Red Strings Binding Bamboo - CarpeNox - 人渣反派自救系统 - 墨香铜臭 | The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System (2024)

Chapter 1: Stalk; Truth, beginning, origin, creation

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu sips his tea in the silence of his bamboo house and tries not to shiver. He'd spent too long in his Quiet Pool, scrubbing and scrubbing to wash off the dirt on his soul, to drown out the voices (“I’ll come back and get you out!”) and rinse away all the wretched, torturous feeling that made his eyes sting and his inherently unstable qi roil in his ruined pathways, stripping him of his rightful tolerance to the chill of the water and night.

Mouth twisting unhappily, Shen Qingqiu finished his tea without tasting it and changes into a simple (but soft) sleeping robe, curling up on his cold, hard slab of a bed (good, familiar, stopped him sleeping too deep to react to a threat now that no one guards his back) with a blanket pulled over. Ignoring the ache in his eyes and the painful thrumming in his head and meridians, Shen Qingqiu gently held a small black and silver fan close to his chest and drifted into a restless sleep.

His head thrashed to the side, skin cold and clammy as ice surged up his spine.

An old man with cold eyes who smelled of bitter pipe smoke -cry. Cry and wail and beg with the blood letter spread around you. Lie to them. Steal through their goodwill. “Earn your taels you worthless rat. Your life is mine!”-

A Brother -"Qi-ge!”- reassuring pressure against his back, a kind smile, warm eyes and calming balance in his soul, steadying and soothing the hotcoldhotcold in his brother’s soul -"Xiao-Jiu!”-

Heat roared along his nerves, fierce and bright like blistering rage. Burning.

-"No one can stand you!”- Cruel -bright eyes in too thin too young faces, loyalty, a flex of will and sharp blade, a dead horse, mercy for a rat. Treachery. Changing hands like a piece of meat but less desirable. The cruel-kind mask of scum in pretty colours.

Cold water swelled, an unstoppable tide. Drowning.

A bright smile, a sweet scent, a light, bright laughed gentle touch. Safety. Softness. (Ignorance. Naivety. Lies.

-"I fell down running to fetch groceries from the market"

“Ah! A-Jiu, so clumsy! Be more careful, I don’t want to see you hurt!”

“Yes Miss Hai... I mean, yes... Haitang"- )

Fire flared, scorching, consuming, deadly and unquenchable.

Lashed on his spine, ripped skin raw and healed, mottled and ruined. A branding iron pressed to the small of his back, white hot agony as it dug in deeper, a scream ripped from his throat, a monster’s face dripping with sick satisfaction.

An estate set alight.

Ash in his lungs, blood on his hands, betrayal in her eyes.

Leaving the wolves for the tiger.

Fire and water clashed. Ice crackling, steam billowing, fractures spreading, swirling energy spinning out of control, a firestorm, a whirlpool, violent and powerful stabbing into internal organs and spiritual veins, chaos and desperation and destruction.

Something cracked apart.

Something tugged loose.

Blood spread on his lips.

Something caught on the jagged edges, something foreign and broken and familiar, with fire burned out and water long dried up, with shatter patterns of desiccation and a smothering sooty ash.

He stilled and sunk into the centre of his Self.

Shen Jiu opened his eyes. It was dark, more than dark. There were shadows but shadows like ink, like smoke, shifting and swirling and shifting randomly, light up intermittently with bright bursts of two distinct energies; angular flames flaring in sweeps of heat as if riding the motion of a wing; cold fractals shimmering like tortoiseshell, undulating like light through water. It, it was beautiful... but it was vicious. Every overlapping wisp between detonations reacted savagely, equal and opposite but instead of balance they obliterated each other.

And it hurt.

The flares came faster, hissing like hot steam filling the shadow world, boiling water and struggling fire clashing and aching, but snatches of... colour, images, impression fell through the wound-like voids before the shadows engulfed them. A man. Sly eyes, sharp grin, manic black tainted orange-red energy masked with predatory care. Deadly hidden claws, camouflaging stripes, yellowed fangs. A Tiger.

Shen Jiu tried to move. He tried to curl his shoulders and bend his knees because this one meant danger, but he couldn’t react, couldn’t move. He panicked but didn’t, the fear was far away, didn’t touch him, like the shadows were smothering him too.

Shards fell faster, piercing his eyes, his ears, his skin; fragments of experience, flashed of sensation, overwhelming and unstoppable, blades stabbing too fast to really experience but leaving... parcels of, of knowledge like sinking stones in his gut.

(Qi-ge... you didn’t come. I waited but you never came. You promised... are you... a-are you dead? ...please don’t be dead... there’s people dead and ash building where you left me, is it my fault you didn’t come back? Qi-ge it hurts, brother it hurts, I’m breaking, they hurt me, I killed them, I’ve never seen them but I know their names, I hate them, I killed them, do you hate me?)

He saw a boy that looked like him staring back from the water, he was heaving and gasping and vomiting blood. -He was older, a teenager, he was him, he was not. - A Deviation of his Qi, he’d tried a trick in the book the Tiger showed him, only half readable from the brown stains of old blood. Life blood. It burned cold and hot worse than any human fire and dug into the cracks in him, splitting them wider not sealing them shut. (Why are you doing this? It hurts! Idiot! Don’t trust the Tiger, he’s poison!). Water bloomed red.

He saw a face in the slit of a blade, it was him but older, his eyes were harder and darker. The dagger was tipped in crimson blood, he'd killed a boy in golden robes for the bags at his waist and the sword at his hip. The boy had bright eyes before the light went out and a happy smile before his lips went slack. -There were wounds on his soul like tiger’s claws and they festered. - There was a girl in gold that came into view, she looked and smiled, her eyes were hard and dark and sharp. She spoke, the boy listened, they bared their fangs and went Hunting.

(Shen Jiu knew death, but those people didn’t need to die! His stomach convulsed with horror as teenagers were slaughtered for Golden beads and ordered goods by monster who wore his face and a girl who was his kind)

The Tiger sneered and clawed and laughed and mauled and spilled blood like wine until he stalked a boy who didn’t draw his sword who was strong and balanced and

(Qi-ge!)

Was going to die.

He saw his estranged face in the shine of the eyes of the scum who walked like a rabid Tiger, saw his Master's blood on pale skin, saw dark shade in leaf green eyes with bright sparks that burned like hope.

-"So you became Qiong Ding’s head disciple? Not bad. Why didn’t you come back for me?”

“I...”

“Why aren’t you continuing? I’ll wait. I’ve already waited for so many years anyway, waiting a bit more won’t hurt.” I know what the answer is but you’ve got to say it to kill me. –

(Qi-ge... I thought you died... you didn’t come back. You promised... why didn’t you come back?! Please! I’m sorry! Don’t leave me! I’ll be good! I swear-! Why didn’t you come back?!)

“Qi-ge let you down. I’m sorry.”

He saw the boy in the metal rib of a fan. He was older and colder, the brief bright hope dead and eyes empty and dull under sharp glint of hatred. His lips scowled and eyebrows creased a deep cleft of stress and he hid from martial family who should be his but hate him, fear him, scorn him, so he hides behind silk and metal and paper and wood and spits poison to keep them controlled and keep them protected. All as guilty eyes sear his soul and make him feel how shamed he makes them.

(...Qi-ge... I’m sorry, I gave you my loyalty, but you... you don’t... don’t have to keep me. I’m-I’m s-sorry to be a such a shameful burden on you...)

Studies, lessons, days and days of work, glimpses in cold tea show stress lines carved deeper, bruises shadowed in bathwater from mistakes and fights and spars, a clear cool voice intoning derision, dark marks the only remains of weakness and failure as poisoned nature slips out and

elicits disgust in those who would be family.

(...I never got people to like me really, but... please, can’t I have just one friend...?)

He sees the strangers face softened in the polished wood of the guqin, sees painted lips smile as notes form songs and hesitancy grows into elegance as eyes warm with fondness and softness guards his back to sleep.

(...Women are always kinder...)

He sees the man (grown up and stepped out of time -We made it Qi-ge! -), with a Name. A cursed name bestowed with love (spite?) from his Shifu, who showed him how to bebetter, a set position of respect, of power, ...of freedom but unrest is stirred by the Golden Palace and all he sees is red again (the girl is ‘gone'... and something in him aches at the loss of one who saw him and smiled). The war is won and the martial family is close knit with trust and affection... just not for the man with empty eyes and weak cultivation.

(It’s no use is it Qi-ge. It’s true; no one can stand me.)

He watched decades pass in glimpses and snatches, with numbness creeping through his heart at the vile thing that wears his face. He guides the pack, the flock, the pride he was entrusted with (the first trust placed in him) and tells them the world is cruel and shows them masks and lies and cold sophistication, arts and forms and strength that can never be taken from them. Few realise this. Most hate him. He tells himself that’s fine, in the reflection in their resentful, tearful eyes.

Then he sees them man see the boy. The one who burns with potential like a new star, who comes from the dirt of the streets like a boy he saw in a reflection once, who bears the face of a Hunter whose soul mirrored his, she who was one of his kind. The child lies (he denies relation to that Hunter with golden beads up both arms, even as her the strength of her sacrificed core powers his mask, his protection, he kneels willingly with eyes shining soft and bright with innocence). The child is treated like the scum the man has always been, he’s pushed ad bullied and sneered at like all the pack members are in time, but the child has never known different here. With the face of a predator, his manner of prey enraged the man, makes the pain on that face that is Wrong quite satisfying, even as the family stare disapprovingly and comment with disgust and complete lack of surprise.

The horror is dull and hollow in Shen Jiu's heart. The man with his face is made up of everything in this nightmare, with a broken soul and hidden claws and stripes to hide his nature, with malicious satisfaction at pain inflicted and a tongue that spits poison and even a name to match. He’s scum that can’t get anything good right.

Maybe that’s why he’s not surprised when he fails everything that really matters.

His martial family (a brother dead from Qi Deviation, always so strong, so weak in death, weak like the man who tried to help and instead destroyed him, who saw the hatred and a flash of fear in the eyes he made dull).

His position (cheap, dirty tricks to win the match. Scum tactics ingrained like the street filth on his skin as a child. Shifu would be ashamed, his teachings gone to waste, the Sect represented by a Peak Lord who faught without Honour).

His students (a boy with a will to go far, brutally killed by a monster of the man’s creation, a girl who’s mind was bright faded into obscurity on a shelf with countless other treasures, a single bloom in a summer meadow, a fiery soul stifled into a sweet demure plaything as the flames died behind the mask).

His fellow Hunter (a stolen face shocked with hurt and betrayal, the remaining vestige of protection stripped away, a mark shining on pale skin, amber and ruby energy swirling, a child too strong and too honest to hide and survive, a push over into the Abyss. Years passed, worlds merged and the one who slew her living pretty).

His home (ash. Flame and pain and smothering ash dusting blackened earth and charred bodies with soft, immeasurable regret).

And worst of all when he fails to protect the one to whom he swore fealty (black shards scattered carelessly in a pool of the blood that lured the Xuan Su sword to his death).

Shen Jiu cried. He cried and cried and cried, for the twisted horror of his end, for the all encompassing hatred and disgust of all who knew him, of the toxic villain he was doomed to become, of how alone he was, had always been and how much that hurt.

(Qi-ge... you should never have picked me up you know? You should have left me to die in a back-alley ditch, everything would be better don’t you see? I’m scum that taints everything I touch, I’ve only ever made you miserable... most of all I’m sorry I made you hurt so much. ...I’m sorry...)

The shadows changed, darkened, became heavier, something foreign-familiar as they drew closer, swallowing bursts of shell-light and feather-flame, closer and closer until they swallowed Shen Jiu with the sound of a sigh.

Notes:

Thoughts?
I really shouldn’t start something when I’m already low on motivation, but I’ve been sucked into svss and... here we are. Fair warning: Sporadic updates, motivation is truly a fairweather friend.

Also, Su Xiyan is a vicious Warrior Queen and we should have learned more about her.

Leaning heavily into elemental affinities with cultivation bc.... I like it? Sticking to Chinese 5 elements. That's what the fire/water stuff is about. Human spiritual qi is whiteish blue, demonic is orangy red with possibly purple tints, idek. Affinities detetrmine shape, expression and function i guess?

Pairings: Way off yet, not actually sure where I’m going with this, but: what do u want to see? Leaning towards multiple partners whether for romantic relationships all round or not idk. At the very least, this boy is gonna have a friendship CIRCLE.

Chapter 2: Stalks: Love, duality, twined fate, doubled happiness.

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu reluctantly drifted into consciousness with the unsettling feeling of wrongness pervading his mind. Keeping his eyes closed and breathing steady, he relaxed his iron control of qi and let a bit suffuse the air. Immediately he frowned, his qi was unusually heavy, his yin fire and water roots were teetering on precipice of destructive overreacting and counteracting loops as usual and though his spirit veins ached, they did not feel scoured raw. He could hear the faint rustling of bamboo, taste a vague sweetness on his tongue and feel the revolting stickiness in his eyes from the Golden Thousand Dreams Flower pollen in suspended scent bags for restful, dreamless sleep (Pah. Once again, he endured the negative aspects without the benefits).

In conclusion, as much as his pounding headache allowed for reasonable deduction, he was at Qing Jing, in his bamboo house, following at least one night of illness and a Qi Deviation severe enough for Qi-ge to coat Shen Qingqiu’s spirit veins with his stable, largely neutral earth qi to prevent his shidi's own qi turning against him.

It was likely a disciple who retrieved the Sect Leader to cater to his pathetic Second's weak cultivation after a mild Deviation not severe enough to require any aid from Qian Cao. Most probably Ming Fan, the excessively fussy brat. Shen Qingqiu would deal with him later, for now only one question remained; why was Yue Qingyuan still wasting time here?

“...Shidi? Shidi, can you hear me?”

His voice. His voice, light, soft and full of foolish concern. It made his scars ache.

Shen Qingqiu prised his eyes open and squinted against the light. When his vision cleared, he saw Yue Qingyuan’s worried face intent on him and- a sudden rush of grief hit him. He'd killed this man. This man, this brother, the one to whom he pledged his entirety loyalty, who had knowingly walked into a trap to reach him because he was hurt...

His eyes light up with unreasonable joy, “Shidi finally woke up; is there any discomfort?”

The last time he’d looked at that face clearly... he was being dragged away by Huan Hua to await his ‘trial'.

The last time he heard that voice it was heavy with hurt and betrayal, with pain and disappointment that made his eyes burn worse than the toxic air of the Water Prison.

Then black shards scattered carelessly, mockingly. How cold they were. How sweet the qi imprint on them smelled among the suffocating iron.

But...that was false. That had never happened. The was no Immortal Alliance Conference Catastrophe, there were no unusual reports from Jinlan City, no fires burning on Cang Qiong Mountain, no merging of worlds by the blade of Xin Mo.

But... the details. The complexity. His dreams were full of heart demons and suffering whenever he slept unaided but never had they been so elaborate and the progression was too logical to be attributed to fever dreams.

He’d been silent too long, Yue Qingyuan’s smile wavered and his eyes widened for some foolish reason. “...Shidi?” he ripped his gaze away, eyes falling on a simple paper fan with chrysanthemum watercolours, crafted by a disciple years ago. He snapped it up to hide himself.

“Hm.”

That left... a vision? A heavenly revelation? As if the Heavens would bother with scum like him. Demonic influence? Or a poison? The only demon of sufficient ability and power to breach the ward arrays of the Sect would be Meng Mo, who was renowned for non involvement in just about everything. And if one could circumvent his paranoia, then they would not waste the opportunity with a dosage of hallucinogen or alternatively, his distraction under the influence. Or perhaps... Perhaps it was...a memory of sorts, from Shen Qingqiu himself at a different point in existence. A Shen Qingqiu who died, with a soul too ruined for reincarnation. With his doubled yin in fire and water, he had always been more sensitive in matters of the mind and soul...and with his conflicting elemental roots...it wasn’t so much of a stretch of disbelief that he’d torn his soul apart. It was not unreasonable to think that his fragmented soul could have drifted through the spiritual plains until encountering a compatible entity; the functional soul of Shen Qingqiu.

He drew a long breath and shut his eyes, flashing scenes of catastrophe and devastation. Betrayed and disgusted expressions, scorn and abandonment and always, always Blood. He opened them. This... would require meditation.

“This shidi requires meditation to address spiritual imbalance. Asking shixiong for permission to enter seclusion.”

Yue Qingyuan hesitated, eyebrows slanting pathetically and smile twisting. Honestly, this foolish Sect Leader was far too open in his expressions. “Qingqiu-shidi... this shixiong understood that your disciples are to undertake a mission in Shuang Hu City to gain experience? And this shixiong knows his shidi has been contemplating the approaching Immortal Alliance Conference... he need not enter any if preferable; none would dare question the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, but all this and shidi wishes to further his cultivation as well? So soon following a Qi Deviation, is it wise...?”

Shen Qingqiu glared, irritation spiking. “This master knows the state of his own spirit veins very well. Asking shixiong for permission.”

A hint of rare steel entered Yue Qingyuan’s eyes, “Accompany your Qing Jing disciples down the mountain and upon return this shixiong will grant his shidi entrance to the Ling Xi Caves for seclusion.”.

Qi-ge. Of all the times to deny me....

“Tsk. Thanking Zhangmen-shixiong.” He said bitterly.

Yue Qingyuan crumpled, “Xiao-Jiu...” But he did not yield. The address made Shen Qingqiu flinch and snarl reflexively, but... he was tired. Sore. He ached in his body and his spirit. That, and a swell of swell of remembered despair from another time Yue Qi acted directly against Shen Qingqiu's wish, stayed his tongue. He hissed and looked away.

They sat in silence until Yue Qingyuan left.

Fourteen days.

Less than a week and a half until the Qing Jing disciples field trip down Cang Qiong mountain to investigate a string of murders, the most recent being some rich Lord’s concubine, but half a dozen prostitutes from various houses. Shen Qingqiu had heard of it two months earlier from the worried girls of the Warm Red Pavilion and assured them that the ward arrays he had carved, painted and embroidered into their home would protect them from demons and demonic cultivators, though not from the evil in the hearts of men. Madam Cheng had gently refused his offer to support her in a request to the Sect for aid, so as not to sully his reputation by association. As if that mattered when Cang Qiong as a whole already thought him to be scum.

His students should have little difficulty with what he vaguely recalled to be a low-level camouflage-type demon... a Face-Snatcher? Shadow? Skinner? Mimic? Or was it a rarer culprit...

Additionally, there was something uneasy in him at the thought of his female disciples going on this mission, given the victim profiles. However, it was imperative that they are able to defend themselves against the world outside the Sect, particularly as the girls of Qing Jing were scholars, musicians and artists in training. Shen Qingqiu’s peak housed the third largest proportion of female to male disciples after Xian Shu and Qian Cao, but they were without the deadly teachings of strength and subtlety in wielding the blade of beauty, or a Healers knowledge on deconstructing the human body. No, Qing Jing's girls were softer and more helpless, simply from difference in priorities...Especially those such as Ning Yingying.

Dread sunk in his stomach. No. His girls would not be prey and bait.

“Ming Fan!”

“This disciple is here! What is Shifu's command?”

The boy appeared nigh instantaneously, almost tripping over gangly limbs in his haste. Unseemly. Even the springiest bamboo shoot does not swing about so inelegantly. What had become of him in the end?

“This master will be reviewing his disciples’ martial ability in the Soothing Stone Grounds in light of an upcoming assignment. This master expects his Head Disciple to ensure his shidis and shimeis are all present and prepared. No exceptions.”

“This disciple understands Shifu.”

Twenty-eight junior disciples were gathered in the large, paved clearing, huddled in groups and gossiping idly. Shen Qingqiu watched from the shadow of one of the stone pillars around the outside. That they were so unwary when they knew he was to be present spoke ill of their spatial awareness. There was also one missing.

How to address these issues... what better way than to strike fear into their hearts?

Slowly, he let his qi drift unnoticeably about the clearing, fan smoothly tilting in his grasp to gently guide water to sink low and fire to rise high, especially around the perimeter. Only two or three noticed anything and the quickly brushed it off. Disappointing. A whisper of ocean waves tickled his ear as bitter tea crossed his tongue with a tinge of salt. This sort of separate, simultaneous root use was rare, requiring absolute control and awareness, but for Shen Qingqiu it was the only way to utilise higher densities of qi without incurring explosions.

Speaking of...

A sharp diagonal strike and the energies clashed, a vortex of wind suddenly whipping through the clearing, filling the air dust and grit and howling. And providing a very effective smoke screen.

Shen Qingqiu darted in willing the currents to bend around him and snatched Ming Fan out of the fray. He deposited the boy a way off, back in the deciduous forest and glared down at him. “Ming Fan"

His head disciple started and leapt to his feet, “Shifu!”

Shen Qingqiu’s lips curled behind his fan as he began to slowly pace a circle round the boy, “This master has left much of his disciples' martial training to his eldest junior disciple, secure in the knowledge of his ability to perform and instruct those under his purview. Now, this master wonders if that trust was misplaced, that Ming Fan fails to follow simple, explicit instruction.” He stopped in front of the boy and snapped his fan shut, “Well?”

Ming Fan looked devastated, “This disciple has- has shamed Shifu, this lowly one wrongly assumed that Luo Binghe was not desired to be present for this instruction and told him to cut wood for the stock.” He kowtowed, “Asking Shifu for punishment"

Shen Qingqiu reopened his fan “Punishment is in part in the knowledge that any blood spilled by a shidi or shimei of yours in injury or death stains your hands as if you struck the blow yourself. May you feel the weight of the lives in your hands and forever be aware of the red on your skin as penance for the damage of you naivety. For now, we shall retrieve the little beast and begin the lesson.”

When they eventually came upon Luo Binghe, he was indeed chopping wood, like any mortal peasant. His feet weren’t positioned in any sword stance Shen Qingqiu knew and when he swung the axe, it was in such a way to built muscle in the shoulders, but not the full arm. And his grip was entirely incorrect besides.

Shen Qingqiu stalked over, rage mounting. This was Su Xiyan's legacy? This was the beast with Heavenly Demon blood who survived the Endless Abyss without resources or aid? Who merged worlds and brought about the downfall of the Great Cang Qiong Mountain Sect? This imbecile who couldn’t even chop wood constructively?

The idiot turned around in time to receive a sharp strike from the fan to his head, “What. Are you doing. Beast.” Shen Qingqiu hissed.

Luo Binghe stared at the ground and said sullenly, “This disciple was chopping wood for the woodshed Shizun.” To which he received another chop from the fan.

“Impertinence. This master can see with his eyes the world around him with far greater understanding than that of his least learned disciple.” He paused for a moment, but continued with a voice dropped to deadly quiet, “…of course, if his disciple thinks so lowly of this master, then he is welcome to journey down the mountain and take up a life of woodcutting like a weak mortal. Perhaps he would prefer it, as he prefers to make a mockery of his assigned tasks.”

Luo Binghe’s hands curled into fists but his head remained bowed. He said nothing.

Bitterness flooded Shen Qingqiu’s mouth, fire qi prickling hotly in his veins. His fan creaked in his grip.

Ming Fan shifted, drawing attention. His eyes were dripping and his lower lip tremored. His dark eyes met livid green and he sobbed, throwing himself down to kneel. “S-Shifu, this is another failing of this disciple.” He shuddered, taking a breath and continuing wetly, “this Ming Fan has hurt the disciples given to his care by negligence and- and unfair punishments and extra chores. This- This Ming Fan has actively sabotaged the learning of disciple Luo Binghe with misinformation and lacking information in his training- his petty envy has prevented him from teaching his shidi even basic sword forms and martial kata correctly. Luo Binghe works diligently and obediently, it is this Ming Fan that is unworthy, of, of his position in Qing Jing Peak and Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.” he looked up, utterly wretched, “…Shifu…I even gave him a cultivation manual unbefitting of a disciple, worn and damaged from burns and wetness with binding so loose pages were coming out.”

Shen Qingqiu’s pupils pinpricked. Could it be…? No, surely not. “What was it called?” there was no answer for a moment, for an eternity, “What was the cultivation manual called?”

It was Luo Binghe that answered, hesitantly, “Formation Steps on the Twofold Path of Five Phases” He watched his cold, untouchable Shizun blanche and suddenly he was being crowded with his Shizun’s hand across his forehead and over his heart, a cool, rejuvenating energy gently washing over him like ripples in a pond.

Shen Qingqiu relaxed after a moment and stepped back, carefully circling his qi to fix the instability from drawing so heavily on his water, especially so soon following upheaval. The troublesome thing was fine though, no signs of spirit vein warping, scarring or any significant damage and Su Xiyan’s Seal was only mildly eroded, a simple product of age. He was still a prey animal though, absolutely no resistance against Shen Qingqiu’s foreign energy invading his system which was disgraceful, even if he had specifically used his water for the promoting effect on the boy’s wood qi. He awaits the day the half-blood runt will finally get a clue and grow into the deadly fangs and predatory instincts of his heritage; the day he grows to become a beast like his mother. A Hunter. (Red eyes gleaming in the darkness as he plays with his prey, messing and maiming instead of going for the kill. Blood pooling in crevices, the taste of rust, no he can’t taste he’s got no tongue-) But for now he breathes and ruthlessly suppresses the vaguely foreign energy twined in his own veins. Not long now and he could work on assimilating it properly… and dealing with what he might learn.

He looked at Ming Fan, who looked like he fully expected to be exiled from the Sect completely and was trying to meet that fate with dignity. Shen Qingqiu wanted to be angry, he wanted to visit the righteous fury of the Heavens down upon his foolish, foolish disciple, but nothing came, like his fire had finally been snuffed by his carefully maintained water with only cool ashes to remain. “Ming Fan.” His damp disciple met his gaze fully (though despairingly), “I would strip you of your position as Head Disciple if not for specific circ*mstances at this time. You know your punishment. You will do better. You will make amends.” Hmm, perhaps several problems could be solved at once… he did so love efficiency. “Additionally, Luo Binghe will be promoted to second-in-command officially, but equal to your authority between yourselves. As Zhang Hao is your right hand, Luo Binghe will be your left. He will undertake your same duties, on this Peak and across the Sect. This master expects Ming Fan to bring him up to standard immediately.” Shen Qingqiu glared at Luo Binghe, who was stood with him mouth agape uncouthly. “You, Beast, will prove your supposed diligence and work to improve. Laziness will not be tolerated, nor will ignorance. Failure to uphold the standard of Qing Jing Peak bears consequences, which you will both become intimately acquainted with.”

With that, he stalked off to begin his actual lesson, robes flaring dramatically in his wake.

Chapter 3: Stalks: Wealth, Health & Happiness, Lu Soh Fu. The three blessings.

Chapter Text

...The lesson was disappointing.

When Shen Qingqiu returned to the paved clearing with Luo Binghe and Ming Fan, the class was in chaos.

The two boys gaped at the scene, at the windswept peers nursing cuts and bruises from accidental collisions and blind, wild swings during the windstorm.

Vicious arguments cut through the air and every eye reddened and streaming from grit, fighting having apparently broken out among students over lack of apologies for inflicting injury.

Ning Yingying was attempting to mediate... with minimal success though her being stood between two of the more belligerent students was most likely keeping them from physically brawling.

The pair looked up at Shen Qingqiu’s deep sigh, following his attention to the bulk of the juniors clustered at the side-lines, observing. Some were murmuring to each other and anxiously glancing around, presumably for their missing Shizun or shixiong, Ming Fan, neither of whom would have tolerated this.

All while making no move to diffuse the situation themselves, even to back up their shimei.

Some were sniffling and dabbing at tears with embroidered handkerchiefs.

Shen Qingqiu was glad he had only entered his senior disciples into the last Immortal Alliance Conference, despite the whispers of ridicule on the winds from other Peaks. With the apparent quality of his juniors, they would have died on the road, slaughtered for their items before they even arrived at the Conference.

Not only was it pathetic, but it was also dangerous.

They were spiritual cultivators; physical combat was essential to their continued safety throughout life. To any lowlife practitioner they were prime targets to ‘pluck the yin to nurture the yang'. Without physical power, a spiritual cultivator could easily be reduced to a Cauldron, exploited for their qi and very life force through Dual Cultivation.

(…In this respect, it was fortunate that Shen Qingqiu was picked up by Wu Yanzi and not another of the scummy rogue cultivators lurking to sell Qiu Jianluo wares. As a demonic cultivator, through heinous acts, seal arrays and rituals, he had reversed the direction of qi flow in his physical and astral body to draw volatile Earth energy from his own root chakra into his meridians, granting intermittent access to raw power otherwise experienced only through Ascension. Wu Yanzi couldn’t grow his power through Dual Cultivation, nor did he want to.)

He clicked his tongue derisively and called, “Attention.”

Once the children took notice, they hurried over and lined up, silent. The handful causing a ruckus were pale. Rightly so.

Shen Qingqiu thought for a moment on how to address this, but enough time had been wasted retrieving Luo Binghe so he would let them marinade in dread for now.

He set them to demonstrate a basic Qing Jing martial form as a warmup, setting Ming Fan and Luo Binghe off to practice separately with a dismissive fan flick ...and immediately identified some issues.

It wasn’t that they didn’t know the forms; Hallmaster Li was competent in his instruction. It was that, moving through the motions, they weren’t thinking about what they were doing, they weren’t visualizing blows blocked or strikes redirected.

Additionally, some wobbled slightly in keeping balance. As if balance wasn’t one of the three fundamental principles of the style.

Grace. Evasion. Balance.

Shen Qingqiu said nothing and just stared over his fan.

Next, they took up their training swords in the Swaying Spring Bamboo sequence, primarily to parry and redirect blows from stronger opponents but additionally carrying an offensive element of strong, fast strikes like a rebounding bamboo switch.

While they at least knew the basic Qing Jing sword forms (barring, of course, the little beast who was warily taking instruction from a subdued Ming Fan), they lacked the harmony of strength and elegance.

Those with grace such as Ning Yingying and Lan Yue, lacked the power to their blows to end a fight, like Zhang Hao, who were in turn so graceless they put even the worst of Zui Xian drunkards to shame.

All required stamina training.

Maintaining his decidedly blank face, he then set them to pairs for sparring.

This, at least, gave him some hope for their survival.

By deliberately pairing quarrelling disciples together, fights gained a nasty edge, standard forms slipping into quicker, more merciless strikes at instinctively identified vulnerable points, stepping in and out of reach lightning quick in the barest bones of a savage dance.

It was the edge of something brutal, something dirty, the edge that kept Shen Jiu alive on the streets and apparently how the junior scholars of Qing Jing held their own against the martial-focused brutes of Bai Zhan.

Better. Still not good enough.

This continued for half shichen, before Shen Qingqiu bade them, very calmly, spar with the master himself, one-on-one, using any style, technique, or tactic to land one blow or draw even a single drop of blood from him for victory.

(Disappointingly, only a small number truly tried, Ning Yingying out of respect, Lan Yue during to instruction and the rest out of the sheer desire to hit him. The rest were too nervous to properly spar.)

...Needless to say, it was not the Peak Lord who bled. At all. Even when faced with the entire class against him once they had each individually lost, Shen Qingqiu moved through them like a breeze winding through trees, a fan in one hand and the glinting white of Xiu Ya in the other, gracefully sweeping this way and that, leaving fallen bodies like shed leaves in his wake.

And not a single thread of his billowing robe was torn, nor a scratch on his skin carved.

Shen Qingqiu glared over the dusty heap on disciples, bared teeth delicately hidden by his fan. He spoke in a low voice dripping with disdain, “Unsatisfactory. These disciples humiliate Qing Jing Peak with their blatant disregard for the skills as old as the mountain and rampant incompetence in combat. I am disappointed.”

The children had pulled themselves to their knees by this point. Heads bowed. Shoulders curled. Several flinched as if struck. Several fists clenched white.

“Bathe and eat, then return here each with their best fans and any weapon they can wield with any measure of skill. This master will grant a shichen for respite, surely long enough for these shameful disciples to recover and continue this evaluation. The tardy will suffer consequences. Scram.”

Hurriedly, the children pulled themselves up and left, leaving Shen Qingqiu alone to think.

How were they going to survive?

As the entire sum of Qing Jing junior disciples staggered into the food hall, filthy with sweat and dirt, they certainly drew some looks.

A senior disciple in lilac and white Jing Shen robes gasped in shock, “What happened to you all? I’ve never seen Qing Jing disciple so dishevelled!”

Ning Yingying smiled brightly, “Shifu is assessing the martial ability of these disciples.”

