so. This master will consult the administrative reports to see what led to this neglect.”

In truth, he needs to put his energy into something that feels even a little like it’s making a difference, else he will work himself into a fit and rip old master Mo limb from limb the next time he sees that worm of a man.

He would have every right to do so. Even if one were to ignore the horrendous injustice of someone deliberately denying Cang Qiong’s servants their freedom and their wages - which Shen Qingqiu will not ignore, not while he draws breath - a case can be made for wide-scale embezzlement and theft. They set the slaves free, yes, but the easiest way for that to happen was to buy them from the sect at large first, so an argument can be made that for a brief moment, he owned sixty-something slaves on Bai Zhan peak, making him one of the victims of Mo Wang’s theft. If nothing else, that should be enough for them to squeeze the worm a little before booting him from the sect and once he’s out, well.

If Shen Qingqiu doesn’t get to the man first, Shang Qinghua had a very dark look in his eyes when they talked about the potential outcomes of this investigation and Shang-shidi has access to a shadow-walking demon prince. It wouldn’t be as satisfying, but it would be a certain way to wrap this whole horrid affair up without any way to trace the death back to them.

Shen Qingqiu is sitting in Yue Qi’s room, brushing his hair and daydreaming about smashing an ice-encased Mo Wang to bits when Yue Qi arrives back that evening. He is tense, exhausted and unhappy, but only for a moment before he realizes that Shen Qingqiu is right there, dressed down for bed already and clearly waiting for him.

“Jiu’er.” He comes to Shen Qingqiu like he’s dragged on a string, wrapping him in a tight hug from behind and burying his face in the cascade of freshly washed hair.

Shen Qingqiu smiles to himself and reaches back with a hand to hold him there. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing.” Having Yue Qi pressed to him like this feels a little bit like a big dog is nosing into his hair, but it’s not a bad feeling. “I love you.”

Shen Qingqiu affects a dismissive snort to hide how his heart swells with joy upon hearing that. “You have done a poor job of showing it. The peaks are loud with it that the lord of Qing Jing has suffered a qi-deviation on his recent trip and you haven’t even thought to ask about it.”

Yue Qi’s chuckle is warm and sweet like honey tea. “I have known about your hair for a long time. It was already like this when we met again at the Conference.” He cards his fingers through Shen Qingqiu’s hair with reverence. “I’m not certain what brought about this change, but I figured that Jiu’er will share his reasons, when he feels ready to.”

“Oh.” He feels warm again, for reasons that have nothing to do with Yue Qi’s arm still securely wrapped around his waist or the broad chest pressed to his back. “Do you like it?”

Yue Qi doesn’t answer in words. He brushes aside the long curtain of hair and sets his mouth against the column of Shen Qingqiu’s throat in a measured bite. It’s not hard enough to mark or even to bruise, but it sends a hot jolt of pleasure down Shen Qingqiu’s spine. “You like it that much, huh?” His voice shakes and he can’t help the breathless noise he makes when Yue Qi bites again before he transitions into covering the exposed skin in kisses. Yue Qi charts a path up his neck to the hinge of his jaw and lingers there. “Jiu’er looks like a vision from the heavens.”

“You-!” He turns around and lets Yue Qi silence his outrage with a kiss that leaves his head spinning and his knees weak.

“I would build Jiu’er a temple and worship him with every fiber of my being as the heavenly gift that he is, if it would bring him pleasure.”

“Not so loud! The heavens will smite you for this talk.” But he doesn’t tell him to stop. They are taking it slow, Yue Qi lingering after every kiss, every time he’s not shoved away a silent agreement to push their luck a little bit more.

Yue Qi would build him a temple and happily lay all he is on the altar as offering, body and soul, even if Shen Qingqiu was the most cruel god in the heavens. An offering all for him, one he’s safe to indulge in as much or as little as he pleases.

Shen Qingqiu peels the sect leader’s regalia off him, sets Yue Qingyuan aside, so they can be who they are without the trappings of the world, just Shen Jiu and Yue Qi.

After a while they settle down on the bed, tangled together, desire a low-banked fire simmering in Shen Qingqiu’s veins. It’s not much yet, not the all consuming inferno Shang Qinghua described, but it’s more than there was before. He feels that Yue Qi is similarly affected, but seems content to simply bask in the feeling, just like Shen Qingqiu. He still moves a little, presses against Yue Qi in a way that has to be provocative, but all he gets is a lazy blink. “You are the one who started things tonight. Are you not going to do anything about that?”

Yue Qi considers this for a moment, then another. “No, I don’t think so. I’m much too tired to bother tonight and besides, -” He shifts them around so they can both be comfortable, close enough that he can tuck his face against Shen Qingqiu’s neck. “- this is nice. I like holding you like this. As long as we can stay like this, I’m happy. I don’t ask for anything more.”

You should ask for more, Shen Qingqiu thinks. He tangles his fingers possessively in Yue Qi’s hair and holds him tight. Aloud he says:

“Once this nasty business is over, we should make a day of it.”

“Of what?” Yue Qi must already be half asleep, but he lifts his head minutely to give him his full attention.

“You said you would build me a temple. Well, I want to learn how to worship you too.” He stares up at the ceiling and watches as the shadows shift, because he can’t bear to see Yue Qi’s expression right now. “Fumbling in the dark doesn’t sound appealing, but I don’t know what I’m doing, so...”

“We should make a day of it.” He can hear Yue Qi’s smile in his voice.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me!”

“Not laughing.” He kisses Shen Qingqiu’s cheek. “I’m happy that Jiu’er wants to try, and so soon. It has barely been half a year. I expected to wait decades, in truth.” Shen Qingqiu harshly tugs on his hair to shut him up and he does laugh this time. “Have you talked to Mu-shidi about it?”

“Not yet. But I have done my research and I know you have dual cultivated before, so I hoped we could handle it without Mu-shidi’s lecture.”

“He doesn't lecture people he likes. He’s the one who taught me too, you know. He was my dual cultivation partner during my treatment.”

“You do realize why that doesn’t put my mind at ease, right?” Through their awkward yes-no game Shen Qingqiu eventually puzzled out that at one point Yue Qi suffered a severe qi-deviation that required lengthy recovery. One that was treated, partially, with dual cultivation.

Shen Qingqiu was understandably conflicted about this revelation.

Yue Qi reaches up and threads his fingers into Shen Qingqiu’s hair in a mirror of how Shen Qingqiu is holding him in place.

“You let me believe all these years that you are a frequent and enthusiastic patron of a brothel. How do you think I felt?” He tugs Shen Qingqiu close for a kiss that's all teeth and frustration. When they first started rebuilding their relationship, a kiss like this would have sent Shen Qingqiu running, without a shadow of a doubt. “It was driving me insane.”

Now it just makes him want to bite Yue Qi.

“And payback is fair play, I suppose,” he sneers.

“I’m not sending you to Mu-shidi for personalized dual cultivation advice. You’ll have to ask him yourself if you want any of that.”

“In your dreams, perhaps!”

“Mu-shidi was one of the healers who treated me when I-” His voice abruptly fades and he opens his mouth silently once or twice, trying to form words, but just like always, his voice refuses to come. This is the silence he used to fill with those infuriating ‘I'm sorry’s.

He closes his eyes for a moment and swallows heavily before he goes on. “I gave him permission to tell, if Jiu’er asks.”

Shen Qingqiu sits up suddenly, ignoring how the fingers in his hair snag on the long strands and stares down at Yue Qi. Yue Qi is looking up at him with something anxious mixed with something hopeful, but Shen Qingqiu?

Shen Qingqiu is pissed.

“You couldn’t have told me this before Mu Qingfang took Liu Qingge and dragged him off to gather herbs with him in some gods-forsaken corner of the demon realm?!” He shakes Yue Qi hard.

“There wasn’t a good moment to tell earlier…”

“I don’t care about moments, you need to tell me these sorts of things!” His frustration vented, he flops down onto Yue Qi. “I hate you so much sometimes.”

Yue Qi hums soothingly and kisses his forehead. “Why is Mu-shidi off the mountain? I didn’t know he had any outings planned.”

“I believe it was a convenient excuse to remove Liu Qingge from the mountain for a few days. You have heard about the mess around the Bai Zhan archive, yes?”

“It would be hard not to. I have a growing stack of complaints from the Bai Zhan seniors about your unreasonable conduct and overstepping of your role as Qing Jing peak lord.”

“No wonder they’ve been getting increasingly agitated at me if you’ve been ignoring them.”

“Not quite ignoring. The beast taming peak predicts a harsh cold snap in a few weeks - something about changed migratory routes in Ribbon-Tailed Boreal Geese? - so I thought it wise to keep some kindling on hand.”

“You are horrible.” Shen Qingqiu jabs him in the ribs, but he’s smiling again when he settles down. “Liu-shidi tried to help me convince the seniors that outside intervention was necessary for the sake of the archive - which is true enough - and grew increasingly agitated the longer they kept arguing. Mu-shidi deemed him a qi-deviation risk and made up a flimsy excuse to take him away for a few days.” His smile fades when he recalls the scene. If any of the seniors on his peak tried to speak to him like that, heads would roll. “I was surprised that Ji Jue hadn’t stepped in. He usually has an uncanny sense for when he needs to bail Liu-shidi out of social situations.”

“Ji Jue was removed from his position, on Liu-shidi’s request.”

“What? Why?” Ji Jue is Liu Qingge’s most loyal shield and buffer against having to interact with people. Something big had to have happened for him to ask for his removal.

“Qi-shimei is investigating him for spreading slanderous rumors, particularly about the members of Xian Shu peak. If she finds evidence to support this claim, he will be removed from the sect altogether.”

Shen Qingqiu considers this. It’s clear enough that Liu Qingge hasn’t picked up the concept of cauldron girls from thin air, so could it be something Ji Jue said? There used to be malicious rumors that Xian Shu taught Plucking and nurturing to the disciples who left the sect to marry mortal noblemen and that they practiced these techniques on the younger, less fortunate girls of the peak, but these voices quieted down once Qi-shimei took over as peak lord.

Something he will have to investigate later.

“Just when things are starting to stabilize on Qiong Ding, we have stumbled into all of this nonsense on Bai Zhan. We will have to be really careful about what kind of information gets out about this, or the sect’s reputation will take a heavy blow.”

“I have talked to Shang-shidi about just this topic yesterday. He believes that we can spin this all in a positive direction, as long as nothing else happens.” He gently pokes Shen Qingqiu’s cheek. “Please reassure me that I won’t have to expect similar upheaval from your peak.”

“Of course not! Who do you think I am? I have scrubbed my peak free of filth the moment I took over.” He sighs and settles back down. “It will be fine, but even if something happens, we will bounce back from it eventually. We have all the time in the world. This is nothing more than a bump on the road.”

They have weathered worse storms than this, but when the night quiets down he still finds himself listening to the sound of the wind among the trees, an ominous sense of unease hounding him.

He can’t wait for this storm to blow over.

Chapter 23

Chapter Text

The day of the gathering comes soon, but the anxiety gnawing at Shen Qingqiu’s stomach doesn’t dissipate. He’s not trained in divination enough to trust his foresight, but his instincts have always been sharp and he has a bad feeling when he joins his martial siblings.

“Shen-shixiong.” Mu Qingfang is the first to greet him. The healer is outwardly calm, but there’s a subtle tension around his eyes. “I don’t suppose you know what zhangmen-shixiong is planning?”

Shen Qingqiu steps forward to stand next to his shidi and looks over the crowd. Hallmasters, peak elders, even higher ranking members of the domestic staff seem to be in attendance, although the latter are hidden carefully in the back of the crowd. There are few places where this kind of sect-wide gathering can be held, but there is something ominous in the choice of location: the Bai Zhan arena, usually used only for tournament events and high-profile duels. “I know why he called for this gathering, but I don’t know how he plans to handle it,” he admits. “Has he said anything to Mu-shidi?”

“He told me to keep a team of my medics at the ready. It could just be because of the crowd, but I can’t help but have a bad feeling about this.” With a minute shift of his head he gestures towards Liu Qingge, who stands a little distance away, holding Cheng Luan with a white-knuckled grip. “Yue-zhangmen sent us a message as we were returning to escort someone up the mountain. Does shixiong know who that might be?”

“Mortal?” Mu Qingfang makes an uncertain gesture.

“He has enough cultivation that he could have come up the mountain on his own, but I believe so.” So the escort was only a courtesy - but one has to be a highly respected guest to be escorted by the Bai Zhan War God.

“Unpleasant man,” Liu Qingge suggests gruffly, glancing at Shen Qingqiu for a moment before he averts his eyes again. “He had one of his arms in a sling. Looked like a revenge wound to me.”

A mortal with some cultivation, unpleasant enough that someone attacked and deliberately crippled him. That, at least, explained why Yue Qingyuan assigned him such a powerful escort. It was always such a mess when a mortal guest died on sect premises, even when they weren’t the ones to kill them.

“I don’t know who it could be. Zhangmen-shixiong hasn’t mentioned anything to me.”

He looks briefly over the gathered peak lords and spots Shang Qinghua snacking on melon seeds, hidden behind the wide bulk of Wei Qingwei. “Shang-shidi, do you know anything about Yue-shixiong’s guest?”

Shang Qinghua has the decency to look guilty when his martial brothers turn their attention to him. “Forgive me, Shen-shixiong, but zhangmen-shixiong swore me to secrecy. He wants to avoid the appearance of a scheme. If it seems like all the peak lords are in on it, someone might use that to discredit zhangmen-shixiong.”

That, Shen Qingqiu supposes, is a fair worry to have, but it still rankles him that Yue Qingyuan decided to trust Shang Qinghua with this rather than him. He’s fuming silently, trying to think of any reason why Yue Qi would have invited an outsider to the sect today of all days, when Mu Qingfang discreetly touches his elbow to draw his attention back to reality. Down in the arena, Yue Qingyuan walks onto the carved stone array in the center and gestures for the people in attendance to quiet down.

“This Sect Leader thanks you all for attending today,” he says, his voice carrying easily to everyone in the crowd, amplified by the stone array. “I’m certain we all have other places we’d rather be on this sunny day, so I will keep it brief. The recent audits uncovered a crime, one that goes against the fundamental values that we, as Peak Lords, have set for Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.” A murmur starts up in the crowd and Yue Qingyuan patiently waits for it to die down before he continues. “This Sect Leader’s stance on slavery has been clear and unchanged since he took this position: if we are to follow the traditions of our founders, the guiding principle that we do not judge our disciples based on background, but on merit and their drive to excel, then there can be no more slaves on Cang Qiong. ”

This much is well-threaded ground that everyone has heard once or twice if they were present after the current generation’s takeover. It took effort to shove the concept down the throat of some of the older masters even then.

“Today, there are no slaves on Cang Qiong. Anyone who steps foot on our lands will do so as a free man, regardless of their circ*mstances before. Except, it turns out, for one place and one place alone.” The murmur starts again, louder and much more agitated and it doesn't fade away completely even when Yue Qingyuan turns his gaze towards the gathered Bai Zhan masters and beckons senior master Mo forward.

“I invite senior Mo Wang to step in front of all of us and explain why he ignored this master’s orders and kept the free servants of Bai Zhan peak in bondage?”

The noise turns almost deafening for a short time, the whispered voices all sharp and scratchy like knives against stone, until finally a man steps forward. He is the very picture of the noble, righteous Bai Zhan master, a powerfully built man dressed in martial cut robes of all black, the tassel of his sword a dash of red against all the dark. There are old, faded scars on his face, an intentional choice to emphasize his status as a warrior and he walks out onto the packed dirt of the arena like he owns the place.

Shen Qingqiu grips his fan tight and stomps down on the urge to send his sword out and cut the worm down where he stands.

“Ayia, all this noise for such a small matter? Dragging all of us out here for nothing. Young Hero Yue has not even been Sect Leader for a decade and already his power went to his head. This bodes ill for our sect.” Mo Wang doesn’t simply carry himself like a noble master, he also speaks like one. As he walks he nods to familiar faces in the crowd, other seniors from the previous generation.

Yue Qingyuan doesn’t rise to the bait. He remains calm, although his usual smile is absent.

“If senior Mo feels like this is such a small matter, then he should explain himself.”

Mo Wang finally stops a few paces from Yue Qingyuan, the contrast between them stark. “Are you certain that you want to do this here, Young Hero Yue?” he asks in a quieter voice, as if aiming to keep his words between them like a kindly uncle giving advice to his hotheaded nephew, but the array picks up and carries the words to everyone all the same. “I don’t know what you hope to achieve, but if you humiliate yourself in front of this many people, it will reflect badly on our sect.”

Yue Qingyuan considers the man in front of him like a horse merchant sizing up a particularly ugly colt.

“In all honesty, this master is trying to decide if Mo Wang should be exiled for refusing a direct order from the sect leader or executed on the spot for his betrayal of our sect’s basic values.”

The sudden silence that descends on the arena is deafening.

Something cracks in Mo Wang’s expression, a bit of his nasty underbelly showing through. “Oh, you are actually serious about this.”

“Completely. Senior master Mo can belittle my age all he wishes, but he will answer for his actions one way or another.”

Mo Wang spreads his arms, that false kindly smile back on his face. “Yes, I chose to overlook the order to free the peak’s slaves. It seemed clear to me that Sect Leader was overcome with a moment of insanity in the wake of Tianlang-jun’s defeat. It happens sometimes, when young cultivators get their first taste of heroism. They want to relive that moment and throw themselves into all sorts of good deeds, regardless of consequences.” There’s a new wave of noise from the gathered cultivators, this time in agreement, but it’s nowhere near as loud as before. “I assumed that over time, like any smart, reasonable person, he would realize that there are much worthier targets for his generous spirit and come to regret wasting his charity on slaves. I was only looking out for the sect.”

“Regardless of senior Mo’s opinion on what I chose to do with them, this Yue and Peak Lord Shen bought those slaves from the sect with their own money. You had no right to interfere.”

“I have kept the record of purchase. I will pay both Sect Leader Yue and Peak Lord Shen back, with interest, if Master Shen even wishes to take part in this farce.” He turns towards the raised section of the stands where the peak lords are gathered. “We all know Sect Leader Yue comes from common, humble origins, so his bright-eyed optimism is understandable. But surely a peerless noble scholar like Lord Shen wouldn’t wish to be involved in this nonsense.”

Shen Qingqiu narrows his eyes at Mo Wang over the edge of his fan, just barely restraining himself from growling like a feral beast. He’s itching to tear out the man’s throat with his teeth. “Senior Mo should think more carefully about trying to sow discord among his superiors. This master is in full support of zhangmen-shixiong.”

Having found no ally in Shen Qingqiu, Mo Wang turns back to Yue Qingyuan. “I suppose it is not my business what the esteemed peak lords waste their money on. However, their wages would have come from our budget and unlike other peaks that can support themselves off the tuition money of their rich disciples, Bai Zhan’s funds are ever stretched thin.”

Next to Shen Qingqiu, Shang Qinghu suddenly bursts out laughing, startling everyone into looking back at the peak lords. It’s a loud, chillingly unpleasant sound. “Oh, that’s the funniest thing I have heard this month.” He leans on the low wall separating them from the fighting floor and props his head up on one hand. His smile is all teeth. “Perhaps master Mo should hand off the financial management to someone else, if he can’t spare measly 300 silver taels a year to pay his servants.”

This time, when the low chatter of the crowd starts up, Shen Qingqiu strains his hearing to catch what the other masters are saying. This is so humiliating . and I have robes that cost more than that, what was he even thinking? seem to be the loudest sentiments.

Despite this, Mo Wang seems undeterred.

“Peak Lord Shang should know it well that Bai Zhan’s finances are often depleted, considering that he’s the one who determines our allotment from the sect’s coffers. This one used the extra money for small, but meaningful improvements for the peak - replacing the broken pavement in front of the administrative pavilion or fixing the leaky roof of the mess hall. Procuring new maps for our disciples who go out and risk life and limb on dangerous night hunts. I have not used so much as a silver tael for myself, everything was used for the betterment of Bai Zhan!” The passionate declaration silences the murmurs, every eye settled on what Mo Wang is going to do next, now that his peerless facade is starting to crack. “What use would there have been in giving it to slaves ?! They can’t read, they can’t count, what would they even do with money? Most of them are too simple to even understand the concept!”

Shen Qingqiu is gritting his teeth so hard he tastes blood. He is one more wretched word away from jumping the wall and gutting Mo Wang where he stands when he feels a warm hand on his lower back. Startled, he looks to the side and meets Mu Qingfang's eyes.

Mu-shidi doesn’t say anything. He simply keeps his hand there, grounding him until Shen Qingqiu can muster a deep, calming breath. “Thanking Mu-shidi,” he whispers, holding his fan up like a shield.

“Don’t mention it, shixiong.” Mu Qingfang turns back towards the arena, but his hand stays where it is, warming him even through several layers of robes. The silent support makes listening to Mo Wang’s increasingly unhinged ranting much more bearable.

There is a mild look of disgust on Yue Qingyuan’s face when he finally speaks up to interrupt the man. “Is senior Mo aware that, thanks to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect’s policy, most if not all peaks have at least some disciples who come from a slave background?”

“Yes, I’m aware that other peaks like to take on a charity case every now and then. A waste of sect resources, in my humble opinion. I suppose everyone is entitled to picking up a worthless stray every now and then to make themselves feel more righteous and charitable, but none of them ever make anything of themselves.”

That touches a nerve with the gathered masters - nobody likes to be called a hypocrite or have their students from more humble origins dismissed so callously. It sets the ground for Yue Qingyuan’s next words.

“I believe I have heard enough. Senior master Mo Wang, I present you with a choice: for your crimes against the sect, you may lay your life down quietly and die with whatever remains of your dignity, or you may face off against a ‘worthless stray’ of this Yue’s choosing. If you win, it is testament that your beliefs are not completely groundless and you may leave the sect in exile.”

Some kind of manic understanding lights up Mo Wang’s face. “Oh, so this is what this was about all along! You want recognition for one of your charity cases, is that it?” He pulls his sword in a smooth motion and brandishes it with confidence. “Very well, I accept! Which worthless slave am I to cut down to make you see sense?”

Shen Qingqiu has always been an impulsive person. If he was alone he would have jumped into the arena in a moment and challenged the worm himself. But just as he tenses to jump, Mu Qingfang’s hand grips the back of his robes in a tight grip and holds him back from ruining all of Yue Qi’s careful setup.

Yue Qingyuan doesn’t pull out his sword. No, in fact he makes a show of checking the binding holding it in the sheath as he subtly shifts into a combat stance. When he finally plants himself and raises his head, the soft thud of the scabbard seems to echo in the silence.

“This one.”

Chapter 24

Chapter Text

Mo Wang's disbelief is all the louder in the silence. “No, you are not!” He sheathes his sword, his previous confidence transitioning seamlessly into anger and annoyance. “Really, Sect Leader, this is beyond the pale. It’s one thing to want to stand up for trash, but to pretend to be one of them is another matter altogether!” He gestures towards the peak lords again, seeking out Mu Qingfang with his eyes. “Will Peak Lord Mu allow Young Hero Yue to make a fool of himself? He’s clearly suffering from delusions if he believes himself to be a slave!”