One Qing Jing senior frowned. “Shizun never teaches juniors if he doesn’t have to and then it’s just the Four Arts, making qiakun items and qi techniques for self-defence for the girls, never martial combat.”

The girl beside him hummed. “Except before the Immortal Alliance Conference. He beats anyone who applies into the ground before approving entry.” She winced in remembered pain before returning attention to the juniors, “As that’s only just passed, you must have a mission. Directly ordered by the Sect Head if Shizun doesn’t think you’re ready. Ming-shidi, any news?”

Ming Fan startled, “...no.” he said quietly.

"Oh." Interest lost, the seniors returned to their meal and the juniors went to retrieve theirs.

Zhang Hao leaned down slightly, “Is shixiong alright?”

He answered with the same uncharacteristicly muted tone, “No. I have...things to reflect on, regarding my duties, behaviour and responsibilities,” his eyes swept over the small crowd of juniors, now sitting down at the short tables, they settled on Luo Binghe, stood at the side looking over to Ning Yingying, who was chatting to her friends among the female junior disciples.

Ming Fan turned to Zhang Hao, “Reserve places for this shixiong and his shidi to eat with one extra, would you?”

Upon Zhang Hao's confused nod, he strode over to Luo Binghe, some of the familiar arrogance bracing his spine, “Luo Binghe! Come eat with us.”

He waited for an answer, jaw clenched and jutting. He watched the thoughts and emotion flicker in dark depths of his shidi’s eyes and settle into something at once angry and resigned. “...As Ming-shixiong commands.”

Ming Fan loosed a frustrated breath, hands flexing on the tray, “This Ming Fan offered so Luo Binghe, wouldn’t sit alone.” He opened his mouth to say more, about how he'd seen how far behind he had made Luo Binghe (who was already disadvantaged by his age, the youngest of them, two years Ming Fan’s junior), how much weaker than the rest of them. How much Ming Fan’s actions had damaged him and how fast that would make him die in a serious fight.

His throat worked but no sound emerged, so he snapped his mouth shut a nodded decisively.

Luo Binghe paused but slowly nodded back, so Ming Fan led them over to Zhang Hao and sat. Luo Binghe greeted the tall boy warily, received a brusque nod in return and that was that.

Later, Ming Fan would shove a pair of fans into Luo Binghe’s hands, his second-best set in his own as they returned to lesson and Luo Binghe would think that maybe whatever had happened to make the cruel, pompous Head Disciple cry had brought a change in him. That maybe, just maybe, things might finally get better.

But for now, there are three sweaty, bruised and dusty boys eating a bland, light meal in stilted silence.

Three shichen and a disastrous fan lesson later found Shen Qingqiu in his Bamboo house, massaging his aching wrists and fingers. Old breaks healed wrongly, some among many, but fortunately ones that didn’t act up much.

Shen Qingqiu was waiting for Ming Fan to arrive with paperwork from the drop box just off from the Rainbow Bridge, where any missives, forms, letters or petition slips for Qing Jing were deposited by the other eleven Peaks.

Presently he arrived, with Luo Binghe his wary shadow.

“Small beast. Remain kneeling outside until Ming Fan collects you.”

He watched Ming Fan’s troubled eyes follow the stiff back of the sprout out before returning to Shen Qingqiu and taking on a different kind of turmoil.

“This Ming Fan brings today’s paperwork for Qing Jing and yesterday’s that by requiring Shifu's attention this one could not complete. Shall this disciple make tea?”

Shen Qingqiu dragged his gaze from the baskets stacked with work and met Ming Fan’s eyes deliberately. A conversation was to be had on certain changes to me made in light of the breach of trust Shen Qingqiu placed in him.

Some of this must have showed in his eyes because Ming Fan’s small smile wavered and faded, faint dread creeping into his expression.

There was a tap at the door.

Ming Fan went to answer it and returned with Mu Qingfang, whose typically gentle smile was tight.

“Shen-shixiong, this healer hopes you are well?”

His eyes were cool.

Warm hazel eyes frozen with dislike, disgust, after the martial brother died (was killed. He killed him). Bright amber flecks hard and sharp, as medicines arrived late or not at all, always the last to be treated, there were never enough painkillers, not for Qing Jing disciples.

Always for Bai Zhan though, because physical cultivators needed to train. What does it matter if the stuck up scholars who just sit around all day are in a bit of pain? Maybe it would teach them not to start fights.

Shen Qingqiu casually flicked open his fan.

“...This Master had not anticipated Mu-shidi's presence. For what has the Qian Cao Lord visited my Qing Jing?”

Narrow, fox-like eyes sharpened slightly at the non-answer.

“This healer sent a missive for an appointment with shixiong to check on his meridians following his most recent Qi Deviation, due to the severity paired with the heat of fever.”

Yes, Shen Qingqiu thought. Because why bother to check when I awoke? Why bother checking now?

He gracefully gestured to the baskets with his fan. “As Mu-shidi can see, this Master has much requiring his attention.”

“This one will keep his visit short.”

“...Fine. Ming Fan-"

“This disciple will prepare tea!”

“No.”

Both Ming Fan and Mu Qingfang startled. There was silence for a moment, before the Medical Lord's surprise was lost to offence.

Mu Qingfang was a very even-tempered man, he had certainly put up with a lot from Shen Qingqiu's rampant prejudice against those from outside the rich nobility, but such a blatant slight as to be overtly denied basic hospitality-!

His jaw clenched; his smile thinned to a blade.

“This Peak Lord would like tea, thanking Ming-shizhi.”

The boy darted a look at Shen Qingqiu. “...Y-yes Mu-shishu.”

He hurried off. The Immortal cultivators sat in stilted silence, though Shen Qingqiu appeared to be vacantly staring at his irresponsibly neglected paperwork. It was surely a week’s worth that sat on the end of the low table.

Tea was prepared, but Shen Qingqiu made no motion to pour for his guest, shirking the most basic duty of a host.

Then.

Then.

Once Ming Fan poured two cups, Shen Qingqiu picked his up, looked deeply into it and placed it down without drinking.

His striking green eyes lifted to his disciple and gave him a look that said something unknown to Mu Qingfang, but whatever it was, Ming Fan understood and was devastated.

He was dismissed with a negligent flick of the fan.

Mu Qingfang took a sip of tea to brace his temper, etiquette be damned.

“I have heard good things about Ming-shizhi. A good disciple.”

There was no reply. The only indication he'd heard being a slow blink of eyes like the grass coat of the summer steppe, deceptive peace revealing none of the ravaging wind screaming for ten thousand li unimpeded, king to all but the Eagles.

Mu Qingfang shook such musing from his mind; he would not share his home with this undeserving brother.

“There was another disciple, kneeling before the Bamboo Hut. Is he to be disciplined?”

“He is to remain until collected by Ming Fan.”

He kneels like a chained dog for no reason then.

Mu Qingfang’s fingers spasmed imperceptibly.

Best to conclude this meeting before he challenged Shen Qingqiu to duel.

“If this healer could assess Shen-shixiong’s meridians?”

If he had to restrain himself from gripping Shen Qingqiu’s wrist harder than necessary, he took it as additional practice in removing personal feelings from an examination.

He deliberately ignored the tension that gathered in the scholar’s shoulders at the physical contact and the almost imperceptible flinch of his qi upon contact, because acknowledging it meant thinking on the reasons for it, which would upset him.

Shen Qingqiu’s spirit veins were haggard as always, scarred and slightly crooked and he had obviously used a decent chunk of qi throughout the day. However, there was no obvious damage that had expressed over the time of active qi usage and circulation since Shen Qingqiu woke up and the meridian strain from the Deviation was standard, as assessed during the scholar’s unconsciousness.

He conveyed this to Shen Qingqiu, along with a warning to limit his qi usage over the next few days to let his spirit veins recover. Advice he knew would be ignored, just like every other time over decades of Deviations.

As he walked among the bamboo towards the Rainbow Bridge his mind wandered back to Shen Qingqiu.

That man embodied the worst attitudes of society for the lower classes and those outside the system, like his kin the nomadic tribes, all wrapped in his pretty face.

Truly, he was a poisonous flower; toxic, but so beautiful.

Chapter 4: Stalks: Drawing negative energy, wishing death upon you.

Chapter Text

Ning Yingying was finishing up her report over tea and sweets in the Bamboo House, having brought with her the evening’s paperwork baskets.

Shen Qingqiu was listening to her speak, about the progress and problems of the female disciples and interesting gossip on different Peaks, but he didn’t take from the selection of fragrant Osmanthus cake, thin oval Tuckahoe pie and water lily crisps in delicate pastels.

They were given to him by Yue Qingyuan during his most recent impulse to intrude upon Shen Qingqiu’s private space without warning over the last thirteen days.
As always, Yue Qingyuan had looked at him with eyes full of guilt and regret, they sat in heavy silence with barely five sentences exchanged between them and at the end Shen Qingqiu was left feeling like an unwanted burden.

A burden. An obligation. A filthy stain on the life of Immortal Cultivator and Sect Leader Yue Qingyuan.

The sweets felt like a bribe and a settlement both at once. The scent of them made him nauseous, curdling on his tongue into sour ash.

Shen Qingqiu sipped his tea.

“-and they knocked Ming Fan down and surrounded A-Luo and the ripped off his jade necklace, do you know that his mother gave to him? They were laughing about it being fake, but I know from jade carving class that’s wrong even from a distance, with how the light was coming through it, it's low quality but still jade. Chang Ping is from a noble house, he should know better.”

She paused to take a contemplative bite of Osmanthus cake.

“But then, he is Bai Zhan, so I suppose one can’t expect much from him. But Shifu! He threw it and it went really far away and A-Luo got so angry he started to fight them and Ming Fan helped (they’re getting along so much better Shifu, Ming Fan’s much better with the other Qing Jing disciples too) and Zhang Hao threw some rocks and they hit right where he aimed to hurt, it was awesome Shifu-"

The tea was a gift as well, from Kai Qingmei on Zui Xian, only this one didn’t make him feel like a leech.

White peony. A sweet, fruity taste with a delightfully smooth body and a stronger edge similar to mild green teas. Very pleasant and touchingly thoughtful too, as it calms nerves and reduces the yang in the liver meridians, which reduces the likelihood of fevers.

“-Yue-shimei got a really good hit in, she’s the best out of the girls at the Qing Jing style Shifu, she’s as graceful as snowfall but strong as a glacier, ah! Shifu! There’s this girl on Xuan Shu who was asking about her, I’ll organise a small group of us to go over if that’s alright Shifu? We can just happen to be walking past when a Xuan Shu girl comes for the missives box, we might even get to watch some ribbon dance practice!-"

As far as men went, Kai Qingmei was one of the more tolerable. He was certainly very warm and friendly, his russet eyes always smiling. It was just... he was very large and very loud and quite a tactile person, very free in casual physical contact and affection...and sometimes, on Shen Qingqiu’s worse days, his warm eyes looked like pools of drying blood.

He swallowed and blinked, bringing more of his attention to his Head Female Disciple as she finished her tangent on the Xuan Shu secret ribbon techniques and what she was having difficulty in recreating from what she had seen in a few practice sessions already.

“So we were six against nine Bai Zhan. Qing Jing took no major injuries, but a lot of bruises, Ming Fan the worst with a broken nose and two black eyes. Bai Zhan took a damage to the ribs of one -probably fractured?- by Lan Yue, a dislocated arm by Ming Fan on Chang Ping, A-Luo broke a finger on another one, I knocked out a brute who was going to attack Ming Fan’s back while he was dealing with Chang Ping and my littlest meimei really badly bruised a knee of a Bai Zhan girl that went for her. It was so swollen she had to get help walking! And Zhang Hao throwing some of the bamboo leaves and cutting them up all over! I asked and he said one of the seniors showed him how.

“Then they said they were going to tell their Shizun and that we’d regret fighting without honour then, but they weren’t fighting fair really, and there were more of them and they started it, so! And anyway, I heard from Liu Mingyan that Liu-shishu is in seclusion, so I hope they go and tell him!”

There was something about that which stirred the soul shade remnants up, something about Liu Qing-.

No.

He shut the thought down before he had a flare up. He’d learned to do this over the course of Yue Qingyuan’s repeated visits, to push away thoughts that lead to drowning in memories and emotion...either from that other world or his own past.

“Did Qian Cao treat him?” he asked, worlds still blurring in a shadowy corner of his mind he refused to look at.

Ning Yingying nodded, “White Tiger Balm for his nose and eyes and Red Tiger Balm for A-Luo’s bruises because he went with him in case the Bai Zhan tried anything. He asked for more to share with the rest, but Head Disciple Lingzhi said ‘none will be prescribed without showing proof of need to a trained healer’.”

She gave him a hopeful look, widening her eyes for maximum effect.

He made some salves himself, more so in the days since the fever, Tiger Balm especially. He made a stronger version to the Qian Cao, with more clove oil, to use on his joints when the Quiet Pool didn’t numb the aches of poorly healed bones. As an added benefit, the cloves dispelled cold and guided qi flow downward in the stomach, reducing nausea.

With their mission commencing tomorrow, aid for settling a stomach of nerves and skin of swells and bruises may be a necessity.
Shen Qingqiu sighed.

“This master has some pots of salve made. Ning Yingying may distribute them along her peers.” He endured her small cheer and smoothly distracted her. “Is there no more news of note from other Peaks?”

She bit off half of a water lily crisp and chewed thoughtfully, “Oh! I overheard from some An Ding disciples that Mu-shishu and Xia-shigu are taking most of the Sect horses and eagles up to the Northern Plains for training; they were complaining about having to organise the qiankun pouches and Everflow Ewers to be checked by Fa Bao and then filled by Zui Xian. And there was something else...”

She trailed off and Shen Qingqiu started sifting through the papers basket for Huang Ye's orange marking... there. He read it and felt his eyebrows furrow.

Of the twenty nine horses requested, only twenty one were available for travel.
Six of his disciples were officially exempt from Cultivator duties, like preternatural investigation and night hunts, by request of noble families looking to gain an Official in the line, beginning the path at Cang Qiong and taking the Imperial Exam.

While Shen Qingqiu would usually take them along anyway to give them the choice of becoming Cultivators proper and generally impart some skill in information gathering and creative problem solving...

Still two horses short, including the fact that one disciple would be driving Shen Qingqiu’s carriage...The driver’s space could hold two, leaving two spare. Ning Yingying would be needed among the disciples to prevent boredom-induced antics, unfortunately.
So. Which two whiny sprouts might he be able to endure close quarters with without blood shed and delicate egos shattered?

Perhaps... yes.

He hadn’t had a chance to properly check in on their progress.

“That’s what it was!”

Shen Qingqiu did not flinch. No matter how slight.

“I can’t believe I forgot! Shifu! Jing Shen's primary roaming team is coming back to Cang Qiong! It’s been years! They’re sure to have all sorts of new entries into the Bestiaries and Herb Compendiums and changes to the maps to make! From what I heard in the food hall, Li-shishu is coming back with them too! Is he really like moonlight on a still lake when the air is heavy with the scent of lotus blooms?”

Shen Qingqiu sipped his tea. It really was sublime.

“This master does not prescribe thought to the appearance and manner of his martial siblings."

A lie. The girls at the Pavilion had needled him enough for details to force him to form an opinion.

It was inappropriate to share such musings with a disciple however.

...but she did look so disappointed...

“However, from an artistic perspective, Li Qingrong is the perfect subject to depict the noble and mysterious Immortal Cultivator, as envisaged by the average mortal.”

She made a sound of appropriately awed appreciation.

Ning Yingying had a rich imagination and an eye as beauty, but unfortunately lacked the patience for layered painting or artfully subtle poetry. It was this that restricted her from true excellence in artistry.

She would be struck when she learned that Li Qingrong was rarely to be viewed properly, as he always wore a full length veil embroidered with various arrays to shield his sensitive skin from the sun due to his albinism.

Allowing a small, sly smile to twist his lips (behind a fan, of course), Shen Qingqiu dismissed Ning Yingying with her salve and the rest of the sweets to share, with a stern reminder to ensure the girls slept early to prepare for the mission on the morrow.

House quiet once more, he systematically worked through the stacks by Peak of origin and placed them in qiankun boxes, colour coded with designation, to be delivered the following morning.

Then he slipped out the door and went for a walk among the whispering stems of tall bamboo, as dusk painted the glimpses of clouds like roses.

He followed along the familiar, winding paths and felt in his soul that whatever happened next, it would bring change.

Whatever he learned once he assimilated the memories of that broken soul of his, whether he followed that path or chose a new one; it would be the end of his days of the greatest peace he’d ever experienced.

His days of monotonous but strangely soothing paperwork, calm Arts sessions, intelligent poetry and ethics debates, of standing still in the evenings to drink in the light through the bamboo... it was all drawing to a close.

Soon, he would Know.

He would feel the hand of Fate.

He would be doomed to walk a path.

A path, that in one world, had already broken him down to the soul.

Chapter 5: Stalks: Balance, harmony, positive energy in the emotional, intuitive, mental, physical & spiritual.

Chapter Text

As the sun rose over the Tian Gong Mountain Range, Shen Qingqiu calmly observed his dishevelled, sleepy disciples -who may one day become Cultivators and thus gain Responsibilities- milling about, as Ming Fan grew increasingly stressed and harried at the sheer lack of preparation among the juniors, issuing instruction in every direction like a flustered mother of twenty

Zhang Hao and Luo Binghe were being useful at least; the tall boy stoically directing small groups to different tasks on Ming Fan’s List and a scruffy head of curls bobbing to and fro tying up loose threads of odd jobs and stray item retrieval, such as Shen Qingqiu’s white jade chest containing spirit stones and other useful qi charged items which, by their very nature, are incompatible with qiankun pouches.

When Ming Fan eventually noticed him, dressed for once in trousers and split-panelled robes (teal, with bamboo embroidery artfully disguising arrays against the elements, blunt force, stains and mortal blades), his face fell into something like despair.

He approached Shen Qingqiu with the walk of the damned and informed him, ashamedly, that the company was two horses shy of requirements and one still if the carriage took a second driver. He had been unsuccessful in borrowing one from another Peak as well; with the current shortage, every travel horse was in use.

Shen Qingqiu spread his fan, silk whispering between the metal ribs, face impassive.

“This old master is aware and has determined a resolution.”

The relief on Ming Fan’s face might have made a better man squirm with guilt for distressing him so.

Not so for Shen Qingqiu.

“With Zhang Hao driving as planned, Ming Fan and Luo Binghe will join this master in the carriage, Ming Fan may report on his plans for the investigation and his progress, or lack thereof, with the small beast over these two moon phases. If it pleases him to do so.”

Now Ming Fan truly resembled the damned.

Luo Binghe, from where he was eavesdropping nearby believing himself to be unnoticed, clenched his fists and looked at Shen Qingqiu with something like a glare.

Once in motion, Shen Qingqiu received a progress report to which he carefully betrayed no reaction, other than to hold silence for along while and eventually state that, in light of this, he would discuss a matter of some delicacy with Luo Binghe upon his return from seclusion.

Ming Fan’s plan was sound enough for now. With the barest information provided in the request for aid, the disciples knew that the victims were beautiful young women and the culprit was unlikely to be monstrous or plant based.

Thus, Ming Fan proposed that groups of three were to split to gather cover all of Shuang Hu City assessing the presence of demonic qi or resentful spiritual qi to better determine the culprit and also gathering information on the victims to the same end.

Ming Fan only approved mixed teams, which split up the female disciples as much as possible and ensured there was at least one more naturally yin sensitive member in every group.

He would be in a pair with Luo Binghe to interview Old Master Chen and then assign disciple groups to their areas and roles, distributing copies of maps, emergency flares and the evil sensing talismans drawn in cinnabar on yellow paper.

Shen Qingqiu approved the plan with some small reluctance.

He did not encourage co-dependency or trusting in others, but he knew from experience that an opponent of superior numbers was always a harder battle. A larger group would therefore discourage scum from attacking them for whatever ‘Immortal treasures' they may be carrying.

...Additionally, this kept Ning Yingying away from Luo Binghe during the investigation, which typically spares her from misfortunes such as kidnapping, entrapment, mysterious artefacts, yin-attracted plants such as the aphrodisiac variety or, as in one particularly memorable case, ritualistic sacrifice to a False God Lake demon disguised as a Carp preparing to cross the Dragon Gate, by a cult of demonic cultivator hopefuls.

(Shen Qingqiu had given her the orange hair ribbons she wore, embroidered with tracking and qi monitoring arrays, so that when her qi spiked with adrenalin he might find and save the girl before she finds herself dead.

It was why Shen Qingqiu first encouraged her visiting other Peaks and social tendencies, so that she might pick up other skills and abilities to keep herself healthy and whole. It was, slowly, working.)

Shen Qingqiu cursed himself viciously for tempting Fate as he leapt over a rooftop and onto the adjacent street, snarling with fury.

It had been going. So. Well.

They had a working system to canvas the area! Well formulated groups with the right equipment! Corpses! A RANGE of information sources that actually provided the information without deliberate misinformation, political obfuscation or straight out LIES!

It was the perfect low level investigation to build up field experience in juniors.

It should have been.

But no.

Not his disciples.

No, they just had to f*ck it up.

Two groups crossed whose leaders had had a string of recent disagreements and obviously! They couldn’t put that asinine horsesh*t aside for one Heavens lambasted mission.

So now Ning. Ying. Ying. Was captured. Again.

THIS WAS THE FINAL STRAW

HE, SHEN QING - f*ckING -f*ckING-QIU WAS GOING TO RETRIEVE HIS HEAD FEMALE DISCIPLE FROM BEING KIDNAPPED. AGAIN. AND HE WAS GOING TO TEACH THAT GIRL HOW TO FIGHT.

HOW TO ACTUALLY SURVIVE IN THIS WORLD THAT IS LITERALLY DOING ALL IT CAN TO SEE YOU DEAD.

SHE WAS GOING TO LEARN HOW TO WIN AT LIFE BY NOT DYING.

WU YANZI/ QIU MANSION/ CANG QIONG/ STREET SURVIVAL STYLE.

But first, Shen Qingqiu needs to actually retrieve his 250 Head Disciple and the Sidekick Sprout.

Because they were kidnapped too!

BECAUSE HEAVENS FORBIT SU XIYAN'S SPAWN NOT BE INVOLVED IN EVERY UNLIKELY PLOT, SCHEME AND EVENT IN THE VICINITY OF ANYWHERE EVER.

Shen Qingqiu barrelled through Shuang Hu with all the burning wrath of the Vermillion Bird’s Anger of Red Sparks, with all the looming portent of grief, murder, bane and war of his Patron of Fire, the Celestial Body of Mars.

Fire qi formed an invisible heat haze around him, billowing in the air, testing for the tell-tale recoil of Earth-rising demonic qi in the face of Higher Energy sources from the Heavens’ Lightning.

... There. Got you.

A burst of qi and the wall crumbled; there was a pretty woman reeking of corpse rot leering over Su Xiyan's son.

He didn’t bother to draw Xiu Ya, would not sully his spirit blade with tainted blood. A twist of water met his swooping fire and the frisson of vicious-whitehot-steam-DEATH took off the foul cur's head and cauterised the wound for the convenience of his disciples’ robes remaining unstained.

Shen Qingqiu, with great effort, smoothed his face from its rictus of fury and cooled his wrath to ice, freezing his spirit veins from molten fire to glacial ice.

He then strode silently around his disciples, cut the ties near the knot and collected the scraps.

Fa Bao had a standing request for Immortal Binding Cable from missions. He would trade it to them for a few disciple-friendly arrays. Defensive and offensive.

Just see if they denied him.

It had been a very eventful day for Luo Binghe.

First, he and Ming Fan had had to wrangle their fellow disciples into something resembling order following the living nightmare of collectively packing travel bags the night previous.

Ming Fan had been getting progressively more fraught as moment passed, so Zhang Hao stepped in to occupy their more excitable peers with banal tasks while Luo Binghe got the actual work done.

Then Shizun appeared, always so different in his expedition gear, warrior scholar standing vigil under the shimmering light and shade of the bamboo.

And he had taunted Ming Fan.

After two weeks of enforced closeness, Luo Binghe had learned to respect his shixiong. To actually like him underneath all the blistered arrogance.

And he did not like his shixiong being played with when he tries so hard to please their Shizun . For whatever reason.

He was so deeply hurt by being denied preparing tea for Shen Qingqiu. He kept muttering suddenly about ‘broken trust’ and it being ‘all his fault'. He cried.

So to see those vivid green eyes over a swath of painted peach blossoms sparkling with subtle amusem*nt-!

It only got worse from there.

The carriage trip in forbidding silence and suffocating anxiety from his shixiong and his own tendril of dread curdling his stomach.

The stench of the bodies, the feeling of wrongness that only abated once Shizun cleansed their spirits of resentment and lingering taint.

Ming Fan’s dark, wood brown eyes going blank with horror upon learning of Ning Yingying’s disappearance.

Waking up with a stuffy head and a strange taste in his mouth, tied up with scum threatening his friends and trying to make him feel like prey.

Shen Qingqiu bursting into the room like Divine Retribution made flesh, power rolling off him in waves, eyes gleaming scarlet and glimmering blue as a graceful fan movement decapitated their captor.

As Luo Binghe laid in his bed in the disciples barracks, a small thrill went through his heart as he remembered the power and grace in those movement, the life in those burning eyes.

They rode back that night same night. And in silence.

Usually, Shen Qingqiu would have let them sleep and ridden out the next morning.

But from tonight’s upheaval, he needed to get to the Ling Xi Caves and balance himself immediately.

His qi was a mess of pain and collision, there were images flickering behind his eyes with every blink and he could feel the Earth qi of his root beginning to shift in the warnings of a Qi Deviation.

He had written a missive for Old Master Chen detailing the success of the mission and that the victims spirits and the demon den had been cleansed.

He advised a good burial for all the victims due to the small remaining chance of resentful ghosts returning. This was a lie. He didn’t care.

So they rode.

The horses could take it.

The Qing Jing stables did not keep warhorses, work horses or more than a few messengers, but well rounded mounts in terms of speed, strength and stamina for travel.

The combination of living on a spiritual nexus, Peak training and eating fodder grown with qi by Jing Shen, developed their Beast Cores to transcend their ordinary, mortal counterparts in health, lifespan, intelligence and sheer capability.

(It was why he preferred not to ride. There was a knowing in their eyes that made him feel Seen in a very fundamental, very vulnerable, way.)

The disciples were tired, but they had Night Pearls and it meant they were quiet and obedient.

For once.

Leaving Ming Fan to oversee the unsaddling of the horses, Shen Qingqiu marched stiffly towards the Ling Xi Caves, more with his qi sense than the narrow scope of his blurred vision.

By the time he reached the entrance, he was staggering, but the soothing touch of rich, dense, neutral nature qi was a warm blanket in the harshest winter, a drink of water to one lost in desert sands under the blistering sun.

Shen Qingqiu swayed through the stone passageways until he reached his usual cultivation chamber and allowed himself to breathe.

Chapter 6: Stalks: Good luck, wish for a strong, prosperous life.

Chapter Text

Yue Qingyuan gazed at his paperwork stacks unseeingly. Xiao Jiu had returned earlier than anticipated from the juniors' mission and had entered the Ling Xi caves directly, without even reporting to his Sect Leader as usual (if with acquiescence so bitter it burned his Qi-ge's heart like acid.)

There had been no opportunity to stall him for Mu Qingfang’s return.

Perhaps he should send summons for him?

...But Yue Qingyuan had initially agreed for the Qian Cao Lord to leave on the excursion because of the tension in his martial brother as of late.

Recalling him early would surely undo any relaxation achieved...and he was due to return soon anyway...

( He hated when his martial siblings left, especially when they wandered unendingly. It made him feel like a failure. Like he was that little boy who couldn’t keep his family from breaking apart all over again.)

And Liu Qingge... well, his cultivation was stable with no past Deviations and the Caves were so large and empty... surely they would not cross paths.

And if they did...it just meant there was someone with Xiao Jiu in case he Deviates. Yue Qingyuan knew Liu Qingge could safely overpower Xiao Jiu and activate the alert for assistance.

Mu Qingfang and Xia Qingfeng were sat on horseback at the peak of a hill, watching the horses graze peacefully or run for the sheer joy of it across the stretching plains of grasses rippling with the breeze.

It was serene and nostalgic of his childhood, but Mu Qingfang’s heart was troubled. He sighed. His fellow Peak Lord looked over, her dark peach blossom eyes shining with concern, “Alright, what’s troubling Mu-shixiong? You’ve been reeking of discontent ever since we left the Tian Gong range. Immortal notwithstanding, speak to your martial sister before you get lines like withered Old Huan Hua.”

He sent her a mildly reproachful look, “Cang Qiong and Huan Hua are allies, so we must not speak ill of them,” he grimaced slightly, “No matter our personal opinions of cultivators who do not deign to fight in their own wars, leaving their allies to take heavy casualty in their stead.”

Xia Qingfeng nodded, scowling “My roaming disciple packs cross paths with one of theirs every so often and it always brews trouble, and then a headache in sorting it out.” She snorted in disgust, “On one occasion, a Huan Hua senior disciple claimed that a Cang Qiong Flying Bear Tiger had attacked him and demanded to have Xiao Biao culled in recompense! Shen-shixiong had to step in! Apparently, the self-important idiot had tried to hunt an Ice Mountain Blue Tiger, supposedly to propose courtship of the Little Palace Mistress with it’s pelt. As if the little poison flower is remotely worthy, spoiled to ruin by the Sect of Indulgence." She shook her head vigorously, escaped curls flying around her head, the simple black and orange hairpiece holding her bun wobbling dangerously.

Mu Qingfang blinked, “Shen-shixiong? But how did he learn of the situation? This news did not reach Cang Qiong, or I would have come to asses the injuries for origin myself! Though surely, the falsehood was obvious? The Blue Tigers cause frostbite in their wounds and Bear Tigers...rarely leave a victim identifiable with their strikes.”

Xia Qingfeng nodded grimly, “Yes, but ours are ‘tamed' and it was winter up in the mountains, we were practicing, catching, diving and retrieval drills.”

She coiled an escaped strand of auburn hair around her fingers thoughtfully, “All I know is that one moment tensions are rising as the some Huan Hua elders are demanding Xiao Biao’s corpse and a Flying Bear Tiger cub in settlement while all but calling us of Huang Ye liars and bloodthirsty savages, and the next, Shen Qingqiu is sweeping through the debate hall like a Red-Crowned Crane and presenting a list of statements from the mountain's villagers on inquiries about the Ice Mountain Blue Tiger by the disciple, several points of complaint on his conduct whilst there and a list of similar incidences of accusation against several of the minor Sects.”

She shrugged.

“I just assumed our messenger bird made unexpectedly good time and he was sent by Zhangmen-shixiong.”

Mu Qingfang shook his head slowly, “Yue-shixiong would never voluntarily send Shen-shixiong out of the Sect. Especially to a colder region or in winter.”

Xia Qingfeng made a sound of understanding, “He always is worse in winter. Sadder, more defensive. I think it triggers a heart-demon.”

Mu Qingfang startled. ‘Sadder'? And a heart-demon...he had always suspected that Shen Qingqiu had some, which were inhibiting his cultivation in addition to his late start, but if one was linked to the cold...

“...Yet he takes no discernible measures to address this. If Shen-shixiong dislikes the cold, why does he not wear a cloak? Do you perceive him to be sad often?”

He had never seen more than a single blanket in his house and the bed is such as Ku Xing favour.

“Always. It flares and wanes, but never really goes, just changes a bit, like around Liu Qingge, it’s all harsh, bitter frustration, but Zhangmen-shixiong, makes it all seethe a completely mixed bag of anything, depending on the day, but strongly.” she rubbed her temples, “...them together gives me such a migraine with all the emotive output.”

That would be the Tiger Balm he smelled on her at the rare meetings with every Peak present. Though he used a bit himself for those meetings, thankfully rare though they were.

Movement in the corner of his eye turned his head, to see the shimmering light of the Star Crystal Horses cresting the next hill amid a swathe of translucent Wind-Soother Grass.

The wild herd moved to the Cang Qiong herd of messenger-type horses, with blood of the fastest breeds in their lines.

“Why is Mu-shixiong interested in Shen-shixiong? What did he do to stress my martial brother so?”

Mu Qingfang sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes, “A private meeting, in which Shen Qingqiu forwent every duty of a host and blatantly distressed his Head disciple in front of me, while another knelt on the ground in waiting outside, like an owned slave, ‘for collection’.”

He looked onto her dark brown eyes tiredly, “I entertained the thought to duel him, Xia-shimei. And to think that I was worried!”