“Zhangmen-shixiong appears to be of an entirely sane mind to this Lord,” Mu Qingfang says coldly. He can’t reveal private medical information to confirm or deny that Qian Cao removed a slave brand from Yue Qingyuan, but it’s close enough of a confirmation that the crowd starts whispering again.

“If master Mo requires evidence, Peak Lord Shang was good enough to retrieve my proof of purchase from An Ding’s archives,” Yue Qingyuan says calmly, not budging from his combat stance. “It has my Shizun’s signature, as well as that of the former An Ding Peak Lord’s and-” He doesn’t get to finish before Mo Wang starts yelling again.

“Shang Qinghua could forge the moon and hang it in the sky if he so wished and we would be none the wiser! That paper means nothing!” Mo Wang is starting to look like a cornered animal, his eyes shifting wildly between the peak lords and the sect leader. “Clearly this is a bigger scheme than I expected, but I will-”

This time, it’s his turn to be interrupted, by an irreverent, drawling voice coming from the stalls. It’s a familiar cadence, one that awakens a visceral fear in Shen Qingqiu.

“In all my years I have never understood how a cultivator pushing his fifth century can somehow become more of an idiot each time I meet him.”

People part around a figure as he leisurely steps onto the arena floor. An older man dressed in the rich robes of a retired merchant, his left arm tucked into an embroidered sling of the same material. In his right he holds a pipe and smokes it with the careless elegance of a lord arriving at a teahouse rather than a mortal intruding on the execution of a cultivator.

“Good day to you, master Mo. You still owe me six hundred and seventy four silver taels, for the servants provided for your daughter’s wedding. I see I should have come to collect while I still had the chance.”

He wears a smile like others wear a sword, one of soft, gentle malice, like the sweetest poisoned pastry.

‘Is that Lao Yue?!’ ‘The slave merchant? He’s still alive?!’ ‘I thought he retired.’ ‘What is he doing here?’ ‘This does not bode well…’

The whispers are turning into a cacophony, but Shen Qingqiu’s world has narrowed down to that pleasant-faced monster. He has only seen Lao Yue a handful of times in his life - the man was too important to have any regular contact with the kids put on the street to beg or the low rung trash minding them - but every occasion is etched into his memories.

Lao Yue had an interest in Qi-ge and San-jie, the two oldest in their little group of urchins, and used to say that he would take them home - and the little hanger-on, too, he would add with that poisonous smile directed at Xiao Jiu - if his wife allowed, and Qi-ge hated him. He hated him with an intensity that he couldn’t hide, which stuck with Xiao Jiu even when he was suffering through the hell that was the Qius: at least they weren’t Lao Yue.

He doesn’t realize that he’s shaking all over until Mu Qingfang draws him back a step and guides him to sit so Liu Qingge and Shang Qinghua can take his place in the front, effectively hiding him from the casual onlookers. “Breathe, shixiong.”

Mu-shidi holds his wrist and channels his energy carefully to choke the qi deviation out before it can take hold and Shen Qingqiu can't do anything but try and follow that direction, taking deep breaths and swallowing around the acrid taste of smoke.

He hasn't thought of Lao Yue in decades. He was certain that the man was dead already, and that thought finally grounds him, strangely reassuring. Shen Qingqiu is an immortal master now and Lao Yue a simple mortal with just enough cultivation to age more gracefully than average. In a few more years Shen Qingqiu will still be here, only growing more powerful, while Lao Yue rots in the ground.

When he finally stands again, his qi stabilized and his ears no longer ringing, only a few minutes have passed. He peers down at the arena to see what he missed and finds the two wretched beasts arguing about the validity of the purchase document while Yue Qingyuan watches with a sort of detached fascination.

“...I built my name on providing the best quality merchandise from sources I personally verified and in sixty years I never once accepted bribes or lowered my standards. All the masters who have heard about me or ever bought from my stock can verify this.” Lao Yue is leaning against the outer wall and gestures lazily with his pipe, his eyes lingering on certain faces in the crowd, all of whom are really quick to avert their eyes. “If I wanted to discard my reputation, it would be for no less than half the gold in Huan Hua’s vaults, not because the Lord of f*cking Cang Qiong batted his eyelashes at me and asked nicely.”

He jabs his pipe towards Yue Qingyuan with an air of finality. “It’s my sigil and signature on the paper and that richly dressed oaf was my property from the day of his birth to the day the sect bought him from me for fiftyseven silver taels after three days of haggling.” After a moment of consideration, he adds “No offense meant to Sect Leader Yue, of course.”

“Just the usual amount taken.” Yue Qingyuan is deceptively calm on the surface, but Shen Qingqiu can see how he keeps running his thumb over the string holding Xuan Su in its scabbard. “Now that this one’s origins have been verified, I suggest that Lao Yue step back, lest he wishes to have his other arm ruined as well.”

The slave merchant, much to Shen Qingqiu’s disappointment, heeds the warning and disappears back into the crowd without fuss, leaving the fighting floor the way it was before: Yue Qingyuan and Mo Wang facing each other, impending death hanging in the air.

“Senior Mo, this is your last chance to die with some dignity remaining,” Yue Qingyuan says, watching the disgraced Bai Zhan senior with the eyes of a hungry predator. “You know you don’t stand a chance and you are not worth it for me to draw my sword.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you? For me to roll over and quietly let you behead me.” Mo Wang glances down at Xuan Su, a heavy blade in an even heavier scabbard, and seems to calculate his odds. Shen Qingqiu can’t even guess what’s going through his head, but he finally unsheathes his sword, teeth bared and eyes defiant. “Yue Qingyuan proved to us today that he’s made of smoke and lies. Let’s see if your fabled heroism has any more truth to it than your false honor.”

He strikes without warning, a cut with plenty of anger, but not much killing intent behind it, which baffles Shen Qingqiu. Has the worm resigned himself to his death, after all, and wanted to die a Bai Zhan death, fighting till the end? But no, he can see the surprise in Mo Wang’s eyes when Yue Qingyuan’s qi flares and deflects him with enough force that it almost wretches the sword from his hands and sends Mo Wang stumbling back.

The idiot still thought Yue Qi wouldn’t kill him, he realizes with glee. He thought this was, what? A way for Yue Qi to prove himself? That they would fight until the Sect Leader showed off his superior skill and then would magnanimously spare his life to demonstrate his benevolence and forgiving spirit?

Mo Wang tries another attack with more intent behind it and he’s similarly rebuffed, but this time Yue Qi follows up with a brutal strike. Flesh tears and bones shatter as Xuan Su catches the retreating Mo Wang’s arm in an effortless upward swing. Before he can regroup from that blow there’s another, ruining his right shoulder and cracking his ribs when he tries to deflect.

Mo Wang transfers his sword to his off hand and focuses all he has on dodging, but he’s wheezing heavily, blood beading on his lips, and panic is setting in. He can’t use sword seals or talismans with one arm hanging limp by his side and the arena is only so big. He can’t run forever and Yue Qingyuan approaches him with the grave certainty of death ringing in every step.

As a last ditch effort he rushes at Yue Qingyuan, to land a strike, any strike, but he is no Tianlang-jun. His blade slides harmlessly off Yue Qingyuan’s qi-infused robes; he can’t even tear the stitching. The light seems to start fading from his eyes before the last blow even connects, one final, decisive crunch that breaks his neck and caves half of his skull in besides.

The arena is dead silent when the lifeless body falls to the ground. Yue Qingyuan lowers his sword, his face eerily blank. “Does anyone else wish to challenge this Yue over his position or his policies?” He waits patiently for some time, but it’s as if the audience has turned to stone. Finally, his face relaxes back into something politely neutral and he bows slightly to the gathered masters. “I thank you for your attendance today. Everyone is free to return to their duties. The details of senior Mo’s funeral will be posted on the Bai Zhan message board.”

He turns and starts to walk away, towards the Bai Zhan administrative building where they will keep the Peak Lord meeting shortly, his steps only a little stiff. Behind him, one of Mu-shidi’s medics hastily covers the body. The crowd starts slowly trickling out of the arena, furiously whispering again.

It’s over.

Chapter 25

Chapter Text

The others have already left for the peak lord meeting, but Mu Qingfang holds Shen Qingqiu back to further stabilize his meridians. The relief that Mo Wang has been dealt with once and for all is a soothing balm for the week’s anxieties, but it doesn’t dissipate them completely.

“I will notify Qing Jing that shixiong is on medically mandated rest for the next month,” he says, dismissing any resistance Shen Qingqiu tries to put up against the idea. “I also heavily suggest at least two shichens of meditation every day. Now, if you’d excuse me, I need to ascertain the death and write up the preliminary report before the meeting.”

“Thanking Mu-shidi for his time.”

He stays sitting for a while longer, willing his hammering pulse to calm before he sets out to join the others. He can’t help, but feel worried for Yue Qi, but at the same time this is the first time he witnessed Yue Qi’s unrestrained power and it was exhilarating .

He fully expects to be the last to arrive, but as he steps onto the pathway leading to the administrative pavilion he spots two familiar figures in the distance.

For a moment he thinks the qi deviation is still messing with his head, because he sees the same man mirrored; the shape of their nose and the angle of their brows in profile is almost identical. Then reality returns and the mirror images turn into the tense Yue Qingyuan and a much more reserved, almost deferential Lao Yue. Now that he’s not performing for the crowd, the old man shows his age much more acutely; a weary old peaco*ck with his feathers deflated.

“Any time, Sect Leader Yue,” he says quietly, the poison absent from his voice for once. “But please, try not to make a habit of it. It will only work so many times before someone gets wise to it and starts digging.”

Yue Qingyuan doesn’t acknowledge him in words, only with the slightest inclination of his head.

“I assume you can find the servants’ quarter without help?”

“It’s not my first time around, I think I can find my way.”

They part ways, Yue Qingyuan leaving to join the meeting and Lao Yue slowly meandering down the path towards Shen Qingqiu, who stands frozen and reeling.

“Greetings, master Shen. It’s good to see you in fine health.”

From the front they are not so similar, the set of their mouth and the shape of their eyes completely different, although the family resemblance is still strong, now that Shen Qingqiu has noticed it. He will never be able to unsee it now, no matter how much he wishes he could.

“You are a wretched worm, Yue Fei,” he says, letting a lifetime of resentment show on his face and condense into his voice.

“If you expect me to deny that, I’m afraid I must disappoint. Denial is not a very valuable skill in my line of work.” He is very calm in the face of a man who would have every reason to gut him and leave him bleeding out in the dirt. The arm injury, Shen Qingqiu is noticing, is not very recent. The sling shows signs of frequent wear and the wrist peeking out from his sleeve is thin with atrophy. “But you couldn’t have resolved things quite so tidily without me. Speaking of.” He fumbles with the tie of his satchel and pulls out a bamboo carrying tube. “A deposit on the debt I owe you.”

There are rolled up, yellowing papers in the tube, ones Shen Qingqiu immediately recognizes, despite never seeing them before.

Shen Jiu, age 15, male, sold to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect at a discount for 130 taels of silver.

It’s not the same character he uses for his name, but he never had a way of knowing.

“130 at a discount ? Nobody will believe this to be true.”

“I mean, it’s not .” Shen Qingqiu raises an eyebrow. “Your Shang Qinghua really is an expert hand at forgery. I would not have been able to tell that the masters’ signatures are fake. With my signature and seal on it, backdating it to the correct year was child’s play. And if it were true, 130 is a perfectly fine price for a teenager already starting core formation.”

The second paper is not a forgery, he’s sure of it, but he still finds himself staring at the characters, barely comprehending what he sees.

Shen Jiu, age 8, male, sold to the Qiu residence for 370 taels

“130 might be believable, but 370 is…”

“A discouragement. Usually, it works on pissy little noblemen who are trying to throw their weight around. It didn’t work that time.” He shrugs. “They hadn’t ended up paying even a third of that, at any rate.”

“It’s not like you to give up on a debt owed.” If the Qius never paid in full within the year, then Lao Yue retained ownership of him. He could have retrieved him at any time after that, before they could irreparably damage the merchandise .

He had no way of knowing that he was broken within the first month.

“Xiao Qi was already gone. I was feeling spiteful. Not that it matters much now.”

Shen Qingqiu is about to turn to the last paper when Yue Fei places a hand on his. He has the same sun-tanned complexion as Yue Qi. “Wait. Don’t look at that, unless you really want to know.”

Shen Qingqiu is feeling hot and cold at the same time. He wants to scream or rage or something to vent the flames licking at his ribcage.

“I should break your other arm,” he hisses, shaking off Yue Fei’s hand. He shoves the papers back into the holding tube and then that into the depths of his qiankun sleeve.

“Ah, you are really kin beasts, you and Xiao Qi.” He hums, the same resonant off-note he used to hum when he was calculating someone’s value. “You may, but you have to get in line. As I heard today, there is a lady in the Warm Red Pavilion who I need to repay first.”

Shen Qingqiu imagines San-jie’s face when Yue Fei shows up on her doorstep. He’s almost sad that he’s not going to be there to see it.

“I hope she wrings your worthless neck!”

“Shen Qingqiu.” Yue Fei smiles at him with a placid fondness that’s infuriating in its honesty. “I’m not a good person by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m old and I have more regrets than a pheasant has feathers. I would not be going if I haven’t made peace with that possibility.”

Shen Qingqiu is struck speechless. He stands there, unmoored and uncertain what to say to that until Yue Fei steps around him with a pat on the shoulder and a murmured apology.

“Shen-shixiong!” Liu Qingge hurries down the path, clearly looking for him. He hesitates for a moment, looking past Shen Qingqiu at the retreating back of Lao Yue. “Was that-?”

“He’s going to talk to the servants,” Shen Qingqiu says, still feeling strangely weightless and off-balance. “He knows what words to say to convince them that they are free. He always does.”

Liu Qingge, delightfully simple and straightforward Liu Qingge, accepts that without question. “Well, I’m glad that’s getting resolved. Come on, the others are waiting for you.”

So Shen Qingqiu goes. It’s all a blur, the walk and then the meeting both. There are words of admonishment that Yue Qingyuan hasn’t let them in on his plan so they could run interference and control better what rumors will make it off the mountain, but more than that, there are words of support. Even Qi Qingqi, highest born of them all, who came to the sect straight from the rear palace of the southern emperor is resolute in her support of Yue Qingyuan. It all blurs together into noise.

Shen Qingqiu stares out the window and breathes in the smell of approaching snow. Maybe there is something true about those migrating spiritual geese after all, or maybe it’s just the lingering unreality of the day, but he doesn’t question it.

Later he and Yue Qingyuan sit down around Shang Qinghua’s scratched up tea table, three schemers in a cohort and Shen Qingqiu takes out the bamboo tube. He lays out the papers, the last one face down because he can’t bring himself to read it yet. He’s not certain he wants to.

He squares his shoulders all the same and reaches out to flip the paper, but as soon as his hand touches the edge, so does Shang Qinghua’s, pinning it to the table. “Shixiong, please wait. You have trusted my advice and I have not led you astray before, so I beg you to hear me out once more.”

Shen Qingqiu considers his shidi, then very slowly withdraws his hand. “All right. Let us hear what Shang-shidi has to say.”

Shang Qinghua takes a deep breath and nods to himself. Heavy clouds gather outside, promising rain or snow. “All right. So here goes nothing.”

“This world was written by the pen of a careless, cruel god, but if he was here today, he would tell you this: what’s on that paper doesn’t matter. To be rejected or to be wanted but cannot be kept cut with different knives, but they cut all the same. And it doesn’t matter which one is true because despite everything, time keeps flowing ever forward. In the now, you are wanted. You are beloved. And we don’t want to see you bleeding. You deserve better. Today of all days, when we are all drained and your heart demons are stirred up, we don’t have the strength to patch you up if those invisible knives cut too deep.” He pulls the paper away so it sits just out of Shen Qingqiu’s reach. “Rest. Meditate. Heal. I’m going to put this paper in the archive, where noone but us peak lords can read it. And if a month or a year or a century from now you want to know, when your heart demons have settled, you can come to the archive and read it. This is not a decision you need to rush into.”

Shen Qingqiu stares at the yellowing paper, his thoughts still too heavy for his tongue. Under the table Yue Qi clasps his hand in his own and it seems to break whatever siren song it held over him. Outside, snow starts to fall in heavy flakes. “Thanking Shang-shidi for his hospitality. We should go, before the weather makes it impossible to fly.”

He stands to leave, but makes no move to get the papers.

Shang-shidi’s relief is palpable when he smiles at them. “All right, shixiong. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Shang Qinghua watches them go, two wet cats clinging to each other in the snow. He exhales a long sigh of relief.

A long bit of darkness peels off the wall and comes to stand behind him. It might be a man or it might be a beast. A shadow or a slice of the eternal night sky. It breathes out and window ferns bloom on the dark wood of the desk. Shang Qinghua flips over the paper and it leans over his shoulder to read along with him, its eyes burning with the cold light of distant stars.

Nameless Shen, male, age 3. Eunuch-reject. 30 silver taels

Nameless?

“The western emperor at the time had a fixation on naming the palace eunuchs himself. If a family planned to send a son to the palace they often kept them nameless. It was considered easier on the child than having them learn a new name,” Shang Qinghua explains. “But they don’t take children with strong spiritual aptitude as eunuchs. It must have been a blow to the family’s plans, so they sold him to the first slaver who was willing to pay a competitive price.” He considers the family character. “I think this was the papermaker Shen family. They fell out of imperial favor when the logging policy changed. The usual story, falling on hard times, trying to curry favor… I think the last son committed suicide a few years ago, when the last of the business went under. A wretched twist of luck, no more, no less.”

So he was always destined to spend his childhood in bondage.

“Happy, beloved sons of stable merchant families don’t make for good villains,” Qinghua says cryptically. He holds the paper over the candle until the corner catches fire. They both watch silently as the last of it burns to ash. “The An Ding archive is enormous. Documents get misplaced and go missing all the time. Such a shame it happened to this one too, hmm?”

The shadow doesn’t comment. It curls around Qinghua and settles on his shoulders like a heavy fur cloak. “Any idea when you are going to turn back? I think he’s going to need a friend in the coming weeks and I will have my hands too full with managing the fallout to be there for him.”

The shadow that is Mobei-wang considers this.

Father and shushu are forging suppression shackles. They are going to put them on me as soon as I can coalesce enough to be material. A few days, probably.

“I must say, Baobei, you were the last person I expected to fall in a deep abyssal rift and unravel. The timing, especially, is rotten.” He sounds annoyed, but not particularly worried.

En. But it could be worse.

At least now we know that I can get out.

Chapter 26

Chapter Text

They don’t talk about it that evening. They don’t talk at all, in fact. They eat in silence and then make a nest among Yue Qi’s softest pillows and most plush blankets, safe and warm like they could only dream of when they were on the street and curl up clinging to each other, protected from the snowstorm and the world at large.

They sleep in the next day. Mu Qingfang also ordered Yue Qi to rest for a few weeks, so they don’t have to worry about anyone disturbing them. They both need this silence, for the world to contain only them for a little while.

The weather was too cold the previous night to bathe, so they fill the tub after breakfast instead, soaking together in the glorious heat. Shen Qingqiu is washing Yue Qi’s hair when Yue Qi lets out a slow exhale and the tension leaves his shoulders.

“He left,” he says. He must have felt Yue Fei pass through the wards.

“Good riddance. I hope he falls off the stairs and breaks his neck,” Shen Qingqiu says viciously. Yue Qi laughs and happily leans into the fingers massaging his scalp. “Have you ever planned on telling me that he’s your father?”

Yue Qi makes an ambiguous noise.

“Maybe if he ever managed to free us, or made good on his promise to get us into one of the sects. He lost the right to call himself my family when he sold me. He said so himself.” Yue Qi doesn’t sound resentful, which is curious, but it’s also something of a relief. Shen Qingqiu knows all about the pain of resentment left to fester unresolved.

“How did that happen anyway?” Lao Yue wasn’t as rich as some, but he was never so close to financial ruin to be forced to sell his own blood, so there must have been something else there.

“Ling-jie and I, we were the children of his concubine. He treated us fairly well. His wife, however, was a real piece of work. Her own sons were sickly, taking after her, so to see two healthy children in the house who were so obviously her husband’s blood rankled her. She threatened to kill us every chance she got. When I was about six, she finally managed to make good on that threat.”

He leans against Shen Qingqiu, pliant as if he could fall asleep at any moment. These are old scars, he says without words. They don’t hurt anymore. “She and her maids presented it as if my mother attacked her. After all, how could someone so frail and noble have overcome a much healthier, stronger woman if not in self-defense? How unfortunate that my mother didn’t live to confess. After that he took her threats a lot more seriously, I think. Seriously enough to have us on the streets, minded by his lackeys, rather than risk keeping us in the house.”

Shen Qingqiu shudders. He can easily picture the atmosphere of dread that had to rule that household; it’s not quite the same as the horror that lurked in the Qiu residence, but it’s similar enough. “So, what? He made you a slave to placate her?”

“More or less.” Yue Qi puts a little distance between them, then gathers up his hair. Where he parts it, just behind his left ear, Shen Qingqiu can barely make out a dark mark on the skin. He would mistake it for a birthmark at a glance if not for the color.

“She had you branded as a criminal?!” he hisses, fingers flying to trace over the mark. It’s qi infused burgundy ink, unfading even over all these years, but thankfully easily covered and small enough that Shen Qingqiu hasn’t noticed it before, despite all the times he brushed Yue Qi’s hair. “Why is this still here?! The other one is gone.” They both glance down at Yue Qi’s forearm, the skin smooth and unblemished where the other brand used to be.

“It’s the ink. Mu-shidi would need to shave my hair to remove it. With how my cultivation works, it would take years for it to grow back, even with the right tonics.” He combs his hair back down to cover the mark. He doesn’t need to elaborate why he can’t commit to that, as sect leader.

Shen Qingqiu starts rinsing Yue Qi’s hair again, his fingers lingering over the mark. “Useless piece of sh*t,” he grouses. “I really should have broken his arm, as payback for what he did to you.” He suddenly recalls something Lao Yue said the day before. “Wait. His crippled arm - is that your doing?”

Yue Qi nods.

“Five years ago, when we became peak lords, you might recall that we needed to call someone to appraise the sect’s slaves. He already had one foot out the door, looking for any excuse to abandon the trade, but his reputation held strong.” He smiles and starts to gently wring the water from his hair. “I knew that he was coming, but I still almost threw him off the mountain the moment I saw him.”

“Almost? You clearly have more restraint than me.”

Yue Qi gives him a look and a fond little kiss before he drapes his hair over the side of the tub and continues.

“I was so angry at him; breaking his arm and shattering his meridians was a compromise. And he made it worth my while to hold back. We couldn’t have forged the proof of sale for our disciples without his help and he used his influence to put out the word: death will be the prize of anyone who tries to sell a slave on Cang Qiong’s lands. It helped to establish our stance to the jianghu at large and it gave him an excuse he needed to dissolve his network and leave the trade once and for all.”

Shen Qingqiu has heard that slave trade took a significant blow in recent years; one of the most prominent slave traders not simply retiring, but dissolving his organization would do that. That couldn’t have been anything but a deliberate choice.

“A little late to make amends, don’t you think?”

“Maybe, but there are much worse things he could be doing with his money and influence. And talking to him - having his aid offered unconditionally, despite everything - helped me clear some of my lingering heart demons.”

Shen Qingqiu wraps his arms around Yue Qi and tucks his head under his chin. He listens to his heartbeat, slow and steady. “You really don’t hate him anymore, do you?”

Yue Qi needs some time to consider this.

“I still resent him. I don’t like being around him or even being reminded of him, but if someone handed me a sword and told me I could kill him without repercussions, I don’t think I would be more at peace afterwards than I am now.”

Shen Qingqiu thinks about the Qius. As much as it was a cornered beast lashing out, killing Qiu Jianluo was cathartic, but if he pictures Qiu Haitang… yes, he thinks he knows where Yue Qi is coming from.

“Good,” he says aloud. “I’m happy you are at peace.”

The snow falls heavily for the next four days, to the bafflement of the beast peak seniors, because apparently the spiritual winter geese have avoided the mountain after all. When Shen Qingqiu goes to ask about it - he needs to know if the weather will remain unfit for travel and arrange some other way to send the finished fan to Linguang-jun if the snowfall doesn't clear up soon - he finds Peak Lord Di Qinglin standing in front of a bird the size of a horse and patiently turning a bestiary page by page so the goose - at least Shen Qingqiu assumes it has to be a goose - can inspect the illustrations.

“Qingqiu-shixiong! Please wait for a little while, we are almost done here, I hope.” He turns the last page and when the goose still doesn’t react he sets the bestiary down on top of a very tall stack and reaches for another. “We are getting into really obscure stuff, but our visitor here insisted that she and her flock have seen what kind of beast covered our mountain in this much snow in the middle of July.”

Shen Qingqiu keeps Di-shidi between him and the spiritual beast as he approaches and stops at a safe distance from the bird, just in case, as he inspects the bestiaries. Only two remain, one that Di-shidi is holding and another on the table, both about the beings of the deepest reaches of the endless abyss. “What if she doesn’t recognize any of them? I don’t believe these creatures can exist in our world for days at a time.”

“Nope, they can’t. But if we can’t identify whatever it is at a glance, knowing what it disguises itself as can be very helpful too.” He turns to Shen Qingqiu and pitches his voice differently so the goose can’t understand him. “Between you and me, we have a bit of a bet going that either one of the young birds played a prank on the older geese and formed an illusion of ice to cover for it, or just the geese as a whole made something up because they don’t give a sh*t about humans and our crops and didn’t expect to run into someone who can complain to them.”

Shen Qingqiu sighs. “Language, Di-shidi. At least try to pretend that you are an immortal cultivator and not some drunkard streetwalker.”

“And who am I supposed to pretend for? The goose or you, you bitchy old fox?” He’s grinning cheekily at him, not taking this seriously at all.

Before Shen Qingqiu can tell him where to stick his cheek, Di Qinglin turns the page and the goose honks at them at a truly ear-splitting volume and Shen Qingqiu has to scramble to not drop his fan in surprise.

Di Qinglin flips the book around and makes a pensive noise. “Huh. Are you sure?” Another honk, this time quieter, but much more offended-sounding. “I see. Thank you for your time. Please fly safely and keep to the altitude we discussed, the other sects aren’t going to waste their time on words when they can make a point with swords.”

With one last honk the goose takes off, stirring up the melting snow. Shen Qingqiu lifts his wide sleeve to protect his face from the wind and notes with annoyance that the silk is now drenched.

“Well, that was a waste of time. The ‘geese are talking sh*t’ group wins this one.” Di-shidi pulls the bestiary back from his sleeve and flips it open at the same page. Light-Crowned Abyss Stalker the text says next to a dark silhouette in the shape of a panther.

“I can’t say I ever heard of this one,” Shen Qingqiu notes. “Are those jagged lines mountains at its feet? I think we would notice if a giant beast like that lurked over the sect.”

“We would have noticed regardless of size, because that’s not actually an animal. And not just something smart like the geese, she’s as much of a beast as you or me.” Di-shidi slaps a drying talisman on Shen Qingqiu sleeve, then ties his own sleeves back to pick up the bigger stack of bestiaries. “Come, I have a better picture in my office.”

Shen Qingqiu reluctantly picks up the books Di-shidi can’t carry at once and follows after him. The administrative pavilion isn’t far. “With how beastly your manners are, you will never beat the allegations that you are one of Wen-shigu’s pets that cultivated human form.”

“Yes, yes, I’m a disgrace to my mother and a menace to society. I don’t have to hear it from you too.”

“When have I said anything like that?!” Shen Qingqiu transfers the books to one arm just so he can pull out his fan and bonk Di-shidi over the head with a qi-infused strike.

“Ow.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, shidi. Now, what were you saying about the Abyss Stalker?”

“The last sighting was some… forty years ago, by now? But if she wants to visit the Sect, she can just walk to the main gate with her maids and entourage and ask to be let in. I think the artificers will fall over themselves to accommodate her.” With a complicated one-armed maneuver, he unlocks the door and lets them into his office. It’s Shen Qingqiu’s first time here, but he’s not surprised to find it cozy, if a little untidy. “They’ve been dying to expand the rainbow bridges for ages...”

One of the walls is dominated by a mural, painted with a startling attention to realism. The sketch in the book really can’t hold a candle to the almost divine air of the Stalker as it’s depicted here, in Wen-shigu’s careful strokes: a panther-like creature, its body made of condensed celestial energy, with branching antlers of pale moonlight and a mane of colorful aurora. It curls around the painted sky, leaning down as if fascinated by a small figure standing atop one of the mountains, spear drawn in challenge. The lower half of the mural transitions into a northern-style wedding - a demon wedding, Shen Qingqiu realizes from the bloodstained blues of the ceremonial robes and the pale faces of the guests - the bride and groom standing in the middle.

Even in a form so diminished, the Stalker is majestic. Her lips are painted a midnight blue, her antlers are adorned with glittering chains and her starlight eyes shine with joy as she links hands with her new husband.

He remembers his shizun talking about this painting once, irked that it was hidden away in Wen-shigu’s office instead of out in the open for all to see, but the source material made his complaining a moot point:

The wedding of Mobei-wang and Princess Heiying

Chapter 27

Chapter Text

It takes Shen Qingqiu way too long to tear his eyes away from the mural and comprehend what his shidi said. “What was that about the rainbow bridges?”

“Well, you know how my mother was passionate about her research of the endless abyss?”

“Wen-shigu’s expertise was known in the Jianghu and beyond,” he says diplomatically. Obsession might have been a better word for it.

“And beyond, yes. Primordial spirits dwelling in the endless abyss don’t, as a rule, stay in the material world for long. They can’t, not without condensing themselves into a material form, so there’s not a whole lot of precedent for how that sort of thing goes.” Di-shidi starts methodically putting the bestiaries back on the shelves as he speaks. There's clearly a system to where each tome goes, even if it's absolutely incomprehensible to Shen Qingqiu. “Lady Heiying had it more or less figured out on her own, as I understand, but it’s not really the sort of thing you can take chances with, so she came to my mother for suggestions on how to make the process stick better. When the new method worked, she forged us the rainbow bridges as repayment for the good advice and invited my mother to her wedding.”

Di-shidi pauses for a moment to think. “Well, she also asked for advice on having a child, but I’m not sure they ever worked out how to make that happen.” He puts his hands together to form a bowl. “A handful of water can hold the image of the moon, but never its full radiance. In this case her physical form would be said handful of water, I think. My mother theorized that Lady Heiying might be too big and too divine to have a child with someone born of flesh and blood, but I don’t think that stopped them from trying.”

“I’m really not interested in the marital habits of the Mobei-jun and his wives, shidi,” Shen Qingqiu says, his voice strained.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, shixiong. It’s all very romantic, in my opinion!”

Shen Qingqiu ignores him and looks back at the painting. His first thought about the groom - the Mobei-jun of the present day - is that he doesn’t look much like his brother. Linguang-jun is tall, willowy and, for lack of a kinder term, weasel-faced. Mobei-jun is built solid like a mountain, barrel-chested and thick of arm - much more in line with the general descriptions of the northern bloodline, often described to be made of men ‘who can hold up the kingdom on the breadth of their shoulders’ - but his skin is notably a few shades darker than his more arctic kin or his moonlight-pale bride. He has a good face, with thick, black brows and blue eyes, but probably not very expressive, based on the slightly constipated look of (presumably?) happiness on his face.

Not a face Shen Qingqiu would consider ‘love match’ material, but he supposes he wouldn’t know what primordial abyssal goddesses found charming. Next to her anyone would look mundane as dirt anyway.

Still, despite everything there is something familiar in Mobei-jun’s face and Shen Qingqiu directs his attention to the depicted partygoers to stop thinking about it. It wouldn’t do for him to have a meltdown in Di-shidi’s office, after all.

On the groom’s side stand his extended family, in colorful, patterned deels and jianghu-style robes from the last century, but there are few standouts. There is a regal woman taking a prominent spot in broad, multi-layered foreign robes, surrounded by daughters wearing robes of the same style. “That has to be Kaze-hime,” he notes. Despite the courtly appearance, there is a full quiver and a bow strapped to her wide belts, as is the demon way.

Now that he notices, everyone is armed to a degree.

“Good eye. I wasn’t aware Qingqiu-shixiong was familiar with the northern demon court.” Di Qinglin finishes putting away the last of the books and comes to stand next to him.

“Only in passing.” His eyes drift over the painted faces, but there’s someone notably missing. “Her husband hadn’t attended?”

“When the wedding was held there was still another son in the running for the throne. It would have been seen as favoritism if he showed up, but everyone knew that this prince would win in the end. Look, even Tianlang-jun was there.” He points at a youthful looking man in open-chested red and gold southern robes that looks far too excited to be present, in Shen Qingqiu’s opinion.

“That is the emperor of the demon realm? He looks-”

“Like a ruffian, or some wastrel noble son. He just really loved weddings, couldn't get enough of a good party. Big fan of human culture too, according to my mother. She could barely get away from his questions.” Di-shidi smiles fondly. With the mural being in such a prominent position in the peak lord’s office, Shen Qingqiu has no doubt that growing up Di-shidi has asked all sorts of questions from his adoptive mother about it. “She said general Zhuzhi-lang actually had to intervene, or Tianlang-jun would have followed her back to the human realm, like some lost puppy.”

If that’s Tianlang-jun, then the stressed looking young man in green standing next to him has to be his nephew. Neither of them look like they are plotting to try to take over the human realm barely a century later.

The bride’s side of the gathering is a little different. As she has no family of her own - at least no family they could invite - she is surrounded by her fellow wives, everyone dressed according to their own backgrounds. Northern and southern style dress robes, all carefully calculated to be dazzling, but not so much that they could be accused of trying to overshadow the bride. He recognizes some of them - a dignified crane from the southern Silkwings, a round-faced dame from one of the many seal clans, the cheeky smile of a huli jing from Thousand Treasures - but one face in particular is mystifyingly alien. “Who is that man? Between the crane-wife and the vixen.”

“That would be Sugi-san! They are also one of the ‘wives’.” Di Qinglin rushes off and after some frantic searching through the filing cabinets returns with an old sketchbook. “They are a shapeshifting spirit from Dongying! My mother made some fascinating sketches of them before the party, if you want to see.”

They don’t look any less strange depicted in black ink as they do in painting, but between the different sketches Shen Qingqiu starts to see what Di-shidi meant about shapeshifting. Sugi-san wears elaborate robes patterned after the jiasha of buddhist priests, but while in one sketch their hair flows long and their features are clearly feminine, in another they are just like any male monk, square jaw and shaved head and all. They carry a living evergreen branch in place of a staff, no doubt their weapon of choice. “That’s a lot of sketches about just one guest,” Shen Qingqiu notes as he flips through the pages. The other wives barely get one or two sketches, but Sugi-san has several pages dedicated to them.

“You bet! Kodama are tree spirits and don’t leave their bonded forests for long if ever, so it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to see one.” Di-shidi lets out a wishful sigh, running his fingers over the edge of a page depicting Kaze-hime in the saddle of a qilin, her voluminous sleeves tied back and getting ready to lead the newlyweds on their first hunt together as husband and wife. “I wish I could have been there. Can you imagine?”

“Maybe if Shang-shidi keeps up good relations, we might be able to sneak you into the current Mobei-wang’s wedding,” Shen Qingqiu says. The sketchbook is open on a two-page spread of the future princes presenting the new wife with trophies on behalf of their father; in the corner, a smaller doodle of Mobei Guilian beaming radiantly at Lady Heiying’s surprised joy when she tastes honey for the first time.

“In my dreams, perhaps. Without a life debt to either parties, there’s no way the Mobeis will suffer to have a cultivator present. Not after the massacre Huan Hua made of Kaze-hime’s first betrothal.”

“He might yet surprise you.” In the back of his mind, he’s taking the meticulously mapped out connections he made about Xuebao’s family and slowly wiping them clean.

His throat itches and there are embers on his tongue. “Thanking Di-shidi for showing this to me, but I need to get back to my duties.”

“If you are sure, shixiong?” Shen Qingqiu knows that his voice is perfectly even and his expression completely neutral, but Di-shidi still looks uncertain.

“I’m sure. Good day to you, Di-shidi.”

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t know how he makes it back to Qing Jing. He circulates his qi, willing the dried-out branches of his spirit veins to hold, but the crawling heat is a painful distraction. His bamboo house is as tidy as he left it that morning, the charcoal burner not yet gone cold.

The book on demon families is back on the shelf, where it belongs. He opens it on the page listing all the names of the Mobei spawn, but this time he doesn’t count, doesn’t stop at Guilian. It’s a long list, sons and daughters alike, and the very last name is achingly familiar.

雪豹 - Xuebao

The book falls from his hands, suddenly too heavy to hold. His eyes burn. His legs can’t hold him up as a spark of pain finds purchase and fire spreads through his veins.

How pathetic, he thinks and closes his eyes.

He wakes to Yue Qi’s frantic voice, to big hands and safe arms.

“Hold on, please! Mu-shidi is already on the way.”

Shen Qingqiu weakly shakes his head - he might be bleeding, he thinks - and tries to push Yue Qi away. What if he catches fire too? He can’t lose his Yue Qi.

Yue Qi holds him tight and pleads to him to stay awake, trying to pour qi into his brittle veins in controlled amounts, but it’s swallowed up by the raging inferno. Underneath Yue Qi’s pleas, on the edge of his hearing there’s a different voice, shrill and strangely distorted, the words nonsense, but the urgent tone unmistakable.

Shen Qingqiu opens his mouth - to reassure Yue Qi or to spit out the embers clogging his throat, he’s not sure - and suddenly there are lips on his, familiar and beloved, Yue Qi swallowing down the flames. It’s madness, to take a deviating cultivator’s qi into oneself, but it works; the fire harmlessly gutters out in the seemingly endless reservoirs of Yue Qi’s qi.

Slowly the qi deviation abates, his own pitiful reserves quickly depleted, and Yue Qi draws back, his lips bloody, but his eyes soft with relief. “I have you, Jiu’er. I have you.”

There is something wrong with his face, but Shen Qingqiu can’t focus enough to make out what. At his side Xuan Su rattles ceaselessly, the noise finally sharpening into proper words.

Demonic energy, demonic core, ptui! This is worse than the tea, worse than that one mission with the succubus! A thousand and one cultivators would fall over themselves to be yours, why do you want this one?! Xuan Su shrieks, incensed and hateful until Yue Qi gives it a smack to shut it up, not even bothering to disguise the motion.

“Jiu’er?”

“I’m here,” he croaks, his throat raw and tongue dry.

“Stupid Qi-ge. I’m not going anywhere.”

Chapter 28

Chapter Text

Mu-shidi arrives before Shen Qingqiu can gather his strength to get up, so he finds them on the ground, Shen Qingqiu cradled in Yue Qi’s arms, dozing tucked against his shoulder. He listens to Yue Qi’s recounting of the situation, his professional mask cracking to show a hint of worry. Together they get him up on the bed, strip him of his outmost layers and prop him up with pillows so he can be as comfortable as someone could ever be right after a devastating qi-deviation.

“I don’t remember a succubus mission,” he mumbles when Yue Qi asks how he feels. “You never told me about any succubus.”

“It happened at the same time Qingqiu-shidi went ghost hunting with Liu-shidi and Shang-shidi,” Yue Qi says and helps him sit further up so he can drink a little. “The demon was threatening to kill her hostages, so I used myself to distract her. She got drunk on my qi and Wei-shidi easily beheaded her while she was disoriented. Xuan Su was less than thrilled.”

“Does it always yell like that?” Shen Qingqiu asks, looking in the vague direction of the sword, the world still too blurry. Yue Qi placed it on the dresser where it’s now silent, weighed down by both Xiu Ya and Mu Qingfang’s Feng Zhen.

“It helps tolerate it if you picture it as a very shrill, easily incensed grandmother,” the healer says from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Shen Qingqiu’s wrist and trying to get a read on his qi. “It wants the best for Yue-shixiong, but it’s not terribly smart. Might be a little hard of hearing too, I have never heard it speak quieter than a rattle.”

Shen Qingqiu blinks at the healer, trying to bring him into focus to figure out if Mu Qingfang is making a joke at his expense or not.

“Shidi can hear it too?”

“It’s the unfortunate side effect of exchanging qi with a cultivator on the path of unity with the sword.” Oh, right. They have dual cultivated before. “Yue-shixiong tried to give Shen-shixiong qi and when that failed, took shixiong’s qi into his own core. It happened close enough one after the other that it triggered the bonding effect.” Xuan Su rattles for a moment, but the noise doesn’t form into words this time, only gives off a general impression of grumbling.

“Shidi shouldn’t worry about Xuan Su,” Yue Qi says as he returns from the kitchen carrying a bowl of water and a soft cloth. “It doesn’t yell when around other swords. It would disrupt their spirits and Wei-shidi would get cross with it.”

“Have you dual cultivated with every one of our martial brothers?” Shen Qingqiu asks the blurry Yue Qi, slightly appalled. Yue Qi was meant to be his. It’s unfair that he’s the last one who gets to have him.

Yue Qi either doesn’t hear or he ignores the question. He sits down on the other side of the bed and leans close, wet cloth in hand. “Shidi, let me clean the blood from your face.”

Shen Qingqiu lets him. The water is pleasantly warm where Yue Qi wipes away the drying blood from his skin and beyond careful when he finally clears the lingering red from his eyes. As he blinks the last of the blurriness from his eyes, he can finally tell what looks so off about Yue Qi. “Why do you look so young?!”

Not just a little younger either. Like most cultivators, Yue Qingyuan’s apparent age is usually that of a man in his twenties, but now he looks like a child.

“Oh, no.” Yue Qi reaches a hand up to touch his own face, his distress returning. “How much?”

“This Mu says sixteen, at most.” The healer is the only one not overly bothered by this development, furrowing his brows at Shen Qingqiu’s wrist instead. “When you purified the foreign qi it must have reversed the effect of the Twinkling Twilight brew my shizun has administered. Shixiong, can I have your other wrist?”

Shen Qingqiu obediently offers his other arm. Certain stages of core formation slow down aging, sometimes very significantly, but to his knowledge the only way to completely halt it before adulthood was through fully forming a golden core. “I thought you only finished your core formation when you were twenty-something. Zhangmen-shibo threw a huge party.” Even Shen Jiu, not-yet-named head disciple of Qing Jing could attend it. He remembers it well because he spent the whole time lurking in the corner and glaring jealously at every one of their shidis and shixiongs who approached Yue Qingyuan to congratulate him.

Yue Qi is looking at Mu Qingfang in silent panic until Mu-shidi takes pity on him and puts to words the things he cannot. “Yue-shixiong’s core formation was tied to the acquisition of his spirit sword, but due to the nature of their bond his core took longer to settle than usual.”

Mu-shidi falls silent when his examination demands his full focus. He's reaching as deep into Shen Qingqiu’s inflamed spirit veins as he can, deep enough that Shen Qingqiu shudders at the unpleasant feeling of the healer’s searching qi. Mu-shidi has never done him any harm, so he tolerates it with the slightest unhappy twist of his mouth, but it always reminds him of a hungry boar rooting through the underbrush to snap up any bit of discordant qi. “That matter can wait. Yue-shixiong’s situation is neither new nor dangerous, but I worry about Shen-shixiong. I can't feel any spiritual energy in his veins, not even the dredges that should be clinging to his meridians after a deviation.”

Yue Qingyuan pales. “Is that- was that because I-”

“I will need to assess his forming core to see if there is any damage there, but I don't think so. I believe shixiong did the correct thing, much as I would usually advise against someone without training or the correct aptitude attempting to drain fouled qi.” Mu-shidi is still holding his arm and absentmindedly traces gentle, soothing little circles on the soft skin of Shen Qingqiu's inner wrist as he thinks. “Shixiong, I can't access most of your meridians through your wrist, because the deviation has inflamed the tangles that formed over former break sites.” To demonstrate he gently touches a hand to Shen Qingqiu’s elbow and shoulder. “Will you allow me to assess the unknown area with a more direct method?”

“What is shidi asking?” Shen Qingqiu's voice is barely more than a croak, his throat aching again.

“I'm asking if you'd allow me to kiss you, shixiong.”

It's only because of his long experience with and begrudging trust in the healer that he doesn't throw the insolent man immediately off the bed.

“Will that allow shidi to assess the damages in full?”

“I’m reasonably certain of that, yes.”

“Very well.” He lifts his chin defiantly and closes his eyes, unwilling to look at Mu Qingfang while he… “Let's get this over with quickly.”

The first thing he feels after closing his eyes is not Mu-shidi. It’s Yue Qi, pressing to his side and wrapping him in his arms - diminished, his teenage frame not as solid as his adult one, but still very familiar. It’s grounding to have his support. Today proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that he is safe in Yue Qi’s arms.

Mu Qingfang plants a hand against his lower belly, the touch deliberately firm to serve as a distraction, he knows. Despite knowing this, it still works well enough that he barely notices the touch of soft lips against his, just enough to establish some kind of energy flow between the two points. The qi traces the same route Yue Qi’s took earlier, the pathways no less tangled, but less brittle and painful.

Mu Qingfang withdraws after a few moments. “That’s more promising. Still all right, shixiong?”

“Mu-shidi doesn’t have to coddle me!”

“Mu-shidi is doing no such thing. He simply likes his prickly shixiong and wishes to respect his boundaries to the best of his abilities.” He can feel the air from Mu Qingfang’s silent huff of laughter against his lips. “But if shixiong already has the energy to be prickly, it’s a good sign that he will keep.”

Still, when he next presses his lips against Shen Qingqiu’s he’s much less cautious. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t even need to tell himself that this is all for the sake of checking his meridians, the discomfort of Mu Qingfang’s qi probing through his spirit veins is plenty to keep his mind from wandering to unpleasant memories.

Qiu Jianluo certainly wished he could have done something like this, but he didn’t have enough spiritual aptitude to ever manage.

When Mu Qingfang finally withdraws he doesn’t go far. In an uncharacteristic breach of his professional conduct, he simply flops down next to Shen Qingqiu on the bed, shoulder-to-shoulder with his shixiong, and stares up at the gauzy canopy in thought. “Well, that certainly explains some things.”

Yue Qi sneaks a fortifying kiss to Shen Qingqiu’s cheek while Mu-shidi is distracted by his thoughts. “What have you found, shidi?”