Her eyes were wide, she spoke softly, “A major Qi Deviation?”

“...Xia-shimei, when I entered the room I thought he was already dead.”

She gasped. “...But he is recovered, yes?”

“I would not have left the Sect had he not been. Though, Liu-shidi was due back for his ‘visit' soon, so I doubt Shen-shixiong will be resting his meridians as he should.”

“You left your disciples to treat Bai Zhan after the White Tiger’s visited?”

“It will gain them experience. Besides, I resupplied the most commonly required balms and salves and my Head disciple knows how to manage the stock.”

He looked down at a tump of Wind-Soother Grass, pale mint strands shimmering among the greens and yellows.

Shen Qingqiu’s newest addition to his Bamboo Hut since his last Deviation; Golden Thousand Dreams Flower scent pouches, commonly thought to ward off nightmares and soothe restless sleep.

Except it didn’t; the flower would send one to sleep, but do nothing against nightmares. Wind-Soother Grass is typically paired with it for its effects of calming qi flow, with the side effect of pleasant or otherwise dreamless sleep.

Was Shen-shixiong suffering nightmares?

“Does Healer Mu Qingfang think that this Deviation could have changed something in Shen-shixiong?”

He blinked back to awareness, still looking at the grass, “Shimei, he does not permit me to assess beyond his qi system, but from our interaction and my observations, he shows no damage, though in a personal capacity, I would say he may be worse than before. He has never liked nor trusted me and thinks himself my superior for our differing ancestors, but never has he outright insulted me so.”

The Wind-Soother Grass shivered in a breeze.

His voice dropped to a murmur.

“However, I am his Healer and he is my charge and my martial brother, one sworn to my care. And though he doesn’t want it, he still deserves to be helped.”

Mu Qingfang dismounted his horse with ease born of familiarity and dug up one grass tuft by the roots, tucking it away into a qiankun pouch and taking blades from other Wind-Soothers to be dried for pouches.

There was temporary settlement of nomads not far to the East with Soft-Wool Cloud Sheep, if he was reading the tracks and remains correctly.

Mu Qingfang would take a detour and see about some trade.

Prejudiced, bitter and unpleasant a man as Shen Qingqiu is, Mu Qingfang will not have him sad, cold and suffering, with only nightmares to fill his sleep.

Hundreds of li in another direction, Li Qingrong makes another mark on the map and frowns behind his embroidered weimao.

While he did not begrudge his senior disciples in taking the initiative to rework the land for better drainage for the town, thus preventing seasonal flash-floods, the delay frustrated him the way it rarely had before. If ever.

Though, he had not disclosed the reason for their abrupt return to Cang Qiong to them.

Lilac eyes drifted to the side, staring at nothing.

The energies...

Some days ago, Li Qingrong had felt a shift in the higher energies of the plane while in deep meditation. Something new had crossed over, something broken and dead.

It sent ripples of dissonance through his spirit ties with his martial family, his generational Peak Lord siblings, the only ones who had ever claimed him as kin, when his own blood discarded him.

And it was centred on his coldest brother, who guarded their backs with smoke and mirrors, cloaks and daggers, whose song was painful to listen to (mournful howls, rattling defensiveness, screeching aggression, even as his body was silent.)

It was centred on Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Qingqiu drifted.

Immersed in the grounding nature qi of the Ling Xi Caves, soothed and enveloped by inert power, Shen Qingqiu allowed his mind to still and sank into deep meditation.

With placid detachment, he stretched out his soul for the scattered ink of his other life's memories, a brush to be loaded, a channel, an invitation.

The ashy ink answered, slowly moving from the depths of his soul into his conscious mind, swirling together, coalescing into a thick strip of character, incomprehensibly minute.

He reached again and embraced the ink, absorbing it like a dry canvas.

He let information flow freely, understanding without feeling again every sensation, without seeing every expression. Like reminiscing a time long passed, experiencing only the shallow echoes of memory.

Liu Qingge died.

Luo Binghe was broken.

Shen Qingqiu was tortured.

Yu Qingyuan was killed.

His martial kin, disciples and Sect were burned.

Shen Qingqiu died by swallowing the broken tie to his Yu Qi's soul.

Shen Qingqiu had been dying by increments long before that.

So, in this place of detachment, he mourned.

Quietly, he grieved for Yue Qingyuan, for Cang Qiong, for Liu Qingge, for Luo Binghe. For the tragedy of it all. For the bitter ashes that are all that remain.

It is a sadness that sits heavily in his soul.

Acceptance found finally, at last, the cracked fragments of Shen Jiu relaxed and with a sigh like a final breath, dispersed like a drop of ink in an ocean. Finally, at rest, forever.

Shen Qingqiu came back to awareness on a raised stone platform surrounded by crystalline waters singing with spiritual qi, and violent bursts of familiar qi rippling the air, filling his nose with iron and his mouth with spice.

His blood turned to ice.

Liu Qingge .

Shen Qingqiu leapt up and sprinted out the cave, down a familiar set of twists and turns until he found him, once again.

Cheng Luan lay discarded on the floor, silvered spirit light wavering with the instability of its source, blade stained red.

Liu Qingge was already injured, scattered cuts spreading scarlet across his ridiculous white robe.

His blood was splashed across the walls.

His qi was heaving, writhing to Shen Qingqiu’s spiritual sense, great plumes resisting the natural direction to rise from the Earth chakra root.

Liu Qingge was on the cusp of a breakthrough, but the impatient idiot had tried to force it. His meridians weren’t ready, so the rising pulse to further his cultivation level was hindered, staggered. Uncontrollable and leading to his current situation:

Qi Deviation.

Shen Qingqiu knew this scene. He had tried to subdue Liu Qingge, to knock him out and restrain him so he could trigger the alarm talisman on the chamber entrance for aid.

But Liu Qingge was called the War God among Immortal Cultivators, Shen Qingqiu had drawn Xiu Ya to defend against the savage strikes of Cheng Luan and with the unstable qi roiling in the air, rattling his own delicate balance...

A moment of inattention to soothe a rising plume of his own. To prevent two Deviating Peak Lords existing in the same cave.

A sword seal. A reflexive parry. A madman throwing himself forward.

And piercing his heart on Shen Qingqiu’s Xiu Ya.

He had never used sword seals since.

It was the start of the end.

Maybe he smelled him, maybe he heard his rapid heartbeats, maybe he felt the tremor in his qi.

Any, all or none, Liu Qingge turned sharply, revealing burnished orange-red eyes light with Earth qi. Demonic qi.

Ha. Wu Yanzi would have approved.

Shen Qingqiu carefully lowered his eyes and curled his shoulder, drawing his qi presence in tightly. Submissive. Deferential. Like he was back at the Qiu Estate.

Liu Qingge watched fixedly. His chest was heaving and sweat beaded on his brow. They were running out of time.

With infinite care, Shen Qingqiu eased one foot back to-

Liu Qingge snarled and launched himself at him.

Shen Qingqiu dodged to the side and Liu Qingge cast a hand out, flaring rusted steel qi.

He lunged and Shen Qingqiu prepared to side step, but there was a light in the corner of his eye, a flare of sword qi -Cheng Luan! - his fingers formed a seal, Xiu Ya sang in answer and-

NO!

Shen Qingqiu forced his hand open and met Liu Qingge head on; as hooked fingers like a clawed tiger’s paw reached for his neck, his palm struck hard muscle and a hot burst of fire qi entered Liu Qingge’s heart meridian.

Just as those stout fingers closed, Liu Qingge’s eyes rolled back and his body went slack, collapsing into Shen Qingqiu.

From this close he could feel the other’s heart beating steadily. That was good. It was a very delicate and extremely risky operation, requiring careful balancing of qi expression and elemental affiliation.

Truly it was more luck than anything that it worked; Shen Qingqiu’s yin fire to Liu Qingge’s yang metal generated an Inter-regulating cycle and the low qi density gathered for the sword seal prevented a destructive Overacting cycle.

Rough, calluse fingertipa brushed against the skin of his neck, curling around his collar slightly, while loose strands of dark, silky hair and a puff of hot breath tickled the other side. He shivered.

Yes, it’s good that the Bai Zhan Brute will live, but this is too close .

He wrapped an arm around the idiot's waist and used it to roll his fellow Peak Lord out of his unwilling embrace and into the cave wall.

He crumpled into a roughly kneeling posture with his face pressed up against the unyielding rock.

It was possible there was some damage from the collision.

Hm. Good.

Shen Qingqiu sank to his knees behind his shidi with all the grace and poise of his station, for nothing more than his own satisfaction.

He pressed his hands to the back of the slender figure in front of him and paused a moment to feel the heat of him, the shift of lithe muscles with every breath, so undoubtedly alive, before gently channelling qi into his inflamed spirit veins, correcting direction, soothing meridians and balancing the essence of his shidi with his own.

Yes, he was glad his martial brother yet lived.

...However, yet again, it was proved that an act of kindness from Shen Qingqiu would only ever hurt him.

Though this time more literally than most.

He looked down at the deep gash in his shoulder, blood slick on the white cotton of his travel robe.

At least Xiu Ya remained unsullied.

Ah... he glanced over at Cheng Luan where it has clattered to the ground. Shen Qingqiu paused the qi transmission for a moment and rose, walking over to the mighty broadsword and picked it up, feeling the weight of it in his hand before wiping the blood off the blade with a bottom panel of his robe.

When he had cleaned the spirit sword and returned Liu Qingge’s meridians to their natural state, he tugged the feared and awed War God to lay on his side, supporting his head with his good arm and removed all physical trace of his presence, returning to his own cultivation chamber.

Might as well raise his own cultivation as he has been so graciously permitted a stay in these caves.

Chapter 7: Stalks: Good health.

Chapter Text

Something was wrong.

Liu Qingge woke up laying on his side, with his muscles aching, internal organs throbbing and blood bubbling up his throat.
He coughed and spat it out, gulping in breaths between heaves as his stomach and lungs expelled the spoiled blood.

The air tasted foul.

Cool, slow moving air of the Ling Xi Caves heavy with pungent qi, like rotten fruit and loam, thick with blood tang. Earth qi. Something else as well, an oddly bitter addition. His insides felt scrambled. Liu Qingge snarled at himself in confused frustration before he remembered.

Qi Deviation.

One of the few he'd ever experienced. Severe. Life-threatening so.

He’d been cultivating, practicing his martial art kata to increase his qi flow, when he had gotten...frustrated, on the teetering edge of a breakthrough. He tried to force it. He failed. And now he was in the Caves with blood and fresh scars on both the walls and his skin.

His loose hair slipped over his face. He reached up a hand to shove it back, but paused.

It was almost completely masked by the tang of blood, but he had worked to recognize that scent anywhere after the first traitorous attempt on his life.

From his fingers came the faintest fragrant of orchid incense smoke.

Shen Qingqiu had been here.

Why did his fingertips smell of Shen Qingqiu’s ridiculous feminine incense? He tentatively sniffed at the edge of his meditation robe. It was there too.

Had he touched him for whatever reason while he was unconscious? Or maybe Deviating? Either Shen Qingqiu came in to hug and hold hands while Liu Qingge was unconscious or Liu Qingge touched him and retained no memory of it. Both impossibilities! Why?!

Or, Shen Qingqiu had done something, likely incredibly spiteful and possibly humiliating for Liu Qingge. But just what did he do?!

Pulling himself into seated lotus position, Liu Qingge forcefully calmed his mind and sank into meditation to check his spirit veins.

If that snake had done something to him, had crippled his cultivation in sick vengeance for Liu Qingge having actually worked for his power, for dedicating himself to training from his early youth and not expecting everything in life handed to him-!

He had done something.

That was yin fire circulating in Liu Qingge’s meridians.

But it- it was- it wasn’t doing anything. Or rather, anything bad.

So, Liu Qingge had a Qi Deviation.

Shen Qingqiu had approached him during a Qi Deviation, he was out of his mind with rage and bloodlust judging by the cave walls and self-inflicted wounds, probably because it was the only time he could potentially win against Liu Qingge with his dirty tricks.

He had then subdued him when he was at his strongest peak of qi and physical strength, without injuring him, and... had decided to... sooth... it.

Because that is what the petty, honourless spiritual cultivator's qi was doing. A thin coating along Liu Qingge’s spirit veins, swirling into his meridians and mingling with his metal natured qi, warming, reshaping, guiding into the proper pathways and directions. Enough to prevent another Deviation, yet not enough to push the regulatory cycle interaction into a destructive Overacting cycle and destroying Liu Qingge from within.

And it was specifically fire qi as well, no trace of Shen Qingqiu’s water, which would have initiated a Weakening cycle and crippled his Cultivation, potentially permanently. Or just killed him.

Liu Qingge took a breath to quell the shiver that raced down his spine.

It was extremely difficult for a dual-natured cultivator to use just one of their elements. To do it so completely, for such precision application? The sheer control, the discipline, the focus necessary?

Anyone would say it was impossible.

Then again, Shen Qingqiu had always been exceptional

But this, it made no sense.
Shen Qingqiu had... helped him?

That meant that...

...He...He owed Shen Qingqiu his life.

He vomited blood.

Mu Qingfang settled down at his low table with a strong cup of tea and allowed the breadth of his shoulders to relax.

He sighed.

He, Xia Qingfeng and their disciples had returned in a timely manner, even with his minor detour, so he had anticipated no major stressors awaiting him at Cang Qiong except perhaps an unfortunate injury or particularly tricky mission related affliction.

Not so.

Instead, Mu Qingfang returns to be told by his Sect Leader that not only is Shen Qingqiu in closed cultivation, barely weeks after a Qi Deviation very nearly killed him, but Liu Qingge is also in seclusion and anticipating a breakthrough! A highly dangerous and delicate endeavour for one of their power!
Not only that, but Li Qingrong was returning to the Mountain Peaks and who knew how severe whatever injury or malady he was suffering from was, to bring him back so suddenly.

Or indeed, how long he had been suffering in his unassuming silence; forever unwilling to be a burden on another.

Perhaps his eyes were damaged and blinded from the sun or snow glare as Mu Qingfang feared they one day would be? Had his moonlight skin developed sickness? Himself enduring illness? Who knows? Not Mu Qingfang! Because Li Qingrong continues to politely decline regular check-up appointments to monitor his health ever since they were disciples! Which would not be a problem if not for his albinism weakened body and Heavens know the man doesn’t take well enough care of himself.

Mu Qingfang brought a large hand up to press on his eyes and then massage his temples.

Him and Shen Qingqiu; one prone to sickness of the body, the other of the qi... and heart apparently. Neither of whom trust Mu Qingfang enough to tell him about their pains, so that he may help. Neither of them trust him to look after them, to treat them carefully where they are most vulnerable.
Li Qingrong does not do this deliberately at least; his is behaviour was learned again and again in his childhood, from what Mu Qingfang knows of it, so by now is simply ingrained.

Shen Qingqiu...

Hazel eyes slid to the wrapped package.

He always smells sad.

Shen Qingqiu holds great and constant sadness according to Xia Qingfeng, yet does nothing to provide himself with comfort. Instead, he drives everyone around him away, keeps himself cold and aloof.

It had always seemed like he wanted it that way because he thought himself superior to everyone else, his refusal of treatment by Mu Qingfang like just another refusal to lower himself to the level of his martial kin.

But with mind to this sadness... it feels like defensiveness.

He had seen it before, in grieving disciples suffering volatile burst of mercurial emotion because they felt too much to keep it all in, even when they tried.

In disciples from noble houses unable to express themselves because that meant a loss of decorum and such a notion had long been ‘discouraged' through various means.
He had seen it in Huang Ye disciples and beasts, who lashed out against anyone nearby to cover their vulnerability.

Mu Qingfang had just...never linked that behaviour to Shen Qingqiu. He had always been like it, even from when they first met as disciples. Some people really did prefer to be left to themselves and Shen Qingqiu certainly presented himself to be one of them.

His cultivation had always been unsteady... had Shen Qingqiu truly been suffering for so long?

His gaze was heavy on the small package. His heart was felt the same.

He had failed as a Healer. He had sworn himself to his martial siblings, to heal them when injured and guard them while vulnerable. And he had failed. Had been failing for decades!

Yet it took his martial brother almost dying to see.

He threw back the lukewarm tea and got up decisively. He had things to do; medicines to make, training curriculums to revise and a package to deliver to Qing Jing.

He had grown complacent, in these years of peace following Huang Hua's war on the Heavenly Demons.

He would do better.

Because if he had missed this about the Second-in-Command of the Sect, their Head Tactician...

What else had he missed?

He would do better.

It must be a trick.

It must be a ploy, a way to force Liu Qingge to do Shen Qingqiu’s bidding. There must be something Shen Qingqiu wants.

Liu Qingge seethed.

He was no pawn. He would not be manipulated, played with, by the likes of Shen Qingqiu. He would go find him right now and find out what the snake wanted and he would do it.

Because he had honour.

He forced himself up and staggered over to the mouth of his catacomb chamber. Best to rid himself of this debt as soon as possible, before that vicious scholar had anymore time to plan. He summoned Cheng Luan to his hand and jolted.

Shen Qingqiu had touched his sword.

There was the faintest trace of him, the chaotic yin fire and yin water mix lingering like invisible ghost wisps on the hilt and strong along one edge of the blade.

The sword had been set down just out of arm’s reach. It was also clean.

Had Shen Qingqiu taken a hit?

...It must not be severe if he took the time to clean his blood off Cheng Luan (why did he do that? He had always been precious and excessive about his burning his spilled blood with spirit fire, like that would erase the fact that he’d been injured. Absolutely excessive, it’s not as if his family would not have applied a blood guard seal to protect him from demonic cultivators. Everyone knew he was of a wealthy noble family). Though he had always been reluctant to receive treatment, even from Mu Qingfang. Now, Liu Qingge didn’t like the Healer Wings much either, but even he knew it was a good idea to have injuries checked over by a trained professional.

Closing his eyes briefly to flow qi to his nose, he scented the air and was off, following the path of ink, orchid smoke, paper and green bamboo growth.

As he drew closer to the source, following along the dimly lit labyrinth of rough, narrow passageways carved into grey stone, he began to hear a sound. A deep yet high vibrational humming. High density qi.

Pulling his own qi close as not to interfere, Liu Qingge followed his nose to one entrance and stopped, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. He was not so careless as to interrupt a cultivation peak in progress.
It also gave him the chance to observe Shen Qingqiu.

The scholar was deep in meditation, separated ribbons of qi swirling around his seated form. He unclasped his hands and raised an arm, drawing a single finger in an arc over his head, qi dancing in its path, elegant sweeping curves like sword strikes swirling into a sphere as Shen Qingqiu reclasped his hands in reverse position.

Liu Qingge watched as the ball of qi was encased in a pillar of spiralling ribbons of alternately fire and water, as a shimmering cloak of water qi pooled over his shoulders and fire qi flared in a jagged halo around his silhouette.

There was an area on one upper arm where qi gathered in higher intensity.

Shen Qingqiu was unpleasant in many ways, but watching this display of power and control...if there was one thing Liu Qingge found attractive, it was a Predator. One whose every move was made sleek and silent with coiled potential through sculptured strength, devastating control and deadly grace.

A breath, a slight crease between brows and the structure of qi spun faster, drawing into itself, condensing with qi glow growing brighter and brighter before swiftly falling down through the top of Shen Qingqiu’s head with a hollow, resonating sound like a bell chime, yet with an off note that jarred uncomfortably.

Qi flared through skin, wisps rising like tongues of flame and lapping like waves as they rippled through the air and fed into the Cave stone and spiritual pool.

Shen Qingqiu opened his eyes and for a moment they glowed.

They glowed vermillion as the fire birds and azure as the water dragons, combining around his pupils in violet starbursts.

Powerful. Pretty. Dangerous.

His neck pricked as the hairs there stood on end.

Liu Qingge scowled. His mouth was strangely dry.

“Hey!” he called. Shen Qingqiu tensed but didn’t flinch (had never flinched from him... It was just another reason he consistently sought him out). However, after the first reflexive glance his bright scale green eyes moved to fixed on a point just over Liu Qingge’s right shoulder, not meeting his eyes directly, challengingly, like they always had before.

It was confusing and made Liu Qingge even more frustrated and uneasy.
Shen Qingqiu apparently wasn’t going to acknowledge him, so Liu Qingge stomped closer, trying not to sway.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

Jade eyes flickered to his for a moment and blinked, “This master was meditating. To raise his cultivation. As one typically is found to be doing, in the Ling Xi Caves.” An exaggerated pause for pretended contemplation. Thin peach lips curled slightly. “Though a brute like you might not know this, stripped beyond the point of indecency, hair shamelessly loose, dishevelled and bloodied as you are. Did perhaps the Caves pick a fight with this shidi?”

Liu Qingge grit his teeth against a retort. He needed answers and a way to pay his...debt to Shen Qingqiu.

“I was cultivating. I had a Qi Deviation. Your qi is in my meridians. What do you want.”

A fan appeared from one ridiculously voluminous sleeve and opened to hide the scholar's face. His voice was slightly distant, “Liu Qingge must use his words, else this master will be unable to answer adequately, as he does not speak brute.”

Liu Qingge’s grey eyes widened. Shen Qingqiu had...used his name. He never referred to him as ‘Liu Qingge’ without any snide titles adjoined!

Maybe Shen Qingqiu really was injured. He hadn’t truly met his eyes yet either.

Something was definitely wrong.

He sheathed Cheng Luan to cross his arms. His disciples always gave him the truthful answers when he did this at them for some reason. It might work on Shen Qingqiu.

“You saved my life. What do you want me to do to fulfil the debt. What are you planning.”

The fan waved gently. It had peach blossoms on it. As if anyone couldn’t tell he was an Immortal by looking at him, his fan design had to slap them in the face with it.

Because Liu Qingge was looking at the fan, he failed to notice the willow leaf green eyes above it narrow into slits.

He did, however, notice the change in the ambient energy still bleeding off of Shen Qingqiu from a passive humming to something like the death rattle of a Singing Sands Snake or maybe a growling Creeping Mist Cat.

“This master was planning to leave seclusion having now improved his cultivation, to train his disciples as is his duty. He wants Liu-shidi to leave first and compose himself as something more than a peasant lunatic!”

The anger broke his decorum, as it always did, fan dropping to reveal snarling canines and lips twisting to spit venom, eyes wide and finally meeting his...but there was something in them. A familiar light to them that Liu Qingge had seen sent his was many times, but never from Shen Qingqiu.

Fear.

There was fear in his eyes when he looked at Liu Qingge head on (and something else. Bitterish. Sad? Guilty? Mad? Vengeful? Something, that Liu Qingge wasn’t good enough at emotions to identify). That was definitely a hunted expression in fine jade irises though. Prey staring at a Predator.
Shen Qingqiu was scared of him.

...he didn’t like it.

What changed? Did... did he do something during his Deviation? Shen Qingqiu had seen him wild on bloodlust before in the war on the Heavenly Demons, but that... that aggression had never been turned on him. Would never be turned on Shen Qingqiu or any of their martial siblings if Liu Qingge was in his right mind.

But he hadn't been in his right mind.

Did Shen Qingqiu feel like Liu Qingge was a threat to him because of it? Was- was he afraid that Liu Qingge would turn that side of himself, the feral, mad side that earned him the name White Tiger...against Shen Qingqiu?

They fought and sparred regularly sure, with words and then weapons and it was nasty, but it was never...

They had never fought to kill, despite all of Shen Qingqiu’s threats.

He was- they were sworn brothers. He was their Warlord, their weapon against the enemy, their sword to be wielded to protect the Sect. He was loyal. He would never turn against one he was Sworn to Protect.

That was- what was a Tiger without a Territory? A War God without a Pantheon?
Nothing more blood-lusting beast.

But Shen Qingqiu had saved his life, even though his trust in him was broken shaken during the fight.

He would prove himself worthy of that trust. He would have to be...gentle. Patient.
Liu Qingge would show Shen Qingqiu that he could be...soft.

So that he could work on repaying the life-debt with honour.

(So that the fear would go away.)

But for now...

He had asked Liu Qingge to leave, in that twisty way of his, so Liu Qingge would respect that. He would show that he could be commanded, asked, and he would obey.
He had intended to bring up the arm injury, but pointing out a vulnerability would make Shen Qingqiu feel even more threatened, so he would not.

Liu Qingge bent his neck.

“...I will leave first.”

He turned on his heel and returned to his own cultivation chamber.

With Shen Qingqiu’s qi stabilizing his own, his breakthrough should be safe and relatively fast despite the Deviation.

He could not prove himself if he was distracted by teetering on the unstable edge of an advance.

Once in his bloodied cave, he changed his robe, scrubbed the dried blood off his body and grit off his one cheek and sank into a gentle moving meditation sequence he learned as a disciple.

He would have patience and build up to his usual cultivating sequences.

(...His injuries didn’t need a medical professional. If Mu Qingfang knew he’d had a Qi Deviation, he wouldn’t let him out of the Sect for weeks. They would heal with qi circulation anyway. Mu-shixiong would never know.)

Shen Qingqiu scoffed at Liu Qingge’s retreating back, stiff, upright and proud, with his silky black hair flouncing like a thick fur coat instead of its usual swishing tail.

Why was the brute undressed?! If not for the blood, the Bai Zhan War God of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect had looked like nothing more than a noble young master rudely awoken. The delicate sort that might write wistful poetry and press flowers.

And yet... all Shen Qingqiu could think about when he saw him was how scared he’d looked in death. How his white jade skin had paled to the likeness of pure snow. How his steely grey eyes had been open wide and staring.

...how cold he’d been.

Well. The brute was alive now anyway and as Shen Qingqiu had achieved a minor advance in his cultivation (still the greatest and easiest in...so long. Even if his qi was still unstable and his Foundation weak and flawed... he was used to it by now), he had matters to attend outside the Caves.

Unlike some Lords who spend all their Immortal lives scratching around in the dirt of the wilderness for their next opponent.

Chapter 8: Stalks: Growth, prosperity in wealth, joy and life.

Chapter Text

The twenty-six Hallmasters of Qing Jing were sat in a lecture hall around long-cooled tea in stunned silence, blinking in the aftermath of... that.

Hallmaster Yun Baolan closed his mouth and opened it again. He repeated this action several times before words emerged. “What-? The audacity!”

Looking thoroughly bewildered, Hallmaster Ming Meihua nodded, “...Though that is hardly new. Still, this...” She shook her head slowly, “Will it not be detrimental to the disciples though? To the Peak reputation? We are scholars. It cannot be beneficial to divert from our focus so extremely.”

Head Hallmaster Zhang Yawen pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed with soul deep bereavement. “The focus is still with the scholarly arts. The issue is that our Peak Lord has taken the scholarly arts and weaponized them in a manner similar to the wartime training against the Heavenly Demons. Yet more.”

“What heralded this change? Has the Peak Lord receivednews through his ‘correspondents'?”

“It cannot simply be due to their poor performance on their latest mission. Peak Lord Shen rarely leaves the Sect, never without reason, but now he proposes to personally lead repeated excursions? With the juniors, with intention to increase the duration of these? Are we certain our Lord is not under an influence?”

“Perhaps the Qi Deviation? I heard on the wind it was much worse than his usual. Mu Qingfang stayed the whole night and called for the Sect Leader almost upon arrival. And we all know how Sect Leader gets about the Peak Lord.”

“ Hush, before your tongue leads you to trouble!”

“Words of truth will not estrange me from the righteous path Chu Ling. This Yin Yanfen knows of a sum of spirit stones shijie herself placed on the subject of their relation-"

“We are scholars" Yun Baolan repeated. “The worst combat ours are expected to face are ghosts, spirits and minor demons on investigations! Once identified, standing orders are to request aid from Bai Zhan for monsters and strong demon or Fa Bao for artefacts and curses!”

“And even during the War, with all the righteous Sects united we did not teach outer Sect disciples our techniques! Especially juniors! That Lan girl is surely not going to keep the Cang Qiong techniques to herself when asked to share her progression in musical cultivation.”

Hallmaster Xu Liang spoke from one side, voice quiet yet compelling, lilting in a gentle tune. “As the single flower skims the wind and flies a thousand li from home, the Autumn Lord of reddened leaves shall share these skills alone.” Xu Liang was Hallmaster to the senior musical cultivators and musicians, renowned for cultivating in alternatively silence and song.

Hallmaster Shu Xinai covered a chuckle behind his sleeve. “Yes, quite right, quite right. Lord Shen Qingqiu must teach the little sprouts himself. Let us see how well they progress under his training alterations. For he will receive no aid from me .”

A murmur of agreement arose in the air and the Hallmaster of Qing Jing began departing back to their duties, leisure activities or other Peaks to gossip, depending on schedules this spontaneous midday meeting had disrupted.

They left, some blank-faced, some frowning with irritation or confusion, some more worried than others.

Shen Qingqiu entered his Bamboo House to find his Ning Yingying, Ming Fan, Luo Binghe and his head senior disciples Liu Xinxi and Wu Shuang all huddled in different corners surrounded by Peak paperwork, drudging through it with deadened eyes. From the way he was shifting scrolls and bound paper stacks into a messenger bag with one hand while pouring Ming Fan tea in the other, Zhang Hao had apparently also been indentured as a retriever of snacks, maker of tea and designated errand-runner.

The tall boy noticed him first, subtle surprise quickly hidden in his stoicism but voice carrying a note of relief as he greeted Shen Qingqiu, prompting a chorus of “Shifu!” from the rest and a quieter “Shizun” from the little problem child.

While Ning Yingying chirped about preparing tea, he drew a simple bamboo fan from his sleeve and dismissed his senior disciples with a small nod of gratitude. Shen Qingqiu turned to Ming Fan, Zhang Hao and Lou Binghe and dismissed them similarly back to their classes, halting the youngest when he made to leave with his shixiong. “Luo Binghe, remain.”

Ming Fan paused in the doorway in confusion, “Shifu...?”

Stilling the motion of his fan, Shen Qingqiu cast him a sharp look, “Does Ming Fan disobey? Ming Fan is dismissed to his classes. This master has a matter to discuss with his disciple.” His eyes narrowed, fan masking the bitter twist to his mouth, “If this pleases Ming Fan, of course.”

The boy flushed ashamedly and bowed his head, “This disciple overstepped. Asking Shifu punishment.”

He scoffed and flicked his fan dismissively.

And so it begins.

He may have stopped himself from killing Liu Qingge, but he was not so foolish as to believe himself saved.

The Old Palace Master had evidently been preparing for his damnation for a long time. Unsurprising, given his knowledge of matters such as Su Xiyan, the more unscrupulous dealing of the righteous golden Sect and how exactly Old Master Chen achieved the Nascent Soul Stage.

The crimes of his past were always going to come back and burn him, despite the lies he told himself.

Luo Binghe may have made himself the sword to strike the blow, but the Palace Master wielded the blade with simpering calculation, much like his daughter.

Ming Fan no longer followed his every instruction blindly. Did not trust him to. This was...good. it was good, no matter the heaviness that dragged at his eyes and lungs.

At least his new ties to Luo Binghe would spare him that... that end. The Peak would be secure. Functional. With the implementation of his newly devised training schedule, the disciples will be capable by the time he as revealed and the regime long enough established to make any new disciples strong too.

He blinked and registered dark eyes glinting with a wary light.

He was still a boy. Su Xiyan’s child from her pet Heavenly Demon Lord. He was naïve. Disgustingly innocent. Stupidly trusting.

He was not the sharp, jaded creature Shen Jiu was at the same age.

He was not the broken, savage beast Shen Qingqiu had made him in adulthood.

Shen Qingqiu had been jealous. Envious of his potential. Hateful of his lack of drive, of his belief that the world is anything but the cold,cruel place it is, where the weak are enslaved and slaughtered and only the strong know safety.

He had been scared. Terrified of being usurped. Of having his hard won, crumbling power ripped away, of losing the only stable safety he’d known. Of being replaced and discarded.

Now, he knew his days were numbered, Immortal body notwithstanding. He needed that power, that brightly burning potential to defend the Sect where he could no longer. Shen Qingqiu needed his Peak strong, Ning Yingying, Ming Fan and Luo Binghe needed to be strong so he could entrust the Sect to them, because Yue Qingyuan may handle the politics with the mortal realm and between Sects but the Tactician's Peak gave Qiong Ding that information and sometimes...they dealt with the issue directly.

Shen Qingqiu seated himself at the low table and started shifting paper baskets and piles off of it, absently noting Luo Binghe slowly draw nearer and kneel down on the opposite side to do the same.

Shen Qingqiu needed a successor.

Ming Fan could handle the position of Peak Lord, whether he was given the title or not he would fulfil the duties required.

Ning Yingying was a superb information gatherer, Zhang Yawen was getting tired of his position, having held it since before Shen Jiu joined the Sect and had stated offhand a desire to join the Hua Shan Sect, so Shen Qingqiu could see her to Hallmaster and onto the path of Head by the time his own ran out.

His senior disciples and Hallmasters were settled on their paths already, though he could still make them stronger in their time in Qing Jing.

Luo Binghe... would be strong. He had a Hunter's blood in his veins and a Predator species' instincts buried under those curls. He would be an invaluable asset and once he gained a reputation, the threat of him would protect the Sect just as Liu Qingge’s titles of War God and White Tiger did (do. Still do).

His demon blood was an issue. Not of itself -he was not the only one in the Sect, Shen Qingqiu knew Huang Ye had several minor demons, mixed blood humans and spirits with a newly cultivated human form in their ranks- but his blood was of a Heavenly demon. Once it became known, there would be uproar from the Sects that had lost so many to the War and Huan Hua who would be fanning the flames like they did before, this time directing aggression against Cang Qiong.

The thought that there might be Heavenly Demons still living freely, still alive... it might herald another War, this one on all demons. It would be catastrophic for every side.

So Luo Binghe needed to be able to hide himself, to defend himself. He needed instruction to gain the control that was so desperately necessary to the survival of Cang Qiong. Xia Qingfeng drew attention away from her atypical disciples by putting them on roaming training teams and ensuring subtle disguise talismans were incorporated into their travel clothes.

The small beast would likely find a place on a team outside the Sect, Hunting like the Bai Zhan packs and Liu Qingge, as a cartographer, intelligence agent and qi source with a Jing Shen group, as a curse investigator with Fa Bao or acting as an outer Sect spymaster to complement Yingying as an official roaming investigator for Qing Jing.

In the meantime, Luo Binghe needed training and Shen Qingqiu didn’t...didn’t trust his fellow Peak Lord to ask for a mentor in the demonic arts, didn’t trust that Su Xiyan’s half Heavenly Demon son wouldn’t be killed just to prevent the fallout of his existence if and when it was revealed. So Shen Qingqiu would have to train him himself, which would ruin his reputation worse than the murder of his martial brother if the righteous Sects knew. Especially with his history with demonic cultivation.

Ning Yingying appeared with the tea, evidently having stalled the process in hopes of eavesdropping on the discussion with her regrettable friend. Good girl.

“Shifu! This disciple has brought tea! Is there anything Yingying can do for Shifu and A-Luo? Yingying can prepare more snacks if Shifu and A-Luo will be a long time!” She said, guilelessly. Yes, she had already learned some tricks from Xuan Shu, she just needed her blade sharpened to a deadly edge and polished for her deadly steel to shine like pretty silver.

He felt the corners of his eyes curve in amusem*nt, “This master does not require such. Yingying is dismissed but Luo Binghe will fetch her for her own discussion with this master once he is finished with his current engagement.”

Foiled in her information gathering but assured that the sprout would not be harmed if he was to fetch her, she smiled brightly, saluted and left with a bouncing step and a cheerful farewell.

Once Shen Qingqiu sensed the shining metal of her qi retreat, he gestured for Binghe to pour tea, watching his shoulders grow tense as he obeyed.

He moved his fan gently and retrieved a manual from he qiankun space of an inner sleeve layer, placing in on the table between them. “Formation Steps on the Twofold Path of Five Phases. An incomplete manual given to Luo Binghe and the root of the nature of the topic of this discussion.”

Green eyes looked over the fan with an inscrutable intensity. “This master once knew a strong cultivator of Huan Hua who fell into the fallacy of love with a Heavenly Demon known as Tianglang-Jun.”

Luo Binghe’s eyes widened in recognition. He was diligent in his historical studies apparently, which may cause issue- opponents are never presented in a favourable light by the scriptures of their enemies after all.

“The cultivator was this master’s friend and equal in strength at the time, so when she disappeared without sending word of her reasons he was concerned and investigated, learning of the situation as the Sect answered Huan Hua's call to War on all Heavenly Demons, who defended with force headed by Tianglang-Jun of the demon race. When her face appeared a decade later on a boy child with eyes that he knew only from description in letters, with notable tiger teeth and wild hair that failed to hide unusually pointed ears, he took the child onto his Peak.” Shen Qingqiu kept contact with dark bright eyes churning with dawning understanding, denial, confusion and conflict, “Luo Binghe is the child of Daoist Su Xiyan and Heavenly Demon Tianglang-Jun and will be killed for it if it is known to the Cultivation world. This master will teach you how to survive.”

Luo Binghe shook his head, curls flying everywhich way chaotically. “No!” he denied, “This Luo Binghe is the son of a washerwoman! This- I- I’m not a demon!”

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes cooled and narrowed into slits with mounting rage. His fan creaked as his grip tightened. “Is this master accused of lies? Luo Binghe is the son of Su Xiyan and it is her sacrifice by which Luo Binghe lives free and undetected or even lives at all!”

The volume and the venom startled the small beast into silence. His eyes were glistening with damp and he looked...childishly confused and uncertain. Lost.

Taking a breath and releasing his grip on the fan, noting a crack in the wood, Shen Qingqiu gathered the composure befitting a Peak Lord. “Luo Binghe carries a seal on his demonic bloodline imbued with the strength of Su Xiyan’s golden core, detectable to this Shen Qingqiu through familiarity. It conceals his heritage from detection but will not last his lifetime. Once the seal weakens, Luo Binghe will gain access to demonic qi, which he must gain control of and conceal through his own ability else he will be hunted and killed by the human Cultivation Sects, who will then turn their blades on Cang Qiong for association.”

Shen Qingqiu stopped and took up his tea, waiting for Luo Binghe to assimilate this information so they could move on.

Eventually, the dark head lifted, revealing an expression of appropriate fear. So the small beast does possess an instinct of self-preservation. Surprising, as he has never displayed this on any mission.

“Sh-Shizun...will help?” his voice was very small.

“Yes. This returns to the cultivation manual.”

Luo Binghe looked at the ragged manual obediently, seemingly dazed from the revelations of the meeting.

“It was written by this master during his disciple years.”

That shocked him into focus.

“It was an attempt to align his teachings at Cang Qiong with his knowledge gained during his time with the demonic cultivator Wu Yanzi before he was accepted onto Qing Jing as a disciple.”

The beast's mouth fell open gracelessly, revealing those sharpened canines for all to behold. Wu Yanzi was another name taught in the histories. He was rather infamous. Shen Qingqiu leaned over the table, spreading his qi in the air to loom with Intent and let some of the Hunter show in his eyes.

“And if you ever reveal the source of this information, I’ll kill you like I killed my master Wu Yanzi. Su Xiyan’s son or not.”

Luo Binghe’s eyes were wide and he nodded rapidly, stuttering words of understanding.

Letting a sharp smirk cut his mouth, he leaned back and began describing demonic cultivation, how the Five Phases differed between human higher life force energy, Spiritual qi and demon Earth energy and how each flowed within the spirit veins.

A shichen later and an order to attend a scheduled meeting every tenth day saw Luo Binghe staggering away from the Bamboo House to fetch Ning Yingying, mind churning with information.

Shen Qingqiu tracked his departure and turned to the sea of forms, reports and missives around him. He sighed, massaged his hands against inevitable aches and got to work, trusting the proximity arrays to alert him of Yingying’s approach if his own senses didn’t do it first.

He was frowning at an invitation to tea from Li Qingrong when Ning Yingying arrived. She bounced in with smiling greeting and immediately diverted to the kitchen to refresh the tea.

She returned with one of his favoured tea sets in dark green and sweet lotus paste mooncake accompaniment.

Shen Qingqiu felt a burst of warm fondness for her, but it faded as he regarded her and thought on the future of Ning Yinying.

To make her as strong as she needed to be he would have to train her hard. To bring out that edge that makes a fight truly dangerous, that makes a fighter a Hunter, he is going to have to make himself her enemy. It’s what made Shen Qingqiu, made Su Xiyan, made Emperor Luo Binghe.

In another life that passed like a dream, a vivid nightmare, he had tried to be kind, to care for her like he had once cared for Qiu Haitang.

He thinks she might have hated him then, for her husband’s treatment as a child or for abandoning her and the Peak when he was taken, either. Certainly, if she still held any fond regard then it was not displayed when she visited him that once under the Beast's watchful, empty eyes. Clever girl.

In the end however, she too was hurt by his kindness. So it does not matter if she hates him now for what he will put her through for training, if she doesn’t trust him or any man by the time he is taken away. At least she will be strong.

“Ning Yingying.”

“Yes Shifu?”

“What does this disciple know of Cauldrons?”

A long, difficult talk later, one that should have occurred years ago and Ning Yingying had returned to the female disciple housing to think over what Shen Qingqiu had told her.

He breathed in the scent of his orchid incense and he forced his eyes open against the heaviness of sleep.

Shi Hu and Tian Ma orchid sticks. Shi Hu, a cooling treatment to soothe and nourish the yin, rejuvenating the body by increasing fluid flow and centring the mind. Tian Ma, a warming treatment to strengthen the yang, settling the nerves against spams, chronic pains, facilitating downward qi flow and balancing the yin to assuage headaches and dizziness.

While it was true the orchid symbolised femininity, beauty, good taste and (ironically) nobility and humility, Shen Qingqiu enjoyed them for their alternative meaning; living with loneliness yet remaining elegant and graceful at all times, as well as the subtle fragrance of them compared to most incense.

Though Shen Qingqiu was used to functioning on around a shichen of meditation most days to complete his workload and stave off nightmares (and thus reminders of his abundant heart demons), he had achieved a minor breakthrough in his cultivation in the Ling Xi Caves. While invigorating at the time and improving his constitution overall, once the initial rush faded then much like adrenalin, one experienced fatigue and required sleep to recoup the energy of the effort.

Straightening up, Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes and breathed through the tight pain in his back. His disciples had managed the work well in his absence -they always did- but much of the work required the attention of the Peak Lord and could not be delegated.

However, he had completed much of it and could now leave to wash himself of the clinging must of the Ling Xi Caves. Finishing missive to Mu Qingfang informing of Liu Qingge’s Qi Deviation he placed it in a basket to be delivered in the morning and rose from his desk for the first time in three schichen.

There were still three baskets of backlog, including a package of some sort from the Healer Peak Lord that Shen Qingqiu had yet to open, but he had made very good progress and his disciples were both competent and diligent, which helped immesurably.

Collecting a simpler set of his typical robes, Shen Qingqiu made his way to his personal pool, fan up to hide the tightness of his mouth even with no one present.

Sinking into the cold, clear waters was a relief as always. Bracing himself on arms crossed against the stone bank, Shen Qingqiu let his head fall forward and just breathed as the aches and sparking pain of the scars on his back dulled with the cold relief.

His lips smiled with wry bitterness. A flawless Immortal Body indeed.

True, most of his scars had faded as his cultivation increased; Cuts and scrapes from living and fighting on the streets, the lashes on his thighs from the Qiu Estate, cuts, bites and marks from plants and monsters on night hunts and disciples jealous of his fast rise within the Peak or hateful from one slight or another perceived when interacting with him.

Some however, had never faded.

The marks tied to heart demons remained untouched by time and Immortality; visible representations of the disfigurement of his heart.

A small line on the side of the tip of the first finger of his right hand where he cut it on the blade slick with Wu Yanzi's blood as Shen Jiu listened to Yue Qingyuan apologise for the first time of a decades long litany.

A jagged star burst on the bottom of his left foot where it was pierced on a broken piece of wood when he turned sharply, unwary of debris, upon hearing Qiu Haitang scream as her home burned.

The mess of blotchy patches and raised lines across the entire espanse of his back, thickest at the shoulders. They may have been struck by Qiu Jianluo, but they represented more than him. They marked him as a slave, as barely human, as undeserving of a name, as an outsider and infiltrator to the ranks of the Immortals.

The tightness of the skin and soreness against rough or heavy materials ensure that he never forgot that he was a liar unworthy of his life, that no matter how high he flew or what soft silks he wore, his roots were entrenched in the filth of the gutters and his core was rotten black.

And now a new addition; a clean slice through the muscle of his arm from Cheng Luan. From Liu Qingge. Though this one, Shen Qingqiu thought, would not last long; it was more tied to the heart demon of having killed his martial brother in that adjacent reality. It marked lingering feelings of...failure, guilt and hatred strong enough to scar him even past the semi-detachment of his own mind from the assimilated memories. It was a knowing without experiencing each instant, yet that was enough to leave a mark.

He soaked silently until the pain of his scars and bones had faded, then cleaned himself, dressed and set off down the mountain.

Though his body was settled, his mind was restless with churning thoughts and memories. He would not be able to sleep restfully tonight unaided.

Thankfully the ladies of the Warm Red Pavilion were always happy to help.

Chapter 9: Stalks: Great luck, longevity.

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu woke among warm sheets and the scent of fragrant perfume of the Warm Red Pavilion, keeping his eyes closed to bask in the peace of it for a moment.

He frowned to himself, thinking on the day ahead. He intended to begin his altered schedule with the juniors to see how badly they struggled and how much he needed to slow the planned timetable down to be sustainable.

There was adequate time to do so after all, though there was the possibility of that invasion headed by the newest demon Saint. It was unlikely to occur; arrogant though she was in her new position, the Southern Thunder Saint girl was not so idiotic as to attack the territory of the War God; that news of Liu Qingge’s death had spread was the only reason she dared in the plane of Shen Qingqiu’s counterpart.

However, no Shen Qingqiu of any world had survived by ignoring potential threats or taking stupid risks. He would send word for whispers on the situation in the Southern demon territories through his various correspondents, if there was rumour of a raid on the Greatest Human Cultivation Sect, it would reach him. Possibly some of the other Peak Lords too, as most had some form of information network, typically through trade contacts, former disciples or favours gained over missions, with of course Shang Qinghua's being the most extensive over all the trade routes, outposts and customer and supplier systems.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes opened slightly, half lidded gaze tracing the intricate designs on the ceiling as he contemplated the little weasel. He was sly. It was in the way his eyes slid to look at people, in the looseness of his limbs, in the curve of his smile. It set every one of Shen Jiu's instincts on edge.

They had never interacted much for that reason, Shen Qingqiu too unsure of his position and power, and Shang Qinghua adjusting to his sudden rise to Head disciple and then to running arguably the busiest Peak in the Sect.

They did not talk, but Shen Qingqiu watched. He watched slow blinks processing new information before manipulating it to his advantage, the twitching fingertips when subtly prying for information, the movement of his shoulders tightening straight or hunching incrementally with the faint feeling of prey, especially the topic raised on the mission preceding his appointment. All tells that became less and less pronounced as the hunted look in his shaded brown eyes faded over time, replaced by calculation.

And Shang Qinghua watched back.

Not immediately, nor with the same level of attention -Shang Qinghua was a merchant child, not street and certainly not the back-alley type like Shen Qingqiu- but there was a wary attention between them. A mutual acknowledgement.

Shen Qingqiu’s correspondents within the demonic cultivators passed him some curious whispers. About the stability and order of trade routes in the North, about a shadow hand with impenetrable armour of some kind, unknown as no challenger survive to speak of it.

No suspect deaths or repeat mission failures had occurred linked to organised force from the demonic North however. Not against Cang Qiong. Huan Hua... well, they had been pressing their northern border less and less since Shang Qinghua ascended to An Ding Lord and there was a distinct lack of their former force in show of disciples moving about the world.

Perhaps Shang Qinghua would be interested in some of Shen Qingqiu’s knowledge of Huan Hua Palace Sect. Another protection for the Sect perhaps, on a double front against Huan Hua if Shang Qinghua’s issue in fact stems from his norther demon Lord, whichever one that may be. Likely, considering Huan Hua's peculiar preoccupation with entrapping demons rather than directly killing them.

Lu Lanfen stirred beside him, stretching sinuously and yawning like a kitten. Yes, it was time to return to the mountain and corral his disciples for training.

Shen Qingqiu got up and readied himself for departure, retrieving the spare robe set from one of the layered qiankun seals in his sleeves and dismantling the intricate crown of loops and braids the girls had begged to put his hair up in. As though his muck brown hair looked more fitting in such a design than the black ink of Song Mei.

No matter, he had slept restfully after a pleasant shichen listening to the girls gossip and enduring Madam Cheng's tight-lipped concern about his health.

Slipping a bag of coin under a pillow for his time in the Pavilion, Shen Qingqiu left his temporary sanctuary and walked into the tree line off the road, where he mounted Xiu Ya and flew back to Qing Jing.

Mu Qingfang blinked awake to the thin shadows of his bed canopy in the weak dawn light and smiled sadly at the old memories that had formed his dreams that night. His mother’s frail fingers and the tired smile set against sallow skin. His uncle’s pipe filled with herbs for his damaged lungs from the winter he got sick and never really recovered. Small details that made them who they were, the idiosyncrasies he was privileged to know as a close loved one.

He sighed and got up, completing his ablutions and preparing a strong pot of tea. His blood kin were long dead now of course, from injury, sickness or simple age. Mu Qingfang held no heart demons about it, had long made peace with this as well as the helplessness of his child self in the face of his mother’s illness, but the loss of them still made his memories bittersweet.

Settling at the low table, Mu Qingfang watered his potted bonsai with a small Everflow ewer

Then he turned to the morning’s work basket, glancing over the colour markers of missives and forms his Hallmaster rotation determined required Peak Lord handling. His eye caught on a ribbon the fresh green of new leaves binding a message scroll and snatched it up, noting the crest of three finely detailed leaves turned mid-fall. What was Shen Qingqiu writing to him about?

Curt acknowledgement of the blanket? A scathing essay on the Wind-Soother Grass to conceal his lack of knowledge? Or something else entirely?

Unfurling the scroll, Mu Qingfang read it’s contents and felt his eyes widen with each immaculately formed character. This-

Liu Qingge had a severe Qi Deviation in the Ling Xi Caves- which could have been utterly catastrophic given the strength of the War God and the Peak full of disciples not far enough away for aid to arrive in time- almost died, almost killed Shen Qingqiu - not that the missive so much as alluded to it, but Mu Qingfang knew very well the damage they did to each other in their ‘duels' and with Liu-shidi in a hyper aggressive state from Qi Deviation and the power burst of Earth qi from the evidently failed breakthrough...after Mu Qingfang had seen to Liu Qingge, he would be going to Qing Jing to take tea with Shen Qingqiu to see if he had any injuries still healing or poorly tended by Healer standard. The pair of them! Staying in seclusion after a major Qi Deviation in one party and exposure to volatile, destabilizing energy soon after a major Qi Deviation of his own in the other party who was prone to Deviations!

Liu Qingge was still in the Caves! Most likely still cultivating, as if Mu Qingfang wouldn’t notice the marks of Deviation when he next healed him, or that Li Qingrong wouldn’t sense the disturbance and ask the one entrusted with the health of the Sect that their martial brother was alright, especially in closer proximity to the Sect! In fact, Mu Qingfang could see a slightly weathered scroll with a pale lilac tie, likely sent ahead by the Elementalist Peak Lord on this very matter!

Snatching up his cup he downed the strong mix and went to retrieve his bag and robes; he had a tiger to tend.

The sun was just touching the tips of the Tian Gong Mountains when Shen Qingqiu had all his Peak juniors gathered at a stone training ground. As instructed, hair was tied back fully and they each wore flexible cloth shoes, short martial cut over robes and trousers bound at the ankles.

The space was similar to the Soothing Stone Grounds, but instead of clear paved space, head height wing chun training posts stood evenly spaced from one another. They were made of Bai Zhan Ironwood, with eight arms that could be locked into position or allowed to rotate freely and core cylinders only wide enough to rest a single foot comfortably.

On the flat space before them, Shen Qingqiu instructed his bewildered, sleep heavy disciples to meditate and settled into light meditation himself, emitting a light field of qi to encompass them to warn for intruders and focusing his senses on monitoring their qi flow within meditation.

Typically, disciples were expected to meditate independently after being taught upon arrival and were expected to do so each day before morning classes or activities by following their cultivation manuals. If a disciple struggled, they were to ask pointers from a Hallmaster or senior and would be immediately redirected to the Library.

Shen Qingqiu was only supervising them now because he needed their qi flowing smoothly and fully to enhance their bodies to an acceptable standard of ability. They desperately needed the maximum boost possible in increasing stamina, flexibility and strength from bones to skin, additionally, in decreasing recovery time and healing minor damage as it was incurred, particularly in muscles.

Sure enough, a third of these idiot children were sat either dozing or simply thinking things rather than actually meditating and relaxing their spirit veins.

(Surprisingly Luo Binghe was not among the number; perhaps the little beast truly was a diligent student when given proper materials. Perhaps. )

Letting his voice fall into a deep and smooth undertone, Shen Qingqiu described the feeling of full, meditative qi flow and the relaxation of body and mind, leading them in slow inhalations of cool dewy air and exhalations of heated breath expelling stress and tension from the mind and form.

Once they had achieved this and sufficiently prepared themselves for the day, Shen Qingqiu began shifting his qi in the air to bring their awareness back from their inner selves and slowly draw them out of meditation.

Then, he set them to the podiums, one each, standing on one foot. He sneered as they wobbled in the Crane stance.

He claimed the foremost post facing the disciples and slowly led them through a standard sequence of movements for balance and precision core control practice. Silently, he drew his hands together loosely at his chest, bringing his left leg up straight at his waist, toes skyward and holding. Once the disciples settled in the form, he stretched on hand out to the side and then brought it forward and his leg up to grasp his toes, keeping his back straight; Standing Head to Toe. Observing his pitiful disciples struggle, he brought leg down to cross his ankles in the first stage of the Tree Pose and repeated the sequence with the other leg, slowly shifting through the motions until the disciples largely followed.

With the realisation that they were apparently not going to improve in that sequence further this day, when he reached Standing Head to Toe next, Shen Qingqiu moved his leg and arm together to his side to stand Hand to Foot, then smoothly continued to motion around his body, bending his knee perpendicular to his waist, tilting forward to maintain his centre of balance and stretching his free hand out before himself; the Dancer Pose.

The disciples shifted uncertainly on their podiums; a good portion were already flushed from such meagre exertion. Shen Qingqiu looked them over with a frosty expression. They began attempting mimicry.

Mu Qingfang frowned slightly as he left an agitated Yue Qingyuan in his office and descended Qiong Ding Peak to the Ling Xi cave system entrance. ‘ What did he do?’ The first thing Yue Qingyuan asked when Mu Qingfang informed him of Liu Qingge’s Qi Deviation to gain permission to access the Caves.

Already assured by Mu Qingfang of Liu Qingge’s survival and probable health (as he didn’t see fit to leave the Caves and get himself checked after a health-related near-death event), the first thing he asked was what Shen Qingqiu did to cause it. Or perhaps worsen it? Take advantage? Only after the Healer finished recounting the situation to the best of his knowledge did the Sect Leader ask after Shen Qingqiu’s health.

Everyone in the Sect knew that Yue Qingyuan favoured the Green-eyed Scholar Lord above all others, just as the callous Head Tactician exploited that bias again and again with sharp, icy remarks that cut deeply but reaped no discernible satisfaction. Now though... Mu Qingfang wondered if the Sect Leader with eyes of endless sorrow did not in fact think his Right Hand to be as trustworthy as his leniency implied, to be so quick to assume fault. Not untrustworthy in the sense or treachery to the Sect of course, even Liu Qingge would be reluctant to claim that of Shen Qingqiu, but...perhaps unreasonably reluctant in overlooking deep-rooted grievance in the face of the subject, a martial brother, Liu Qingge, requiring assistance. Perhaps.

Either way, there were more issues and nuances to those issues than Mu Qingfang was privy to and he had a patient to hunt down.

Crossing the threshold into the Ling Xi Caves, he reached out and set his palm against the soft black Star Dew Moss growing in patches on the wall and covering the ceiling with twinkling silver ‘stars’ like dewdrops that illuminated the winding passageways enough for an Immortal’s cultivation level to see by. Softly pulsing a light wave of qi through it, Mu Qingfang focused for the minute tendrils of his qi threading through the root system and away absorbed into the matrix before an echo rippled back to him, rich dense qi perfectly balanced from centuries of powerful Immortals cultivating within, carrying whispered notes of fading yin fire and water twined together and a clearer thrum of yang metal. It was calm and focused, without the wavering edge that would betray injury or instability. Good.

Pausing periodically to check through the Moss, Mu Qingfang arrived at a bare stone antechamber suited for martial cultivation to Liu Qingge going through an advanced sequence, white training robe outlining every muscle flex and sweat beaded between his furrowed brows. He ignored Mu Qingfang and stubbornly completed his kata by leaping into the air and delivering a scything kick, no doubt devastating to an opponent, and landing in a low crouch, hands clawed to deliver a ferocious strike if necessary.

Breathing deeply, he got up, turned and acknowledged his visitor. “Mu Qingfang.” he said. Stated.

Mu Qingfang quirked his eyebrows at him. “Yes Liu-shidi, though I would have expected to see you sooner given your Qi Deviation.”

Grey-blue eyes widened slightly, “Shen Qingqiu?”

“Yes. Shen-shixiong sent a missive outlining the event and his treatment, but this Healer would check Liu-shidi's spirit veins for damage if he is agreeable.” His smile widened. Liu Qingge eyed him warily but nodded once sharply. He knew better than to argue.

Taking hold of the slim wrist presented to him, Mu Qingfang threaded his qi into Liu Qingge’s system with care and set about investigating his veins and meridians. It was a delicate process, requiring fine control to assess an area while manipulating qi against damaging or overstimulating interaction with the indigenous qi. For Mu Qingfang, it was the balance of Counteracting Liu Qingge’s metal qi enough to practice on him without pushing enough to cause damage. It was less difficult with their natures than some however, as wood and metal were not adjacent to one another in the cycle, interaction was much less dramatic and with their both being physical cultivators, exacerbating forces of qi attraction were muffled.

Still, it was good that Liu Qingge’s meridians seemed stable and his spirit veins recovered from the Deviation, thus not requiring a sensitive operation, be it coating his meridians in qi as a buffer for healing (as Shen Qingqiu had managed with impressive care and skill with a lingering layer of pure fire qi, that Mu Qingfang gently fed his own wood qi into to bolster), or Heavens forbid the truly delicate and arduous task of Realignment.

He hummed, “Liu-shidi is recovering well, but in future this humble one requests that his martial brother please come to him after sustaining an injury, no matter how minor Liu Qingge thinks it is.”

Liu Qingge stared with rapt attention at an indiscernible point on the far wall, his shoulders creeping up incrementally. He was silent, but Mu Qingfang hardly expected anything else, given that this was another familiar refrain.

Usually, he would leave it at that, quietly note down whatever beast Liu Qingge went hunting next and ensure he had the pertinent antidotes in his stock. However, a thought whispered across his mind, ‘what else have I missed’ and compelled him to continue. “Liu Qingge.” The War God startled at the sudden seriousness of his voice and looked over.

Mu Qingfang met his eyes and held them, looking deep into tempestuous grey bright with attention. “I am a Healer.” sharp eyebrows slanted in confusion, though it looked a lot like frustration. He grasped for the words to make his martial brother understand “It is my duty to heal your wounds, both large and what you may deem insignificant. It is my pleasure to ensure the health of my martial kin and my pain to watch them suffer, or to learn of that suffering later and know they did not come to me, that they did no trust me enough to let me help.”

Liu Qingge opened his mouth to protest, his whole body jerking in denial, but Mu Qingfang was not finished. Liu Qingge needed to hear this, just as several other of their martial brothers did.

“Liu-shidi, you almost died and the first I heard of it was from the man I might have believed killed you had the event turned out even slightly different!”

“I-”

“Why did you not summon me through the alert system to just check you over ?”

“I need to get better.”

Mu Qingfang blinked. Liu Qingge stared at him intensely.

“Shen Qingqiu. There is fear in his eyes. I need to achieve this breakthrough to be stronger. Strong enough to prove my control and ability to – protect. Him. And the Sect. Better. My qi must be stable to do so.” He scowled. “This Lord will - bother Mu Qingfang to check his health after injuries.”

The Healer smiled and let go of Liu Qingge’s wrist. “This one thanks Liu-shidi. Otherwise, Liu Qingge is very close to breakthrough and appears to be stable with no lasting damage. So long as he does not force it, his cultivation should be without complication. Liu-shidi is very lucky.” Turned to leave with a parting smile, “Come see this one when you exit seclusion, I would welcome your company before your next Hunt.”

Liu Qingge huffed.

Every single one fell off. Repeatedly.

Not one disciple could manage the transition to the Dancer Pose. What’s more, many faces were flushed from the paltry effort of it.

Shen Qingqiu sighed from his soul.

“Very well. It seems this master has overestimated his juniors. He will return to the most basic techniques of the Peak and hope these disciple children can keep up.” Unanimous offense light the eyes of the juniors. Were he feeling any less despairing, Shen Qingqiu might have approved on the resolve suddenly burning in them.

“Observe closely; the Cat’s Foot technique.”

Mustering the last dregs of his patience, Shen Qingqiu led them through the most basic sequence on Qing Jing.

By the merciful grace of Heavens, they improved with the gently increasing difficulty performed on a flat surface, one knee bent slightly, back straight and other foot extended between the arms of the wing chun post higher and higher, until they were each able to hold position in a steady high kick on either foot.

Thus, after a shichen on balance training, when the sun sat high in the sky, Shen Qingqiu moved on to archery. Leading his students up the Peak to the highest part of the bamboo forest, Shen Qingqiu finally halted at the archery range, a long flat space of short grass backed by a minor cliff of bare grey rock, with shimmering bamboo on one side and a short stone wall overlooking the village at the foot of the Sect and the vein like lines of roads extending out as far as even a cultivator’s eye could see.

It was a good training site; with the contrast of exposure and shelter, depending on the day and the direction of the wind it could be used as a beginner's ground with still air or a true test of skill with gusty winds and the sun angled into the eyes.

Here, he retrieved twenty unstrung bows; ten recurving horn bows and ten elegantly arched longbows and white jade thumb rings from a qiankun pouches taken from the Qing Jing supply house.

Shen Qingqiu demonstrated a shot in the formal ritual style and again in the more practical battlefield technique, feeling the pull of his muscles echoed in the tension of the string and pausing for an instant as the target focused in his vision and the world fell to stillness for a beat of the butterfly's wings, then the arrow loosed with a soft exhale.

There was a certain serenity to archery that truly appealed to Shen Qingqiu. The precision, control and elegance expressed the epitome of all that he strived to be, but it also made him feel uncomfortably exposed. After all, how could he watch his back if his attention was focused on a distant point?

However, it was a necessary skill for a scholar- to perform ceremonial rites or defend oneself on a battlefield. Though they ensured basic proficiency in the Six Arts studied on Qiong Ding, Qing Jing placed emphasis on the Four Arts to cultivate the ‘scholar-gentleman’ as opposed to the ‘true gentleman’.

Calling the closest ten disciples to shoot first, Shen Qingqiu watched them string the bows and was pleased to see familiarity in the action. Hallmaster Kun Juan was a quiet, dark-eyed woman who was meticulous in both her shooting and her instruction, thus the disciples were at least passable at handling the horn bows and shooting with accuracy and elegance in the fine conditions of the day.

Cycling to the second set of students, he was pleased to see the standard of competence held, though Lan Yue was obviously less comfortable in the ritual shooting style and Teng Liang looked at Wei Zhi pointedly before his shot and gloatingly after it, making her face contort with rage into something very far removed from what her delicately carved hair stick would imply about her character.

Shen Qingqiu’s green eyes followed the interaction closely, but for the moment her did nothing.

With the final third came Zhang Hao, who shot with the motion echoing throughout his body, with ease and grace in the perfect posture and breath patterns. Shen Qingqiu blinked, apparently there was a budding master archer in the disciple ranks.

Satisfied with the display, Shen Qingqiu repeated the process with the more difficult to wield, but undeniably more powerful longbow. However, it became evident very quickly in the first group that the disciples were not nearly as skilled with this weapon as the last.

Luo Binghe huffed in frustration as the arow hit off-centre again. His arrows were near the centre ring but refused to land within it, even by chance! Ming Fan had landed three of five arrows within the ring of his target, but Luo Binghe would not ask for help as he knew Ming Fan had no special skill in archery so he needed to focus to do well.

“You are making mistakes because you are focusing on the target and not on your actions.”

A smooth voice intoned from behind him, startling him badly. Luo Binghe whipped round to face his cold Shizun, heart beating in his throat. The Immortal master was staring at him over an idly moving fan.