“Two bad news and a potentially good one. Which one do you wish to hear first?”

“The bad ones,” Shen Qingqiu says immediately.

“Very well. First: your meridians are completely drained of spiritual energy. I found breaks where the discordant qi that Yue-shixiong couldn’t clear out in time seeped out into the surrounding tissue, so I expect that to manifest in various bouts of inflammation in the near future. I will be on standby to help with any ill effects, but I must ask you to actually accept that help when the need arises. Second: this has caused the forming shell of your golden core to crumble.”

Yue Qi’s arms tighten around him, but they do nothing to ward off the devastation he feels. “Then my cultivation is ruined.” It took almost twenty years for his golden core to start taking any sort of shape and now it’s all gone.

“Not necessarily.” Mu-shidi rushes to reassure him. “Even if someone were to lose their cultivation, once a golden core starts to take shape and they reach a state where aging is halted, they can recover in time. The requirement of having a fully formed core only applies to people in the growing stages of physical development, where the body will fight its own cultivation to reach its full, mature potential. Shen-shixiong easily has decades, but likely centuries of time to form his golden core and reach true immortality.”

The rush of relief is almost painful. He thought, for a dreadful second, that he was ruined for good.

“And now for my dubious bit of good news: he might not need to start cultivating again from scratch at all. I discovered that shixiong’s cultivation has been suffering because he already possesses a core.” Mu Qingfang keeps his voice gentle and guides Shen Qingqiu’s hand over his belly, where a seed of energy dwells that he has tried so hard to ignore all these years. “Bruised, fragile and mostly suppressed, showing signs of only haphazard and sporadic attempts at cultivation, but Shen-shixiong has a very resilient demonic core.”

Shen Qingqiu grits his teeth to hold back a sob. He thinks, somewhere in the hells, Wu Yanzi has to be laughing at him.

Chapter 29

Chapter Text

“The bastard was right. I really can’t leave this path behind now, can I?” He claws at his robes, his nails - his claws - catching on the silk until Yue Qi takes his hand and clasps it in his own.

“Shidi, it will be fine. We will figure something out.”

“You don’t understand,” Shen Qingqiu says vehemently. “I thought I could somehow be free of this. My shizun promised that if nothing else, then cultivating from that wretched manual will at least rid me of...” He can’t finish it. He remembers the pain and the humiliation of trying to cultivate from Shizun’s special manual, of trying to tear down all his demonic cultivation to build a proper, righteous base.

All for nothing, it seems.

“Ah, that manual. I was wondering about the nature of the damage I have observed on shixiong’s core.” Shen Qingqiu turns his face away from Mu Qingfang too-knowing eyes. “It’s considered archaic to try and shatter a core, even a demonic one. Very painful and, as this case shows it too, often futile.”

“What am I to do, then? I’m oh so certain the sect would turn a blind eye if I suddenly turned to the path of slaughter!”

“Shixiong is not suited for the path of slaughter,” Mu Qingfang says calmly. “Was that the path Wu Yanzi followed?”

“No,” he admits reluctantly. “He followed the path of carrion, which is hardly an improvement.”

It was easy for Wu Yanzi to cultivate, in a way. A rogue demonic cultivator could find plenty of dead to drain of their lingering qi, especially if he was strong enough to kill other cultivators in direct conflict. He mostly busied himself with petty schemes while lugging Shen Jiu around, deeming his apprentice too useless to take on a hunt until their third year together, but that made him all the more deadly to anyone who caught their scent and followed them into one of his many, many dens.

“Fascinating. There were theories about why he would take the risk of sneaking into the Immortal Alliance Conference, but I always suspected that his cultivation might have suffered for the sake of keeping a disciple close.” When Shen Qingqiu turns his head back towards him, intrigued, he continues. “The reason why path of carrion cultivators are so reviled is because they often cover up for other demonic cultivators, ones pursuing more directly harmful methods of cultivation. They feed their cores with the resentment and cultivation of the dead, after all. It’s not nearly as nourishing if the resentment is directed at them, but surely he wouldn’t have dared to bring a young disciple into his usual haunts.”

“Wu Yanzi was a cold-blooded killer and an all around bastard.”

“I don’t dispute that. But he was also, if my suspicions are correct, a qi-starved bastard near the end of things.” Now that Mu-shidi mentions it, Wu Yanzi hardly ever fed off the cultivators he killed himself. Shen Jiu wasn’t even certain how his master cultivated until he became a proficient enough killer and Wu Yanzi started to gobble up the fading qi of Shen Jiu’s victims.

And he was almost carelessly greedy at the Conference, leaving Shen Jiu behind to loot while he sought out the more dangerous areas of the proving grounds, where the more ambitious disciples had fallen.

“All of this is conjecture, shidi. What does it have to do with me?”

“Merely an illustration that there are vastly different paths even within the umbrella of demonic principles. Shen-shixiong’s core shows signs of cultivation, even if it was likely accidental. I believe someone would have noticed if shixiong was stealing qi from the dead, so clearly he was set on a different path.” He nudges Shen Qingqiu’s hand aside to lay his own over his lower dantian again, trying to feel out Shen Qingqiu’s core from the outside with probing threads of qi. “If shixiong could enlighten us to the nature of his core, we could plan out the least harmful method to cultivate it, this time deliberately.”

Shen Qingqiu slaps Mu Qingfang’s hand away.

“Has Mu-shidi gone deaf? I said I don’t want to be a demonic cultivator.”

“Oh. I suppose I got caught up thinking about the possibilities and forgot to say.” Mu Qingfang adjusts his glasses, looking a little flustered. “With the right methods it’s possible to build a golden core on a demonic foundation. All we need is to first strengthen shixiong’s demonic core so that it can support the condensed layers of a golden core.”

Shen Qingqiu is speechless by the confidence in Mu Qingfang’s declaration. He turns to Yue Qi to demand if he ever heard anything this ridiculous, only to find him sleeping with his head pillowed on Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder. “What happened to-?”

“Shixiong dozed off a little while ago. Draining qi from someone and purifying it at the same time is a taxing process and he hadn’t yet possessed his adult endurance at the current age of his body.” Mu-shidi briefly reaches over and tugs the neckline of Yue Qi’s now sightly too big robes back into place before they can slip down his shoulder. It’s not the action of a healer with his patient, it’s that of someone looking out for his friend. Shen Qingqiu tries not to feel jealous about it. “We should let him rest and Shen-shixiong should rest too.”

“Not until Mu-shidi explains himself.”

The healer sits quietly for a time, contemplating what to say.

“I can provide the books I have on the topic for Shen-shixiong’s reading leisure, but I suspect that would not be enough for him to take my word over Lan-shibo’s words, no matter how… archaic shibo’s views were on this subject.” For the sake of their long acquaintance Shen Qingqiu is willing to overlook the jab at his shizun. Suddenly, Mu-shidi stands up. “Before we speak more on the topic, let me make tea and notify my disciples not to bother us.”

“Running away, Mu-shidi?”

“Only a temporary retreat, shixiong, so I can organize my thoughts. You have shared with me over the years many things about yourself - most of it under the contract between us as healer and patient, but you have confided in me outside of that too - and I find myself compelled to share a secret with you in turn today.”

Shen Qingqiu finds himself intrigued by whatever secret Mu-shidi might be hiding and lets the man sweep out of his house without further comment. He turns his attention to the sleeping Yue Qi instead, prodding him awake like he used to when they were children.

“Jiu’er?” He looks adorable, his face soft and blinking sleep from his eyes.

“Don’t ‘Jiu’er’ me, if you are going to sleep we need to get you out of those robes. You are practically swimming in them!” With some effort he pushes himself to his feet and, ignoring Yue Qi’s insistence that he should stay resting, goes to the wardrobe to find something for Yue Qi to wear.

He never realized how much of Yue Qi’s breadth came only with adulthood. It’s silly, but somehow the knowledge that he was present for so much of Yue Qi’s growth, even if he wasn’t fully aware of it, gives him a measure of peace. And now he will get to see it where he can pay attention to it when they eventually take the time to age Yue Qi back to a more appropriately respectable visage.

For now he watches indulgently as Yue Qi dresses in one of Shen Qingqiu’s more casual robes - he will not examine how he feels about Yue Qi wearing his signature green, not today, not ever - and picks at the embroidery with a critical eye. “Jiu’er, please let me make you a set of robes. You deserve so much better than this.”

“If Yue Qi has truly nothing better to do with his time.”

“I don’t.” He approaches Shen Qingqiu with an expression he’s starting to recognize, the one he wears when he plans on stealing a kiss, and Shen Qingqiu stops him in his tracks with a jab of his fan.

“Stop right there. I’m not kissing you when you are like this.”

“But Jiu’er! I am still the same inside and this body is not so young as to make it improper.”

“And what if someone sees? They will think I am preying on my disciples!” Yue Qi just looks silently at him like a kicked puppy, his brown eyes wide with distress. He is remarkably weak to those eyes. “Not while it’s light out,” he eventually amends. “Do try to be a little less sticky for a while. Let the news spread that Sect Leader Yue had a qi-deviation and reverted to a brat before anyone sees us together and comes to the wrong conclusion.”

It doesn’t take long after that for Yue Qi’s energy to flag again and he curls up on Shen Qingqiu’s bed. “Yue Qi?”

“Yes?”

“What would you do if I became a fox immortal?”

“Jiu’er could become a crawling horror from the Endless Abyss and I would still love him.”

“That’s not what I’m asking you-!!” Flustered, he pulls the quilt over Yue Qi so he doesn’t have to look at his face as he says such nonsense like it’s the most natural thing in the world “Go to sleep. You are clearly addled.”

Eventually Mu Qingfang returns with tea service and an apologetic smile. “Asking shixiong’s forgiveness, it took some effort to direct Di-shidi and his well-meaning worries away.”

Shen Qingqiu, who went back to lounging on the bed next to the sleeping Yue Qi, simply waves his apology away. “Is Mu-shidi ready to answer my question now?”

Mu Qingfang hands him a cup of soothing honey-tea first. “Yes, I believe I am. Can I have your hand, shixiong?”

Shen Qingqiu offers his wrist as usual, but instead Mu Qingfang takes his hand and guides it to his own wrist. “My qi reserves are depleted, shidi,” he reminds the healer.

“I know, but you have enough qi for this. You can take freely from my reserves too, if you are capable.”

Every healer is trained to build up a containment layer of sorts around their core, to prevent reactions between their cultivation and that of their patients, but those who regularly provide qi-infusions to patients with various different qi profiles usually build up another layer outside even that, a pillowy reserve of clean qi that’s easy to peel off for an emergency infusion. Shen Qingqiu pulls some of the qi from these reserves into his own meridians, grimacing slightly. It’s about as pleasant as eating unsalted congee.

“Can you feel my core, shixiong?” He focuses his attention back on what Mu Qingfang is doing with his qi. Mu-shidi has diverted his reserves and carefully unpicked the seal around his core while he was distracted. His shidi’s core is strong and thrumming with energy after being constrained. The very textbook example of a golden core, except…

When Mu-shidi finally allows his unfiltered qi to spread through his spirit veins, it feels a little bit like reaching into a berry patch and picking up a scorpion instead. Shen Qingqiu startles from the brush of acidic, borderline toxic qi against his own and draws back with a swear, almost dropping the teacup. Next to him, Yue Qi murmurs something in his sleep, but he doesn’t wake.

“What the hell is wrong with your qi?!”

Mu Qingfang sits placidly on the edge of the bed, the same dependable shidi he was a shichen ago. He watches Shen Qinqgiu with something like amusem*nt, as if his spiritual veins weren’t flush with poison. “It’s a long story, shixiong. Have you ever heard of the Black Light Sect?”

Chapter 30

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu furrows his brow at Mu-shidi, trying to spot any outward change in him, any hint that he’s possessed or somehow replaced, but he is the same as ever. “I have only heard of Dark Light in passing,” he admits slowly. Despite what some righteous cultivators think, demonic cultivators and evil sects don’t all know each other. “They were a gu sect, I believe? Wu Yanzi used some of their talismans when he faced an opponent he couldn’t have defeated otherwise.”

Only in the gravest emergency would Wu Yanzi reach for his limited stash of Cursed Dark Light Talismans because he had no way to replace them. The sect was gone, recentry destroyed as far as they knew, and their secret techniques along with them.

“You know, shixiong, the more you talk about Wu Yanzi, the more disappointed I become that I never got to meet the man. He must have possessed a unique charm to gain access to one of the sect’s secret techniques.” Mu-shidi moves suddenly and Shen Qingqiu shifts slightly to protect Yue Qi from the man if need be, but Mu Qingfang simply pours himself a cup of tea. “Then again, Honored Ancestor Yanyan always had a remarkably terrible taste in men.”

That name finally rings a bell. “Devil Venerable Mu Yanyan?”

“Founder and sect leader of Black Light Sect. That’s the one.” Mu-shidi takes a sip of his tea and then gestures, wide and frustrated. “Imagine, shixiong: peerless immortal beauty, sect leader of the most powerful gu sect for almost three thousand years running, and when she had her pick she would fall in bed with men who had the charisma and good looks of a dead rat!”

“I can see why she would find Wu Yanzi appealing, then.” Shen Qingqiu can’t help it, he relaxes a little, fighting a smile. “Shidi makes her sound like an embarrassing grandmother.”

“That is what I knew her as growing up. The family branched out and its various bloodlines got tangled over time, but we tracked direct ancestry reasonably well.” The way Mu-shidi stares into his cup seems almost nostalgic. “What I have is called ‘Thousand Toxins Constitution’. It occurs when a gu cultivator chooses to birth a child, because the poisons in their body will inevitably permeate the womb and the growing child as well. I was born with the seed of a demonic core that had to be carefully cultivated from the very beginning, or my own blood would have killed me in the cradle.”

It sounds like a cruel thing to do to one’s child, but Shen Qingqiu can see where the appeal would be for someone in a demonic sect. To be poisonous from birth would set a child inevitably on a demonic path and, at the same time, ease the price of admission. Someone being initiated into gu cultivation the traditional way has to go through several years if not decades of grueling transformation to strengthen their body and cultivation against the toxins of their trade.

“I hope shidi understands if I still find myself baffled by this tale. The direct descendant of a demonic sect leader joining a righteous sect and becoming peak lord is quite the story to swallow.”

“And a street urchin doing the same after a brief stint as a demonic cultivator, all the while pretending to be a rich young master is not?” When laid out like that, his life really is quite unbelievable too.

“Point taken, shidi.”

Mu Qingfang chuckles in good humor and meaningfully lifts the teapot. After a moment of internal debate, Shen Qingqiu allows him to refill his cup.

“Would it help shixiong’s acceptance if I said it was all my shizun’s fault that I joined Qian Cao?”

Actually, it would. Most of the peak lords were well past a thousand when they ascended, so they were all a little…

“Yin-shigu was an eccentric and uniquely open-minded individual,” he says diplomatically.

“She was a weird, spiteful old bat who poached me from my natal sect to get back at Ancestor Yanyan after losing an academic debate.”

Shen Qingqiu can’t help his snort of surprised laughter, which leads to a big gulp of tea ending up all in his nose. Mu-shidi is there in a moment to offer a handkerchief and thump his back to ease his coughing. “Forgive me, shixiong. I shouldn’t have said that while you were drinking.”

“Unfilial!”

“Maybe, but you can’t deny that it is true.” When he’s done wheezing, Shen Qingqiu finds himself slumped against Mu Qingfang. The same, reliable Mu-shidi as ever. He finds that he doesn’t really mind.

Next to them, Yue Qi stirs briefly. “Jiu’er?”

“Sorry for waking you. Everything is fine, Mu-shidi is telling me about his family.”

Yue Qi nods sleepily and snuggles back into the pillows. “I’m glad Xiao Jiu is making friends.”

They wait a little while until his breathing evens out again before they continue, keeping their voices quieter. “Friends, huh?”

“If shidi is going to make it weird then I’m going to bite him.”

“I would not recommend it. I’m not currently toxic enough to be deadly at just one bite, but it would still be highly unpleasant.”

Shen Qingqiu elbows him in the side instead, like he used to do to Yue Qi when they were kids, only for Mu Qingfang to elbow him back. It’s childish and a little familiar and fine, he will allow this if Mu Qingfang wants to be his friend that badly. “You still haven’t told me how Yin-shigu managed to steal you away.”

“It’s not that much of a story, honestly. I was sixteen and my cultivation was strong, but I was bad with animals - especially our animals. I didn’t practice any familiar-based cultivation, but I still couldn’t go three steps without tripping over a snake or some other critter and angering my uncles - and I think I really wanted to leave the sect and see a bit more of the world.” He’s looking at the silk canopy, but he’s clearly seeing something else. “Shizun said she could teach me how to seal and filter my qi, how to exist without killing everything I touch. ‘You don’t have to change anything else about yourself’, she said. ‘Just come with me and live.’ She wanted to train me up as an apothecary or a poison specialist, I think, but then I actually got to Qian Cao and the wish to heal people just came over time. Before I knew it I was head disciple, then peak lord, and now I'm trapped here for good because I have eleven horrible martial siblings who refuse to take care of themselves, so I have to take care of them instead.” He’s smiling as he says that, which is the only reason why Shen Qingqiu doesn’t elbow him again.

It must have been nice, he thinks, to have a Shizun who didn’t have unreasonable expectations.

“What of your old sect?”

“Disbanded, more or less naturally. Honorable Ancestor Yanyan was the one who held together the sect to begin with and she only stuck around this long because she was searching for one particular answer: the cure to a poison that had no known remedy. When she found her answer, she hated it so much that she challenged the heavens, ascended on the spot and took her grievances to the gods.” He shakes his head, fighting laughter again. “I can’t even blame her, in truth. I would be mad too if I dedicated a thousand years to a question, only to find that the answer is ‘the sem*n of heavenly demons’.”

“The sem*n of- ” Shen Qingqiu hides his face, his cheeks burning. “That’s horrible. That has to be some kind of cosmic joke.”

“With Tianlang-jun sealed under a mountain and his only remaining relative missing, we may never know.”

A lull settles in the conversation, a companionable silence. If it wasn’t for the million questions crowding his mind, Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t mind lazing around like this all day.

“One can’t cultivate a demonic and a golden core at the same time, not without having very specific natural affinities that can support extra spirit veins,” he says after a while to break the silence. “I have researched that much before I started cultivating from the special manual. So I can’t help but wonder about the particulars of shidi’s suggestion.”

“The actual mechanics of it are quite complex, but in general terms… shixiong is familiar with the concept of grafting, yes?”

“Of grafting the branch of one tree onto the trunk of another? Yes, but only in generic terms.”

“That’s enough. The vague concept is more or less the same: taking a healthy demonic core as the root and using directed cultivation to graft the forming golden core onto it as the scion. They both need to be cultivated and nourished, but unless the demonic core requires very specific, destructive ways of cultivation, then it’s possible to cultivate a righteous path and feed them both with spiritual energy.” He reaches over and gently taps a finger over Shen Qingqiu’s dantian. “The theory was originally developed for righteous cultivators joining demonic sects, so the majority of literature approaches the topic from that angle, but there are a few case studies of situations like shixiong’s, if he wishes to read them for himself.”

That makes sense to Shen Qingqiu. Demonic sects are much less picky about the purity of their members and are much more cutthroat as a whole. Nobody would want to discard an already formed golden core if they could help it, not unless they pursue a form of cultivation that’s antithetical to spiritual energy.

“I recall shidi saying not so long ago that he didn’t have a lot of literature on demonic cultivators who abandoned their paths. So which is it?”

“Because of how thoroughly Shen-shixiong suppresses his demonic energy, I was under the impression that Lan-shibo somehow managed to fully destroy his core and cleanse him of the remaining demonic qi as well. That is quite unprecedented and made shixiong’s continued struggles difficult to predict and mitigate.” He sighs heavily. “A mistake on this healer’s part to assume without ascertaining for myself, but the terrible state of his meridians seemed to support such a scorched-earth approach to rooting out his former cultivation and the forming shell of his golden core hid any remnants of his demonic core. I beg your forgiveness for the oversight.”

“Shidi is not at fault for making the logical assumption based on what he knew.” After all, wasn’t that what he wanted to happen? To be free of this last shackle to his pre-sect life? Very quietly he asks “Is there really no other way?”

“As a healer invested in shixiong’s well being - and a friend, if he’d accept me as such - I can’t recommend trying other alternative methods. Anything severe enough to fully destroy his core will likely destroy his meridians as well, and shixiong’s health isn’t robust enough to survive the reconstruction surgery.” Mu-shidi’s eyes seem to linger on Yue Qi as he says that, but he might just be avoiding looking at Shen Qingqiu.

“I see.”

Shen Qingqiu should feel relieved, reassured that someone like the peerless Mu-shidi is like him in a way, that he won’t be doomed if he doesn’t keep trying to rip the darkest parts of himself out, but all he feels is despair. Making the decision to tear down his demonic cultivation - to become eligible as an inner disciple - hurt, but he thought it would be all worth it in the end. Now he has to face that all his work, his pain and struggles were for nothing after all.

“Can I have some time to think about it?”

“Of course, shixiong.” Mu Qingfang’s hand is solid and warm on his arm when the healer gives him a reassuring squeeze. “I have cleared my schedule for the next few days so that I can stay close, just in case. I will be meditating in the side room, if you need me.”

“Thank you, shidi.”

He waits for the door to close behind Mu Qingfang before he burrows under the quilt and wraps Yue Qi in his arms. It’s strange to be bigger than Yue Qi for a change, but not in a bad way. The way Yue Qi buries his face in Shen Qingqiu’s neck is familiar and grounding, a balm to his chafed-raw soul.

He can put thinking about this off for a little while. Let’s make finding an answer tomorrow’s Qingqiu’s problem.

Chapter 31

Chapter Text

Despite being determined to sleep until tomorrow, Mu-shidi gently shakes them awake later that afternoon. “Forgive me for disturbing your rest, but you have to eat. I made potstickers.”

“Shidi need not have gone to the trouble. This peak has a kitchen like any other,” Shen Qingqiu grumbles.

“The man they sent with your dinner tray looked like only your history of firing staff at the smallest slight stopped him from spitting in your food,” Mu-shidi says with clear disapproval. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t even need to think hard on which servant he’s talking about.

“I don’t think it ever actually stopped him,” he mumbles, nudging Yue Qi who is still asleep and holding onto him like an overgrown octopus.

“Excuse me?!”

“I have no proof, of course. If I had, I would have thrown him off the mountain with pleasure, but I keep an ear to the ground and hear what the servants gossip about.” He pushes Yue Qi until the other turns around and burrows into the pillows again. He envies Yue Qi’s comfort and they will need to wake him up eventually, but at least this way he can sit up. “He is the head of the kitchen, but he follows the cooking style of the eastern court and his dishes are too rich and heavily spiced for my taste. His niece cooks with milder flavors so I put her in charge of my personal meals.” He stretches, then shrugs lightly. “He still insists on carrying the trays himself ‘to pay his respects to the peak lord’, as you have seen.”

He’s not certain if the man is insulted that he picked a younger female relative over him for the task or protective in face of Shen Qingqiu’s reputation as a lecher, but in truth it doesn’t make much of a difference. Confronting the man directly won’t achieve anything and harassing a member of his staff with seemingly groundless accusations would only make his reputation even worse.