“S-Shizun?” Inwardly, he cursed himself for stuttering, but surprisingly Shen Qingqiu did not sneer and mock him, instead his rare jade eyes slid over his body. He felt a bit warm all of a sudden.

“Only when your string posture is right can you hit the target. Align your body to the bow. Do not twist yourself, idiot beast, you are not a Bearded Lightning Eel. The draw is harder, pull from your shoulders and back, down to the waist, not just the drawarm.”

Without waiting to see his shot, Shen Qingqiu turned his attention away to observe the other disciples.

It hit dead centre.

Shen Qingqiu was instructing his youngest female disciple Zhu Ziyi or the proper draw posture to gain her the power to prevent her arrows falling short of the target, as her arms were not strong enough yet to compensate against a longbow. She was a young Mistress of a noble family whose line held a few low-level Court Officials and hoped to gain more by marriage through their future scholar-maiden trained at Cang Qiong, though from Ning Yingying’s reports, the girl was willing and able to fight viciously when needed, a trait that would certainly suit a Cultivator for Night Hunts. He was describing the breath flow of the raised bow posture when an arrow flew past him in a direction it had no business being aimed.

He turned sharply to see Teng Liang holding an empty bow and laughing, until Wei Zhi darted froward from where she was stood next to the arrow now embedded in the grass and punched him in the jaw, forcibly shutting his mouth with a loud click .

Teng Liang recovered quickly, staggering back a step and parrying her follow-up blow with his bow before Shen Qingqiu got between them and ripped the longbow from his hands, forcing them both back with a harsh strike to the stomach each.

He towered over them, seething with icy fury.

“What. Was that. ” It was not a question. They did not offer an answer, frozen in place kneeling on the ground, even averted but shoulders rigid with animosity. The bow creaked in his grip.

“This master wasaware of a childish quarrel between junior disciples Tiang Liang and Wei Zhi, of useless bickering that almost led to the death of their shijie and two shixiongs when they could not set such petty matters aside for the duration of an active investigation, but he had thought that after the experience and their punishment that they might resolve the situation one way or another and prove themselves worthy of studying cultivation on Qing Jing Peak.”

Their eyes were lifted to meet his, Wei Zhi’s holding resentful fire and Tiang Liang’s chin lifted in obstinate defiance.

“Instead, this master sees a disciple of his Peak fire a deadly weapon at an unarmed peer. ”

Tiang Liang opened his mouth to say- something, but Shen Qingqiu snarled and thrust the bow at them.

“This is a weapon. This is a tool used to kill. When you hold this in your hand you hold the life of both your enemy and your ally.It will split flesh just as cloth under the direction of its master. This is the power known to all people, mortal and not, human and not.

“As a Cultivation disciple you are trained to use it with the skill and intent to kill. Even the lowest level Cultivator hold strength no mere mortal can match, thus the power of the bow becomes truly devastating. In your hands you hold death.

“Fear it. Know it. Keep this knowledge in your heart when you draw a weapon because any action taken cannot be without consequence and as you wield this tool you must be prepared to face what exactly that is. To lose respect for your weapon is to lose yourself to darkness and it is the duty of the Righteous Cultivator to kill those who do so.”

His voice dropped to a quiet tone, crisp with unyielding ice and hard with deadly shards.

“Do these Cultivation disciples understand?"

“...Yes Shizun.”

“Yes... Shizun.”

“This master will decide punishment. The lesson is ended, disciples will leave and attend afternoon classes as usual. Scram. ”

From her position far up the mountain, Hallmaster Kun Juan watched Shen Qingqiu’s lesson with sharp eyes, her respectably high cultivation level enhancing her vision to read their lips and bodies.

Her mind whirled as the wind tugged at robes and strands of hair.

Kun Juan respected her Lord for his thorough efficiency in managing the duties of his role, both to the Peak and the Sect, but she did not trust her art to his instruction given his general preference to keep out of training disciples. Until now, that is.

Something was coming. Lord Shen had not enacted an education overhaul on a whim, it was too detailed a plan and he was too unyielding in its enforcement. Something was coming that had the Qing Jing Lord training disciples personally to impart hard lessons to them, ensuring they realised that concepts like the duty and responsibility of a Cultivator applied to them, as Disciples of this Path.

Whether it stemmed from something in the Deviation or word from his spy network is irrelevant. To Kun Juan there are two things that are certain; one, that her art can be trusted to Shen Qingqiu’s instruction, so she will be joining him for the next session, and two...

Change was on the winds.

Chapter 10: Stalks: Perfection, completion

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu returned to his Bamboo House and took out a guqin. There were duties he should be attending to, like the morning paperwork to complete, the disciple lesson plans to revise, a tea set and accompaniment sweets to prepare for tea with Li Qingrong. He should be reviewing the cultivation manual edited for Ning Yingying’s personal training plan, or checking the array on Luo Binghe’s to seal it to all but his qi. There were whispers from his network to check against the Library, implications to plan for, details to confirm.

But seeing them, those weapons turned against one another, the stark realisation that these were children.

Children, who had under a decade of life left in them if the path was not changed, if Shen Qingqiu could not change it. They were all doomed to die, terrified and in pain.

The strings rippled under his fingers. There were pictures in his head, memories of a dead man gained through the nightmares That Beast tormented his mind with when he was too weak to stay awake.

He drew a breath and tasted smoke.

(-The great billows of chocking black smoke rising from the Peaks of the Great Sect, fire always fire crawling through the ironwood trees of Bai Zhan, the orchards and fields of Xuan Shu, Zui Xian and the priceless medicines of Qian Cao; cackling crackles and spitting tongues lapping at the Wan Jian peatland, devouring the careful Huang Ye habitats, the sectioned An Ding timber stocks...the beauteous lush temperate forest of Qing Jing up the swaying bamboo.

And the screams -)

The disciples hadn't stood a chance. They couldn’t even run (-nowhere to go, children trapped in rings of flame that toyed with them and slowly circled closer and burned- ).

Notes rang out in the room, wavering and climbing, frantically flickering higher and higher like- (sweeping flames devouring all in the wake of the Red-Eyed Malice, the shrieks and screams of the Spirit Eagles and flying summons of Huang Ye and the cultivators who flew with them, ripped apart in showers of gore lost in the smoke)

(Landslides. The ground giving way beneath unwary feet. Giant Armoured Centipedes bursting from the ground, tunnels collapsing behind them, iridescent carapace soon streaked with violence)

(Then, as punishment to the last survivors, He called the Ants.)

(Wave upon wave of tiny scuttling, engulfing All in black legs and glowing red eyes and horrifying silence as not even bones remained)

( A tunnel collapsed into a deep, narrow pit, a Boy, a Young Man, so strong, so so foolish, still fighting despite the inevitable to meet his death with Honour, a careless hand on his chest a push and----------)

(A foolish young man was swallowed by the black and red glow )

The door slammed open.

And he was back in the Bamboo House, with green bamboo sighing on the breeze.

And Yue Qingyuan in his doorway, holding the door in a white knuckled grip.

Then he was in. Rushing forward, too fast, too close, grabbing his wrist with large warm fingers curling and gripping and pressing tight.

Shen Qingqiu flinched.

The hand like spirit metal around his jerked as if not retract, but stubbornly remained until heavy qi finished sweeping through Shen Qingqiu’s mangled meridians, fingers pulsing with yang-favoured earth. Then they ripped themselves away as if a moment’s longer contact would taint them with his poison.

And yet sweet, syrupy qi like stolen berries of tanghulu shared in a dim back alley settling through raw spirit veins and soothing the chaotic, destructive upheaval of his qi, gently directing his water to regulate his fire and interacting without truly mingling... just like the man himself.

( The last time he felt this qi was when he tasted it --- )

Shen Qingqiu tensed his jaw, “Zhangmen-shixiong may own this Peak, but he might be expected to respect the privacy of another’s dwelling.”

“...I'm sorry Xiao Jiu-" A fission of viciously hissing steam tore through his veins. If not for the viscous coat of sugar qi Shen Qingqiu might have Deviated slightly right then, even so something started bleeding and the surge shoved at his scarred spirit veins and made them ache. His next breath tasted of iron.

“- Qi-ge was worried, he learned from Mu-shidi about Liu-shidi in the Caves and-"

“And Zhangmen-shixiong was worried that this Shen Qingqiu had done something, that this one had taken advantage of his martial brother in weakness and struck. ”

There was a moment’s pause, Yue Qingyuan’s face folding into shocked denial, but in those deep dark eyes there was a flicker that said Guilt.

He suddenly felt cold. Small and constricted and so very, very cold. The world fell flat and receded. Silence screamed in his ears.

Shen Qingqiu curled his lips back from his teeth by reflex ( never show your weakness) “If the Honourable Lord-Master Yue Qingyuan fears such, he should release this-" poisonous “-one from his bond of fealty.”

“What?!- no. Xiao Jiu-"

DON’T CALL ME THAT

“Release me!”

“NO!”

A shudder rattled his ribs. He had never heard this voice raised against him.

His spirit vein writhed around their meridian anchors. Burning blood bubbled up his throat, droplets spraying as he hissed, voice building into a hoarse cry “ Then tell me Why ! ”

Years. Years and years and years of waiting, of wondering and wanting.

Qi-ge stared at his red speckled lips, his own quivering with... words? With reasons? An explanation after all this time... Or perhaps they would move to form his truthful thoughts, words forming around ‘promise', ‘duty' and ‘obligation', (‘burden' and ‘rejection').

-Yue Qingyuan reached out, moving to take his wrist, hold his hand, make some sort of CONTACT- He snarled like the animal he was, he might have used words, it didn’t really matter, his hearing was fading in and out to the roaring of flames and waves-

Or maybe, as always-

“I’m sorry.”

He turned to go ( again. Leaving without a backwards glance. Againagainagainandalways).

Acid spite mingled with the blood in his mouth and Shen Qingqiu called after him with bitter mocking, “Then this Shen Qingqiu will hold to his word.”

Like this Yue Qi did not.

Broad shoulders hunched, silhouetted against the bright light, the strength in them pitifully diminished. But he did not turn.

And then he was gone.

The silence in his ears screamed like the cries of people burning. His skin blazed with heat.

And he was laughing.

Head thrown back, teeth bared and scarlet stained, throat exposed for a man to slit, whether the men arriving or the man just gone or any man or woman at all didn’t matter, enough clamoured for the opportunity. What did his life matter anyway? He didn’t even have a Name.

And he laughed.

Until his breath ran out and his teeth grit against a lurching sob. Until warm salt and sticky iron trickled down his face and froze into frost and boiled into steam. Until gentle hands took his wrist and the qi of growing things bloomed in his meridians and he grinned at the ceiling and gave them his throat. Until the painful flares and clashes of his own qi soothed slightly and darkness swept over him.

Mu Qingfang rubbed soothing pressure and qi in circular motions into the Inner frontier gate on Shen Qingqiu’s wrist and eased him into sleep. His eyes met troubled mauve over silky brown hair and saw the silent question. Mu Qingfang nodded and reached up to support the back of Shen Qingqiu’s head as Li Qingrong settled more comfortably behind him, resting the scholars head on his shoulder and his feeling cool yin-flavoured earth begin flowing from the hands on their shixiong’s back.

He and Li Qingrong had met on the path to the Bamboo Hut, much to his surprise as the Jing Shen Lord always looked slightly strained and uncomfortable around Shen Qingqiu. However, over conversation he veiled Lord revealed his worry for their martial brother from news of his latest Deviation, though Mu Qingfang thought there was more he did not share, as pale lips pressed together and thoughtful eyes like the petals of the Faery Feast Mallow shifted to the side behind his delicately embroidered weimao talisman veil.

Whatever it was, Mu Qingfang did not have the opportunity to press as the spirit-sensitive Twelfth Lord as his head suddenly shot up and he sprinted up the path towards the Bamboo Hut. Mu Qingfang raced after him, qi enhancing their footsteps to further, faster, like swooping birds of prey.

As they approached, he saw the Sect Leader mounting his ever-sheathed sword in the approximate direction of Qian Cao. He saw them and sagged in relief, an air of devastation about him that could only mean one thing: Shen Qingqiu was Deviating, or a hairs-breadth away from it, depending on how quickly Yue Qingyuan extricated himself from their encounter (he knew not to attempt to soothe it himself, decades of experience had taught Yue Qingyuan and Mu Qingfang that his intervention only ever made Shen Qingqiu’s state worse, even as his qi was paradoxically best accepted after the episode passed.).

Now, he looked down at the bloodied man, always so elegant and immaculate and felt a grim expression press on his features. Another Qi Deviation... though it was brief, there was always damage and with Shen Qingqiu’s recent upheavals, during the fever and the Liu Qingge’s Deviation... his spirit veins were dangerously strained, warped awkwardly in their intended pathways.

If Shen Qingqiu was not extremely careful with his emotional state and qi usage for the foreseeable future, he might Misalign his spirit veins entirely which...well, in the best case, if not Realigned, his Golden Core would drain qi into the surroundings and collapse in on itself, snuffed out and leaving Shen Qingqiu mortal but living, or it could continue to drain until he dies, or qi could build up without a functional outlet system and release in a cataclysmic destruction magnitudes worse than Self-Destruction … or, at the point of full Misalignment, Shen Qingqiu’s astral might be destroyed, leaving his casual body –his soul- detached from his physical body, lingering as a spirit, forever prevented from entering the cycle of reincarnation or joining his martial siblings in Heaven when they eventually Ascended.

There was no illness to cure here, no poison to counter or wound to tend...none that he could reach at any rate... still, he was the Lord of the leading medical division across Sects and there were rare herbs and rarer tinctures he knew of or grew himself in the Greenhouses, recipes in the Library Archives and state of the art instruments in the Alchemy Halls.

Perhaps...He had noted some more obscure and delicate treatment combinations not long prior to his appointment as Peak Lord when his shifu shared her full medical knowledge of the succeeding generation and discussed with him likely complications. One among the was the increased risk of qi-related damage and disfigurement in a powerful doubled yin nature cultivator like Shen Qingqiu, who would attract all manner of aphrodisiac plants, cursed artefacts and enterprising demons.

Now, Mu Qingfang had an array of dried leaves and flowers ready to be mixed in tea blends, powders ground to be refined into pills and salves and ointments set to stimulate qi flow between the environment, the skin and the inner body.

If Shen Qingqiu remained in the qi-rich environment of Cang Qiong... they could prevent Misalignment entirely and potentially strengthen Shen Qingqiu’s spirit veins enough to reduce his susceptibility to full Qi Deviations under the pressure of his increasingly apparent Heart Demons.

For now, he took an everflow ewer and a cloth from a qiankun space pocket, wet it and methodically wiped away the blood on his scholar-brother's face. Sensing with his own that Li Qingrong’s yin-leaning earth qi was dampening Shen Qingqiu’s fire and redirecting his water away from stagnation points where his veins had warped, Mu Qingfang fed into Shen Qingqiu’s fire to prevent any negative consequence of the inherent weakening cycle.

Gathering the man into his arms, he stood as Li Qingrong moved to open the partition to Shen Qingqiu’s sleeping quarters, frowned when he found them and after a brief, fruitless search, pulled some simple pillows and thick blankets from space pouches- standard issue on the Twelfth Peak for displaced people during Jing Shen cultivator land remodelling in preventing or addressing environmental hazards.

Yes, Shen Qingqiu was in no shape to sleep like a Ku Xing cultivator, but he did have some softer, high-quality furnishings stored in... that small embroidered silk pouch tucked away out of sight. Though why he had them never to be use is a mystery to Mu Qingfang.

Setting Shen Qingqiu down, he retrieved the pouch from its hiding place and worked with Li Qingrong to ensconce their martial brother in softness and warmth (including the tawny Soft-Wool Cloud Sheep blanket he bartered a good deal of minor healing salve for. Why was it here? Though renowned for its softness, it was not fit for a noble’s parlour like the numerous jade-beaded, gold-embroidered cushions, why were they stored together? Shen Qingqiu was nothing if not ridiculously meticulous in all things).

Lighting his orchid incense sticks to fill the air, the Peak Lords moved into the main room, leaving the partition half shut to unobtrusively monitor their nominal host.

Mu Qingfang made tea while Li Qingrong applied some white Tige Balm to his temples, then they sat in comfortable silence, waiting for Shen Qingqiu to wake.

Li Qingrong stared through the wispy steam of his cup and allowed himself to slip into light meditation, heightening his spiritual awareness as much as possible without true, deep meditation. So much closer to the Heavens on the Tian Gong peaks and without the distance of mortal nations between them, the Peaks of the Sect shone like the brightest starfield, with each a crowning gem of a Peak Lord.

Shen Qingqiu... Li Qingrong’s awareness drifted towards the tether point in himself that linked the Peak Lords together in a shimmering constellation, one link between each of them, stretching across the astral planes in a web of loyalty, trust and connection.

Shen Qingqiu was – in a word- a contradiction. He was fire and water, both yet neither. He was cold, sharp, distant and vicious, yet he had never looked at him with any more or less distaste than he did the rest of their martial siblings (...Liu Qingge and Yue Qingyuan exempt...), there was never any of the wariness or discomfort most people showed at the full sight of him, his ghost pale complexion and odd, murky poison eyes. Because he looked, he saw the way he protected them all, in an adjacent, twisty, prickly way as if it would lose him face.

In fact, Shen Qingqiu had once swept in and defended him against one such person at one social convention or another years ago, verbally eviscerating the offending party before turning and making some cutting comment about how Li Qingrong would have been able to handle it himself if he spent less time playing with mud and more on his social duties, all in the stretch of time between the person leaving and Li Qingrong beginning to thank him.

Sinking slightly deeper into meditation, he was hit with a sudden cacophony of sound, bright tinkling chimes of disciples, a steady drumming thrum of Mu Qingfang like drums with a mellow overtone of flute, the low mourning song of Yue Qingyuan with piercing bursts of staccato guilt, panic, regret and fresh sorrow.

And- the chaos noise of Shen Qingqiu, slightly suppressed in slumber. Clashing notes played on gugin strings, pitches reverberating and overlapping jarringly, shouting and screaming and bellowing and crying.

There was a definite remnant of the... attack, of the ashy, dead thing that crossed over the spiritual planes. The trace of it lingered like the scent of incense, or the tint of smoked glass.

But for the spirit itself... it, it seemed to have been absorbed by Shen Qingqiu’s own soul. This... would be more worrying if there were signs of attempted possession or at least struggle, which would have caused the bonds between Lords to brighten in instinctive increase in spiritual power flow to lend aid. But there was none and from the echoes of this new dynamic from Sheen Qingqiu, it seemed almost familiar.

...Could it be a soul imprint from another plane’s Shen Qingqiu? With his damaged cultivation... perhaps the rest of the generation Ascended and Shen Qingqiu, his core not strong enough, failed the Tribulation, destroying his body and shattering his soul as his bonds within the generation broke. Gods could not hold bonds with mortal souls after all, the sheer gulf between them incompatible and as such impossible.

If so, then whatever knowledge he had gained had clearly not soothed his Heart Demons, judging by the episode of this afternoon it might have made them worse.

Withdrawing his awareness from the spiritual plane, Li Qingrong sipped his tea (just on the edge of too strong. His brother could concoct any elixir known to him with absolute perfection, but he had never quite been able to apply these skills to making simple, non-medicinal tea. He knew the hazel-eyed man preferred to drink his strong enough to strip the lining of his mouth, so perhaps there were small mercies to be had).

Well. Shen Qingqiu had never asked for the aid of his martial siblings in these matters and it had obviously led him to ruin in another life.

Mu Qingfang was bound to know of plants and beasts with useful attributes for Cultivation, it would be no different from some other gathering assignments Jing Shen received while they travelled. He would speak to Mu Qingfang and the Sect Leader about it (his eyes drifted over to the screen, beyond which he knew lay a shape buried under blankets, radiating old distress). Soon.

Chapter 11: Stalks; Commitment, honesty, prevailing truth

Chapter Text

When Shen Qingqiu blinked back into awareness, the first thing he noticed was pain. The dull, pulsing ache deep in his bones and sharp splinter flaring and fading through his spirit veins like sunlight on water.

The familiar aftermath of a Qi Deviation. A step closer to death, all because he couldn’t keep control of his emotions and let the snippets of his alternate life sweep him away instead of utilising his diminishing time sensibly to instate protections and contingencies against that exact nightmare reoccurring.

He groaned silently and furrowed his brows as the pounding in his skull gained tonal layers, rhythm and physical presence. He would have to further the disciple’s study in external qi manipulation and talismans- they would not be helpless against flames in this lifetime, sentient or otherwise.

Soon. Sooner than he had anticipated. Shen Qingqiu was no stranger to Qi Deviation, but these recent episodes were too strong and too close together to bode well for his cultivation, especially after his minor breakthrough in the Caves, which should have stabilised him for a few months and limited Deviation to minor events.

It seemed he was deteriorating, so the anchorage of the soul impression evidently a single-episode Deviation death preventative.

Hah, with the new, raw heart demons accrued from the ‘memories’ replacing some of the old ones his relief was temporary and his spiritual stability now closer to its state under Wu Yanzi’s toxic guidance.

His days had always felt numbered, but now it seems that his paranoia was at once justified and impotent as his foil was revealed as the reflection in the mirror. Rather this than those shadowy manipulators hidden beneath the blinding golden light.

(…He could not summon that burning fire of will to fight against this fate. Not this time. He was just so… tired )

Still, for the time being he was alive and able to effect change.

A particularly strong pulse twisted his face.

Already he knew how the day would go.

The pressure of a headache would make his eyes squint against the light and blur his vision enough to be debilitating for combat, meditation or paperwork, so he’d have to go to the Quiet Pool to numb his bones and qi pathways, though his inability to attend the Peak Lord minutia would mean a backlog that would prolong the throbbing ache in his head for several days yet, thus sentencing him to consumption of overly bitter herbal teas and a depleted Tiger Balm store.

He sighed and let go of thoughts for the moment, easing the strain between his eyebrows and shut his eyes to indulge in the lingering peace and delicious warmth of his sheets.

Green eyes snapped open.

His bed was not supposed to be this warm. It was autumn season, so he should be feeling the chill of the air even with the generally mild climate maintained over Qing Jing.

His bed was not supposed to be this soft, but there was a softness under his fingers, a sharp glance met with impossibly soft tawny brown wool with simplistic cream diamond border pattern; the Cloud Wool blanket sent to him from Mu Qingfang, whose purpose still eluded him, the one that he’d put in the gold tasselled green qiankun pouch with all the bribe-treasures from Yue Qingyuan.

He shifted and felt high quality crystal beads and precious metal embroidery thread prickle and scrape against his skin. So those had been unearthed as well? Cushions and lounge blankets, gaudy, heavy, expensive and uncomfortable but still softer than his hard mattress and porcelain pillow as an odd, oversized nest.

Shen Qingqiu had not done this. Even in the dazed, mindless low mood that he fell into if the Deviation of the month didn’t immediately knock him out, when he sought out warmth and comfort and maybe something in black and silver to pretend- like the pathetic wretch he was- even then. Shen Qingqiu would not have gone into that pouch and brought out its contents because…

(Because he couldn’t afford it. Because he wouldn’t sleep lightly enough to react to a threat. Because he would ruin these things, these guilt-bribe-treasure-gifts he couldn’t bear to throw away, the very first time he had one of his nightmares and he couldn’t stand to ruin these too.)

Shen Qingqiu had not done this. Which meant- he cast his senses out in a rush ( CARELESS! THIS was why he did not rest in comfort ), hands flying up to grip his head at the pain that followed the rush of information- there were people in his house.

Heart lodged in his throat, he jerked upright and called Xiu Ya into his hand, haste making the summoning rough and his spirit veins wrench as his sword spirit flowed through them to manifest in his hand, his flawless jian shining like crystallised moonlight even as his mind registered exactly who was in his home.

Sun warmed forest, green with fresh growth but sturdy as an established tree trunk. Cool, damp earth and secluded underground spaces with the sense of smooth cave stone, tranquil and settled. Mu Qingfang and Li Qingrong, settled in Shen Qingqiu’s main room. Now that he was focused, he could feel their qi lingering in his meridians (they must have come upon him mid-Deviation and borne witness to his weakness, he had had an appointment with the Elementalism Lord for tea had he not? Upon his shidi’s request no less. What an infuriating loss of face before whatever request Li-shidi was to make of him, it put him at a disadvantage on a matter of enough importance to bring the Twelfth Lord to his door personally when he usually could barely stand his shixiong’s presence without experiencing physical pain masked in his expression). A third, small light rested in the room with them, a bright glimmer even in its base state, like tinkling silver bells and chiming Baoding balls, with a subtle glint like a blade. Ning Yingying.

Off in his side room…two much smaller candle flames. New leaves and winding vines quietly glowing, one bold and vivacious with a sharp zing like a thin orange-red edge on wide, unfurling leaves, the other steadier and more structured in its growth, more like a whip thin elegant bamboo sampling than the exotic haphazard shrub of a companion. Ming Fan and Luo Binghe.

His heart beats steadied and the pain came rushing back to the forefront of his awareness, soothed a bit by gentle ripple of qi from his dear Xiu Ya.

Urgh there was so much to do.

He still needed to take that girl to task. Tomorrow. His newly revised schedule dictated that he would personally supervise the junior disciple cohort five days a week, the full day once in ten and half days for four, with minor alteration to the established timetable in the days between. Thus, he was not expected to lead any tomorrow and could remove Ning Yingying from her intended calligraphy, painting and library studies sessions to apply some personal instruction. He had intended to complete her personalised cultivation manual beforehand and talk to her about her future prospects, but time was another Immortal’s luxury denied him.

(He would ensure the Sect was strong. Shen Jiu hadn’t left because his Qi-ge was still an idiotic bleeding heart who couldn’t see the glint of evil in a man’s eye or dagger in the shadows. The Sect was just a bigger version of the pack of rats the moron claimed as his, so Shen Jiu, Qingqiu, kept to the outskirts and herded them out of trouble as always. Shen Qingqiu might not be able to do it much longer, but he would leave the Sect, Qi- ge, safe . He had promised two lives’ loyalty to his brother in their youth and devotion to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect to his Shizun and the innumerably layered spirit-impressions of the preceding generations upon his Ascension to Peak Lord, and his word was absolute.)

He pressed a hand over his eyes at a particularly uncomfortable pulse, appreciating the darkness for a long moment before he pulled himself together.

As he was apparently going to be denied the curtesy of time to regain his equilibrium in private, there was no sense hiding in this facsimile of safety. There was work to be done.

Shen Qingqiu heaved himself up out of the warmth with a disproportionate degree of emotional effort and glared down at his robes.

Bloodstained.

Exactly what he needed. Tch.

Snarling in irritation, he roughly pulled the marred top layers off and on silent feet stalked over to the closet tucked into the opposite corner of the room, deliberately placed away from the bed in case someone hid themselves within, waiting for his guard to lower in sleep (despite the arrays hidden in and around his house that would never allow an intruder in unannounced and the wardrobe was specifically too shallow for an adult to do so).

Pulling on a deep blue-green set with small smatterings of embroidered purple ground orchids, he pulled a paper fan with a marshy water-scene in dark blues and greens from his collection stacked across the tessellated squares of the stand. Hopefully the heron on it would share some of its strength and patience with him.

He hesitated in front of the vanity table. As he was meeting specifically with the healer capable of wrangling all forms of unwilling Peak Lords into check-ups and treatments (ranging from snarling beast Lords of Bai Zhan and Huang Ye, to politely insistent unwillingness lurking in Qiong Ding and Jing Shen robes, to conspicuous absence where An Ding and the rest should be in times of injury)... makeup or illusion talisman concealment was pointless, anything else would be pointlessly pretentious with his image already ruined and enduring the heaviness of a hair crown tugging on his scalp would worsen his headache significantly.

As the blood rush from bending to put his shoes on had almost knocked him down, he truly did not need the additional hindrance.

Thus, with just a plain white ribbon in his hair, tying two thin sections of hair back from either side of his face, Shen Qingqiu blanked his expression and swept out into the main room.

Mu Qingfang sipped his tea and tried to ward off his brewing headache through cycling qi in a soothing rhythm at his temples. It was oolong, of which Shen Qingqiu always had a sizable store of and itself had headache-relieving properties as well as mental invigoration, though it did not do so nearly as well as Mu Qingfang’s typical strong black teas and truthfully, he was beginning to feel the decline.

At least Li Qingrong seemed to enjoy it. With his acute spiritual sensitivity, the effects of the blend would undoubtedly be a relief.

… Sometimes he wondered if the Twelfth Lord would not have been more suited for Ku Xing, given his innate affinity for the intangible forces and subtle qi flows of karma, feng shui and divination that were the ascetic Peak’s purview. As a disciple, he had asked his Shizun about it once when he had recently received the name Qingfang and was discussing the medical constitutions of his generation with the revered Lady of a Thousand Grasses. Shu Qiongting showed him Li Qingrong’s patient documents and the notes made on the ice-flow Qi deviations he suffered frequently early in his cultivation and asked him the prognosis for this spirit-sensitive patient to immerse themselves fully in the higher energy flows without anchor, as required of Ku Xing’s cultivation path to forming a Golden Core.

Jing Shen was a far better match, at least working with the physical land kept him grounded. Chai Qingshi had cultivated his spirit sight to perceive the higher workings of things while his Yang Earth nature afforded him a more settled spiritual base than their Li-shidi’s yin.

Observing his martial brother in light meditation across from him, veil pulled back in the soft evening light, Mu Qingfang took in the tightness around his closed eyes and resolved to meet with Kai Qingmei to discuss the contents of the Zui Xian Lord’s habitual ‘welcome back’ care package for Li Qingrong. He enjoyed providing for his martial siblings and appreciated the challenge of incorporating medicinal elements into treats for his generational siblings, balancing ingredient harmony for the benefits while managing the taste into something pleasing.

It would also give Mu Qingfang an excuse to meet with him and check on his wellbeing over tea and conversation. Kai Qingmei was a warm, cheerful man who had always seemed to deal well with the stress of the demand from his Peak to meet the dietary requirements of the Sect overall, training kitchen staff and rotating disciples through the Food Hall kitchens on each Peak, working closely with An Ding to ensure larders and pantries stayed fully stocked while producing their renowned wines and elixirs for export.

Movement in the side room drew his attention back to the present. Li Qingrong casually brushed his veil back into place as the tall junior carrying a visibly bulging messenger bag bowed to them and left the Bamboo Hut, for the third time while they had been waiting and the bouncy Female Head Disciple Ning Yingying appeared yet again to ask them if they needed their tea refreshed.

Mu Qingfang had never quite understood Shen Qingqiu’s decision to install dual Head-Discipleship on Qing Jing. It seemed to serve no purpose except to confuse the chain of authority for the rest of the Sect and the girl herself was perhaps a bit... whimsical for a position of responsibility.

She was stood waiting with her hands clasped together and eyes reduced to crescents with the brightness of her smile, as if their answer might have changed. With her ribbons and general effervescence, it excused her uncomfortable level of over-enthusiasm as simple childish sincerity, but it was still off-putting and made him wonder if her position was indeed simply due to favouritism as he occasionally heard mutterings of in the Healing Halls among disciples.

However, this time he inquired about the quantity of work that required both junior Head Disciples of the Peak to abandon their lessons for the afternoon to process and keep two of their shidi as assistants.

Her head tilted to the side and round, doe brown eyes gazed at him guilelessly, but a small crease between her brown belied her confusion. “These disciples always assume processing duties for Shifu's paperwork when he is unavailable. Liu-shijie and Wu-shixiong usually help with higher level missives but shixiong is on a mission and shijie has a delicate project.”

He frowned, slightly bewildered, “Ning-shizhi, were the Peak forms and correspondence responsibilities not delegated to the Qing Jing Hallmasters during Shen-shixiong's seclusion? For what reason is there so much undone barely two days since?”

She blinked, twice, fawn eyes widening as she replied, “Answering Mu-shishu, Qing Jing Hallmasters guide and assess the projects and cultivation of these disciples and bestow final approval of work conducted by Head Disciples when Shizun is unavailable. This one’s teachers do not have assigned paperwork sectors of Peak correspondence beyond training these disciples.”

Which. Was absurd.

Every Peak in the Sect had a cabinet of Hallmasters assigned various categories of Peak minutia. Every Peak Lord in the Sect had a Hallmaster council that provided summary reports and raised issues, concerns and suggestions with them based on observations made in their assigned sectors by processing all the relevant paperwork. Just as the Peak Lords do to a lesser extent for their Sect Leader!

One person could not possibly identify such specific trends and details in one sector when they were attempting to do so in every other sector involved in maintaining a Peak and Cultivation Sect!

Every Peak has this! Except, apparently, Qing Jing, if Ning-shizhi was to be believed... and with the way her entire demeanour radiated bright, sweet innocence... no. It almost made him feel guilty of even conceiving her to be of adubious nature, neverminded capable of deliberately spreading misleading information to two of her shishu about her own Hallmasters.

Then how had this happened? Was it Shen Qingqiu’s arrogance? His pride and perceived superiority driven to remove responsibility and authority from his own staff and contemporaries? But Shen Qingqiu was the Sect Tactician and had maintained his post through the time since their appointment with theuncanny ability of knowing about every situation that might have occurred in relation to any Cultivator of Cang Qiong and used the mostobscure details to great effect against antagonists, therefor he had actually been completing the ludicrous volume of work his Peak must receive.

So in addition to Shen Qingqiu’s heart demons, spiritual volatility and the layered damage of repeated Deviations on top ofalready poor Cultivation, the man had been suffering under an unreasonable level of persistent stress in his daily life. Frankly, it was a miracle he was not already dead.

...Dead. Died, like he almost had done in the grips of fever and his most recent Qi Deviation. The reasonMu Qingfang had come to the Bamboo House in the first place. The reason, it was becoming increasingly likely, that Li Qingrong had returned from his endless roamingalmost immediately sought out the Scholar Lord, when he had never once done so before.

His eyes met wide lilac behind gauze.

“Shizun!” a bright voice chirped, prompting immediate scuffling from the side room.

Both Lords turned towards the sound to see the girl saluting with a wide smile and fluttering hair ribbons, the two disciples emerging, both turning and saluting to the figure stood in the bedroom doorway, dressed in opulent robes rich in colour and embroidery as going to attend a formal meeting, only missing his typicallarge, stately hair crown to complete the image.

Shen Qingqiu was awake.

Chapter 12: Stalks; attracting loving energy to relationships, completion of desires.

Chapter Text

“Shidi.”

Viridescent eyes stared at them intently over the edge of the painted wetland scene of the fan, his regard sweeping over them as cold and harsh as the winter monsoon wind, never leaving them even as the fan languidly flicked over one shoulder in acknowledgement of the brightly tinkling baoding ball bouncing off into the adjoining kitchen with words of tea- the mention of which, strangely, caused Mu Qingfang’s leafy sun-warmed qi to... wilt a small increment.

“To what occasion does this Master owe the visit of the White Lotus of Jing Shen and the Healer of Fragrant Tinctures to his humble abode at this time of the evening? Surely these esteemed Lords have duties of higher import than socialising, in a house without invite of its Host no less, to devote their time.”

Li Qingrong flattened his lips at the reminder of epithet that seemed to follow him no matter what remote corner of the lands he visited. He was glad of the veil obscuring his reaction when Mu Qingfang’s small flinch in the qi field and shoulders drew the imperious stare of those icy green eyes, honing in on Mu Qingfang at the sign of weakness and dismissing Li Qingrong- for now.

To the healer’s credit, honey hazel met the sharp bamboo leaves boring into them from across the room steadily, “This shidi was concerned for Shen-shixiong's health after two Qi Deviations in short succession. There matters drawn to this healer’s attention in recent days that I would very much like to discuss with you, if shixiong is recovered enough to.”

Narrow jade shards slid across to Li Qingrong in a pointedly, a disparaging curl to his lips.

“This one believes Li-shidi has reasons of his own to visit Shen-shixiong and earth-nature qi is better suited to support shixiong’s spirit veins in their weakened state after a Deviation than my own, should the current protections require supplementing.”

Mu Qingfang was unfazed by the frost in their host’s deportment, like the oak is unmoved by Winter’s biting winds. Li Qingrong admired the undaunted tranquillity in the profile of his placid smile and raised chin for a moment before a sharp clack drew his attention back to the second highest Sect authority, who swept forward and gracefully sank down at the low table, extravagant robes settling about him like the layered petals of a Dusk-Blooming Marsh Peony, Shen Qingqiu at their heart like a fae.

The silvery baoding ball with fluttering hair ribbons returned, chiming sweetly with announcement of tea and accompaniments. Accompaniments which had been conspicuously absent from the tea they’d been drinking all evening. Li Qingrong kept his eyes on his cup, delicate sunlight gold of the tea –chrysanthemum, he caught in the youthful babble– and the lazy drift of shimmering steam.

They were pretty cups. Dark lapis blue lacquer intricately painted with swirling lines and pin-prick dots of pigment in a muted mix of bronze and cerulean blue. Prohibitively expensive by mortal value of course, only found there in the noble echelons of high society, but this was the Peak of Artistry so why would they not display their expertise?

He would still rather his travelling wooden ones, with their simple dragon carvings worn soft from age and use.

Ah. He’d missed something.

He’d evidently missed something because while he had been focusing on his tea cup and waiting for the Shen Qingqiu’s disciples to leave, some sort of interaction had passed that caused Mu Qingfang to stiffen and his qi to start and a small coil to bloom slightly in what was presumably a... realisation? Of sorts?

Scanning the room from beneath his eye lashes revealed the Mu Qingfang’s subtly widened eyes and faded smile, Shen Qingqiu’s cold and sharp stoicism mid-sip, slanting a look to the side... where the disciples were congregated. Baoding was hugging the empty tray and awaiting instruction from Shen Qingqiu, the stretch of her grin obscuring her eyes in crescents once more, the haphazard mass of rambling passion flower vines was coiled in on himself very closely and keeping his eyes low, avoiding notice, but the gangly pine sapling was the one. Eyebrows drawn together, lips pressed to a seam and attempting to duck his head to hide the flush of embarrassment spreading across his nose and burning bright embers on his ears.

Shen Qingqiu savoured the warmth and mild sweetness of the tea.

It was skilfully brewed, as expected of any Qing Jing disciple save the little beast cub who persisted his endeavour to learn nothing on the scholars Peak (for all Ming Fan claimed sabotage, the beastie could have performed far better if he had grown a spine and a brain and looked to work around adversity. Shen Jiu had managed it consistently in his own childhood, but no, instead Bing-er tried to brute-force things like a Bai Zhan meathead).

He took a slow, leisurely bite of a small osmanthus cake...

And watched with distant amusem*nt as his untrustworthy little disciple burned with the weight of shame for his transgressions. His betrayal of the trust Shen Qingqiu placed in him as male Head Disciple. Trust, to be dutiful and responsible in controlling the behaviour of the juvenile men on the Peak, to ensure a relatively safe environment for disciples to live, learn and cultivate towards a better life.

At least he was proving more responsible than that cowering dog Yue Qingyuan. Ming Fan acknowledged his accountability and was working to better himself to prevent a repeat of his shameful behaviour. Still, that he had deviated from the character standard Shen Qingqiu had afforded him was... disappointing.

In his periphery he saw Mu Qingfang jerk, setting the dark curls of his hair bouncing every-which-way and Li Qingrong’s shoulders curve in on themselves to diminish his presence. As if the personified moonbeam of a man could simply disappear.

“Ning Yingying. Come with the work shipment from the Rainbow Bridge to this Master tomorrow morning in training robes and with the suitable equipment. Make arrangements for the day’s absence from lessons.” he lifted his gaze from Ming Fan and swept over the three of them, “Dismissed.”

They scurried out and he was left with the adult nuisances.

Mu Qingfang reached out to the middle of the table and rested his hand there loosely, casually. “May this healer check your meridians?”

He eyed it. “This Master if fine”

“Please, Shen-shixiong”

Shen Qingqiu remained motionless for a long, very deliberate moment then huffed and presented his wrist. Tea-warmed fingers encirled skin over vulnerable veins in a clinical grip, respectfully touching no more or less than required. He ignored the way the heat of his flesh and qi sank into his bones.

The atmosphere was civil enough, with Mu Qingfang murmuring absently about qi flows and herbal harmony.

“Hm. A buffer to dull and soften interactions between spiritual qi and physical body... possibly Elysian Asphodel for a stasis effect, or powdered Purgatory Pearls... water from the Pool of Heavenly Reflection... neutral, versatile solvent, would enrich spiritual qi besides... but the opposing affinities... Shimmering Moon and Shining Sun Carp scales might maintain the balance, but they need a binding agent to interact with other components in solution. Clawed Ivy root? Interrupts the cyclic of energy within the recipe... interesting challenge for Chai-shidi.”

“What.”

The warm, amber and green tones of his eyes sharpened with the healer’s rising focus. “For the medicine pill development. Qian Cao works closely with other Peaks to develop medicines; Bai Zahn and Huang Ye source and supply beast parts, An Ding trades for enhanced spiritual waters and area-specific parts and plants with their regional Clans and Sects, Zui Xian shares harvest of qi-rich crops and regular, limited quantities of enhances wood shavings, seeds and their spiritual syrup elixirs which are very useful in pill-powder binding.

“Qian Cao and Ku Xing consult very regularly on recipe harmony of energy flows between ingredients. This Healer would consult with Chai Qingshi on this new treatment synthesis as well, particularly for the consideration of qi density of the patient as disharmonious pill recipes disrupt bodily qi flows like some of the deadliest toxins.”

Shen Qingqiu flicked his fan open to cover the way lips were curling away from his teeth

“This one previously held the assumption that the Healers of Qian Cao were above perpetuating rumours and circulating gossip of private information. Disappointing. This Master will see to his own needs. If that is all, Honoured Lords? Scram. ”

Amber flecks burned in narrowed eyes, smile slipping from the Healer Lord’s face entirely leaving hard lines and an unexpectedly severe countenance. Oh dear. Hit something sensitive, had he? Oh dear, oh dear, what ever should he do?

Truly, he had thought better of Mu Qingfang than this, but he supposed he really should have expected such a disappointment from a man-

“Shen Qingqiu. I am a doctor, by trade and oath. I understand you have a high degree of issues, and do not wish to jeopardize the privacy of your affairs; I have accommodated your refusal for full depth examination despite layering difficulty and danger to my sworn task of treating your wounds and healing your ills. I had accepted that you do not trust me enough to entrust yourself in my care. I accepted that and did not seek to improve the state of the bond between us; that is my failing of my position and of my Oath. I acknowledge that.

“But I, my Peak, my disciples, would never wilfully share crucial details of delicate treatments or wounds with patient identifying characteristics. We would never endanger the vulnerable lives that entrust themselves to us by sharing this. I would ask for aid on an anonymous case to ensure the best quality and fastest acquisition possible for ingredients, for a second opinion on a recipe in ways that lay in fellow Cang Qiong Peak Lords' specialisations to bestow even a fraction more benefit, efficiency or even luck. I would ask the peers with whom I am spiritually tied to for aid for the benefit of one of our own.

“Shen Qingqiu, to treat the warping of your spiritual veins and the fracturing of your meridians I will need help. I will need help from our sworn kin and will need help from you. Without treatment, you are going to die. I have lost too much family to be content to let you kill yourself out of hubris.

“You have to reduce the stress you are putting yourself under. Install a Hallmaster council like the rest of the Peaks to delegate paperwork to and establish some meditative destressing activities. I do not know what family you have Shen-shixiong, but I will insist you rekindle contact, you need a support network, to this end kindling closer bonds with our martial siblings would be preferable, which would be easier if I was explicitly given leave to share deeper information than general, anonymous, patient profile, but I will not argue that today. I would also highly recommend regular qi transfusions from a rotation of different natured individuals to prevent full Spirit Vein Misalignment and boost the effects of specific aspects of different medicines, so please at least consider it.

“Finally,” Mu Qingfang suddenly gained a presence of looming intensity, lending him height and mass beyond his short compact build, sparks of emerald qi burning fiercely bright in his eyes, “make no mistake Shen Qingqiu, if not for the state of your health and my integrity as a Healer, I would be honour bound to Duel for the slight against the honour of my practice and my Peak. Despite all your skill, cunning and strength, I would not lose that fight. Be warned, Shen Qingqiu.” He subsided back into a more unassuming presence, forcefully smothering the very real fires of anger and visibly dismissing it from his notice.

So the demure and passive medic had hidden talons after all hm? Willing to draw them to bear in defence of the Sect and his moral standard, hm? Good. Very good.

Were Shen Qingqiu not so soon off the back of such damaging Deviations, he might have tried his Xiu Ya against Mu Qingfang’s Xiang Yu to see just what sort of warrior he was. It would be interesting to say the least, as he could not recall having ever observed him in combat or been able to focus on analysis without his own opponent interfering.

Ah well. Another time.

(...a slightly ridiculous hope, with the state of things, that he would survive long enough to propose a spar and have recovered enough to be a worthwhile opponent. Hah.)

Unwillingly, Shen Qingqiu felt his lips slant up and folded his fan.

“ Impressive , shidi” he said. “This shixiong wasn’t aware he had a shidi of your name with such indomitable spirit. Ha. Very well shidi, this Shen Qingqiu will submit to Mu Qingfang’s superior judgement on the synthesis of the treatment... and will hold him at his word for maximum confidentiality functionally possible. However .” he paused, leaned forward and let some of his own predator show on the surface. “Be warned Mu Qingfang; I don’t wait for witnesses. ”

He sat back, still smiling with just a few too many teeth. “Well then, if Mu Qingfang’s business for the evening is concluded, he may perhaps return to his own Peak and fulfil his prestigious duties there.”

“...Yes, of course. Well-” Mu Qingfang coughed to clear his throat, “Well, this shidi would advise that Shen-shixiong accept a short qi transfusion form Li-shidi before you part ways and... this shidi will bring a sample set tomorrow morning for preliminary analysis.” He threw back his tea in one fortifying gulp (oh this had agitated him hadn’t it? Usually, he didn’t down tea like shots to a seasoned drunkard until halfway through a Full Peak Meeting, when the little spats between the Lords of this harmonious Sect really started to get under way), he dithered for a moment and then he bowed politely and left. Leaving Shen Qingqiu alone with the hitherto silent and unobtrusive Li Qingrong.

Li Qingrong was still staring at a fixed spot just to the side of the teapot, veil in place, visibly willing himself to transmute into mist and disperse to escape the situation.

His eyes flickered up to acknowledge Mu Qingfang and his head bobbed jerkily in farewell, but no motion was made to introduce the cause for his request to meet for tea.

His letter of request had been unenlightening and Shen Qingqiu was curious. Curious, and impatient enough with it to forego having them sit in weighted silence until his companion plucked up the courage to lift it- like he would have with Yue Qingyuan, for example. He casually nudged the plate of osmanthus cakes across the table. “Li-shidi should try the accompaniment. If we are to take tea and talk, then it would be best for shidi to... relax. ” As if this man had ever relaxed in the presence of Shen Qingqiu throughout their acquaintanceship.

“...thanking Shen-shixiong,” came the murmured reply. Li Qingrong took a small cake and took a smaller bite, closing his eyes and carefully controlling a slow, deep breath. He took off his veil and flicked his eyes up to meet Shen Qingqiu’s for a long moment. With the veil pushed back over his head, the soft glow of evening sunset washed his hair with the faintest rose gold blush and gave his eyes an unearthly glow. Li Qingrong had always had an appealing colour pallet as a painting subject.

“Shen-shixiong... this one was in deep meditation, almost twenty days past and... noticed that there was a change in Shen-shixiong's spiritual resonance. Something... a new element crossed over into our plane and- this one requested audience to... ensure shixiong’s health and wellbeing. Against what this one thought might be a spiritual attack at the time. In meditation since, this shidi found that the- soul shade has been indistinguishably integrated into Shen-shixiong's own soul and spiritual bonds, so seamless and naturally that... it could only have been a familiar entity”

Delicate lilac eyes met his own directly and held the gaze, “This one wanted to ensure that Shen-shixiong knows beyond doubt that the Peak Lords of Cang Qiong will always come to the aid of one of our own. This one... cannot truly speak for all the other Lords, but if this Li Qingrong can ever be of use to Shen- shixiong, then this one will fulfil those duties to the beat of his capacity, no matter what, no matter when.” he took a breath, “no matter what transpired in another Shen Qingqiu’s lifetime.”

Shen Qingqiu had stilled; everything about him, from the rhythm of his breaths to the movement of his fan, held in perfect stillness, face frozen of reaction and eyes gaining intensity as if lit with Last Breath Candle flame. Even the clashing cacophony of his qi silenced for a moment. Li Qingrong tried to diminish his spiritual awareness, to deafen his senses and wilfully dull himself to endure a long interaction with such a loud presence in close proximity, but still a long, low erhu note sounded to his perception, ending in a predatory growling reverberation.

He had made a mistake, showing that he knew something about the soul shade. Was it a secret? Why? He would have told them, wouldn’t he? They were the Peak Lords of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect! One of the four Great Sects of the Cultivation world, praised for their strength and their unity- in their strength through unity.

His shixiong’s head slowly lilted to the side, “What do you know, Li-shidi?”

...I know that something horrific occurred. I know that something went wrong and the unity of the Fourth Qing generation of Cang Qiong was torn asunder. I know you were shattered , soul deep. And if it was by failed Ascension that our bonds were cleaved, then we of another tine, another life, failed you Shen Qingqiu. Failed, else we would not have attempted to Ascend, or limited the damage to prevent the tragedy of the vestige of ashy shade I sensed.

He opened his mouth, but the words weren’t forthcoming and Shen-shixiong reviled baseless conjecture, so he bit his tongue and held silent.

Shen Qingqiu stared, unblinking. “Or perhaps...” he began slowly, with a tone that almost managed idle speculation, “perhaps a more practical question might be what do you want to know?”

That answer at least was quick to his lips, spilling out almost before his notice, “The truth shixiong, so that together we can avoid a recurrence in this life.”

Erhu sang to life again, the first notes soft but slightly off, shaken out of tune by the lingering effect of Shen Qingqiu’s Deviation, but sweet enough with a delicate tremulous emotion... before darker, more forbidding notes set it, swirling and overlapping until they reverberated harshly like joyless laughter. Bitter toned and derisive. Intensely discomfiting, as most of Shen Qingqiu’s qi song was to Li Qingrong’s senses. He winced as a sharp pain lanced through his skull.

This was why Li Qingrong never maintained close proximity to him if a way to put distance between them existed; the harsh unhappiness of his qi song battered at his senses, gave him headaches and heartache and agitated his qi flow towards instability of his own.

Heartache, because Li Qingrong knew first hand that Shen Qingqiu’s song could be so beautiful...

Once, and only once, Li Qingrong had come across him with playing music. His Shifu had brought him to Qing Jing to discuss the effects large ice damn burst and resulting flood in the far North-East. Aside from drastic land formation change, the cold water deposited into the ocean could potentially slow oceanic heat and nutrient currents, with potential effects such as decreased fish stocks, severe coastal storms and a forecast of harsh winters for the next few years.

Vitally important information, but it had been a scant month before the Imperial Exams and Qing Jing was hive of anxiety around that time. He had stumbled away from the chaotic mess of sensory input and deep into the bamboo forest on the western face of the peak, until he came across the infamous scholarly Head Disciple, who appeared in the Sect in Yue Qingyuan’s shadow from the Immortal Alliance Conference invaded by Wu Yanzi. The demonic cultivator all Cang Qiong roaming units had been warned to flee from if encountered.

There was discontent emanating from the disciple, who scowled with his eyes shut at the instrument in his lap, fingers flexing restlessly before flicking once and settling on the strings.

...With the first strum his entire presence changed.

No longer a thunder head over a churning ocean, crackling with storm energy- but the murky, liquid reflection of gathered clouds barely lit by moonlight in the mirror face of a lake. Low, melancholy bass chords, gentle reverberation, clouds rolled in a silent breeze. Hi qi echoed in compliment of his fingers, quietly thrumming in chorus and twinkling with the sound of delicate chimes. A pause, a beaded dew drop suspended on the thin tip of a leaf...

Impact. A strong deep tone, flowing notes, commotion, emanating ripple surging into existence. A sweet and hopeful uplift, moonlight glimmering on the shifting surface.

Stillness, clouds part and the full moon revealed, bathing the lake in silver, the song quietened in awe, the vast expanse of stars revealed to invisible eyes for a mere breath, then obscured by swirling clouds silvered in the glow of the moon they covet.

Sinking down into the dark lake waters, like distorted into strange, ethereal shapes. Shining on a water flower bud, rising to wards the surface, a sense of time passing, unwavering determination in pulsing ascension, rippling the surface with delicate emergence, petals unfurling as the music quietened and in the last gossamer notes, the last perfect petal fell into place.

A pure white water lily, glowing in the night shine, staring upwards to the moon.

Like the blooming water flower, the turbulent assault on his senses gentled suddenly. The bitterest discordant notes fading as if exhausted, the strongest, harshest sounds not so much calming as forcefully stilled.

Li Qingrong opened his eyes, unaware that they had closed.

Shen Qingqiu’s expression was cool and blank like the alpine lake, though his eyes held turbulent clouds. His head tilted to the side, a gentle sweep of hair following the motion, “Qingrong-shidi needn’t worry himself, this shixiong is taking precautions to advert the events of the other timeline and minimise the impact of the Sect.”

Li Qingrong curled his hands around the high-class teacup and nodded, but paused as an uneasy thought whispered through his consciousness; and advert negative impact on Shen-shixiong too, yes? He reached up and touched the edge of his veil, resisting the urge to pull it down over his face with surprising difficulty. Of course Shen Qingqiu was working towards saving himself that fate. Li Qingrong didn’t have all the information to enable him to assume otherwise. His shixiong had a mind like cut diamond, sharp and glittering behind jade veils. He was the Sect tactician and ruthlessly effective in his post. Li Qingrong would trust his judgement.

A knock on the door pulled him out of the daze of figures and words with many layered meanings. He straightened reflexively, shoulders subtly back, chin subtly titled up, a gentle half smile curving his lips. Just like Shizun taught him; confidence without arrogance, warmth without weakness. Strength. A Leader.

His Head Disciple slid the study door open and announced Mu Qingfang, then dismissed herself back to finish the evening’s work.

Alone with his Healer, Yue Qingyuan allowed the broad line of his shoulders to soften and his smile to slip into the genuine, if tired, lopsided quirk that ‘makes you look like a dockside rogue. A disappointment, Disciple Yue’.

He reached into one of the many compartments of his desk and pulled out another cup for the plain black set he had sat off to one side, untouched and steaming. He had gotten distracted by a missive on his desk from one of theQing Jing Hallmasters between the points of brewing and pouring. Stupid. Always ensure to see a task to completion.

At least, with its cast iron, the set had retained heat enough to serve.

“Greeting Mu-shidi"

“Greeting Yue-shixiong. May I?”

Yue Qingyuan placed his wrist in Mu Qingfang’s grasp, keeping his fingers in a loose curl. His shidi carefully circulated qi through his meridians, a vaguely tart taste spreading in his mouth like plump, sour hawthorn berries wrapped up in the perpetual sugar syrup of Yue Qingyuan’s qi. It was a delicate balance to achieve, maintaining an inter-regulating cycle between their natures and conducting a thorough evaluation without tipping the balance into overacting or counteracting, but Mu Qingfang’s control never wavered. His shidi was truly skilled in his craft.

Shidi blinked back to physical awareness and hummed, manipulating his lax hand to turn and applying firm pressureto the Shenmenpoint below the crease of his wrist, opposite his thumb. A familiar point of access to his heart meridian, soothing qi flow agitated from stress or worry and nourishing his blood with qi to strengthen his body.

“Yue-shixiong has suffered mild strain in his spirit system from detrimental qi circulation patterns, I advise you to perform some moving meditation sequences this evening before the sunsets and again once arisen, ideally in direct sunlight to reinforce anchors between the spirits and physical forms of yourself and Xuan Su.”

Yue Qingyuan nodded in acceptance and led his shidi into theoffice side-roomsuited forcasual, friendly guests, snagging the tea tray and a box of dumplings he’d received from Kai Qingmei, insulated with a warming talisman and layered with compartments of spring onion, soy and chili sauce.

Once they were settled, Yue Qingyuan broached the subject looming in the silence. “How is Shen-shidi?”

Mu Qingfang sighed soundlessly but replied, “Stable, with full awareness.” The best outcome possible, with Xiao Jiu.

It shouldn’t have been. Shen Jiu spirit veins had been prodigal as a small, scrappy slave child viciously corralling the others of their group; he had instinctually manipulated his qi bothinternally and externally with more skill and control than most Cang Qiong disciples achieved after years of study. He had been brimming with power and potential, before Yue Qi failed him, abandoned him, left him to be broken. For bright and strong his spirit veins to become strangled and cracked. A husk of what should have been.

Mu Qingfang caught his eyes seriously, “This Healer would ask that Zhangmen-shixiong avoid direct interaction with Shen-shixiong until he is more settled from the recent upheavals. Approximately until the mid-Autumn Peak Lord Meeting, in a month’s time.”

Yue Qingyuan’s eyebrows drew together in thought. That would be difficult. In no way did he want to be the cause of such visceral damage as Qi Deviation in Shen Qingqiu, so the restriction in interaction by itself was completely sustainable even though it would hurt Yue Qi a bit to deliberately leave him (again).

But Shen Qingqiu was the Sect Tacticianand a well spring of information, scholarly and socially, besides. He was invaluable in the decision making Yue Qingyuan as a Sect Leader, to guide their Sect to prosperity. He could likely receive much the same factual information from the resources of the other Peak Lords- unrest along trade routes and untrustworthy merchant tycoons from Shang-shidi, political rumours and reputations in high society circles from Qi-shimei to name a few- and he did already. But Shen Qingqiu was the one to see the silk threads of manipulations and play them to his own gain, the one to spot an opportunity, understand every aspect of a situation and identify steps to take for the best possible outcome for the Sect.

...He could write to him?

No. For some things yes, but to try to replace a spoken conversation with written word, sending disciples back and forth between Peaks with short notes asking for clarification on this or that point, reasoning for whatever action, details to enable whatever advice to be enacted...

The disciples would be run ragged, work flow slowed too much to be feasible and Shen Qingqiu would never tolerate the irritationanyway.

He could function without it of course; he managed not to run Cang Qiong into a sewage pit when Shen Qingqiu was in seclusion. But for Mu Qingfang to specifically ask for limited contact between them, Shen Qingqiu’s health but be in a more precarious position than his Healer was willing to share. That meant that an alternate means of communication must be found.

He would invite Min Qingbao to tea and speak with her about it. The Artificer Peak always welcomed a new challenge of innovation.

In the mean time he would just have to make do with writing. Maybe Xia Qingfeng could be convinced to loan him a messenger hawk for in-Sect courier service.

Putting the tentative plans forming in his mind awa for the moment,he returned his attention to his patiently waiting shidi and gave his word.

Watching the tension ease from him, Yue Qingyuan opened upthe dumpling case and turned the thread of conversation to more casual topics, like Mu Qingfang’s trip outside the Sect, and settled to enjoy an evening meal with his friend.

Chapter 13: Stalks; Origin of blessings

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu sat across from Ning Yingying in the Bamboo House drinking strongly steeped oolong tea, more for Shen Qingqiu’s benefit to centre himself after enduring a long, early shichen of Mu Qingfang smudging samples of various ingredients and concoctions onto his skin and muttering on about the qi flows and interactions. By the end, Shen Qingqiu had felt more like a canvas used for colour study than a fully autonomous sentient being, especially as some of the spots changed colour or glowed upon his qi cycling under Mu Qingfang’s instruction.

The only benefit to the headache it caused him is that the Healer seemed to be making a conscientious effort to ignore and move past the proceedings of the evening prior, aside from a singular off-hand mention of reducing stress by delegating his workload. However, in the stillness of Qing Jing beyond his window in the cool morning light and the sub-vocal hums and murmurs of his amusingly bustling companion, he decided not to poke at his shidi about it. No use upsetting the neutrality his Healer Lord-brother was trying so hard to maintain.

Of course, a large component of this decision may or may not have been influenced by the drowsy heaviness weighing on his mind and limbs from working through the night to finally complete the manual for Ning Yingying.

The self-same piece the girl was looking over now.

He had thought long and hard about what kind of predator to turn Ning Yingying into; something bright and exuberantly colourful on the surface, something fast and agile, deadly but not venomous- no, Shen Qingqiu did not think that Ning Yingying had the hardness of heart to use poisons on her enemies, for all that she played the part of an innocent young girl, it was more an exaggeration than a true mask. (Not yet.)

He had eventually settled on a dragonfly.

The delicate dragonfly, flitting about frivolously across the surface of the lake snapping up prey with precision manoeuvres and deadly jaw strength, disguising the truth of the Hunt from glancing eyes.

As such, he had compiled her manual into training plans for speed, flexibility and dance for physical work as well as a more specialised fighting style, weapons training steps with whips (detailing various types, from chains to ribbons, Immortal Binding Cables to qin strings) and spirit techniques for musical cultivation and the Plucked Leaves Flying Flowers technique beyond the standard guidance to understanding and harnessing to her qi affinity.

He called their attention, “Ying-er, have you looked over the manual?” It had been so long since he last called her as such, this little child entrusted to his care by her mother- a slave sold to become a brothel flower who worked and lived in Madam Cheng’s Warm Red Pavilion before sickness took her one winter. Ning Linlin was also the ‘Jiu’ child of her batch, she used to joke that it made them siblings. She had still smiled even when she lay on her bed, pale and drawn, and asked him to look after the little one who always came tugging on his sleeves and putting roadside weeds in his hair when he visited.

Watching her now, grown so much, gap toothed smile filled in but still as bright and doe eyes sparkling with interest, Yingying was her mother’s daughter in every way save the shade of her hair and the curve of her nose.

He wished he could preserve the joy of life her lingering naivety afforded her. But it was not to be.

He wished he could see her grow into the resplendent woman she was meant to be.

But it was not to be.

“Yes, shifu!”

“Does Ning Yingying understand the path that extends before her should follow the steps of this manual? Is Head Disciple Ning prepared to submit the level of work and dedication required to meet the highest expectations of this Master?”

“I am, shifu!”

“Is she fully prepared? At this point in time, she comes to a crossroads and faces a choice; accept the manual and return to her current lessons, learn from it herself and ask for guidance when necessary. Or. She can swear herself to my tutelage as an apprentice. This Master would to take Ning Yingying as a direct disciple and to teach her all that he knows then unleash her to learn all that he does not.

“You must be absolutely certain of this path before you think to accept. I will not allow you to change you to retract this decision later. I will make you bleed. I will make you suffer. I will shatter you and reforge you into something new and powerful. On this path I would teach you strength, but the price is high.”

Wide eyes stared at him, he held them squarely.

“Head Disciple Ning is a capable enough disciple to build her own power through self-study and the guidance of her current situation. She does not need to put herself through the second path in blind pursuit of power. But the offer stands. Meditate, and give me your answer.”

He rose and left the room for the study, quietly shutting the door behind him.

He knew what she would choose. Linlin’s star-bright ambition shone through in her daughter, always had done. Ning Yingying could be impatient in her painting and distractible in her weiqi, but she always listened attentively in lessons, greedy for knowledge. Her essays were well resourced and thoughtful, though her time in the Library was hindered by her excitable nature and obligation to the Peak and her social circles to keep her news networks alive.

After their discussion on the vulnerability of women and spiritual cultivators in the face of covetous scum unscrupulous in their methods for building their own cultivation...

The Skinner demon had been the most recent of dangers she had been at the mercy of and arguably not even the worst of her experiences of that kind on Night Hunts and investigations gone awry, but he had made her understand the true dangers of those situations, beyond simple loss of life.

She trusted him. (Foolishly)

She would take the promise of as much power as he could build in her.

(He wished she would take the other way)

Two figures stood across from each other in an isolated sandy glade in the bamboo forest.

The sun still sat in its rising arc across the sky and their martial robes were dusty. Weapons lay neatly piled to the side while they cycled through fluid motions in perfect synchrony. Arms swept out in broad strokes, legs raising at the knee with poise and elegance before pointed hands flattened into open palms and struck, coiling strikes cutting through the air swift and sure, bodies swept back and low like a tidal flow building in preparation. They surged back into upright positions, gracefully side-stepping unseen blows and moving in easy circular motions with both palms and hooked hands to redirect others, ebbing and flowing, moving seamlessly between offense and defence in their separate, shared set.

The smaller of the pair stumbled.

Immediately, the other went on full offence, accelerating the meditative flow of motions into a full barrage like white water rapids. He was merciless and unyielding, breaking through the girl’s guard again and again, cold voice landing harsh verbal blows, snapping to raise you elbow, second form, third, fourth, FASTER! Centre your gravity, lower! POWER, girl! Block it, redirect, your guard is non-existent FIX IT. Better- again! Keep it up- failed. Get up! Starting position, guard, BLOCK- STRIKE- FAILED!