Mu Qingfang has to realize this too, because he simply sighs. “Anyway, neither of you can afford to practice inedia right now and I’m told my cooking is quite good. Come before the food gets cold.”

After some more effort Shen Qingqiu shakes Yue Qi finally awake and they join Mu-shidi at the table. “You have grown complacent,” he berates Yue Qi as they sit. “If we wanted to kill you in your sleep you would have been dead before you knew it!”

“I have complete trust in Jiu’er and Qingfang,” Yue Qi says with a smile, accepting a plate of dumplings and a small dish of dipping sauce - with added chili oil, according to Mu-shidi - that was set aside for him specifically.

“Oh, he’s just ‘Qingfang’ now, is he?”

“Qingqiu-shixiong doesn’t need to be so jealous,” Mu Qingfang says drily, placing a plate of delectable looking dumplings in front of Shen Qingqiu. “We are all friends here and I wouldn’t dream of trying to steal his man.”

“He’s not my- and why not?! Is Sect Leader Yue not good enough for Mu-shidi?”

The healer gives him a very unamused look.

“I have watched him pine after his ‘Xiao Jiu’ for twenty years. Even when he thought Shen-shixiong was dead . I have more pride than to humiliate myself by pursuing someone I won’t ever have the chance of capturing.”

Shen Qingqiu’s face turns red with embarrassment and he busies himself with his dumplings so he doesn’t have to comment on what Mu-shidi said. The potstickers are, much to his annoyance, quite good. The flavor is a little stronger than what he usually eats, but not so much to trigger any unpleasant association.

The atmosphere remains friendly. Intimate, in a way Shen Qingqiu has hardly ever experienced in his life when it wasn’t just Qi-ge and him. When Yue Qi turns around to point out some of the fans he gifted displayed around the bamboo house, Shen Qingqiu sneaks two dumplings from his plate that Mu Qingfang seamlessly replaces from his own portion. When Shen Qingqiu unexpectedly runs out of sauce, Mu-shidi offers him his own, mostly untouched dish and shamelessly steals the last of Yue Qi’s extra spicy dipping sauce.

The longer he watches Yue Qi and Mu Qingfang interact, the less their closeness stings. They are friends and when he tentatively reaches out, Mu Qingfang reaches back with the same fondness he extends to Yue Qi, makes him feel seen and included.

They sit around the table later, sipping tea and playing weiqi. Mu Qingfang is putting up a surprisingly decent fight against Yue Qi while Shen Qinqiu watches, entertaining himself by trying to guess their next handful of moves in advance. It’s not until he finds himself restless and picks up the guqin to play something to fill the silence that he really realizes that he feels comfortable with Mu Qingfang there. That he wants to spend more afternoons like this, in the company of people who don’t make him feel like he has to dig himself deep into his den and bare his teeth at the world to have even a modicum of safety. And he wants to share it with-

No, he shouldn’t think about him.

“You won again, as expected.” Mu Qingfang is a good sport whether he wins or loses, but as Shen Qingqiu looks over the board he can see that his play has become sloppier as he finally grows tired.

“For someone who only has the time to play once or twice every few months, Mu-shidi is a smart player,” Shen Qingqiu says while Yue Qi refills their cups. His fingers move over the strings of the guqin with ease; this is one of the pieces he usually teaches to the intermediate music classes. “We should make this a more regular occurrence, so he can stay in practice.”

“We really should,” Mu Qingfang says with a happy sigh, his hands clasped around the warm porcelain of his teacup. “Qingwei plans to go into close cultivation starting next week, so I have been resigned to going without pleasant company for some time.”

Wei-shidi? “I don’t believe I have ever heard of him going into closed cultivation. What happened?”

“He only ever does it if he needs to get away from the world for a while to find his center and regain his creative drive. The last time we were still disciples, when his parents were… when his parents passed. This time,-” Mu Qingfang sighs again, his expression much more somber. “- two of his best forgemasters decided to leave the sect, along with all their personal disciples. Almost forty disciples between the two of them. It will be a heavy blow to Wan Jian.”

Shen Qingqiu’s fingers stumble. The timing can’t be a coincidence.

“There are a handful of seniors leaving Qiong Ding as well,” Yue Qi says quietly. “And seven of our remaining disciples are being removed by their families.”

“Only one senior healer is leaving Qian Cao and she's motivated by a hope that someone will try to recruit her into a higher position than what she filled in our sect when word spreads about Yue Qingyuan’s background.” Nonetheless, Mu-shidi looks rather cross that anyone wants to leave at all.

“Nobody from Qing Jing has expressed a desire to leave, but I believe I already ran off anyone who would have.” He was rather caustic to the people who argued against him when they set the slaves free five years ago. “A few noble parents wrote to express worries about the education of their spawn, but my cold treatment of Yue Qi in the past has been widely interpreted as me knowing of his background and secretly disapproving.” He makes a face. He's not going to disabuse them of this misunderstanding, because it will tide them over until the parents forget all about the matter, but the assumption about his character still annoys him. “Who else is leaving?”

“A few one-offs, mostly, both among the seniors and the disciples. Some of them cite moral conflicts, others are purely opportunistic. One of the Ku Xing elder monks expressed disapproval of senior Mo’s execution, but not of Yue Qingyuan’s background. I suspect there will be at least a few leaving Bai Zhan eventually, but they are biding their time and waiting for the world’s eye to shift from their peak first.”

“The most heavily affected peak, other than Wan Jian, is Xian Shu. They have lost five seniors, almost a third of the disciples and word still hasn't reached the southern court.” Yue Qi looks pained as he says this. “Qi-shimei is working hard to prevent any more from leaving, but she made it clear to me that if I so much as look at her in a public setting in the next few years, we might as well decommission her peak altogether because there will be nobody left.”

“You are her sect leader! You can’t just ignore her so she can play at being independent!” Shen Qingqiu is fuming and he’s making no effort to keep it to himself. “If she, fair daughter of a gods-damned emperor, can’t leverage her breeding and reputation to keep faith in the education of Xian Shu, then why are we keeping her around as a peak lord at all?!”

The strings twang unpleasantly and Mu Qingfang places a soothing hand on Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder.

“I find myself agreeing with shixiong. Much as I usually respect Qi-shimei, her recent conduct has been appalling. She asked me after the execution if there is a way to check Yue Qingyuan for possession or other forms of manipulation, on account of his recent reconciliation with Qingqiu-shixiong and what was, in her opinion, an uncharacteristically harsh reaction to senior Mo’s misconduct.”

Shen Qingqiu’s face burns, this time with humiliation. Of course Qi-shimei would somehow blame him for what went down. Of course-

“!!” Yue Qi throws himself at him with such vehemence that he gets bowled over and his thoughts stop dead in their tracks.They fall to the ground with a crash, tangled together in what’s mostly a hug, just barely missing the table. “What do you think you are doing?!”

“You had that look on your face, the one you get when you are going to do something reckless and self-destructive.”

“So you decided to tackle me?!”

“It worked, did it not?”

Shen Qingqiu hears a chuckle and glances up to see Mu Qingfang smiling at their antics.

“I’m not sure if shixiong would agree, but you two make quite the cute pair. I’m glad you have found a way to make up.” Shen Qingqiu glares at him, which only seems to make the healer smile wider. “Leave Qi-shimei to me. I have a bone to pick with her anyway. She started to keep her peak isolated from any kind of male contact, including Qian Cao’s routine medical exams since we can’t guarantee that only women will treat her disciples. We admitted a very confused Xian Shu shizhi just the other day showing signs of pregnancy and I have every intention to rake shimei over the coals for her neglectful education. She will be much too busy in the coming weeks to even think about spreading gossip.”

There are few things scarier than a healer out for blood and Shen Qingqiu is happy enough to leave Qi Qingqi in Mu-shidi’s capable hands. The less he has to directly interact with that harpy the better.

They sort themselves out eventually, set up another game of weiqi, this time with Yue Qi and Shen Qingqiu playing and Mu Qingfang watching with rapt attention. Mu Qingfang is an impulsive, instinctual player, which sped the earlier games up, but between Yue Qi and Shen Qingqiu the match is slow and contemplative, both of them trying to play ten steps in advance.

It leaves him too much time to think about other things.

“Humor me for a question, Qingfang-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu says while Yue Qi is ruminating on his next move. “If I were to say I possess the core of a huli jing, how would you suggest that I cultivate it?”

Mu Qingfang finds this question rather funny, hiding his laughter behind his sleeve. “Why, shixiong, you are doing it right now!”

Chapter 32

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu stares at Mu Qingfang, then glances at Yue Qi before he goes back to staring at Mu-shidi some more.

What the f*ck did he mean by that?!

“Qingfang, please elaborate before Jiu’er has another deviation from the shock,” Yue Qi says, moving around the table so he can sit shoulder to shoulder with Shen Qingqiu, the warm body next to him acting as a source of comfort.

“Qingqiu-shixiong is thinking about cultivation as it happens in a sect: an advanced, directed form of exercise to strengthen the body and the spirit to support core formation. But demons are born with their cores, so their natural forms of cultivation - the ones that serve as their foundation building exercises - are all things they are naturally drawn to do: challenging themselves and competing with each other.” Mu Qingfang taps the edge of the weiqi board. “What is an expert game of weiqi if not a competition of intellects? To outsmart someone in a debate, to overcome a challenging opponent through trickery, to win a game of strategy; these are all sources of cultivation to a huli jing.”

He sits back down, smiling again. “Shixiong couldn’t have asked for a better demonic source, because it pairs uniquely well with scholarly paths. This is why you can sometimes hear of fox sages, who cultivate similar paths to humans and through their wisdom become eligible for ascension like any cultivator would.”

It makes a horrible amount of sense. Mischief and trickery; it calls to mind the scams and ploys Wu Yanzi had him pull, outsmarting rich idiots and the authorities alike. “I feared shidi might suggest something with dual cultivation,” he admits. Yue Qi squeezes his hand in reassurance, but he's relieved enough that he doesn't need it and shoos him back to his own side of the table. This conversation won't be productive if he gets distracted. “After all, huli jing are also widely known to be maneaters.”

“I would never suggest a predatory cultivation path. As for my own… Shixiong, you couldn’t bring yourself to dual cultivate with me when we already had a degree of trust established between us. I have no illusions whatsoever about how the suggestion to follow the path of leisure - which, indeed, includes dual cultivation, preferably with multiple partners - would have gone down.”

Mu-shidi is not wrong. Even now that he started to entertain the possible idea of sex with Yue Qi, the idea of dual cultivating with anybody else makes his blood run cold. How can anyone stand it? The grasping hands of strangers, the touch of unfamiliar bodies, having no choice but to trust in the impossible gamble that they will respect if he says no, to stop…

Mu-shidi gently touches his arm to regain his attention. “The path of leisure is an efficient, but often overlooked and misunderstood way of cultivation. It’s not just dual cultivation, but ultimately it only works if you can take pleasure in it, shixiong. You have neither the hunger for pleasure nor the tendency towards indulgence that would make it a suitable path for you. You have, however, a keen mind that will thrive on the path of the witty fox - soon as we strengthen shixiong’s meridians to handle his demonic qi, of course.”

Mu Qingfang holds out his hand and Shen Qingqiu obediently offers his wrist. Mu Qingfang hums as he feels out his spirit veins again, now that tea and rest has lessened the inflammation, but ultimately shakes his head. “I hoped that my qi might be suitable for an infusion to kickstart Qingqiu-shixiong’s cultivation, but I’m afraid we are quite thoroughly incompatible in this regard. Getting an infusion of qi from a demon with high water or wood affinity would be ideal, if we could find a trustworthy one.”

“Not much chance of just stumbling into one of those these days,” Yue Qi says, finally placing his next stone. “If they even brave the human realm, they would be very well-disguised. I can send a message to Shang-shidi, in case he can tap into his contacts and find a willing donor.”

The mention of Shang Qinghua inevitably directs Shen Qingqiu’s thoughts towards Xuebao. No matter how much the demon’s deception stings, the man has saved his life during his previous qi deviation. It had to be him. Maybe Shen Qingqiu can leverage the deception over him to make him cooperate with this dubious treatment plan. “I might have met someone when we were down in the city. What of a Yan clan demon?”

“Yan-clan…” Mu-shidi traces the grain of the table as he considers the name, brows furrowed in thought. “I believe that’s a bestowed clan name, which is a good sign, but I truly don’t recall what kind of demons those might be.”

“I know this one!” Yue Qi beams. “It’s the Mobei-clan’s old name. They stopped using it two generations ago, when they declared a blood feud with Huan Hua Palace and cut ties with the Jianghu - publicly, at least. They never asked to be taken off our foundation document or demanded that we return the treasure they bestowed on the sect, so their alliance with our sect was never formally broken.” He looks very happy with himself for knowing all of that, like a puppy that learned a new trick while his owners weren’t looking.

Mu Qingfang and Shen Qingqiu both stare at him like he suddenly grew a second head.

“Does shixiong happen to know why exactly they declared a blood feud?” Mu-shidi asks tentatively, when the silence starts to stretch on for too long. “I have always wondered, but trying to find information about such a high profile demon family without being questioned is difficult.”

Yue Qingyuan, as sect leader, has free access to the restricted sections of the secret library. If he ever wanted to know, he is one of the few who could freely check.

“It was a massacre,” Yue Qi says, settling into what Shen Qingqiu knows to be his storytelling voice. He used to tell stories often enough to the younger children, his Xiao Jiu above all else. “They have never been on friendly terms, as I understand. The northern demons always respected the borders, even before Tianlang-jun started to enforce them properly, because they benefit too much from trade with the human realm to act up - even demons starve when the crops freeze before the harvest - but Huan Hua Palace took great pride in their hunting excursions into the demon realm. They were, at the time, without doubt the most powerful among the great sects. Then the previous Palace Master took over and he wanted to make his promotion truly memorable, with a hunt unlike any other before. He sussed out that the Northern Demon Kingdom was holding a betrothal celebration deep in the heart of their territory, a union between one of the younger princes and a foreign demon princess. Part of the ceremony was a hunt for an abyssal beast set loose in the uninhabited frozen wastelands, as a kind of friendly competition between the two families and their most capable warriors. The Palace Master waited until the demons were too far away, too split up to be easily gathered and called back and that’s when he attacked those who stayed behind: save for a few guards, mostly weaker relatives, servants, and young children. Taken by surprise, these demons stood no chance against the most elite cultivators of Huan Hua Palace.

They would have gotten away with their trophies, the demons none the wiser for days, but the prince had a bad feeling or a premonition or saw some kind of omen - this part is not very clear - so he sent his betrothed ahead to gather the warriors because she was the fastest in their little hunting group, while he joined up with his elder brother’s wife and together they rushed back to camp. Not that two demons could do much against almost a hundred fully armed cultivators. In the end the prince was crippled, as good as dead. His younger siblings, his young nephews and nieces were all slaughtered and his brother’s wife along with them.”

Shen Qingqiu suddenly remembers the previous Palace Master’s trophy room, the neatly arranged rows of child skulls, and shudders in revulsion.

“What kind of degenerate stages an attack on children and still dares to call himself a righteous cultivator?!” Mu Qingfang is so incensed that his words take on a faint accent, something reminiscent of Shang-shidi’s far southern dialect.

“Beasts dressed in gold brocade,” Shen Qinqgiu mutters. “What happened to the foreign alliance?” He has a hunch, but he has to ask, just in case.

“They salvaged it by having the older prince marry the foreign princess, I believe, but it led to a lot of tension in the clan. The younger prince and the princess were a love match.”

It is not unusual for the cold pragmatism of alliances to break up a couple, but it’s still a sad end to a depressing tale.

Finally Shen Qingqiu clears his throat to disperse the gloomy atmosphere that settled over them. “So, shidi? Would a Mobei demon work for your purposes?”

“It’s possible, I suppose. It would depend on the individual.” Mu-shidi has settled down after his earlier outburst, but his fingers still drum restlessly on the table as he thinks. “For a delicate process like this, either a young one with less developed qi reserves or someone with a high degree of control over their energy would be best, but I am trained to act as a bridge and filter qi between a strong source and a fragile patient, if need be.”

“He was pretending to be a rogue cultivator when we met and had incredible control over his qi. I was standing right next to him and couldn’t feel his presence at all.” He thinks back on their first meeting, the first day he jumped into Shang-shidi’s garden. The other times he might have used some talisman or technique to hide his nature, but that very first day when Shen Qingqiu talked to him through the window he had no reason to expect discovery. It’s possible, of course, that Shang-shidi’s wards to keep demonic energy contained worked just fine with the window open, but he’s confident he would have felt the energy of the wards in that case…

Wait a moment. He replays their first meeting in his mind. There was music and his intrigue, yes, but also the papers.

“Oh no.” He suddenly feels faint again. He has been so caught up in what Xuebao’s identity meant to him - deception and betrayal - that he spared no thought as to what it means to the sect. “Oh no.”

He ignores Yue Qi’s and Mu Qingfang’s concerned questions and gets up, only slightly shaky, to walk to the shelf where he keeps the cross-peak paperwork sorted, much of it the result of the recent audits. He opens one at random, then another, then another. Everywhere in Shang-shidi’s papers there are notes written in a familiar hand, as intimately knowledgeable of sect affairs as Shang-shidi himself.

Yue Qi has stood up to and now hovers beside him, uncertain what to do. At least he doesn’t have enough qi currently for a deviation, but his spirit veins ache with the memory of fire anyway. “Jiu’er, you are scaring me.”

He allows Yue Qi to half-lead half-carry him back to the table, his limbs suddenly too heavy to support him. From the concerned looks the two are directing at him, he’s certain that he looks like he has seen a ghost.

“I just realized. The Mobei demon - Shang Qinghua’s demon. He has free access to all of our papers, every report, every secret and every file that passes the desk of the An Ding Lord.”

Chapter 33

Chapter Text

Yue Qi immediately turns serious.

“Jiu’er, tell us everything from the beginning.”

Shen Qingqiu tries, but he feels faint and lightheaded and the words refuse to line up right. He thinks he might black out for a few moments, because the next thing he knows, Mu-shidi is holding his wrist and looking troubled.

“It’s not a full qi-deviation, but shixiong’s meridians are strained again. Shixiong, please carry him back to bed and give him some water, I’m going to gather up those notes and bring them in a moment.”

“I have to tell you,” Shen Qingqiu mumbles as Yue Qi scoops him up.

“And you will, shixiong, but your health is beyond compromised right now and you need to rest ,” Mu Qingfang insists as he starts gathering up the reports Shen Qingqiu dropped. “You can tell us everything from the comfort of your bed.”

Shen Qingqiu feels beyond indignant - he is not some useless cripple! This amount of pain is nothing! - but he finds himself too exhausted to argue. Maybe there is something in what Mu-shidi says after all.

It doesn’t take long for him to settle down, Yue Qi sitting vigilantly next to him when Mu Qingfang finally joins them with his big armful of folders. “All right, Qingqiu-shixiong. Don’t push yourself, we will hear you out no matter what.”

If there is one benefit to this pause, it’s that Shen Qingqiu had a moment to organize his thoughts.

“I said that I met the demon down in the city, which is indeed true, but not the full truth. Although I haven’t seen his face at the time, I have met him before, here in the sect. At Shang-shidi’s house.” He goes through a slow recounting of their interactions, focusing on the parts that feel important and only what happened on sect grounds; he can’t talk about what happened in the city without giving away Mobei Er or ruining the surprise of the qilin, which they agreed to gift to Yue Qi once it’s paid for in full.

Xuebao often spends his time in Shang Qinghua’s house, treating Shen Qingqiu to food and tea with generous hospitality. He showed no sign of aggression, kept his energy restrained and had no interest in the politics of the Jianghu beyond what was believable for his ‘disguise’ of a rogue cultivator with strong ties to the demon realm. He seemed to come here to hide when injured.

He saved Shen Qingqiu’s life when he qi-deviated.

“When I went to confront him, under the impression that he was working for a Mobei demon and put himself in debt to have his employer save me, he was still heavily injured. It was the first time I’ve seen him face to face and I’m not certain what he used to appear human, but in hindsight it must have been some kind of spiritual tonic.” He remembers, faintly, the pungent smell of medication. “It must have been risky to take it while injured, but he still chose to do it so he could reassure me.”

No more risky than coming and going from a righteous sect like a shadow or breaking into the heavily warded residence of a deviating peak lord, but it’s yet another facet of Xuebao that doesn’t quite fit into Shen Qingqiu’s image of demons and their behaviors.

“At least whoever this demon may be, he seems to hold no ill intentions towards our sect. He would have had no reason to save Jiu’er’s life otherwise,” Yue Qi says, slowly leafing through the documents. “Shang-shidi confided in me some time ago that he has a contact in the demon realm, someone he considers a cherished friend. I assumed, based on shidi’s nervous nature, that it must either be a rogue cultivator or a lower-ranking demon retainer, the kind they sometimes send to the mortal realm to trade. However, if this demon can come and go so freely from the sect that he got this entwined in Shang-shidi’s work, then my assumption might be incorrect.”

He puts down the report in his hand. It’s a financial analysis, clearly visible on the page when Shang Qinghua fell asleep, leaving an ugly splotch of ink on one side. Xuebao seamlessly picked up where Shang Qinghua left off and finished the rest of the calculations, then wrote a note on the bottom that the sect should look for a new grain supplier because this one is cheating them.

“I have only connected the dots after seeing the mural of the Mobei wedding in Di-shidi’s office, but it would seem Shang-shidi has friends in very high places. I believe Xuebao to be the young Mobei-wang.” He still feels numb from being deceived, from being led by the nose for this long - have they ever planned on telling him the truth? Are they laughing at him behind his back? Some tactician he is to not recognize the demon right in front of his eyes - but cold logic is reasserting itself, his heightened emotions no longer blowing matters out of proportion. He was willing to wait and confront him quietly before he realized that a security breach has happened, but before anything can be done they need to get to the bottom of it how severe it is. Is Shang-shidi selling out sect secrets? Insider information on inter-sect politics? Or it all could just be petty gossip, shared with someone who just happens to be a demon.

Shen Qingqiu doesn't know and that, more than anything, is ratcheting up his levels of anxiety all over again.

Mu-shidi mumbles something under his breath and picks up one of the documents again, reading it with more scrutiny, while Yue Qi seems to be, if anything, more confused than before.

“If he’s a Mobei prince, then I suppose that would explain where he learned how to do the land taxation forms. Or why he knows the bulk price of rice and grains.” He shuffles the papers around, looking at a few more. “It seems like he prefers to work with numbers and leaves the rest to Shang-shidi where he can. Look here on this damage report: he did the initial calculations here, left a note saying 'Figure this out, I don't know who any of these people are' on the margin and then went and did the preliminary repair cost analysis on the other side.” He puts the papers back down, looking lost. “I have seen his handwriting before and assumed it has to be one of Shang Qinghua’s helpful shidis or maybe his head disciple. Why would a demon be interested in any of this? It gives him no tactical advantage to know how many winter robes we need in a season or that one of our villages was late with tax because the rains delayed the harvest. It’s all just busywork.”