Shen Qingqiu stood over a sweaty, battered Ning Yingying and snarled. “Rise! Stand and face me or fail.”

Something like fury flashed through her gentle earth-toned eyes. A spark of determination or an ember of resentful defiance, it was too soon to tell. For her sake he hoped the latter. A wrathful will was harder to break than a hopeful one.

She rose.

“Yes, shifu.” She gasped, gulping breaths and swiping sweat away with her sleeve.

He kept his eyes narrowed on hers, trying to ignore the purpling tenderness blooming in the flesh around them and the sickness the sight of it caused in his stomach.

Ning Yingying was not a physical cultivator. Her training to date had not made her break her bones and tear her muscles to ‘reforge the body’ and further her cultivation in that way, she did not spar frequently in her spare time and was of a decent enough proficiency with the Qing Jing styles to avoid or redirect the majority blows from her peers during class spars.

She was not used to pain. Especially blows to the face. He hated that he was changing that.

(When he had landed that strike, she hadn’t taken longer to recover from it than any other hit, but her eyes had shown a fragility. Hurt. Then she blinked the reflexive tears from them and attacked with renewed vigour.)

Yet. Yet, it was working.

With every bruise he dealt her, she grit her teeth and pushed back harder.

Every time he struck at a gap in her defence, she tightened it.

With every move he made, she watched him sharper, reacted quicker, lost lingering hesitance and tried to counter him.

Better and better and better.

(It wasn’t enough. When she got stronger… he would start incorporating his tricks and ‘dirty' tactics, both to prepare her against them and to teach her how to take a superior opponent and win.)

He pulled his gaze away and checked the position of the sun; they had a short while left before the midday meal was scheduled, just long enough for an armed spar and stretches afterwards. Just as well, his bones and muscles were starting to ache quite insistently.

“Choose your weapon.”

She moved towards the weapons at the edge of the clearing, back turned to him trustingly. He’d have to train that out of her- she should always keep awareness of enemies in her vicinity and maintain a line of sight whenever possible. He’s start ambushing her and striking in her blind spots once she began expanding her spiritual awareness and learned how to cast an aura.

She turned to face him holding a liuyedao- the willow-leaf saber.

Shen Qingqiu drew his Xiu Ya and raised the straight line of the double edged jian against her.

Ning Yingying groaned as she flumped down into a seat space and stuffed a piece of chicken into her mouth, savouring the texture and taste of the juicy, lightly seasoned meat. Kuang Tingting giggled and cooed as she listed into her side, “Is A-Ying hungry?”

Ning Yingying finished enjoying the piece and swallowed, throwing her friend a baleful glare, “A-Ting shouldn’t tease her shijie. Ying-er was training really hard this morning and Tingting mocks her enjoyment of this precious sustenance. For shame, shimei”

Kuang Tingting’s hand flew to her chest, clutching at her heart as he swayed and collapsed into a mildly amused Fan Luan, dark eyes laughing, “Shiije, this disciple has committed a grave offense. This impudent shimei has disrespected her Da-jie. What shall this no-good meimei do? This act will stain my honoured line forever! There can be only one absolution! Begging honoured Head Disciple Ning to punish severely!”

Laughter echoed around their table before Kuang Tingting settled and turned to Ning Yingying with a bit more seriousness, “What sort of training were you doing though, shijie? You’re bruising a lot.”

Ning Yingying shrugged a shoulder, wincing at the achy tug of the muscles there protesting, “Shifu is giving me some private guidance,” she said casually, before adding in a wry tone “Ying-er has a long way to go before she reaches Shifu’s standards.” That had her shimei wincing in good humoured sympathy and offering her commiserations.

Kuang Tingting picked up the thread of conversation after that, skilfully deflected the topic onto teasing Lan Yue about her violet fairy friend, with the flower twins Pei Luli and Lumei joining in to coo at their stoic shijie, watching the pink tint to her cheeks steadily darken.

“Look at our iron tree blooming~”

“And for a ‘Sweet Sagittarian Azalea’ no less!”

“No, no, how does that other poem say it? Ah, ‘Mountain pomegranate, a mountain squat, a rhododendron, and the flowers flutter when the rhododendron sings.’”

“Aiyah, but look at the Lan-shijie’s face! Wouldn’t shijie’s budding romantic heart be her ‘Tree Poet Whisperer’ and better suited to verses of ‘fragile passion’ and ‘luxurious days spent pondering [her] beauty’?”

“Hey Lan-shijie, does Shu Huiwen make you ‘think of home’, or do you think more of starting a home with her?”

“Pei-shimeis! Stop snigg*ring at your shijie. Lan Yue… maybe you should drink some tea. And do some breathing. If your face gets any redder we might have to worry about you Qi Deviating before final lesson, wait, no-! Your Kuang-shije was only teasing, it’s not that bad, don’t drown yourself in the soup shimei- !”

Ning Yingying relaxed into her seat, enjoying the comfort of good food with good company before her allotted evening lesson of the day and the promise of relaxation afterwards.

Her good mood lasted until just a few moments into Ming Meihua’s needlework session, when she was abruptly interrogated by A-Luo and his new shadows Ming Fan and Zhang Hao, just moments after settling herself into the squishy furnishings of Ming-zhangbei’s lesson room. They fussed and fussed and fussed about the bruises on her face and the stiffness of her movements before she finally snapped at A-Luo.

“A-Luo! Your Ning-shijie is taking new lessons under Shizun’s care and instruction. She is learning new skills and improving her combat and cultivation ability, she had a hard morning training today and got a bit hurt, but tomorrow she will do better and get hit less and keep working hard until she is so strong that she can’t be hit or trapped or, or disrespected. She. Is. Fine.”

His striking sky dark eyes widened and seemed to gain a thousand glistening stars as he hunched in on himself, fluffy curls drooping like she’d scolded an innocent, sweet puppy and then kicked it into a cold and muddy puddle. She certainly felt like she had.

A sharp glance from Ming-zhangbei silenced her before she could soften herself and make her apologies, then Zhang Hao cut in, “What are you learning under private instruction, Ning-shijie?” Turning her attention to him in relief as a distraction from her flare of temper, she missed the slightly worried look that passed between Luo Binghe and Ming Fan before they sat forward and joined in on the quiet conversation about the distance weaponry and qi techniques mentioned in her personalised manual.

It only at the end of the shichen, once their lesson on embroidering simple drying talisman onto handkerchiefs had ended and all the materials were packed away, that a niggling thought resurfaced. “Oh! That reminds me- A-Luo, Shizun sent for you to come to the Bamboo House after lessons.”

Message delivered, she bid farewell to the three boys and trotted off along the path towards the female dorms, stepping off once she neared one of the small glades hidden within the tall, green bamboo stalks. Here, she carefully retrieved her new manual from a small blue qiankun pouch tied at her waist- the one decorated with pretty pink lotuses that shifu gave her on turning ten.

Carefully sifting through the pages, Ning Yingying spared a moment to cry in her heart at the elegant beauty of shifu’s calligraphy compared to her own messy, over-bold hand, then settled into the beginning stance of her Feathered Snake style. Shifting through the movements, she wondered again at the style of the- half familiar sweeping motions and bird beak hand strikes of the Qing Jing crane styles, half subtle coiling and inconspicuous shifting of balance before lighting burst releases of tension striking with pin-point accuracy like she’d observed on some of the Xian Shu training fields.

Finishing the sequence once, then again as fast as she could, then again but really slow and controlled, Ning Yingying sat down in the middle of her small clearing and tried to relax her mind and sink into meditation, to reabsorb some of the energy she’d expended in training, which had ‘temporarily heightened the ambient qi field’, which is easier to cultivate in since it wants to go from its higher concentration down anyway to match with its surroundings and Ning Yingying is lower than her surroundings at the moment, even more than she usually is and its her energy, or it was, so it should be easier to get back-

Focus Yingying.

Right. Focus on the breathing- drawing even breaths in…out…filling the lungs. Relax and open to the world around her. Feel the qi circulating in her meridians, drawing more in from the air, through her lungs, through her skin, into muscle and bone, gathering more brightly at every aching stretch and tender bruise, easy-flowing from her kata, from the familiar-unfamiliar movements. Soon they would be all be familiar, every stance and strike, block and parry. Maybe she could get a spar on Xian Shu to exchange pointers. Maybe she could even ask Liu- shimei…

…And that’s definitely getting off track now.

Meditation was going to take a while.

Shen Qingqiu eventually rose from his numbing soak in the Quiet Pool and redressed, calling his faithful Xiu Ya to his hand, the sight of it sorely missed, sparkling in the light of day for having spent so long sheathed next to his soul. He spent a moment just admiring it- the perfect moon white of the long blade, the shimmering colours refracted in the silver and fire opal masterfully shaped into the hilt, guard and pommel.

Xiu Ya. The noble white blade set with stones denoting devotion and fidelity, the burning fire of human spirit, hope, lightning and noble generosity. There was great incredulity in the Halls and forges of Wan Jian that the arrogant, infamous scum Shen Jiu had drawn a blade who’s imbued properties caused spiritual unrest in selfish souls, stirring anxiety, agitation in the aura and nightmares in the sleeping mind with sufficient exposure.

Then, of course, one grey-robed swordsmith divulged that fire opal stones could also aid thieves in their pursuits by blurring their aura with its rainbow hues so as to be unrecognisable as a human soul and thus undetectable to the subtle senses and active notice of those around them. This, to the minds of Cang Qiong, made far more sense and so it was decided that Shen Jiu had corrupted the noble and righteous purpose of his bonded spirit sword, earning him more social disdain within the Sect and the enmity of Wei Qingwei.

He sighed and sheathed his Xiu Ya at his waist. The weight of it at his side was almost too unfamiliar, as was the uncomfortable absence in his higher plane, intangible form where Xiu Ya usually lay guarding his spine.

He rolled his shoulders. It is what it is, and he would never trade Xiu Ya for another blade simply for an incrementally improved reputation, so in the end it matters not. He could do nothing to change it and would not if the opportunity presented itself.

Returning to the Bamboo House anticipating a quiet shichen of completing paperwork, he did not anticipate the short and scrawny form wrapped in the pale blues of An Ding to be waiting for him outside his front door, arms folded around a deep wicker basket holding thick scrolls and thicker leather tomes. Nor did he appreciate the surprise.

Shang Qinghua shifted as Shen Qingqiu approached him, as he was wont to.

Shen Qingqiu casually adjusted his grip on Xiu Ya, making his shidi's gaze dart to it and away, his blank, stretched smile straining further. “Shang-shidi, what brings the An Ding Lord here? All the way to this master’s doorstep. Unannounced.”

Shang Qinghua hefted his basket slightly higher up his chest- as both a pointed statement and a meagre shield against Shen Qingqiu’s displeasure.

As if there were no rumours at all whispered in shadows of an Armoured Puppeteer in the demonic North.

The Fourth Lord’s head ducked in false, amiable contrition, doe brown eyes peering up at him through his lashes, “Ah, Shen-shixiong, this one has gathered some reference outlines on the structural format of the Council of Hallmasters of each Peak. Mu-shidi made this one aware that Shen-shixiong might be interested in such documents and suggested that this one take the initiative, as soon as convenient, and not wait for shixiong’s asking.”

Shen Qingqiu hummed in equally false, light contemplation, “Well, if Mu-shidi determined this endeavour necessary, then surely these Lords have no choice but compliance.”

His shidi’s smile took a more natural, sardonic curve, feeling safer with proof of Shen Qingqiu’s comparatively good mood and a shared ‘enemy’ between them to blame for this encounter. He nodded, slightly more vigorously than necessary, causing the front piece of his hairstyle to slip from its place behind one ear. He then made a good showing of awkwardly manoeuvring his burden into one arm to free a hand to fix it. Strugglingly.

Shen Qingqiu was almost tempted to inform his shidi that there was, in fact, no one nearby to observe these theatrics and this performance was, thusly, quite unnecessary. But that would be showing his steps before time in this little dance of theirs, so he led his shidi into the Bamboo House and shut the door behind them.

And the game was set.

Chapter 14: Stalks; Origin of negativity

Chapter Text

They started out simply enough. Shang Qinghua settled in the main room and laid out his files in neat piles on the low table while Shen Qingqiu prepared tea. Longjing tea- Xihu Zheng Sect’s best, as gifted directly to him from Ming Fan’s family who operated as low-nobility merchants/cultivators for the Sect and sent their second-son third-child to curry better trade relations with Cang Qiong and better prestige for their line than An Ding would afford them.

He placed the tea tray on the table. The dark lacquer painted with brilliant white chrysanthemums- the flowers representative of the wish for the recipient to stay, a long life and a wish for peaceful retirement. The colour of the blooms denoting wisdom and purity, or if one was so inclined, death and treachery.

Exchanging empty pleasantries, the next phase of the dance initiated; to drink the tea. Lifting their cups in synch, Shang Qinghua kept a carefully relaxed pace in tilting the cup, keeping eye contact and waiting for Shen Qingqiu to take first sip before him. To check for poison. Not that Shen Qingqiu had ever done so, or that Shang Qinghua fully expected he would- he didn’t use any silver needles to check after all- it was just a small slight and reminder of the lack of trust between them, a well-executed power play and even mildly amusing, given how long this had been happening.

Completing these steps again as they had before, they lowered their cups and moved to address the papers between them, carefully light, carefully civil. Hands always kept in sight, eyes speaking what their tongues did not.

The paperwork was mildly interesting, and he was certain to find them useful once he went over them again himself once his shidi had left and parsed through all the superfluous characters and waffle his dearest Shang-shidi was equally certain to have bulked the page count up with for Shen Qingqiu’s specific aggravation.

For now, however, he let his shidi’s words flow over him without any particular analysis as he watched his bodily reactions carefully and waited.

His shidi was babbling quite incessantly (another deliberate aggravation against Shen Qingqiu, they both knew), so he took intermittent sips of the perfectly brewed tea with higher quality leaves than Shang Qinghua ever had cause to indulge in in his everyday existence. Prattling on about the fascinating intricacies of group legislation and chattering away on long and involved tangents on anything and everything vaguely related to waste as much time and air as possible before returning to the point… his shidi was speaking a lot, very fast, without too much thought input, so it was only natural for the occasional stutter on long, complicated terms or a slight slur on words with similar vocal notes.

He was reading, so it was natural that his eyes would blink less as he focused and the writing was small in some parts of devolving into barely legible ink scratches in others, so he might need to pause and focus for a moment to make out the notes of one specificity of another.

Shang Qinghua had paused on one section of his notes, blinking slowly for a long, long moment, thin brows creasing slightly and large, rounded lychee eyes widening further still as realisation bloomed-

Shen Qingqiu struck.

His shidi leaned back, recoiled, brought his hands up- to activate a technique or draw a weapon- but the tea had slowed his reactions and numbed his body, so he couldn’t evade the loop of brilliant crimson Immortal Binding Cable Shen Qingqiu threw out from the qiankun space in his sleeve.

And so, a moment later, Shen Qingqiu sat across from a bound and helpless Shang Qinghua, and smiled.

“As riveting as the inner workings of specific delegation and sub-delegation schemes for council functions may be, Shang-shidi, this shixiong of yours feels we may have a topic or two of greater import to discuss between us. Does shidi not agree?”

Shang Qinghua’s expression blanked.

“What did you use?”

Shen Qingqiu drew a fan flourished it, “Tsk, tsk, shidi. Shixiong asked his question first, did he not?” Shang Qinghua’s expression didn’t move at all, so Shen Qingqiu gazed at him a moment with half lidded eyes over the edge of his fan before answering, “Ash-Bloom Asphodel petals. Non-powdered”

His shidi sagged minutely in relief. The petals acted as a non-lethal, mild paralytic whose effect was notably more pronounced in physical cultivators than their spiritual counterparts. Furthermore, while they were the least lethal part of the Ash-Bloom Asphodel (that being the Purgatory Pearls that grew in the centre of each flower, which if touched would pull the soul from the body and hold it in a wraith like state while the roots slowly killed the body), if ingested, by powdering and blending in tea for instance, the recipient would lose all emotion, qi and vitality, fading away until the body died and a grey shade remained. Slowly.

Of course, Shen Qingqiu had the antidote nectar of Elysian Asphodel to hand (had in fact dabbed a touch on the rim of his own cup before he had even served the tea) if the smallest of his physically cultivating martial siblings had a particularly bad reaction to it. He had other poisons he could use instead.

“... What matter did Shen Qingqiu wish to discuss?”

He waved the fan gently, “Where does your loyalty lie Shang Qinghua?”

Two fast blinks. Thoughts flashed behind those earthy eyes, trying to determine which angle would get him out of this situation the most unscathed.

His traitorous shidi was a cunning beast, he would not choose the route of stupidity and spout something like ‘this poor, bullied shidi has no idea what mean, cruel shixiong could possibly be insinuating. At all".

Mercifully, for Shang Qinghua’s un-bleeding flesh, he seemed to catch that particular warning somewhere in Shen Qingqiu’s countenance and chose a neutral answer.

“... What does Shen Qingqiu imagine my loyalties to be?”

Slowly closing the fan, he set in down with a deliberate tick, tick.

Green eyes met brown.

“This Master knows of Shang Qinghua’s operations in the Frozen North, in the Palace employ to the King of the Northern Desert. Of this, this Master has two questions,” he lifted two fingers, folding one when Shang Qinghua’s frozen attention locked onto them. “One; is this service- truthfully- fully willing. Two-" he leaned closer, voice softening to a silky, deadly whisper, “Two; if all the plans and pieces fell apart, if fates and fortunes conspired to set you in a circ*mstance to make the choice, if to fall in with one was to forsake the other, would you, Shang Qinghua, choose them or us.”

Shang Qinghua looked at him. Stared, unblinking, analysing. His head tilted a bit, co*cked to one side.

Shen Qingqiu was distantly reminded that while weasels, stoats or ermines were creatures small and generally overlooked as a threat, regardless they were predators.

They hunted and for once, finally, Shen Qingqiu had the privilege of watching Shang Qinghua’s beast stalk.

Shang Qinghua stared at Shen Qingqiu, mind whirling frantically. He had never anticipated that Shen Qingqiu would go this far- would actively confront him within the Sect, pin him down helpless without means of escape.

Too much, too fast, not enough information. He had to, he had to-

“…And what would Shen Qingqiu do, once I chose?”

Jade blades watched him with intent that seemed almost seductive- like that Giant Mesmeric Python he’d been almost eaten by in the Eastern Jungle; each slow blink was akin to that sway from side to side, his sharp mind like a maw full of long, curved fangs, dripping with hunger.

Fangs that Shen Qingqiu’s slow, patronising smirk put on viscerally threatening display.

“Shidi hasn’t quite grasped the curtesy of answering questions with information as opposed to a counter question, it seems. No matter, this shixiong will indulge his shidi until his mind catches up to the exact nature of this situation.” He did not reach for the fan he always used to shield his expressions. There was no escape of distraction from the finely sculptured lines of his willow leaf eyes framing the rare rich green irises. “If Shang-shidi is tied to the Northern Desert in unwilling, indentured service of some expression, then this Master would offer aid in… escaping his situation by whatever means are most fitting, up to and including the thorough structural dismantling of the Northern Desert seat of power and succession line.”

W-What?!

Dismantle-

Escape his situation-

Shen Qingqiu was offering to help him destroy the entire Northern Demon power base, as decadently bloodily as he liked, in revenge and back him against ridicule for it!

But the madman wasn’t done yet, he was still speaking, what, oh no-

“Whether Shang-shidi says he chooses his Liege or his Sect, the outcome is the same; this Shen Qingqiu will ask him to swear a vow upon his Golden Core that he will not knowingly, deliberately cause harm to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect or any of its inhabitants, through action of his own, arrangement of his making or calculated non-action.” He paused for a moment and sipped the tainted, delicious tea (the only reason he had actually come here in person), peering at him through the hazy curls of steam, “And if he refuses, I’ll kill him.”

Ice crystallised in every single one of his veins and all the way down his spine to his stomach, which felt like it had dropped to about the position of his ankles. The room swayed like the damned hypnosis trap of that despicably huge snake-

His chest burned, he wasn’t breathing- he gulped in a breath and desperately cast about for something so say that wasn’t the hysterical jibbering coming from that one corner of his mind.

“They’d kill you too!” No! DON’T ANTAGONISE A HOSTILE SUPERIOR SHANG QINGUHA. Why would you do that?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?! “If you kill me then they’ll feel it and find out and kill you too, you know your reputation is bad enough that Yue Qingyuan can’t protect you if you do this!”

Shen Qingqiu’s face suddenly got frostier than a pissy Mobei-Jun about to paint his courtroom with blood and entrails. Why did you mention Yue Qingyuan. Even the Heavens themselves can’t save you now (not that they would bother for a demon-colluding traitorous scum)!

“Shang-shidi forgets that this Shen Qingqiu has notoriously weak, unstable cultivation and has just recently suffered a major Qi Deviation. Our own Mu Qingfang would be the first to attest to this.” He leaned in the smallest increment, like a serpent coiling closer and Shang Qinghua was too frozen to move his tender meal-shaped self away, “Does my most cunning shidi truly believe that I couldn’t set one off if I needed to?”

His pounding heartbeat ratchetting up another level like a trapped Golden Lightning Rabbit in the cage of his ribs. His escape routes were rapidly shutting off. Shen Qingqiu could kill him, could get away with killing him. So- so refusal wasn’t an option, could he- maybe he could try to change the terms?

“A vow on my Core though? Shen-shixiong knows that would be felt by our ten other martial siblings! They’ll know and I’ll tell them what you made me swear, you know we can’t lie about Oaths, they’ll know it’s true! I’ll-!”

Could he threaten him? Could he afford to try?!

He had to try. It was his last straw of hope, stupidstupidstupid, because he had thought he could always run away oh-so-easily to Qian Cao in the aftermath and used that as an implicit threat against Shen Qingqiu. But this man wasn’t the same Shen Qingqiu, he wasn’t playing the game. He wasn’t playing any games now. He was going to secure Shang Qinghua’s unbreakable oath of loyalty or kill him, right here, right now, no mercy, no chance to escape.

He sucked in a deep breath, tried to focus his mind into the sharp, crystalline state of ice-cold strategic analysis he so desperately needed right now and prayed to the Heavenly he didn’t trust that this wouldn’t make the person opposite him snap and rip his throat out.

“I’ll tell them you’re paranoid. That the Qi Deviations have worn down your mind and twisted it irreversibly. Then they’ll have to keep you here for tests and very, very close surveillance and you won’t be able to serve as Tactician! The demons Clans are recovering stability from Tianlang-Jun’s subjugation and are starting to expand and enrich their territories, and you know that means raids in the Human Realm and attacks on disciples and minor Sects and Clans and Families allied to us. Some of them will die and they’ll look elsewhere for trade and aid, which will weaken Cang Qiong and Huan Hua Palace is-”

He shut his mouth with a click.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes had not left his once as he leisurely sipped his tea.

Slowly, he set the cup down.

“Huan Hua, hm?” He casually pulled his spirit sword up, sheath and all, and leaned it on his shoulder, long artists fingers tapping distractingly at the hilt. “It is interesting that Shang-shidi brings up Huan Hua Palace Sect, given the things this shixiong intends to share with shidi about Huan Hua Palace, either as knowledge for his own use, or… as a gift of service for his Northern King.”

Shang Qinghua’s mind just. Stops. For a moment.

Shen Qingqiu (if it was Shen Qingqiu. Was he possessed? Had his psyche possibly really genuinely been damaged by all his Deviations over the years?) was saying he was just going to- share intelligence. Free of cost. And. That he would accept and support Shang Qinghua’s connection to the North. Actively helping him curry favour and run operations for the establishment also he’d offered help to completely massacre if Shang Qinghua asked.

He… felt weirdly, terrifyingly, touched. No one had ever really cared that much about his personal wants and ambitions. And certainly no one had ever offered their genuine, complete support- and open for any way he wanted it.

It was… nice.

And it came at the price of his sworn loyalty to the Sect, which. Well, he’d already sworn a superficial oath to when he Ascended to Peak Lord and… if he had an ally like the Bamboo Scholar, Xiu Ya Sword, Qing Jing Tactician-Lord Shen Qingqiu… maybe the Sect would be worth risking his neck for if it came to it. It would be easier than trying to get his disciples to defect to the Frozen North or to have to leave them behind if his treachery was ever to be discovered and irrefutably proven.

Shen Qingqiu was still watching him. Closely.

“So the question remains; Shang Qinghua, will you swear to us?”

And Shang Qinghua thought about it. Carefully. Fully. He thought about how it might inhibit him, how it might assist him. He thought about the Sect and his grumbly, under-appreciated disciples. And the comradery between his Hallmasters at all their perpetually over-worked, sleep-deprived, behind-schedule states. He thought about Mobei-Jun and his precarious position and unknowable life expectancy in the Northern Desert, even after so many years of service already. He thought about Shen Qingqiu, who was offering more than anyone bar his Shizun had (and even more, because Shang Qinghua never really forgot that he was only paid attention to for surviving what he shouldn’t have, not for his own self. That ultimately, Zhou Qiongchaohad needed a successor and thought he’d do). His er-shixiong Shen Qingqiu who also had his hand firmly wrapped around Xiu Ya’s hilt.

It wasn’t really a choice.

But it was one whose outcome he didn’t completely despise and wholly resent.

He swallowed, throat suddenly thick and dry. Shang Qinghua straightened as much as he could still bound, lifted his chin and spoke.

“I, Immortal Shang Qinghua, affirmed Peak Lord of An Ding Peak, Fourth Seniority of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, do hereby swear Vow and take Oath upon my Golden Core that I, by knowing action or deliberate inaction, shall not cause nor arrange harm to befall the Sect of my dominion or its inhabitants in such a way that conflicts with my Oath to my station and-” his eyes found Shen Qingqiu’s through the glowing bands of golden qi circulating around him directly from his Core of Immortality, “…and, the trust placed in me by my martial kinsmen Shen Qingqiu to take this for truth.” And not just kill me and have done with it. “So I swear upon my Golden Core to shatter and my soul to tear asunder if I, Shang Qinghua, betray this my solemn word.”

The bands condensed and wrapped tight around his body, across his skin, before bypassing the limitation of his mortal form and binding intrinsically to his Core, settling not as a chain but like a warm layer of insulation bolstering the connection between his body, qi and soul.

He opened his eyes and saw Shen Qingqiu’s closed for a moment, the sheer relief in his uncontrolled, open expression shocking and completely unexpected for the smug, superior master strategist.

Then it was hidden away and he rose to release the Binding Cables. Then, he prepared a fresh pot of tea and handed Shang Qinghua a vial of Elysian Asphodel nectar, which as spirit plants go would bolster Shang Qinghua’s cultivation a comparably middling, but still very, very nice degree while curing the effects of its cousin’s poison. An unnecessary perk and a surprisingly nice gesture from his shixiong- there were many cheaper, more common plants and essences that would near enough accomplish the same thing. Though using the nectar would completely erase all trace of the mild Ash-Bloom poisoning, so maybe Shen Qingqiu was also just being pragmatic, Shang Qinghua didn’t really mind- efficiency was almost synonymous with his Peak’s purpose after all.

His shixiong set out a new tea set (white with persimmons and tangerines painted in oranges and yellows and a warm looking glaze, he’d be very happy to see this sort of symbolism if he was meeting with a trade associate as together, they indicated a wish for success in all things. He’d never seen a set of Shen Qingqiu’s that wasn’t painted with a death threat), with accompaniments! Shixiong never gave him accompaniments! He was served Zhejiang black tea with a plate of nutty Five-kernel mooncakes (and tailored to his preferences as well. A stronger tea anyone could probably guess given his workload, but Shang Qinghua would not wager his spirit stones on any other of their martial siblings being aware of his snack preferences except maybe Kai Qingmei who obviously paid the most attention to food and Xia Qingfeng who could probably smell it on him).

Then Shen Qingqiu. Bowed. To him.

“This Shen Qingqiu offers his thanks to Shang Qinghua for what he has done here today and what he will fo in the future. You have my gratitude.”

Fortunately, he was saved from responding to… that by Mu Qingfang arriving.

Shen Qingqiu sighed and relaxed back into his bed, exhausted. It was still padded with some of the more comfortable cushions and throws from his treasure-stash, chiefly because his body had once again been spoiled by Mu Qingfang’s opinion on bedding suitable for post-Deviation recovery and it was proving more difficult than usual to sleeping without the comfort.

A crooked smile curled around his lips; he’d gained a powerful ally for the Sect today, one that would serve it well and fulfil Shen Qingqiu’s duties adequately when he was gone.

The Healer Lord fluttered about them for a great deal too long, one he had ascertained that his shixiongs were both hale and not in fact dying nor anticipating duelling to the death, until Shang Qinghua had spoken up about his ‘personal vow’ that he felt he ‘needed to make’, twisting how the compulsory truth (the truth enforced by the Oath when speaking about it) was perceived, quite masterfully.

Additionally, showing Shen Qingqiu that Shang Qinghua would not try to undermine his position or sabotage him, at least until he received his information.

They had both watched as Mu Qingfang visibly softened at the words and accompanying words implying a link to Shang Qinghua’s bond with Shen Qingqiu and also their generational ‘family’ overall.

Then he was finally gone and Shen Qingqiu took a sip of tea and got started. There was a lot of information to cover, after all, and so little time.

Chapter 15: Stalks; Origin of unity

Chapter Text

Chai Qingshi and Mu Qingfang sat together at the low table on the Ku Xing Lord’s veranda, discussing the latest iteration of the healer’s newest medicinal invention and most recent major project. The Qian Cao Lord had sought both Chai Qingshi and their Zui Xian brother Kai Qingmei for consultation on this particular formula and it had been a request they had both welcomed; they had been close as disciples, the three of them, but had drifted apart in the years since their Ascension as duties to their Peaks consumed their time and attention. It was a pleasant reminiscence of those simpler times and served to reconnect them, to replenish their idled bonds.

With the additional benefit of luring Mu-shixiong out of the Qian Cao Healing Halls, gardens, greenhouses and alchemy labs, Kai-shidi from the kitchens, kitchen gardens and breweries and himself from the pitfall of isolation from the physical world so common in Ku Xing cultivators, becoming too lost in the flows of Higher Energies to engage in the world of the present. He had not realised himself how secluded he had become, how withdrawn from the Sect in presence, before the last few months of regular visitations and social interaction with the Peak Masters had figuratively opened eyes with contrast.

Chai Qingshi folded his hands into his sleeves and contemplated the Healer Lord for a moment.

Mu Qingfang, the Healer of Fragrant Tinctures .

A peaceful soul in shades of tranquil blue, absorbing disturbance with minor ripples. The balance of yin and yang naturally gathered in his throat chakra gave his words a reasonable quality, often subliminally soothing, thus perhaps the most Blessed Virtue by a Healer’s judgement.

He was one who did not nurture flames of hate and violence when his temper rose to spark temptation. An accomplished immortal cultivator who had found acceptance in himself of past pains and looked to helping bring about a brighter future for those around him.

He was a credit to the karmic flows of the Sect, and he was suffering because of the darkest blight of the Sect, Shen Qingqiu.

Not that Mu Qingfang had shared that information with his shidi and the immortal constitution hid most of the traditional signs, but that glittering, frenetic light only appeared when he was overtired and hyper focused on his concoctions and experiments.

He had come to Ku Xing to discuss treatment for meridian damage. Specifically, delicate, scarred, violently stressed meridians warped out of shape and threatening full Misalignment. No such medicine or treatment technique existed, or at least, none to heal damage to that extent.

Mu Qingfang was no skilful liar and Chai Qingshi no fool.

He let out a soft sigh and returned his attention to the task at hand.

With all the turbulence of the karmic flows surrounding Qing Jing in recent times, it was necessary to be vigilant and pre-emptive with Shen Qingqiu’s health.

If he died of whatever calibre of Qi Deviation his resentments were forever sowing... it was unknowable what the repercussions would be, on both a Sect-wide scale and individual basis, especially those most touched by his aura like the Qing Jing disciples and Zhangmen-shixiong. Best not to tempt Fate.

Shen Qingqiu was going over some menial Peak administration work in his Bamboo House, taking advantage of the natural light before the autumnal evening darkness necessitated night pearls to get anything done, while aggressively distracting his attention from the letter he had received from Yue Qingyuan.