“That might actually just be it,” Mu-shidi says. He’s still looking at the page in his hand, comparing the handwriting to a note. “Helping someone he considers a close friend with their busywork. He has been a frequent visitor to the peak for years if not decades and hasn’t caused any trouble, aside from occasionally stealing from the restricted medicines cabinet.” He lays down the note for them to see. It’s a polite request for Mu-shidi to refill a kind of potent painkiller, written in very familiar characters and signed with a cute if crude doodle of a leopard. “We had an unknown thief ransacking our medicine store since I was a disciple, leaving notes like this when they took something. Frankly, for a while I believed it might just be a ghost doing a very obscure form of haunting, but if this Xuebao has been coming here to recuperate whenever he suffers an injury, then I finally have someone of flesh and blood I can hold responsible.”

Mu-shidi looks mildly murderous as he says this and Shen Qingqiu can’t help but tease him a little. “Shidi sounds like he’s out for blood.”

“On the one hand, shidi is immensely relieved that it’s not the sign that one of his martial siblings got addicted to highly restricted substances. On the other hand, seventh-winter frost petals don’t grow on trees and this menace of a demon has stolen a lot of our more expensive curatives over the years.”

Knowing that Shen Qingqiu isn’t the only one with a mundane grievance is strangely reassuring. He can be upset over the deception and Mu-shidi will be upset over the theft and they are both ordinary, low-stakes matters, much easier to conceptualize than a demon possibly stealing sect secrets.

“If news about this security breach gets out, we will be the laughing stock of the Jianghu,” Yue Qi says, slowly gathering up the papers again. His shoulders are stiff with tension. “So the next step should be to decide what we are going to do about it.”

“I have only just realized his identity - I had a passing suspicion that he might be involved in demonic cultivation, but I haven’t even entertained the idea that a demon might be sneaking into the sect - and I planned to confront him and Shang-shidi the first chance I get,” Shen Qingqiu says truthfully. “He has fashioned himself as a friend of sorts to me and I want to hear what reason he had for deceiving me in such a manner.”

They both look at him with clear sympathy. It’s hardly a secret that Shen Qingqiu has very few people in the sect who so much as tolerate his presence; friendship, until recently, felt completely out of his grasp.

“Jiu’er is in no shape to confront anyone, much less a demon,” Yue Qi points out. He sets the folders on the floor and climbs back onto the bed, wrapping him in his arms again. He’s always a little sticky, but since he reverted to this young form, he has been sticking to him ten times as hard.

“If Shen-shixiong is amenable, Yue-shixiong and this Mu can accompany him,” Mu-shidi offers. He’s perched on the edge of the bed, not quite shameless or pushy enough to try to come closer without clear invitation. “Based on your previous interactions, do you believe that the demon would be more forthcoming about his intentions with or without Shang-shidi present?”

Shen Qingqiu glances at Mu-shidi and takes note of the calculating expression on his usually carefully neutral face. “What are you asking, exactly, shidi?”

“Shang Qinghua is currently away from the sect and not expected to return for another week.” He holds up the note again, the little leopard doodle almost mockingly cheerful. “While I have amassed a fair collection of these over the years, I got this particular one just this morning.”

Chapter 34

Chapter Text

They agree to go confront Xuebao the next day. Mu Qingfang wants to wait even more, at least a few days, but reluctantly agrees when he realizes how stressed and anxious Shen Qingqiu is over this matter.

Yue Qi sleeps with Shen Qingqiu - he glares at Mu Qingfang, daring him to say anything about how improper this is, but their shidi just smiles fondly at both of them before he leaves them be - and Mu-shidi spends the night in the side room. In the morning they have food brought from the peak kitchens for all three of them, all thanks to a spiritual messenger Yue Qi remembered to send to the kitchens.

“Are you certain this hasn’t been tampered with?” Yue Qi asks when he lays out the three trays. He’s directing the food a doubtful look, but it appears to be fine. Congee, youtiao, simple steamed buns and tea make for a very understated breakfast.

“Completely. Rare as it is that I have guests, he would never risk messing with the wrong dish. I would have every reason to kick him off my peak then.” Shen Qingqiu finishes pouring the tea and looks at the door of the side room. “Mu-shidi is quiet.”

“He’s probably still asleep.”

“Still? The sun is already up.” Yue Qi shrugs, unconcerned.

“He is following the path of leisure. Sleeping in and lazy mornings are part of how he recuperates from his usual hard work.”

“Wouldn’t it be simpler to just follow a cultivation path that fits his usual work schedule?”

“I never actually wondered. Perhaps you should ask him.”

“Well, I need to wake him up anyway. I might ask him while I’m at it.” Concern flashes in Yue Qi’s eyes, but he doesn’t move fast enough to stop him before he barges into the side room. It’s his house! He’s allowed to be a bit rude to wake up his oversleeping shidi if he wants to!

He finds Mu-shidi sprawling inelegantly all over the bed, his under robes riding up indecently to show off his stomach. Shen Qingqiu sniffs and pretends that he can’t see that. “Up you get, shidi. We have breakfast ready.”

Mu Qingfang grumbles something and pulls the quilt over his face to hide. Shen Qingqiu calls for him a few times, but Mu-shidi seems determined to ignore him. Finally he gets fed up and pokes him in the side where his skin is exposed.

Mu Qingfang jumps and pulls the quilt back down so he can direct a wide eyed, betrayed stare at Shen Qingqiu. “Such a mean shixiong! What have I ever done to you to deserve such abuse?”

“Would you like to hear the entire list? Because we will be here all day and the food will go cold.”

Mu Qingfang laughs, bright and carefree, but does actually start making an effort to get up. “Ah, shixiong, the others are missing out by not treating you better. Your humor is a delight when you deign to share it.”

Shen Qingqiu ignores that comment, finding himself fascinated by Mu-shidi’s apparent difficulty to get his limbs to coordinate. He makes getting out of bed seem like a herculean task. “Is this an effect of your cultivation?”

“Hm? I suppose a little bit, yes. I was always given to laziness, believe it or not, and my cultivation style does exacerbate it somewhat.”

“What’s the point, then? Why not choose a path that aligns more with your work?” That is, after all, how most peak lords find the time to cultivate and fulfill their duties to their peak at the same time. Shen Qingqiu himself has found some success in musical cultivation, at least during periods when his cultivation base is more stable, which also serves to keep him in practice as a master musician and composer.

“There are no cultivation paths that are directly tied to healing. The closest principle I could have gone into is pill refining and there is not enough time in a day for me to fulfill my calling as a healer and keep up with our martial siblings if I chose that path. The exercises to build up one’s qi reserves alone can take up to 8 shichens of intense meditation a day. Much too involved for me, thank you.” He stretches and finally stands upright. “Besides, healers are encouraged not to go into paths with very high time- or energy requirements. We are far too liable to work ourselves to death as is.”

Shen Qingqiu drops the subject after that.

They decide to approach from the garden. Mobei-wang will feel them pass through the wards, but trying to hide the other two would just make this visit feel like a trap, one that a demon with shadow powers can easily flee from before they even get a chance to talk to him. Besides, Shen Qingqiu has already tested that the garden has a minor muffling array set into the walls, keeping spoken words from carrying outside. Very convenient for their purposes.

“A-Bao, open up! I know you are here.” Shen Qingqiu thumps his fist against the door, less in irritation and more because he’s desperate to get inside and sit down. With his qi-reserves fully depleted and Yue Qi’s cultivation being somewhat shaky due to the de-aging, Mu-shidi declared that they had to walk all the way. Since there’s no rainbow bridge directly connecting Qing Jing to An Ding, that walk also included a very long and annoying detour through Bai Zhan. He’s starting to suspect that the demon might not even be there, he’s been banging for so long. “Mobei-wa-!”

The door is pulled open with such vehemence that if it wasn’t reinforced against demon strength it would have been pulled off its hinges altogether. Biting cold air rolls out the open doorway in a big cloud, a shocking contrast against the warm summer weather. In the doorway a broad figure stands, more shadow than man, blurring around the edges. His demon mark pulses with abyssal energy, a blue so dark it seems to swallow light.

“A-Bao?”

“I was trying to sleep,” Xuebao grumbles, but he isn’t acting hostile. He's not growling or snarling, simply standing there in the door, huge and inhuman and menacing. His eyes are impossibly, radiantly blue as he leans closer and looks out at the other two. “Sect Leader Yue. Medicine Lord Mu.”

“Mobei-wang.” Yue Qi is wearing his most disarming smile and keeps his voice friendly. “Please forgive us for disturbing your rest. We only wish to talk.”

Xuebao regards them silently for a while, then shifts his gaze to Shen Qingqiu with a wordless question.

“Please, this doesn't have to turn into a fight. We’ll keep it short so you can return to your rest.”

Xuebao sighs, his power spiking a little with the exhale. Thin patterns of ice start crawling over the door. “Don't expect much hospitality. I don’t have it in me today.”

He steps back, seemingly disappearing into the shadowed interior, but each one of his heavy steps is followed by the sound of jangling chains.

The three cultivators exchange a glance and walk in after him, Mu-shidi first and Yue Qi last, so they can protect Shen Qingqiu from both sides. It's not as cold inside as Shen Qingqiu feared, but it's undeniable that Xuebao’s power clings to the place much more than usual. Whatever injury he suffered must make it difficult to regulate his qi. The blinds on the windows are partially closed, as usual for summer time, but the amount of shadows inside seems unnatural.

Mu Qingfang spots the medicine bottle on the table, marked with a bright red ribbon around the neck to signify it's from the restricted medicines cabinet, with a very small metallic cup set down next to it. “If this Mu may ask Mobei-gongzi: at what dosage have you been taking the frost-petal tonic?”

“As needed. No more than a cup a shichen.”

Mu Qingfang hums in approval, but doesn't say anything more for now.

Xuebao sits on the couch rather than kneeling with them around the table, but Shen Qingqiu suspects it has to do more with practicality than intentional rudeness. Shang Qinghua’s couch is excellent for exhausted lounging, all plush pillows and soft blankets, and the demon sprawls over it like a puppet with its strings cut, his eyes closed. The edges of his body still blur into the shadows, but since sitting down his contours have become more defined, no longer cast in unnatural shade. Shen Qingqiu can make out the messy braid thrown over his shoulder and the dark, bruised circles under his eyes.

The source of the jangling becomes apparent when more shadows withdraw from his arms: two heavy, ornate shackles connected by a long chain looped through them. The chain is much too slack to restrict his movements in any meaningful way, so Shen Qingqiu suspects its main function is to create a closed circuit between the two shackles.

“Are you all right?” he asks, because demon or not, this man has been his safe haven for almost a year now. He's allowed to worry for him a little. “What happened to you?”

Xuebao shakes his head then clicks his claws together. The shadows swell around them and the three cultivators jump when a heavy bamboo scroll falls down from nothing, clattering onto the table. It's written in the northern kingdom’s language - easy enough to decipher in theory, because their writing is a direct offshoot of the Jianghu’s writing system and they adapted much of the language along with it - but at a glance Shen Qingqiu can only tell that it's some kind of medical report.

Mu Qingfang immediately steals the scroll away, poring over it with great interest.

“That’s certainly a handy trick,” Yue Qi says stiffly. Xuebao doesn’t move, but the shadows shift around him, giving the impression of a shrug. “Would Mobei-gongzi mind if we asked a few questions?”

“You want to know if I’m a danger to the sect.”

“Not so bluntly, but yes. I’m sure you are aware how it must look for Shang-shidi to allow a demon free access to his house and his work. We do try to take security breaches seriously when we happen to discover one.”

Xuebao opens one eye and watches Yue Qi with an unreadable expression for some time. “Qinghua cares for the sect and I care for Qinghua. We are not in conflict.”

“Is that why you do his paperwork?”

“His insight into the politics and customs of different clans is invaluable. He doesn’t like numbers. So we share.” He raises a hand and points at one of the bookcases, almost bursting from all the color coded reports crammed into it. “The ones on the top shelf are mine.”

Shen Qinqgiu can’t help his curiosity. He gets up - slowly, using Yue Qi’s shoulder as support - walks to the bookcase and pulls out one of the indicated reports at random. As soon as it’s in his hand he can tell that it’s not one of theirs; the feel of the paper is different. It’s a casualty report from last year, when Huan Hua Palace raided one of the northern kingdom’s supply caravans, killing the escorts and dumping the rice into a river. Another documents the wages of the rogue cultivators who serve Mobei Wu and the raise they can expect with his promotion to Mobei-wang. Yet another is a report on the yield of the treasure flowers growing in the Wu estate’s gardens and greenhouses.

All of them have little notes and scribbles and corrections from Shang Qinghua.

Shen Qingqiu very carefully puts the reports back.

“Shang-shidi has been holding out on us. Huan Hua Palace would kill to get their hands on even one of these papers.”

“How unfortunate that they will never get to have them.” Yue Qi’s deceptively placid smile promises a painful death to anyone who dares to try. At his side Xuan Su rattles Yes!! Kill the dogs and their pig Palace Master!!! which startled Shen Qingqiu. The sword has been well behaved and silent since he heard it yelling during his qi-deviation. “I will cut them down myself before they can hurt one of our own.”

Xuebao’s expression shifts slightly, to something that’s probably approval.

Shen Qingqiu could go and sit by the table again, keep to the carefully planned out order of questions they had agreed upon, but his feet take him in a different direction until he stands in front of Xuebao, towers over him even if their respective powers couldn’t be more the opposite. He has no cultivation to speak of right now and the demon’s qi blankets the room like a layer of fresh snow.

The chains clank together when Xuebao shifts to look up at him.

“That settles that the information breach is a non-issue,” he says, glaring at the demon. “But what of your other deception? Why did you keep lying to me?”

Xuebao takes a while to answer.

“Didn’t want to get Qinghua in trouble, at first. Didn’t want to scare Master Shen away, later.” There is some emotion in his voice, but Shen Qingqiu can’t make sense of it.

He pulls out a fan from his sleeve just so he has something to bonk Xuebao over the head with. He doesn’t have enough qi to strengthen the hit, so the demon doesn’t even flinch from it.

“Idiot! Do you really think I'm that shallow?!” If nothing else, then the life debt he owes the demon would have stopped him from trying to kill him. Life for a life; he would have given him and Shang Qinghua a headstart so they could flee the sect before he revealed them.

Xuebao averts his eyes, looking guilty.

“I couldn’t risk it. I don’t have any other friends.” He’s looking mournfully at something and Shen Qingqiu follows his gaze. Next to the window stands the morin khuur, innocent and well-maintained, waiting to be picked up and played.

“Idiot,” he says again, but his anger is already fading. He throws himself down on the couch next to Xuebao, noting faintly that the shadows scramble to get out of his way. “You are a f*cking idiot, A-Bao.”

Shen Qingqiu’s idiot. Shen Qingqiu’s friend.

He shoves Xuebao with his shoulder, but the demon barely budges. “Being a demon is a significant personality flaw, but not something I can’t graciously overlook in the person who helped me reconcile with Yue Qi.”

“Oh? That’s the first time I heard about that.” Yue Qi stands up and approaches with a strained smile; if Shen Qingqiu didn’t know better, he’d think that he’s jealous of the demon. “I would like to extend my thanks to Qingqiu-shidi’s friend for his help, then. Can I sit with you?”

Xuebao is still averting his eyes, bashful now rather than guilty. He makes a low rumbling sound that Shen Qingqiu can feel against his shoulder rather than hear, too persistent to be a growl.

It’s a very endearing reaction, from such a fearsome looking demon.

“Don’t box him in,” Mu-shidi suggests from the table, looking over the edge of the bamboo scroll with exasperated fondness. “And maybe hold off on the friendly bullying until he’s recovered, if he bolts we will never see him or Shang-shidi ever again.”

“‘S fine.” Xubeao very carefully draws himself smaller to give Yue Qi space on his other side. “I’m the youngest, I get teased a lot.”

“Glad that we are on the same page, Mobei-gongzi.” He sits down next to Xuebao, but leans against the far edge of the couch to leave the demon a bit more breathing room, as per Mu-shidi’s advice. “Now, before we move on, all of us happy friends, I have one more question for you.” His voice takes on just the slightest edge of a threat.

“What are your intentions with Shang-shidi?”

Chapter 35

Chapter Text

Xuebao blinks at Yue Qi, apparently needing some time to make sense of the question.

“Intentions?” He leans back and stares up at the ceiling for a while, thinking. “To court him, eventually. But not for some time.”

“Wait, hold on. I thought you two were together! What do you mean eventually?!” Shen Qingqiu stares at the demon, scandalized. Holding off on officially courting Shang-shidi before his identity was revealed was one thing, but it should be clear enough that the sect is at least open to a discussion about the matter, right?

Yue Qi seems to have some doubts about this courtship as well.

“I sincerely hope Mobei-gongzi doesn’t plan on leading Shang-shidi on and only taking him as some third-rank concubine,” he says with some menace.

“No! I would take him as my consort and no other.” Xuebao’s rebuttal is instantaneous, which does help sooth Shen Qingqiu’s worries just a little. “But I cannot marry him until I am king and I won’t be king until my father passes. The elders would not allow it.”

“Shouldn’t it be your father’s call whether you are allowed to court someone or not?” He looked into the Mobei clan and their customs a little when he thought Xuebao to be their retainer. While the elders’ council can make suggestions, the king holds unchallenged authority over the clan and their decisions.

The ancestral power passed down through their rulers is too overwhelming (they wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight) and too crucial (the framework of temples and monuments suppressing the Endless Abyss is directly tied to the king) to risk conflict.

“He hates me, so he might deny my request out of spite.” Xuebao shrugs and slumps down farther. “At least I assume he does. I have only met him once in the last thirty years, when I was accepted as Mobei-wang.”

Shen Qingqiu tries to match that information to his slowly rebuilding picture of the Mobei family, but something about it doesn’t add up. Wu Ren - Mobei Er - was overjoyed about Xuebao courting Shang-shidi. She thought their father would approve.

But she also said, rather explicitly, that the family patriarch was dying. She seemed honest in her grief, but she managed to slip right past his usually infallible ability to detect lies in general, so he's going to set that thought aside until he can confirm or deny it.

Shen Qingqiu meets Yue Qi’s eyes over Xuebao’s slumped down form and sees the same confusion mirrored on his face.

“There is a rumor that Mobei-jun has fully withdrawn from his court and only governs through his brother because he’s mourning one of his wives,” Yue Qi offers as a possible explanation.

“My mother. Yes.”

“My condolences.”

“I don’t remember her. She died soon after I was born.” The longer they talk, the more miserable Xuebao seems. Shen Qingqiu nudges his shoulder again to get him to look up at him.

“I’m certain she, at least, would have approved of Shang-shidi.” That gets Xuebao to smile faintly.

“Yes. Qinghua is great.” His smile fades into a troubled frown after a moment. “He deserves better than me.”

Shen Qingqiu can guess what he’s thinking about. He too still remembers the scar on Shang-shidi’s arm. “That’s not up to you to decide. Shidi seemed very set on having you, so all you get to do is strive to be your best self so you can live up to his expectations.”

He very deliberately avoids looking at Yue Qi as he says that. He might not have physically harmed Yue Qi over the years, but when he struck out with his words, full of intention to harm, it wasn’t an accident.

Xuebao stares at him with those impossibly blue eyes for a long moment before he, for lack of a better word, tackles Shen Qingqiu. It’s more of a controlled flop, but all the same, suddenly there’s the weight of a very big demon halfway in his lap, pulling him along and pinning him to the couch. “Whoa hey!” His knee is pressed against the edge of the couch at an awkward angle, the chains dig into his waist where Xuebao’s arms catch him in a hug and he can feel the uncomfortable cold of the demon’s breath where his face is buried in Shen Qingqiu’s chest, but there’s also that deep rumbling again, a heavy purr that seems to reverberate through his very bones.

“Get off, you are heavy!” He shoves at Xuebao’s shoulder, but the demon doesn’t budge. “What are you, a spoiled house cat?!”

“Yes.”

“You are not supposed to agree!”

“Glad to see that Shen-shixiong is making friends,” Mu Qingfang quips from his spot by the table, rolling out the last of the scroll. He hides a smile when Shen Qingqiu directs an enraged look his way.

“Don’t encourage him!”

“That doesn’t look comfortable for either of you,” Yue Qi notes, but he is smiling too, the traitor. He nudges Xuebao in the side with his knee. “Come on, gongzi, let Jiu’er breathe.”

Xuebao suddenly freezes, as if he forgot that the others were there too. He tilts his head just slightly to look at Yue Qi from the corner of his eye. “Sect Leader Yue?”

“Oh now you remember your manners.” Shen Qingqiu pokes his cheek viciously. “If you still want to call me Jiu-ge then you’d better learn to call him Qi-ge as well. We are…” he trails off, uncertain what to call them. They are not yet a couple, not officially, but what they have is more than friends or martial brothers.

“A ‘package deal’, Qinghua calls you. Not to be separated.” That certainly sounds like the sort of nonsense Shang-shidi sometimes says. Despite this, however, both Xuebao and Yue Qi seem hesitant about the suggestion.

“I’m not certain it would be appropriate…”

“I don’t want to disrespect Sect Leader Yue…”

They both stop and stare at each other. It would be almost endearing if it wasn’t so annoying.

“A-Bao needs friends, or a better surrogate family or both. Preferably both.” If they had a club for people who are orphans in all but name, Xuebao would definitely fit right in.“And Yue Qi needs a new pet project to keep himself occupied while his peak is nonfunctional. He gets mopey if he runs out of surrogate little siblings to herd and baby. Like a big dumb sheepdog.” Despite the awkward angle, he manages to just barely kick Yue Qi in the shin. “You two are perfect for each other and I wouldn’t have to worry about my two best friends getting in a conflict behind my back.”

When Shen Qingqiu imagined introducing them to each other, before he realized that Xuebao was a demon, he never pictured the introductions to go this awkwardly. Xuebao usually has the air of an unplanned youngest noble son, neglected and a little wild because he has little value to his family beyond another mouth to feed. That’s why Shen Qingqiu accepted so easily that someone with his background could be a rogue cultivator. Yue Qi usually loves the type, Shen Qingqiu has noticed over the years, takes them right under his wing as his shidis. He used to be jealous of them when they were head disciples. Even if the boys eventually always left to stand on their own two feet, for a while they got to soak up the attention that Shen Jiu wanted for himself.

A prince of the branching Mobei clan seeking shelter in the heart of a cultivation sect says a lot of things about his skill and his ability to restrain both his temper and his energy, but most of all it says that he is alone. A dozen older siblings and dozens if not hundreds of uncles and aunts and grandparents who should have his back, yet he dug his den here. It’s the heart of his enemies’ stronghold and yet this is where he comes to heal and to relax. He desperately needs a big brother he can trust and Yue Qi knows how to be good to a beast wearing the thin skin of a man. If it’s a fox or a leopard should matter little.

And Yue Qi needs someone he can be Qi-ge to again, now that the relationship between Shen Qingqiu and him is different. He can see it in the way Yue Qi follows the progress of each of his disciples, even if he hasn't so much as spoken two words to them. The rigid relationship between Shizun and disciples is not the sort of bond he needs. The gap in power and status is simply too big. Not so much between a demon prince and a sect leader; they play in different fields of politics, so they have no power over each other except for what they chose to relinquish.

It’s all laid out so neatly in his mind, but how is he supposed to make them see it?

More determined than before, he pushes at Xuebao’s shoulders. The demon goes easily this time, clearly still baffled by the suggestion. Xuebao is pushed to sit and then to fall back the other way, landing on his back with his head mostly in Yue Qi’s lap. He’s still quiet, but that’s hardly unusual for him. “Qi-ge?” he ventures, for the first time today looking ready to bolt if he’s rebuffed.

Trapped between the plush pillows and Yue Qi’s hip, Xuan Su can’t efficiently rattle, but it makes a valiant attempt. Its curses and threats come out muffled, like someone yelling from the other side of a waterfall. Don’t you dare! If you start cozying up with demons I will break your arm the next time you draw me!! I will- Yue Qi firmly puts his hand over the hilt to stop the rattling and offers a faint smile. “I have my doubts, but if Jiu’er thinks we would be good friends, then I’m willing to give this a try.”

That has to be good enough for now. It takes a little effort for them to get comfortable like this, all three of them on the couch. Xuebao’s head is resting on Yue Qi’s thigh, still purring quietly when Yue Qi’s fingers find their way into his thick hair, and his legs are stretched out over Shen Qingqiu’s lap. Shang-shidi clearly commissioned the couch with Xuebao in mind, because even fully stretched out he fits comfortably.

“Are you supposed to move around this much while you are injured?” He can’t see any external injuries, but now that he has settled down Shen Qingqiu can clearly see that he’s exhausted. He’s halfway dozing and for all that he can feel his weight, something about his body feels… less real than the world around him, for lack of a better world. Like if Shen Qingqiu poked him hard enough he would pop and dissolve into nothing like a soap bubble.

Xuebao just shrugs.

“No, he’s not.” Mu Qingfang rolls up the bamboo scroll with a loud clatter, then stomps over to the couch and stops right next to them, looming. He’s eyeing the shackles with a calculating glint in his eyes. “Mobei-gongzi, can those come off long enough for me to check your meridians?”

Xuebao wordlessly unclips one of the shackles and offers his arm to Mu-shidi. The healer holds the demon’s wrist like it could shatter from the lightest touch and takes a long time examining Xuebao’s meridians. Whatever he sees must be promising though, because he firms his hold and presses two fingers of his other hand against Xuebao’s abdomen. “Your pancreas is on the wrong side. It should be here.”

Xuebao scrunches up his face in concentration and, perhaps, no little pain. The shadows spread over the walls like spilled ink when his qi flares, but after a few moments his face smooths out and the shadows withdraw.

“Good. Your liver is enlarged and there are spirit veins tangled up in it.”

“That’s normal for me.”

“Really? Fascinating.” Mu Qingfang takes his time slowly feeling out the demon’s internal organs. “I can see some minor inflammation, but I’m going to deem that normal under the circ*mstances. Is this your first time putting your organs back in their proper place?”

“En.”

“Good job. I don’t see anything else so wildly misplaced that it would cause problems. Now that your digestive system is fully functional again, I suggest plenty of rest, light meals and drinking a lot. I can send someone to fetch frost petal tea to be used as a less straining sedative and painkiller. It’s not as strong as the tonic, but it should cover your hydrational needs if you wish; with such well-developed toxin-filtering organs like yours, I don’t think you could drink it fast enough to overdose.” Mu Qingfang expertly clasps the shackle back over his wrist. Xuebao seems to relax a little once it’s back on.

“Thanking healer Mu.”

Mu-shidi bows and makes to withdraw, but he catches sight of Shen Qingqiu’s horrified expression. “Shixiong?”

Shen Qingqiu is not shaking, he’s not, but a part of him is visualizing Xuebao gutted, his innards spilling onto the snow in a spray of red blood and it makes his stomach turn with disgust and horror.

“What do you mean ‘putting his organs back in place’?!”

Chapter 36

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu is directing glares both at the demon and Mu-shidi. Xuebao turns his face to hide against Yue Qi’s stomach. Mu Qingfang clears his throat, looking a little awkward.

“According to the report, he fell into a rift of the deep abyss due to an unknown distraction. Linguang-jun ordered the rift’s sealing delayed and he returned of his own power after a few shichen, but he became… unmoored, I think the report called it?” Xuebao unburies his face just long enough to nod. “The shackles, if I understood correctly, act as a sort of anchor to help him return to his usual state faster and he is currently suffering the aftereffects of reforming his physical body. There is a recommended way to go about the process that Mobei-gongzi seems unaware of, but he did an admirable job reassembling his form without guidance.”

Shen Qingqiu narrows his eyes at Mu Qingfang. “Does shidi often deal with people losing their physical bodies? Should this master be concerned that his shidis and shimeis may fall victim to such a thing?”

“In all my years in this sect I have only seen two cases. One of them was my aunt visiting after she accidentally came in contact with a spiritual device that restored her body to a complete, healthy state, so we can disregard that occasion,” Mu Qingfang says drily. “My family has a branch of ghost cultivators. They have a rather unique outlook on a lot of things, the integrity of their body included.”

“I remember her visit!” Yue Qi says cheerfully. “I don’t think I have ever seen anyone distraught over their perfect physical health before. How is the venerable lady Mu nowadays?”

“Last I heard she has withdrawn into closed cultivation to try and get rid of her flesh again. I don’t expect to hear from her before the end of the century, it’s not an easy or a particularly quick process.”

Xuebao turns his head to regard Mu Qingfang with open fascination. Shen Qingqiu stares at his shidi, baffled.

“I have certainly heard the term ‘ghost cultivator’ before, but it sounded too far-fetched to be real.” The way Wu Yanzi described them, whenever he threatened young Shen Jiu with apprenticing him to a ghost cultivator if he didn’t behave, they were people who forsake their flesh and used containment arrays to fill the empty space with resentful ghosts. It sounded, to put it mildly, like absolute insanity.

“The process is a nightmare,” Mu Qingfang says, perfectly unbothered as he sits back down by the table. “Or possibly a fever dream, depending on how one chooses to explain it, but I can attest that it is very much real.”

“Healer Mu has a weird family,” Xuebao says with what sounds like newfound admiration for the healer.

“Mobei-gongzi doesn’t know the half of it.” Mu Qingfang drums his fingers on the table, regarding his three patients lounging on the couch. “Your sense of hunger might not return for a few more days, depending, but it would be beneficial for tissue regeneration if you ate something. Congee or soup with light broth…”

“Can I have meat?” Xuebao lights up immediately at the prospect of food. Shen Qingqiu would make a quip about demons being insatiable, but he’s not fool enough to actually believe that. Xuebao is tall, broad-shouldered and thick with muscle; only so much of that can be his nature and most if it is up to diet and exercise.

If Yue Qi didn't have a rough start through years of starving on the streets, he would be built just like A-Bao.

“...Wonton soup with light broth it is.” Mu Qingfang rubs his chin as he considers his options. “I suppose I could borrow the An Ding kitchens to prepare something. Ferrying food from my own house would be a nuisance.”

“Qinghua keeps the kitchen stocked, if healer Mu wishes to use it.” Xuebao tries to get up, but Yue Qi firmly plants a hand on his chest and pushes him back down.

“It sounds like your recent injury was quite severe. A-Bao should stay resting.”

“ All of you should be resting,” Mu Qingfang grouses. “Especially Shen-shixiong who shouldn’t even be up this soon after a qi-deviation.”

“I’m fine , Mu-shidi.” He takes stock of the aches and other ills plaguing his body, but he doesn’t feel anything terribly out of the ordinary. His spirit veins are inflamed and they have also collapsed onto themselves, like the temporary irrigation channels peasants sometimes dig into the soft earth once they have run dry. He realizes logically that yes, it should hurt a lot, but the discomfort is nothing compared to how they usually feel after a qi deviation when his energies have to keep breaking open the same brittle pathways. His joints ache, especially his knees so close to Xuebao, who radiates cold like a person-sized cooling charm. He is exhausted, but when is he ever not?

There are cool fingers on his wrist and just the slightest trickle of qi in his spirit veins as Xuebao quietly takes stock of the state of his meridians. “Jiu-ge, your core…”

“It’s fine,” he hurries to reassure him. “But can you help me recover it?”

“I can’t feel it clearly, but it doesn’t feel like a water core.”

“It’s wood. Water nourishes wood, does it not?”

“It does.” Xuebao sounds skeptical. He keeps channeling his qi into Shen Qingqiu while he considers the situation, apparently unbothered that Shen Qingqiu’s veins keep drinking his energy in, like fresh rain disappearing into parched soil. “But your core is weakened. I can only help so much. It would be better to feed it with matching energy first.”

“Any help A-Bao can offer is appreciated,” Yue Qi pipes up. From the corner of his eye Shen Qingqiu can see Mu-shidi shake his head at them before he disappears into the kitchen.

“I don’t suppose your Ren-jie is willing to drop her cultivator disguise to help me.”

“Er-ge seemed fond of you. She would help, but I don’t know where she is. She blocked communications after she left you.”

That’s slightly concerning. Shen Qingqiu doesn't have enough spiritual power to contact her anyway, but if she has cut off contact even with Xuebao then she is surely getting in some kind of trouble somewhere. “What is her proper name anyway?”

“Yan Ren or Mobei Guilian. They are interchangeable.” Xuebao shrugs. “To me she will always be Er-ge.”

“That was remarkably unhelpful, thank you A-Bao.”

Xuebao cheekily grins at him for just a moment, the playfulness of the expression ruined only slightly by his sharp teeth. “My uncle could help you, I think. His core is wood and water.”

Shen Qingqiu thinks back to Linguang-jun, a young man trying very hard - perhaps too hard even - to fulfill the expectations of his station.

“As if Linguang-jun would suffer the indignity of helping me with anything. What could I even offer to him in exchange?”

“Introduce him to the Bai Zhan War God.”

Shen Qingqiu stares down at him, waiting for another grin, but Xuebao’s expression remains serious. His face isn't terribly expressive, the shifts between his expressions subtle, but Shen Qingqiu has plenty of experience reading subdued expressions, even if Yue Qi’s resting face is an empty smile rather than Xuebao’s chilly frown. “Are you serious? Your uncle is not a warrior, what would he even want with Liu-shidi? They are nothing alike!”

Xuebao shrugs again. “Admire the view? He neglects his duties to pine after Liu Qingge from afar whenever the war god comes to hunt monsters in our lands. It's embarrassing.”

Shen Qingqiu faintly recalls Yan Ren telling him about a relative who was infatuated with Liu Qingge. Was she talking about Linguang-jun? She seemed close enough with the young lord that he might confide in her about his crush, so it sounds plausible at least.

“Linguang-jun was the one who took Liu-shidi on that wild-goose-chase last year, yes?” Yue Qi asks, amused. “Perhaps an honorable rematch could entice Shidi to sit still for a formal introduction afterwards.”

Xuebao seems to seriously consider this proposal, so in a desperate bid to distract them from this insanely stupid idea - if they start allowing multiple demons to court their peak lords then Cang Qiong Sect might as well start calling itself a demonic sect and prepare to be besieged by the rest of the cultivation world - Shen Qingqiu pinches him hard on the arm.

“Put that foolish idea out of your mind! There is no way we can invite Linguang-jun to the sect and I’m in no shape to travel, so it’s a moot point. I will recover my core on my own.”

Xuebao looks a little shifty, but ultimately drops the matter. He lets Yue Qi change the subject to something harmless by commenting on the embroidery on his robes. It’s strange to see on inner robes, but it makes sense as Xuebao explains it as the work of a younger cousin, practicing her clumsy needlework on the undergarments of her family members. Conversation winds down until exhaustion wins out over Xuebao’s limited energy to socialize and he quietly dozes off.

“Trusting, for a demon,” Yue Qi comments quietly, still absentmindedly petting Xuebao like he is indeed a big cat, like his namesake.

“His instincts are sharp. If we tried to attack him, he would be gone before we even realized what happened.” He watches Yue Qi trace over the edge of Xuebao’s demon mark, the only place where his otherwise tightly-wound qi can be freely felt. It’s fascinating how little presence the demon has now that he’s too tired to project it. “Besides, he’s not actually asleep.”

It’s a shot in the dark, a hunch. Xuebao doesn’t rise to it, not until Yue Qi stalls his hand and says, “Does Shang-shidi know that you feign sleep to spy on people, A-Bao?”

“Not spying.” Outwardly he still seems completely relaxed with sleep, but his voice is alert. “It’s complicated.”

Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qi exchange a look. After a moment Yue Qi starts petting him again.

“I feel that we are both qualified to understand complications, if you wish to talk about it.”

Xuebao huffs, but his eyes open a crack. He stares up at the ceiling as if he could find the answer in the wood paneling if he looks hard enough. “My mother was a god of the Endless Abyss. My birth, both blessing and taboo.” It’s clear that the words are difficult; they come slow, dragged to the light one by one.

“You don’t look like a demigod, laying here in front of me,” Shen Qingqiu teases to lighten the mood. It helps, just a tiny bit.

“Whatever divinity I inherited is inert. Powerless. Like a heavenly demon right after their fall.” Shen Qingqiu sets that tidbit aside to read up on later. He has never given much thought to heavenly demons or fallen gods, other than knowing that the only remaining one was monstrously strong. “It’s meaningless. With my mother gone, I don’t have any way to ever access it. But when I was a child we didn’t know this. We didn’t know if one day I would wake up a god or a mindless beast of the Abyss.”

Shen Qingqiu can see rather clearly where this is going. “Your family kept their distance, if I can hazard a guess. Better not be entangled, either way.”

“En.” Xuebao doesn’t sound resentful, but maybe a little resigned. “But nobody would chase off a sleeping child, so this way I was allowed to be present.” He turns his face more fully into the petting hand, purring again. He reminds Shen Qingqiu of his Shizun’s cat, an old spiritual beast that eventually ascended with her master. “They grew less distant later, but I like this. Just resting and listening.”

Shen Qingqiu can see the appeal. He is notoriously antisocial, after all; being allowed to hover on the edge of a gathering without being acknowledged or forced to engage sounds heavenly actually.

“You still shouldn’t have misled us.” He pinches Xuebao again, hard enough to get a grunt of acknowledgement.

“People are more at ease when they think I’m sleeping.”

“I don’t care! No more deceptions!”

“Yes, Jiu-ge.” Shen Qingqiu aims for another pinch, but Xuebao catches his hand and holds it between his palms. “Can I stay?”

Mobei Xuebao’s skin is pleasantly cool and his hands are calloused. One of his pinkies is a little crooked from a break that wasn’t set right and healed incorrectly. The blue-black color of his nails is some kind of lacquer, Shen Qingqiu can see it now, starting to chip from lack of maintenance. He is more real, more alive than any evil demon written about in the righteous monster manuals.

He’s Shen Qingqiu’s friend.

“Yes. I want you to stay.”

Chapter 37

Chapter Text

They eat together, Mu Qingfang’s soup just as much a delight as his potstickers were. Shen Qingqiu can’t tell for certain, but he suspects that Mu-shidi used medicinal herbs for the filling. The taste is still pleasant and the others - especially Xuebao, surprisingly - eat it with relish, so he lets it slide. Afterwards Yue Qi and Shen Qingqiu wait in the garden while Mu Qingfang does one last checkup on Xuebao.

Shen Qingqiu is watching as Yue Qi feeds a whole flock of colorful little birds that took to nesting in Shang-shidi’s trees - he isn’t an expert on spiritual animals, but he would bet money on it that they are some kind of treasure bird whose singing is a benefit to cultivation in one way or another - when Mu Qingfang finally leaves the house. “Apologies for keeping you waiting.”

Yue Qi pours the last of the seeds on the ground and stands with a smile. “Don’t worry, Qingfang, we kept ourselves occupied.”

They leave An Ding at a leisurely pace, chatting about things of little consequence until they reach the less busy areas of Qing Jing and Yue Qi lights up a privacy talisman. “I find myself biased in favor of someone who clearly considers Qingqiu-shidi a friend, but what do we think?”

“I’m not above admitting that I might have been hasty in my alarm,” Shen Qingqiu says, even if his expression is sour. “His court of Shang-shidi and his general presence still pose a threat to our reputation, but if he wanted to cause the sect harm, he had plenty of chances.” He doesn’t even consider the many, many opportunities Xuebao had to sneak into the peak lords’ houses and kill them in their sleep - it had taken only minor prying to get the demon to admit that he has been trained as an assassin on account of his muted presence and his shadow walking abilities, that’s how he avoided discovery over all these years - it would have brought the sect to his knees if he simply allowed Shen Qingqiu to die.

Mu Qingfang is a little more skeptical. “A demon is still dangerous, regardless of his intentions, and I’m not only referring to our unexpected summertime snowfall. I have asked him about some of the injuries Shang-shixiong suffered over the years - breaks, sprains and bruises, mostly, but there was the odd case of frostbite and poisoning - and he didn’t deny that he was the cause.” Despite the transparent implication of abuse, Mu-shidi is remarkably calm.

“Did he make any excuses for injuring Shang-shidi?”

“He claimed regret that he overlooked Shixiong’s ‘fragility’ when he was under stress in the past, but insists that they have worked out a way to prevent such incidents in the future.” Mu Qingfang pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “For what it’s worth, I believe him, but it would have been remiss of me not to mention it.”

Yue Qingyuan hums as he weighs this information. Finally he says, “We all have caused harm to people we cared about when we were preoccupied with our heart demons, even if it wasn’t always physical harm. We can’t cast judgment on Shang-shidi’s suitor over something we are guilty of ourselves.”

Mu Qingfang’s expression closes off, almost chastised. Intrigued, Shen Qingqiu can’t help but prod him a little bit. “I can’t picture Mu-shidi being mean to anyone, no matter how frustrated. Have you made someone cry by raising your voice at them, shidi?”

He notices too late that Yue Qi is gesturing for him to stop, genuinely alarmed. Before Shen Qingqiu can dismiss the question as the jest it is, Mu Qingfang looks at him, his expression more vulnerable than he has ever seen his shidi. “The last time I lost control of my temper, I lashed out at Qingwei and almost ruined his leg for good.”

Shen Qingqiu does, of course, know about Wei-shidi’s injury. His right leg was paralyzed for several years and it wasn’t until recently that his limp fully cleared up, through a combination of long term treatment, careful cultivation and a breakthrough. The Incident happened the year before Shen Qingqiu became head disciple and he had heard all about it - seven or eight variations of the event, all of which were plausible enough, but nobody could tell for sure which one was true, because Wei-shidi kept saying something different each time he was asked. He was bitten by a venomous monster on a night hunt, had an unfortunate allergic reaction to an aphrodisiac or got cursed by a particularly malicious sword spirit… all of these were things that were known to happen every now and then and Wei Qingwei thought it hilarious to keep people guessing.

In hindsight, that was probably the point.

“Your toxins?”

“Yes. When I was younger I got these horrible cravings that would leave me in agony for days. Withdrawal from my poisons, allegedly, but with my constitution there was no end to them. Qingwei tried to distract me with jokes, but I was not in the right mental state to appreciate his humor. We ended up arguing and my control wasn’t nearly this good, so…” He makes a sharp gesture, like a sudden stab. “If he sought out my shizun right away, his leg would have been fine within days, but they likely would have removed me from the sect, head disciple or not. So he took all the emergency detoxicants from the open-access medicine cabinet and bore the effects of the poison until he could go on a night hunt and feign an injury there.”

That sounds like Wei-shidi. Shen Qingqiu already knew that he was close friends with Mu Qingfang and as annoying as his perpetually cheerful predisposition is, he is incredibly loyal. Of course he would do something reckless and stupid like that.

Yue Qi looks completely unsurprised by Mu Qingfang’s confession, which leaves no doubt in Shen Qingqiu's mind that he too was somehow involved in the Incident, the softhearted sap.

“I’m going to assume you needed the help of someone to set that night hunt up, so you went to this idiot Yue and made an accomplice of him,” Shen Qingqiu says, eyes narrowed in disapproval. If anyone found out, Yue Qi would have been kicked out of the sect in a blink! Reckless idiot and his stupid bleeding heart!!

“Now, now, shixiong, no need to-” “More or less, yes.”

Mu Qingfang and Yue Qi stare at each other, startled. Yue Qi allows a sheepish smile and Mu Qingfang glares at him, clearly holding back a comment about his sect leader and his unfortunate habit of putting himself down.

Shen Qingqiu breaks their stalemate by clearing his throat and diverting the subject. “How did Mu-shidi overcome the negative effects of his cultivation?”

“Oh. Well, I have better outlets now than allowing my frustration to build.” Mu Qingfang turns back to Shen Qingqiu, this time with a wry smile. “Perhaps Shen-shixiong should try it too. I understand that his friends in the city likely can give him plenty of advice on how to get started and I can attest that Yue-shixiong is an excellent companion for this kind of exercise.”

Shen Qingqiu pulls out his fan so quickly he almost drops it before he could hide his burning face. “We are working on it.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Also…” Shen Qingqiu glances back at Mu-shidi to find that his smile has softened into something kinder. “I'm the peak lord now. I don’t have to deny myself. I have my own private garden full of poisonous plants and nobody can stop me from indulging if I have the sudden craving to eat something that would be deadly to other people.”

There’s something tight in Shen Qingqiu’s throat and he averts his eyes again. Without conscious thought he runs his tongue along the too-sharp points of his teeth, the taste of blood unexpectedly grounding. “Easy for Mu-shidi to say. Your reputation shields you from scrutiny.”

“A reputation I’m fortunate to have, yes.” The bamboo house finally comes into view and even just the proximity of his safe haven allows Shen Qingqiu to breathe a little easier. “One thing at a time. First we should mend Shen-shixiong’s cultivation, then we can think about ways to improve his reputation. On my honor as a peak lord, I will assist in both endeavors to the best of my abilities.”

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t acknowledge him. He has been burned too many times to trust in declarations of aid before they materialize into something tangible and his heart feels too fragile today to try and untangle whatever could possibly motivate Mu Qingfang to make such a promise.

He never had the luxury of friends, but he never understood how other people can manage several at once. How can they bear so many emotions? He feels like if he takes Mu-shidi’s promise to heart then he will shatter under the weight.

Perhaps sensing that he has reached his limits, they let him settle down to rest in the bamboo house. It's still early, barely past noon, but the long walks to An Ding and back have drained his energy, not to mention the emotional toll of the day.

Careful hands pull the crown from his hair (Mu Qingfang) and peel off the several layers of his outfit (Yue Qi, lingering just a little bit) and ply him with soothing tea (Qingfang) until he’s finally helped into bed, with a kiss and a promise that Yue Qi will be here in the evening, once he is done with his duties for the day. All he has to do is rest and recover his strength.

So that’s what he does. He curls up under the covers, buries his face in the pillow where the scent of Yue Qi’s hair oil lingers the strongest and sleeps. He deserves this, he tells himself (and if the voice in his head sounds vaguely like Mu Qingfang that’s only coincidence). He has done well today. He deserves care and rest.

Hovering between wakefulness and sleep, he can almost believe it.

Chapter 38

Chapter Text

They settle into a routine. Mu Qingfang keeps splitting his time between his patients, visiting Xuebao and Yue Qi every day, but he spends most of his time looking after Shen Qingqiu. Before they can start rebuilding Shen Qingqiu’s cultivation, they need to strengthen his body first with regular training and meditation to allow his meridians to heal from the constant strain they were under since he started cultivating at the sect.

“Are you using me as an excuse to laze around?” Shen Qingqiu asks one day, reluctantly laying down on his bed after his morning meditation so Mu Qingfang can turn him into a very precisely planned pincushion.

“What makes you say that, shixiong?”

“I don’t have enough spiritual power to qi deviate. I’m certain you have better things to do than look out for me all day long.”

“I don’t actually have anything better to do. It is my prerogative to take time away from my regular shifts at the clinics to care for a high-risk patient.” Shen Qingqiu can’t feel the needles at all, only the cool sensation that spreads from them as they draw out the stagnant qi that escaped his spirit veins during his qi deviation; a testament to Mu Qingfang’s skill. “Your emotional bottleneck is still not resolved and you have been under extreme stress these last few weeks. It would be beyond neglectful of me to leave you alone now.”

Shen Qingqiu counts the needles by the soft clinking sound they make as Mu-shidi picks them up one by one. Only a dozen more to go. “What harm could come to me here, in the heart of a sect?”

“You are an extremely resourceful and determined person, shixiong.” Clink, clink. “If you wanted to kill yourself, you didn’t need qi to make it happen.”

Shen Qingqiu wants to protest - he is a survivor down to his very marrow and has pulled through situations that would have long driven others to despair - but looking at his recent medical history, he can see Mu-shidi’s point. “Does it have to be you?”

“I would prefer it too if Qingyuan could be here to assist you - he is long due a break and it would benefit both of your mental stability - but someone needs to handle the flood of inquiries, now that news of the execution has made the rounds.”

Shen Qingqiu pouts, but he can’t argue. Shang Qinghua sent them a very harrowed spirit messenger just the other day that he will be delayed, because the Old Palace Master started a smear campaign against them that can’t be allowed to go unchallenged. Qiong Ding has been swamped with messages and visiting representatives, most of them curious, some of them malicious, who wanted to needle more information out of them. The eye of the Jianghu is on them, watching and waiting to cast judgment on the sect if they don’t handle the situation with the utmost care.

And the best Shen Qingqiu can do is stay away from the prying eyes, because one of their peak lords losing his cultivation, however temporarily, would just be one more nail in the coffin. They even agreed to cut down on Yue Qi’s visits to Qing Jing to bring even less attention to Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t want to talk about how much it aches to be away from Yue Qi. They haven’t gone a full week without spending an evening together since they reconciled, which makes Yue Qi’s absence all the more keenly felt.

Clink, clink, clink.

The last needle slides into place and Mu Qingfang steps away to get a cup of tea. It doesn't take long for the needles to draw out the stale energy, but the wait still makes Shen Qingqiu restless.

“How is Xuebao doing?” he asks, desperate for any distraction.

“He’s the worst patient I have had in a long while. The shackles throttle his natural healing, so he keeps pushing himself right into one relapse after another,” Mu Qingfang sighs. “I don't know how Shang-shixiong puts up with him usually. I've only treated him for a week and I'm already tempted to paralyze him or tie him to the bed so he can't undo his own recovery.”

Shen Qingqiu resists the urge to chuckle. It's a familiar complaint. “You used to say the same thing about me, shidi.”

“Yes, you were almost as bad! It took us three tries to fix your left knee, if you recall, because you were impatient and thought you knew better than my Shizun.”

Young Shen Jiu already had an acute understanding of where his limits were, how hard he could push himself before he reached the breaking point. It took time and a significant number of disappointed lectures from Yin-shigu until he accepted that he couldn’t get away with constantly living on the edge of his tolerance when he’s under medical supervision.

Now the times when he is away from the sharp eyes of the sect healers are a different matter.

“How potent are his regenerative abilities usually?”

Mu Qingfangs hums quietly in thought and starts to remove the needles one by one. “I can’t judge for certain, but if I had to guess: capable of regrowing a limb, under the right circ*mstances.”

Shen Qingqiu twitches in surprise, earning a disapproving murmur from his shidi. “Excuse me, regrowing?”

“I noticed some anomalies around his left arm, so he very reluctantly dug up an old report for me. Were you aware that he was captured by Huan Hua Palace as a child?”

“Not that it was specifically Huan Hua, but I heard that he was captured by a group of ‘evil cultivators’ and held for some time when he was young.” Many of the righteous sects would jump at the opportunity to kill a demon, even a very young one, but it makes sense that Huan Hua would capture and experiment on one before they killed him.

“Apparently he came out of that adventure an arm short. There are extensive burns around his left biceps, from some kind of flame-trap or a furnace array if I had to guess.” CLANK, goes the next needle, placed down on the tray with more vehemence than the others. “The report states that they were unable to recover the severed limb and it was eventually regenerated with help from his father.”

Heavens. No wonder Xuebao went mute after such an ordeal.

“That should be more a testament of Mobei-jun’s power, no?”

“Partially yes, but even the most competent healer can’t make the body do something it’s fundamentally incapable of. That is why you don’t often see cultivators attempting such a thing, unless they follow highly immoral or rare and esoteric cultivation paths.” Clink, clink. Mu Qingfang calms himself, likely by force or one of the many calming techniques they teach on Qian Cao. His hands are steady when he removes the needles, regardless of the turmoil he feels.

“That’s a terrifyingly potent healing ability, if he has the qi reserves to fuel it.” Which he will doubtlessly have, once he inherits the ancestral power from his father. Shen Qingqiu only thought of Xuebao as his friend before, but he has to face the facts: Shang Qinghua’s quiet demon suitor will grow to be a devastatingly powerful ally once he takes the throne. One they might need to rely on for aid eventually, if the Sect’s fortunes keep turning like this. “It would be logical if he struggled to find his natural limits without it, no?”

“Logical, yes. Also incredibly frustrating to watch.”

“Is it physical or spiritual strain setting him back?”

“Physical. I suspect his sense of pain might be much duller than that of a human or he was specifically trained to ignore it during exercises, like they do on Bai Zhan.” The last needle is removed and Mu-shidi sits on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “All done, shixiong.”

Shen Qingqiu allows Mu Qingfang to help him up and pour him a cup of tea. He has an idea that might solve Mu-shidi’s headache. “I’ll talk to him. All he needs for proper recovery is rest, yes? If he matches his pace of training to mine, there is no danger of him overdoing it and we can keep each other from growing bored.”

Shen Qingqiu drinks his tea while the healer silently considers the offer. “I will allow it. Your training regime will need some minor adjustments to account for the walk to An Ding, but meditating in the garden will be beneficial, I think. However, if Mobei-wang manages to goad you into straining yourself, I will forbid any further engagement until both of you are fully recovered.”

As if that would ever happen. Shen Qingqiu is not some Bai Zhan brute to lose himself in physical training. “Understood, shidi.”

They walk to An Ding together the next day, early in the morning before the summer sun can turn the fog into stuffy steam. The season is at its hottest and despite the light walking outfit and the time of day they have chosen, Shen Qingqiu still ends up feeling like he's melting when they arrive and let themselves into Shang Qinghua’s house.

The interior is pleasantly cool with the exception of the chilly bedroom - the first sign of Xuebao’s recovery was regaining full control of his icy aura, stopping the unexpected cold snaps even when he's agitated - the temperature regulated by Shang-shidi’s talismans.

It's also completely demon free. Mu Qingfang sees this and immediately sets out to the garden with an annoyed groan and practically kicks the door open. “Yan-gongzi, I clearly remember telling you to ease up on training until the weather cools.”

Shen Qingqiu steps outside after his shidi and watches with some amusem*nt as Xuebao eases out of an awkwardly interrupted high kick, chastised. “Asking forgiveness, Healer Mu.”

Xuebao is dressed down to only his pants, showing a shameless amount of scarred skin - pale as fresh snow and shining with sweat - and the muscled physique of a warrior.

“No forgiveness! You can’t keep doing this every day. What am I going to tell Shang-shidi if you overheat so bad that you boil your brain, huh?” Mu Qingfang storms out and starts checking over the demon, keeping up a low stream of grumbles about how sweaty and overwarm Xuebao is. “You are cooking in your skin again. Off to the bath with you!”

Shen Qingqiu is, perhaps, suffering from his withdrawal from Yue Qi more than he realized, because seeing someone so clearly similar in their base build has him completely captivated; he stares at Xuebao, wondering how the broad chest would feel under his hands if he were to touch the demon until Mu Qingfang turns to him all of a sudden. “Shixiong, can I trust you to look out for Shang-shidi’s friend while I make him something to eat?”

“Certainly, shidi,” he answers without thinking, startled by the request as much as the previous direction of his thoughts. Thankfully Xuebao has already slinked off towards the bathhouse, like a scolded pup, which leaves him a little time to breathe and order his thoughts again. He needs Yue Qi to return to his usual adult form again, because ever since Shen Qingqiu started entertaining the idea of willingly dual cultivating with him, he has been beset by these sudden urges every now and then. It’s embarrassing enough now, but if he ever catches himself looking at someone like Liu Qingge and finding that brute attractive, he will die of shame on the spot.

By the time he joins Xuebao in the bathhouse, the demon has already sunk into a tub of icy water, seemingly dozing. Shen Qingqiu dips the tips of his fingers into the icy slurry and immediately withdraws, shivering. “How do you stand the summer weather at all if this is your preferred temperature?”

Xuebao tilts his head and looks at him from the corner of his eye. Some of the alien strangeness has faded from him as he recovered more, so his eyes don’t burn with that strange inner light anymore, but they are still absurdly blue. “I don’t overheat as easily as Healer Mu fears.”

“But you do overheat.”

“En.”

“Shang-shidi will be upset if you sabotage your recovery.”

Xuebao growls and sinks deeper into the water. Shen Qingqiu, helpfully, pulls his hair up and out of the way so it doesn’t get wet. “I’m taking it easy,” Xuebao claims, petulant. “If I don’t train at all I get restless.”

Shen Qingqiu hums at him, indulgent, and cards his fingers through the demon’s hair. It’s a little gross, truth be told, from the cooling sweat. “You should wash this. Do you meditate?”

“Sometimes.” He pulls a lock of his hair forward and makes a face at the state of it. “Can’t right now. Not with the shackles.”

That makes sense, since the shackles likely disrupt his qi flow. Shen Qingqiu leans against the side of the tub; it’s a very hot day and being close to this much cold water is almost pleasant. “Mu-shidi cleared me to meditate here. I could keep you company until Shang-shidi returns.”

“Why? We can’t train together.” A beat passes. “Sect Leader Yue will worry for you.”

“Qi-ge knows to trust my judgment,” he corrects firmly. “You need to slow down. And I…” He trails off, unwilling to say I need something to take my mind off everything that’s going wrong in my life. He has more dignity than to ever admit to that. “You owe me some answers.”

That seems to startle Xuebao. “About?”

“All sorts of things. You are supposed to be my friend, are you not? How am I to accept you as such if you keep hiding things from me?” He jabs Xuebao with a finger, but instead of chastised, the demon looks at him with awe. He turns fully around and leans over the edge of the tub, close enough that Shen Qingqiu can feel the chill of his breath, a smile lurking in the corner of his mouth and his voice tinged with a purr.

“Yes. Any question Jiu-ge might have, I will answer with pleasure.” The way he says pleasure, with that resonant purr, almost sounds sultry.

Shen Qingqiu is not a coward, but just this once he grits out an excuse about giving Xuebao privacy to wash up and flees the bathhouse.

He finds Mu Qingfang in the kitchen, preparing two portions of congee. He appears highly amused.

“Well done, shixiong. I admit, I had my doubts about your association with Shang-shixiong’s demon, but he’s clearly rather taken with you.”

“Mu-shidi seems to have eyes and ears in places one would not expect,” Shen Qingqiu says, subtly scanning the kitchen for traces of any kind of spy array. Not subtly enough, if Mu Qingfang’s slowly widening smile can be trusted.

“I have a reputation to maintain, one that doesn’t allow me to directly involve myself in the rumor mill. I had to grow creative over the years.” Almost casually he holds out an arm towards the window and after a moment a long, dull-dark centipede appears from the shadow and climbs onto his hand. Before it started moving it was invisible to the eye and Shen Qingqiu watches in frozen fascination as the critter scales Mu Qingfang’s arm. Finding that his sleeves are blocked by the way they are tied back for cooking, it swiftly makes its way up to Mu-shidi’s shoulder where it can disappear into his neckline, likely hiding somewhere between the many layers of his robes.

“How many of those things do you have?” Shen Qingqiu isn’t afraid of such lowly things as bugs, but the sight of the centipede reminded him of some truly unpleasant sense-memory from his youth. It wasn’t unusual to find all kinds of creepy crawlies in their clothes while they lived on the street.

“A handful. I keep them stored in specially sealed qiankun spaces when they are not in use. I can’t accidentally drop one on you during treatment, rest assured.”

Shen Qingqiu pointedly pretends that he didn’t need that reassurance. “You said you didn’t do familiar-based cultivation.”

“I didn’t, when I left my old sect. I only learned later, when my temperament was better.”

“With the way you hoard your secrets, maybe I should interrogate you before I question A-Bao.”

Mu Qingfang shakes off the unsubtle threat, chuckling brightly. “Don’t worry, shixiong. I’m not as mysterious as you believe me to be. If you spend enough time around me, all my secrets will be laid bare before long.”

Shen Qingqiu has doubts about that, but he’s hungry and if he argues too hard, he has no doubt that Mu Qingfang will hold his breakfast hostage until he can tease out an apology. He makes a mental note, however, to reinforce the anti-pest arrays on his house as soon as he has recovered some of his qi.

One can never be too careful, after all.

Chapter 39

Chapter Text

Their routine shifts, but it’s a good change. Shen Qingqiu didn't realize how bored he was growing without anything to do other than train and meditate. Xuebao’s recovery is just as glacial as his own - even two weeks after their initial confrontation he sleeps most of the day away, which strangely encourages Shen Qingqiu to nap more too - but when they are both awake their time spent together is just as soothing as it was before the reveal.

“Why do you even need these?” Shen Qingqiu holds out a heavy fur-lined robe, resisting the urge to bury his face in the soft pelt. They decided this morning to move Xuebao’s clothes from the hidden compartment in the back of Shang Qinghua’s wardrobe to a more easily accessible place. Much of the revealed clothes sport some kind of fur trim or lining. “What use are warm clothes for an ice demon?”

“I’m not impervious to cold.” Xuebao takes the robes and lazily folds them. “At night or in the far north of the kingdom, where my estate lies, it gets cold enough that blood can freeze in the veins, if one goes out unprotected. It’s uncomfortable.”

“The scholars, the few who have an interest in the demon realm, assumed it to be simply decorative. Since many records of your family depict them with their chest bared, despite the furs.”

Xuebao sits silently for a time, running his fingers absentmindedly over the soft pelt while he thinks of a good way to explain.

“For an ice demon, cooling the body is easier than warming it,” he says eventually. “So we rather overdress than under-, when the weather is cold enough. But the furs can get too hot when we are inside, with warm-weather guests. Taking them off is taboo, but untying them is not.” He shrugs, then goes back to folding his robes. “It is how things are.”

“Fascinating. Do you know how that custom came to be?” Shen Qingqiu doesn’t consider himself particularly well-versed (or even all that interested) in demon cultures, but listening to Xuebao talk about his people’s customs is very different from reading speculations.

“You wouldn’t ask a member of the seal clan to relinquish their sealskin or a bear to shed his pelt. If you dress up in furs, mirroring their nature for your comfort, then it’s only polite to keep your fur on too.”

It comes out too smooth, almost rehearsed, like something a troublesome little prince would have heard repeatedly, but Shen Qingqiu has no proof and he doesn't want to bully Xuebao today. Heavens know the man is not shy about bullying him back in turn and then they will get nothing done.

There are other clothes in the wardrobe too, in the very back, although those are clearly for informal wear only, with scandalously thin or missing layers, some of them with cooling arrays stitched into their lining. “How come you haven't been wearing these? Mu-shidi would yell at you less.”

Xuebao takes one of the robes, looking at the fabric - mended over and over again, where it tore or had worn thin, with tidy stitches and patches that are suspiciously reminiscent of An Ding’s colors - with an almost painfully soft expression.

“I didn't know they were still here. I have outgrown them some time ago.” He rubs his thumb over one of the patches. “Before I was a prince, I was part of Er-ge’s household. Her tailor thought it insulting to waste her talents on a child’s clothes, so she would brush me off when I went to her for more outside the mandatory formal wear. Qinghua would patch up my old robes for me so I would have something comfortable to wear while I was here.”

Shen Qingqiu can see it now, in the quality of the fabric and the cut off the robes; they must have been the inner- or middle layer of a more formal outfit originally, repurposed for loungewear by the clever hands of his shidi.

He's starting to understand how Shang Qinghua managed to seduce his ice prince.

Xuebao’s face closes off, his eyes darkening to the color of stormy skies. “I miss Qinghua.”

“Shang-shidi is fine. Rumor says that he humiliated the Old Palace Master at the southern emperor’s banquet two days ago. He will have the malicious gossip cut down at the root and will be back home before you know it.”

The details of the event are vague - really, it’s a miracle any gossip made it out of a closed event held in the palace -, but however that came to be, it likely will be enough of a blow to make the Old Palace Master back off for a time. Huan Hua Palace has fallen so low in recent years that they are no longer self-sustaining off of cultivation work and have entrenched themselves in the trade and politics of the south, so they rely heavily on the favor and good will of the southern emperor. It was a move that made them rich beyond compare among the great sects, but one Shen Qingqiu always thought was extremely short-sighted. No matter; the Old Palace Master was a crafty bastard, he probably has plenty of safeguards in place to pivot to if they fall out of imperial favor.

“I trust Qinghua,” Xuebao stresses. “If he’s in danger, he can call for me.”

“But you still miss him.”

“Yes.”

Shen Qingqiu thinks about Yue Qi, buried under so much work that they have barely spoken more than two words in the last two weeks, and he thinks he can understand.

That evening when he’s walking back to Qing Jing he is overcome by a deep longing. Why shouldn’t he visit Yue Qi? Qiong Ding connects to both An Ding and Qing Jing and Shen Qingqiu is dressed in light robes far below his station, his hair set in a loose braid - at a glance, he looks more like a newly appointed junior hallmaster than the peak lord. Even if a visiting pest caught sight of him, they would not recognize him as he is.

Just in case, he takes precautions to avoid the few guests roaming the peak, stopping behind pavilions and meticulously groomed bushes to stay out of sight. This is how he ends up, quite accidentally, eavesdropping on a group of visitors; the leader of a small, but rich sect (founded for the sole purpose of serving one of the imperial courts, but it escapes him right now which one) and his demure flower of a daughter who chose to bother Yue Qi instead of retiring to their rooms.

“...Sect Leader Yi, I’m touched by your regard, but I truly believe I would not be a suitable husband to your daughter.” Yue Qi is obviously tired, his usually unflappable smile strained, and he’s blocking the entrance of his mansion to the best of his abilities, as if he’s afraid that the woman would try and sneak in given the chance. He is also, Shen Qingqiu is surprised to realize, dressed down for the day already, his hair loose and his outer robes only hastily thrown on, not even tied properly.

“Nonsense, Qingyuan!” The corner of Yue Qi’s mouth twitches slightly at the overly familiar address. “My dear Rongrong is a generous, charitable soul. She would gladly dedicate herself to helping Young Hero Qingyuan overcome the unfortunate circ*mstances of his birth.”

This shameless bastard. Shen Qingqiu can’t help himself; he plasters an unnervingly cheerful smile on his face and steps out from behind the ornamental bush where he was hiding. “If the gentle lady wishes to marry a charity case, can this humble one suggest the lord of Lu Tian peak? Peak Lord Di needs all the help he can get when it comes to high society.”

The looks Sect Leader Yi and his daughter direct at him are pure poison. “And you are?”

“Hallmaster Sui, at your service.” He salutes both of them, imagining for a moment how it would feel to get his hands around Sect Leader Yi’s neck and squeeze the life out of him. “I bring a message from Peak Lord Shen, for Sect Leader Yue’s ears only.”

Yue Qi doesn’t even bother to hide his relief. “Please, come in.” He turns briefly back to the annoying guests while Shen Qingqiu ducks past him into the mansion. “Forgive me, Sect Leader Yi, but my shidi is in closed cultivation and I have been waiting for this message for some time. If you find anything amiss with your lodgings, please don’t hesitate to notify the servants.”

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t know if Sect Leader Yi answers anything at all, because Yue Qi closes the door in his face.

Before Shen Qingqiu can make a quip about ticks infecting the peak, Yue Qi catches him in a tight hug. “Well now. And here I thought you were so busy you forgot all about me.”

“Never.” Yue Qi’s voice is muffled into Shen Qingqiu’s neck and he holds onto him like he never wants to let him go again, tight as a limpet. “Please, stay. I felt like I was going insane without you.”

He’s shaking, Shen Qingqiu realizes. He can’t have that.

He threads his fingers into Yue Qi’s hair and tilts his head up for a kiss. His poor, suffering fool.

“Well, how could I say no when you ask me so sweetly?”

They don’t speak much that evening. Just being around each other is enough to settle the restless feeling that was starting to take root in him, there is no need for words. Being with Yue Qi is like coming up for air after a dive, like stepping into the cool interior of his bamboo house after too long in the summer sun.

He never left, but it still feels like coming home.

They laze on the couch together, always touching just a little bit to make sure the other is still there, Shen Qingqiu reading one of the many horrible novels that have been circulating on the peaks recently and Yue Qi working on a new robe. Shen Qingqiu tries not to look too closely at it, but the signature green of Qing Jing is unmistakable and he is excited to see it finished, to finally get to wear Yue Qi’s handiwork.

When they dress for bed he silently laments how Yue Qi’s clothes hang too loose on him, this young form still haunted by the shadow of malnutrition.

“Qingfang said the tonic will be ready in just a few days,” Yue Qi says quietly, likely guessing his thoughts.

“Good. I want you back the way you should be.” He still kisses him before they settle down to sleep, because temporarily changed or not, Shen Qingqiu can’t bring himself to deny him.

He stays awake well past the exhausted Yue Qi, watching the shadows shift on the ceiling beams and listening to Yue Qi’s soft breaths against his neck. He has been meditating a lot in the past weeks, partially to facilitate the healing of his fractured meridians, but also to address his emotional bottleneck. A feeling started growing in him some time ago and the more he thought and ruminated on it, the more clear is has become - and all the more terrifying.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he whispers into Yue Qi’s hair, a secret between him and the night. He waits for a long time for a sign that Yue Qi might have heard him, uncertain if he’s disappointed or relieved that Yue Qi is indeed deep asleep.

In the end, relief wins out. There is one more obstacle, one more question he needs to answer before he’s ready to confess for real. One last heart demon that needs to be vanquished before he can breathe freely at last. The last one, but at the same time, perhaps the most important one; if he wants to be what Yue Qi needs, if he is to be free of the shadows haunting his past, then he can’t stumble now.

There are no sparks left in him, his shattered core a hearth gone cold, but he can feel his throat tighten uncomfortably when he thinks about failing. He swallows down the discomfort and directs all his focus on the future he’s reaching for.

One last challenge and he can tell him. Just one.

He falls asleep imagining Yue Qi’s radiant joy when he finally confesses. It will work out. Just this once, he has to believe.

Just this once.