Shen Qingqiu did not have time to agonise over whatever subtle meanings there might be to the abrupt change in communication handling since his latest Qi Deviation. Xia Qingfeng had been convinced to assign one of her highly trained spirit eagles, coveted across the Cultivation World, as a glorified carried pigeon between himself and the Sect Leader? Min Qingbao was tasked with devising a more convenient communication method to circumvent meeting face to face or having disciples constantly running missives between the First and Second Peaks? What matter is it to Shen Qingqiu? If the Sect Leader could not tolerate his presence long enough to conduct the communications necessary between Sect Strategist and Sect Leader and thereby cease this foolish tedium, then so be it.

He had a Peak to run.

A key aspect of which was training his current junior disciples into able strategists- though with the state of their work when assigned analysis of strategy and tactics in just a few historical battles, the bleak insight into the long, winding road ahead to achieve such was giving him quite a sharp and persistent headache, faced with the nigh-hopeless work ahead.

Worse- the baby imbeciles were not his only ones in need of training.

His senior disciples had all found their own specific path of study to pursue further and had long since drifted from his immediate purview and into independence. Since they had aged out of attendance for the Immortal Alliance Conference, he had no cause to keep track of their skills and was now unfamiliar with the skills and capabilities of the most skilled disciple set on the Peak. However, if the Hallmasters continued to be disagreeable it would be the senior disciples responsible for upholding the competency of the Peak and wider Sect in Shen Qingqiu’s absence, thus he needed to ensure they were performing to his standards, if he ran out of time to train his juniors.

He finished replying to the latest inane piece of correspondence and prepared some more ink to finish the rest, staring for a moment into the perfect, liquid darkness, as unfathomable as the future.

There were so many things to do and an unknowable time limit creeping ever closer.

The Twelve Peaks Tournament at midwinter would give a good measure of how far his disciples had progressed- or not- and the state of the Sect forces in general... then, come the spring, he would select new disciples. Regardless of spiritual talent, he would have at least three, so as to establish the new system of training and education on the Peak and distil it in the rising generations, those that would soon enough bear the weight of Qing Jing’s responsibilities within the Sect and wider Cultivation World.

His current schedule had settled somewhat, with just over half of the Qing Jing Hallmasters accepting his alterations to the curriculum wholesale, the rest adapting their teachings slowly and with resentment. Only three, led by Yun Baolan (former demon instructor) had outright refused to conform with the changes and had been summarily dismissed from teaching, though welcomed to remain as senior cultivators. Shan Xinai alone had accepted, but the loss of her sharp mind in strategy and weiqi instruction was unfortunate and furthermore disappointing to see her fall from following a bigoted fossil like Yun Baolan, now fled to parts unknown with a qi techniques instructor Han Chaoxiang

With Shang Qinghua’s assistance, a functional Hallmaster Council would soon be reinstated on Qing Jing, which would be a sizable relief. Shouldering so many direct teaching hours while reviewing the Hallmasters and reworking the Qing Jing curriculum, on top of his apparently overinflated workload as Peak Lord... it was certainly wearing at him.

Even now, he could feel the difference the assistance made.

With the approach of the Mid-Autumn Festival had seen a flood of disciples petitioning for leave to visit their homes and families, but the sea of forms and correspondence for permissions and provisions was made manageable by the workload alleviation from An Ding's quarter; a reduction of ‘necessary' forms by over a third by Shen Qingqiu’s initial estimation.

The other Peak Lords may consider Shang Qinghua little more than a cowardly servile after-thought, but the Logistics Peak had been ranked fourth in seniority upon Cang Qiong’s founding for good reason; its Lord was not an enemy to be made lightly, nor an ally easily forsaken.

A distinctive rapid tap-tap-tap sounded at the front door. Shang Qinghua, as if summoned.

Shen Qingqiu let him in and prepared a strong blend of black tea, providing a silver needle alongside the dish of water chestnut cake accompaniment. Given that Shen Qingqiu had thoroughly dispelled the illusion of his integrity as a host and poisoned his guest’s tea last time, providing Shang Qinghua means to check outright was both as close as an apology as the weasel was ever going to get and an implicit promise against taking offense at future distrust of any sustenance Shen Qingqiu served.

A small but speaking gesture to his sworn-loyal shidi.

Equally pointedly, Shang Qinghua skipped his gaze over the needles the needle entirely and took a sip of tea directly. How unexpected. Either Shang Qinghua had decided to trust him or he was pretending to as challenge to Shen Qingqiu’s worthiness of trust. It didn’t truly matter- Shang Qinghua would be drugged if the tea was tainted.

They exchanged pleasantries, following the familiar rhythm of their subtle duels though a new undercurrent of wariness and amusem*nt in Shang Qinghua’s tone and manner gave an odd... warmth to the interaction. When they moved on from paperwork and Sect gossip, his cunning co-conspirator leaned his chin on one hand and asked, with sharpness to his brown eyes and a half-fake easy grin, “Shixiong must enlighten this shidi; what prompted Shen-shixiong to take such sudden and drastic actions? What does shixiong know that is driving all this change?”

Shen Qingqiu gave his shidi a long, levelled look, the solemn weight of it shifting the atmosphere within the Bamboo House.

An odd, humourless smile curved his shixiong’s lips, serpentine eyes dark and steady. “Shang Qinghua know this one’s propensity towards Qi Deviation and the more serious episode that occurred recently.”

He let silence sprawl between them as they both recalled the last time they had a similar conversation- with Shang Qinghua poisoned, bound and blackmailed into loyalty. This was a serious serious thing then, great. Not just Shen Qingqiu gaining a crucial piece of information to set some plans in motion, or just snapping and acting on a frustrated impulse. Fantastic. And now Shang Qinghua had poked the sleeping snake with a sword and was going to be bitten or dragged deeper into its coils. Whether either of those were good or bad options was completely unknowable with the Strategist.

But if it had to do with his Qi Deviations... An Ding was the Sect information central, both for business and gossip. Shang Qinghua always heard when Shen Qingqiu had a Deviation. Less frequently recently though. Since the last major one and his time in seclusion, he’d only had one or two minor incidents over the span of months- practically a personal record! The major one had been bad though, it had been increasingly clear just how bad it had been through the change in Mu Qingfang since. How often he was seen going to other Peaks, how often he was seen going to Qing Jing.

A hollow pit started to form in Shang Qinghua’s stomach, the delicious tea and snacks suddenly not sitting quite rightly.

Jaded green eyes watched him knowingly.

“This Shen Qingqiu has been enlightened as to the reality of his mortality. There is no longer an immortal’s infinity stretching out into the future. Time, this master has come to understand, is limited, therefore procedures must be put in place for eventualities that would otherwise have been left to address as the issues became actively problematic.” He leaned back, still unblinking, “That is why this master has been making such... sudden and drastic changes, as shidi so put.”

Shang Qinghua wet his lips, “...This shidi thought Mu Qingfang was administering treatment...?” he put out tentatively. It didn’t quite feel real. Shen Qingqiu had always had Qi Deviations! Sure, everyone knew that Qi Deviations were dangerous, but with Shen Qingqiu, they happened so frequently it had just... stopped feeling like it. It was just another part of him and a reason for periodical delays in the paperwork from Qing Jing, maybe an opportunity for Shang Qinghua to do some sneaking unobserved in times past.

Shen Qingqiu had apparently never forgotten and believed he would die from one. Soon . It felt like the world had tilted a bit and now everything was just slightly wrong.

“Can- may this Shang Qinghua check Shen-shixiong's meridian?” Green eyes turned darkened and hardened into flinty blades and lips pulled back from fangs preparing to spit venom, but before he could speak Shang Qinghua said quietly, “This one took an oath.” The scholar paused, then snorted contemptuously.

But he did present his wrist, flourishing it like a challenge. Shang Qinghua took it in the standard grip and fed some of his qi into Shen Qingqiu’s system, letting it get swept along with the natural circulation of qi to get a feel for just how bad the scholar’s meridian system was.

( It was bad. Very bad. Cracks in his meridians, warping in his spirit vein alignment, layered scars from repeat Deviations. He had to suppress a wince just looking at the damage. It looked like it hurt . And this was the state of them after months of personal treatment by the most skilled healer of the Cultivation World. )

He hesitated, then started channelling a small, steady stream of qi, moving it around in a light meridian cleanse, carefully circulating his yin wood qi to promote Shen Qingqiu’s yin fire without weakening his yin water too much.

After a while he was shoved off and sent away with a reminder to discuss any proposals he wanted to put forth at the Mid-Autumn Peak Lord Meeting with Shen Qingqiu ahead of time so he could adjust the wording and back him in making them heard and not just immediately dismissed because it was the An Ding Lord speaking.

He walked away with a lingering disquiet. As he reached the Rainbow Bridge, he paused and looked at it- really looked. It may have been Ku Xing and Fa Bao that created the arrays and wards around it and the Sect, but like with everything else, it ended up unofficially An Ding’s duty to perform checks and report areas needing maintenance. It had been a very long while since he last checked the Bridge anchors and Sect perimeter wards... and with Shen-shixiong vulnerable, it was just better to be sure the defences of their stronghold were as impervious as possible. At least until he had recovered a bit.

Mind made, Shang Qinghua materialised his sword and stepped onto the dark blade of his Hei He.

His paperwork could wait.

From beneath his veil, Li Qingrong watched disciples of Qing Jing gathered in a sandy courtyard and their Peak Lord stood at the far side. The juniors were gathered here while the seniors were taken to another area, but every Qing Jing disciple was learning how to manipulate water, earth, fire and air to some small degree at Shen-shixiong's command of them and request of Jing Shen.

Shen Qingqiu had never before asked any favour of Li Qingrong nor his Peak, thus he had requested two masters of each natural force to accompany him to Qing Jing and provide the best instruction possible. His eyes slid over to the quiet figure of Hallmaster Long, one of his Peak’s youngest but among the most skilled after his uncle, senior Hallmaster Long Iroh. He was demonstrating a move sequence to the bouncy Baoding girl with the hair ribbons, whose eyes held far more predatory intensity than the doe-like naivety he recalled as she watched every subtle shift of stance, then moved to replicate the fire suppression kata, near-flawlessly.

It had been an explicit request in the letter the Second Lord sent, to teach every disciple fire smothering and redirection among whatever else Jing Shen determined valuable skills of their Peak. In return, the bamboo scholars would teach his cultivators some basic calming techniques in musical cultivation amongst some other jealously guarded skills.

There shift in the undercurrents of the air. A brief zephyr of summer’s heat and winter’s chill. Prowling. Writhing. A discordant note jarring his awareness, abruptly strangled into silence.

His gaze flew around the clearing, searching, catching on the flash of pale spring green robes disappearing into the bamboo forest. Suppressing his own presence to avoid the disciple’s notice, Li Qingrong moved with haste and silence to follow. He wove between the tall bamboo, then alighted upon his Lan Long and into the air as the white gleam of Xiu Ya slipped into the clouds like lightning.

The Qing Jing scenery flashed beneath him, swathes of stately bamboo giving way to deciduous forest, his qi-charged eyes searching for any hint of his shixiong.

A flash of white – the season was too mild yet for snow- it could only be one thing. He dived.

Shen Qingqiu lay draped across a thick branch of a mighty oak like a forest fairy in slumber, but his unconsciousness was not a peaceful slumber. He was shivering, head thrashing side to side, gasping breaths like sobs, face flushed and beading sweat as waves of qi rolled off him, flaring with searing red heat and crackling blue ice. Hisouter robe was shredded, reduced to leaf green rags caught in his belt as if he had tried to rip off his Qing Jing colours specifically.

He grasped his shixiong’s hand and sent a pulse of qi into ravaged landscape of Shen Qingqiu’s meridians.

Yin earth brushed pure yin fire and water. The spiritual sounds struckhim struck him like a physical assault.

Flinching violently against the horrific cacophony of dicordant notes through the connection of their qi, he blinked back the dark shadows invading his vision, his own qi roiling in distress, in effort to escape. Shen Qingqiu broke in to hacking wet coughs, chocked , blood splattering on snow white robes, so he swallowed down the acrid bile rising and forced through the music screaming, rolling his shixiong on his side to breathe unhindered and reached to set off analarm flare, to yank atthe bonds between Cang Qiong Lords, to get help-

A clear silver sword song rang through the air, a familiar, righteous sound. A figure dressed in storm blue and white landed in the branch beside them and knelt, hands pressing to Shen Qingqiu’s back glowing with dense qi like crashing lightning and roaring thunder.

Liu Qingge had arrived.

Chapter 16: Stalks; Origin of strength

Chapter Text

The pale sun sat high in the sky, three days before the equinox and associated festival. A chill wind whistled across the Tian Gong mountain range, rustling leaves painted like captured flame everywhere not protected by biome bubble ward arrays.

The air was crisp and cool, but considerably more heated within the main Meeting Chamber of Qiong Ding.

A cup slammed down against the table. “Let’s see just how your disciples perform against my girls in the Tournament!”

White teeth bared in gleeful challenge. “Ha! All that perfume has muddled your senses Qingqi, even without new leathers my pups would tear through your pretty little flower patches before they even noticed them. Mu-shixiong? This shimei requests Qi-shijie have her health checked, she is suffering from severe confusion and delusions!” Calling over to the Healer, Xia Qingfeng pouted as she was summarily ignored in favour of his conversation with Kai Qingmei, who at least pared her a glance, though his russet eyes curved with mirth like crescent moons.

The violet Peak Lord also saw this and sniffed haughtily. “My flowers will bloom tall and proud above a wasteland of orange bodies at their feet, Qingfeng. Don’t bother Mu-shixiong just because the truth wounds you.”

“Shixiongs! It has been so long!” Kai Qingmei grinned, throwing an arm around Mu Qingfang’s shoulders and half-bowing to Chai Qingshi in greeting, receiving a serene nod, with a curl of amusem*nt in the monk’s smile.

Mu Qingfang sighed with a fond exasperation, “We have been meeting with more frequency recently than we have since we Ascended, Kai-shidi. I saw you two days ago.”

The Zui Xian Lord laughed and gave the Healer with a slap on the back. “For work A-Feng! Work! It has been so long, this one this one fears his shixiongs have forgotten their meimei...”

“Your presence is not one easily lost in the obscuring fogs of memory.”

Kai Qingmei eyes curved in happy crescents and he reached into his berry red robes, withdrawing a small red pouch embroidered with the falling rain droplets insignia of Zui Xian Peak. “Thanking A-Shi for his kindness. As a token of gratitude, this one presents a humble tribute” he bowed with perfect sincerity and passed over the qiankun pouch of small snack foods tailored to the fresh, clean tastes of the Eighth Lord. Vegetarian, with minimal greasy oil, salt or strong spices.

He turned to Mu Qingfang. “What about Mu-shixiong?” He wheedled, bringing his shoulders up and tilting his head like a shy junior eager for his adored shixiong’s approval, regardless of the fact that Kai Qingmei was of a height with Mu Qingfang and more than twice his weight in pure muscle mass. He fluttered his eyelashes, facial hair quivering about the lip with suppressed hilarity.

“Hm... this Mu Qingfang might recall a shidi by a similar name, long ago... scent quite is closely related to memory... perhaps if this Healer had something refresh his recall by...”

Kai Qingmei gasped, “Only remembered for his food! Oh, this shidi sees how it is.” He passed over the pouch prepared for the Fifth Lord, the array of snack foods within heavy on the meats, noodles and herbs for seasoning. “This one could wish no finer legacy.”

Looking at the qiankun pouch for a long moment, Mu Qingfang affected an air of sudden startlement, “Qingmei! When did you arrive, my friend? I was just speaking with this fellow with the most excessive facial hair-”

“A-Feng is just jealous that the best he could manage was that whiskery brushstroke of a moustache. This Lord’s fur is perfectly well managed, it is not as if this Qingmei will be competing with Wei-shixiong, though this one understands his shixiong’s envy, it I only natural when confronted with such thick, luxurious, attractive-” he broke off with a squark, Chai Qingshi’s calloused hand landing on his head with a thump and resting there a moment in warning.

“Perhaps Kai-shidi would come to Qian Cao in the next few days, let this Qingfang vent some of his feelings in a friendly spar.” He smiled, hands drifting towards his sleeve, where he kept his needles. “An opportunity to spend time together, just like we used to.” The Brewery Lord, who curiously could now vividly recall the specific ache of healing needle wounds and blocked acupoints from their disciplehood spars, hung his head in resignation. “Alright, but we’ll relocate to my Peak afterwards! With the Mid-Autumn Festival so near, my Peak is overflowing with produce. This Qingmei could use his shixiong’s opinion on some of these excess treats and practice products.”

Wei Qingwei looked down at his beautiful wife and wrapped a comforting arm around her trim waist, shielding her from view of their fellow Peak Lords while she reapplied a strong white tiger balm at her temples and across her smooth, moon-pale forehead. He knew from her grumbling mutters that it was both to treat her current headache from crafting the layered intricacies of paired communication boxes requested by the Xuan Su Sword, Zhangmen-shixiong, and a pre-emptive application for the migraine that would most definitely form from this Meeting.

Li Qingrong, silently drifted past, also smelling strongly of white tiger balm and inclined his head in greeting and sympathy. The Lan Long Sword. An interesting sword, a zhanmadao, the largest base form sword among their generation. When they Ascended and Li Qingrong had a god’s reserves to manifest his sword’s full potential, what mortal soldiers use as an anti-cavalry blade would be able to cleave mountain, cut ravines and split oceans. The Mist Dragon may even one day be able to cut qi into the air to form a construct reflective of it name...

The Blade Master sighed a breath through his nose. One day...

When their generation Ascended, he first thing they were going to do, after whatever initiations and introductions the Heavens, the previous generation Qiong Lords and Zhangmen-shixiong felt necessary were done, Wei Qingwei was going to make them bring their blades to full bear, unsheathe their final evolution, manifest their full potential... he sighed with wistful longing.

Min Qingbao gave him a knowing look, “Qinai” she said, sweet voice lilting with find exasperation and mild admonishment.

“Baobei” he rumbled in acknowledgement. No daydreaming about their generation’s blades future magnificence- they would Ascend soon enough, unless he didn’t attend to things in the present because his attention was lost in the clouds looking for the stars in daylight. His beloved treasure was, of course, correct, as she was in most things.

He had successfully distracted her from her headache at least.

“They’s going to be so many complaints from this. So many.” The An Ding Lord’s eyes darted between clusters of martial siblings as he scurried between them towards the central table, Shen Qingqiu at his side weaving with much more elegance, like a swan gliding around reeds.

His shixiong hissed quietly (just like those great feathered menaces that viciously chase Shang Qinghua away from water sources when he dares to get thirty on the road and his water ewer gets lost or damaged or empty... looking all calm and refined when really they’re just waiting to come at you and break some bones...), narrow green eye glinting with malicious anticipation of launching an attack.

“Shang-shidi should be assured that this Master will ensure efficiency from our martial siblings. The security of Sect defences and the integrity of the Rainbow Bridge are not matters that permit any less than the highest standard of... engagement in the work of its maintenance.” The words flowed like cool silk and raised gooseflesh on the back of Shang Qinghua’s neck, he automatically hunched over his bundle of papers, scrolls and reference items hugged to his chest and ducked his head in feigned fear and submission.

He shook himself and snorted. Ingrained habits were hard to break huh. Even though he knew Shen Qingqiu wasn’t threatening him and he had nothing to fear from the man now anyways. They were allies. “As long as I don’t have to keep nagging people on coordinating service schedules and substance delivery deadlines, it’ll be great. Hah, a bonding activity for our generation.” He snickered and was gratified to hear definite amused huff from behind the blue lotus flowers painted on a raised fan.

They reached the table and took their seats, Shen Qingqiu as usual refusing to acknowledge Yue Qingyuan’s existence... but noticeably not receiving a line attempting conversation from the Sect Leader. The Qing Jing Lord’s eyebrows furrowed more harshly and ignored his neighbour with an icy intensely in vengeance. It looked like he wanted to hiss at him.

Shang Qinghua switched his attention to arranging his resources and setting up transcript paper and writing equipment for his notes... and trying not to notice the increasingly audibly irritated pointed tapping of a fingernail against a fan’s wooden guard, lacquered to a dagger’s gleam.

A cue for the Sect Leader to announce the start of the meeting, or a warning that if he didn’t do so soon, Shen Qingqiu was going to do it for him, which bred hostility in the group from the offset.

...this was going to be a loud meeting...

Liu Qingge leaned against the least occupied wall of the Meeting Hall and deliberately stared at the rug stretched out underneath the table and all the Peak Lord’s seats to prevent himself staring directly at Shen Qingqiu. It would make him feel hunted.

His hand clenched at his side. Oddly empty.

He had kept Chang Luan sheathed within his soul instead of at his side like usual, so he couldn’t rest his hand on its familiar hilt. Couldn’t use the perfect fit of spiritual steel grooves to his palm to ground himself.

But better that than showing up visibly armed with a sword that drew blood from Shen Qingqiu in the Caves.

They still hadn’t... talked. Or interacted at all really. When Liu Qingge had gone flying over the Peak to find Shen Qingqiu when he hadn’t been in his house, he’d found him with Li Qingrong, up a tree, Qi Deviating.

By the way he had been swaying and the feel of his qi in Shen Qingqiu’s meridians, Li Qingrong had been close to Qi Deviation too, so Liu Qingge sent him to go get Mu Qingfang, away from the qi disturbance kicked up in the air by Shen Qingqiu.

Then he had focused to do what Shen Qingqiu must have done for him in the Ling Xi Caves.

Except he didn’t have two qi affinities to have to manage separately. He could just transfer a low amount of qi into Shen Qingqiu’s system and have the scholar’s fire vaporise some of the metal element in it while his water rusted the rest, both more attracted to his yang than attacking the other yin element, so he could drain most of the chaotic excess energy of Qi Deviation out easily.

Then, Liu Qingge had widened the transfer stream and moved it to cycle in Shen Qingqiu’s meridians to set up an interaction of his metal strengthening Shen Qingqiu’s water but being controlled by the fire. Buffering instead of being destroyed. Stabilising. Defending the scholars spirit veins from damage. Protecting.

Mu Qingfang had arrived not long after and had had Liu Qingge bring Shen Qingqiu to his Bamboo House. He’d been checked over with a brief qi pulse at his wrist, supervised in stabilising Shen Qingqiu as much a his reserves would allow and then sent off with strict order not to spar with Shen Qingqiu until Mu Qingfang cleared it.

Shen Qingqiu had started tapping on the table.

Liu Qingge crossed his arms and scowled harder at the floor. He would not stare at Shen Qingqiu.

Even if he itched to check if his eyes were bloodshot- high emotional stress left over from or leading up to Deviation, or if his eyebrows had that tension line between them- a sign Liu Qingge usually took as Shen Qingqiu needed distracting from his problems and could work out some frustration in a spar (those were also the best spars, because Shen Qingqiu was usually too focused on trying to beat him up directly to use dirty tricks and try to get a blade in Liu Qingge’s kidney or something).

But they were not allowed to spar.

If Shen Qingqiu saw Liu Qingge watching him he would get angry and they would fight and probably physically fight after the meeting. Or worse, they wouldn’t.

Shen Qingqiu would be too afraid to fight him, verbally or physically, and Liu Qingge would have an even harder challenge of trying to fix it.

“The only thing hurt is Qi-shijie’s ability to separate reality from the fiction her Peak spends all their time writing. Maybe Qingqi should step outside more? It wouldn’t do for shijie to grow soft with all those sweets and lounging around reading...”

“Why not come closer, Feng-er, and let this Lord show you just how in shape I am-”

“If all Lords are present, perhaps the Meeting could commence.”

His voice cut through conversation like the crack of a whip, Green, willow leaf eyes swept around the room like a cold breeze. The Peak Lords of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect settled into their seats at the round table like scolded children, some shooting looks to their Sect Leader, who just gazed back with soulful dark eyes like a disappointed hound, or a beleaguered parent.

The meeting commenced.

It began with the standard, routine reports. The general state of whichever Peak, exemplary achievements, notable development and the overall progress of disciples, all discussed in civil tones, moving around the table by order of Peak Seniority. As it was Autumn, the Peaks with orchards or crop fields gave an overview of the state of their harvests.

Then came the discussion of concerns. Rumours or reports of unusual creatures/ happenings/ demon movements. Tensions among mortals or minor Clans and Sects. Deficiencies on a Lord’s own Peak and a follow up petition for funding from Yue Qingyuan, directed at Shang Qinghua.

At this point, the structure of hierarchy-based turns dissolved and the petitions and criticisms were volleyed back and forth, the veneer of professional Sect Master and reigning Lords shattered by the sheer animosity polluting the air of the meeting hall.

Shen Qingqiu had remained largely silent, delivering reports and information as required, but refraining from his typical inflammatory commentary on other Peaks, information and budget demands. He was silent, eyes sharp and attentive over the idly fluttering edge of his painted fan. Shang Qinghua kept his eyes on his papers amidst every pointed mention of supplies a Peak Lord decided they needed an increase in budget for, shuffling through forms and scribbling notes to look busy and not just avoidant. His brown eyes occasionally flickered up to Shen Qingqiu, but the scholar merely blinked placidly in response, until his fan tilted slightly and drifted over to subtly rest on his right cheek for a moment.

The fan language equivalent of a whisper, but Shang Qinghua had been waiting too.

Yes.

He slowly sat up straight, easing out a sigh. Time to drop the news, apparently.

Avoiding eye contact with the room at large, Shang Qinghua turned to address the Sect Leader, bobbing a bit in pre-emptive apology. “Ah. This shidi regrets to inform that there will not be any excess funds from the profit margin to, hm, redistribute among the Peaks. All budget proposals will be significantly... delayed. Mmhm. Until funds are no longer diverted.”

Calm dark eyes were still with blank incomprehension. Yue Qingyuan had no idea what Shang Qinghua was referencing. His noble brows drew together a bit in concern- or maybe curiosity.

The other supposedly adult Lords of their generation started flapping and sqwarking, but were quickly settled by Yue Qingyuan’s quieting palm raise.

“Could Shang-shidi please explain his reasoning?”

Internally Shang Qinghua seethed. He had sent a missive! He had tried to arrange an appointment! But nooo it was so close to the Meeting, surely he could wait share his concerns over the budget then? The Sect Leader was very busy! Too busy apparently, to read the paperwork on his damned desk!

Urgh. If Mobei-Jun had been a more reliable option, Shang Qinghua would have left the Sect a long time before Shen Qingqiu ever got the chance to snare his loyalty.

Without a single backwards glance!

(A lie. He liked his grumbly disciples and Hallmaster. From the dullest workforce labourers like humanoid oxen, to the most sleep deprived, hypercompetent monsters cutting through finance reports with godlike efficiency and gleeful manic savagery.)

Urgh.

His eye twitched.

He snapped his head down towards his papers and busily ruffled and shuffled them to hide his weak smile spreading wider and showing more teeth than anyone but Shen Qingqiu would feel warranted. “This Shang Qinghua recently noticed signs of structural weakness within the Rainbow Bridge, so checked the anchorage points and found instability there too” He spoke quickly to get the words out before the cackle bubbling with anticipation in his belly escaped. “The cost of the repair materials will require every coin of the Sect profit excess and some of the saved stores... as well as the involvement of all Peaks until maintenance is finished.”

He bowed low in place, cheeks aching from the stretch of his grin, “This shidi humbly requests the aid of his more skilled martial siblings on this project, for faster completion.” He kept his face hidden, trying to bring his expression under control. He could feel the burning eyes of his fellow Lords bouncing off his skull and shoulders and it tickled.

A familiar snap of a closing fan pulled the weight of attention off him. Shen Qingqiu spoke, voice cool with disapproval, “Well, Sect Leader?” Any moment now...

He could hear the Sect Leader’s pleading eyes and regretfulinhale.

“Don’t be so arrogant, Shen Qingqiu” another voice cut in. Qi Qingqi, their perfect unknowing accomplice, right on time, “We are all martial siblings and it is our duty to aid one another, especially for the responsibilityof Peak Lords to maintain the Bridge between us.” Shang Qinghua could picture exactly how she looked right now, chin raising, head tilted slightly back and cherry dark lips pursing just a bit before she delivered a follow up barb, “Though some may feel like such expected things are beneath them, just like the expectation of honourably decorum in a Peak Lord both within and outside the Sect.”

Shang Qinghua relaxed with relief, smoothing out his grin with a smaller smile of relief and gratitude, both of which were genuine, though not for the reasons his Sect-mates probably thought.

Sure enough, the tide of opinion had been shifted against Shen Qingqiu and his inferred position of less/no Peak Lord direct involvement. Though there were some small protests of other time-consuming commitments within specific Peaks, a preliminary schedule was rapidly laid out for Min Qingbao andChai Qingshi to make a full assessment and report back the damages and another meeting was arranged with full attendance required to determine their next steps. The date set and everything!

Better yet, with the new focus, none of the Peak Lords had brought up their budget proposals again, leaving Shang Qinghua with far less work to do in amendments once he got back to An Ding than he usually did after a Meeting!

Soon enough, Yue Qingyuan concluded the meeting and released them, some Lords exiting the Hallfaster than others.

Shang Qinghua lingered a bit, waiting to catch Shen Qingqiu’s eye and subtly ask about a secondary meeting in the Bamboo House to discuss thingsover tea and snacks. Surprisingly, he emerged from the Hall beside Qi Qingqi, who was apparently in conversation with him.

“This Lord hopes to see Qing Jing’s disciple present in the restoration effort, as their position of second Seniority within the Sect.” Qi Qingqi purred, prowling beside the Qing Jing Lord like a Resplendent Amethyst Star Stalker.

Shen Qingqiu inclined his head gracefully, “Qi-shimei’s concern is noted, he may rest assured that this shixiong will not leave his shidi and shimei without guidance.”

Her dark eye flashed. “Then this Lord shall call upon Qing Jing two days hence to discuss a matter and seek... guidance.”

Shen Qingqiu accepted graciously and they parted, Qi Qingqi on her sword and Shen Qingqiu on foot, with a speaking glance for Shang Qinghua to accompany him. Which he did, with a spring in his step.

Chapter 17: Stalks; Origin of good relations

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu stood at one end of a large, relatively secluded training ground within the bamboo forest and regarded the young woman stood across from him

Ning Yingying was dressed in Qing Jing mission cut robes- the typical spiritual cultivator loose style, without the trailing ribbons, gauze and billowing usually found on the mountain, and every inch of Qing Jing spring green and Cang Qiong white was decorated with the bamboo forest’s worth of dust, loose debris and blood-stained scratches.

Ning Yingying had made good progress with the Plucked Leaves Flying Flowers technique, though she still required fans to perform it and, as evidenced by the minor burn on one wrist, she still had training to do in fire suppression and redirection when the wind was sparked and turned against her.

Still, she had made remarkable progress from the sweet, weak child she had been.

He looked at her and sighed internally. He had tried to make her hate him. He had pushed her hard, frequently past the point of pain and exhaustion, every training session he had made her bruise and bleed. In his critiques, he had ruthlessly ripped her apart with all the vicious, poisonous spite seeping from the core of his blackened, broken heart. As Shen Qingqiu had promised, she had suffered.

Sometimes he saw a flicker, a spark of hot iron anger, but he could never seem to fan that flame hatred and kindle resentment. It always changed, right before his eyes, sometimes brightening in white lightning determination, sometimes cooling into steely analysis and contemplation. It seemed that, as Ning Yingying had promised, she had persevered through that suffering.

He flicked his fan pair shut and tucked them away in his sleeve, his disciple (his apprentice, the heir to his legacy if ever there was one) following suit, folding the minty seafoam green silks with embroidered silver bamboo stalks and flickering dragonflies, taking a moment to straighten out the white strands of each tassel hanging down beneath green adventurine beads before putting them away in her little lotus-stitched qiankun pouch.

Shen Qingqiu summoned Xiu Ya to his hand and his opponent drew her borrowed liuyedao in answer. In an instant their blades met, dancing against each other, throwing sparks of qi and sword glares in every direction.

Sometimes it happened quickly, sometimes the shift took longer, but each and every time that ember of hatred died Shen Qingqiu was swept with conflicting waves of disappointment and relief, that he could not break her in the way that made a Hunter, that he could not inflict enough damage unto her to teach her how to reflect it back against the world. The way Shen Jiu had learned through the struggle of survival. The way Su Xiyan had been lovingly sculptured. The way Emperor Luo Binghe had had thrust upon him.

Ning Yingying’s endurance still waned too quickly in intensive combat. A weak parry turned Xiu Ya to the side but her mind had slowed, and she didn’t anticipate him following the motion and then swinging back up to reverse its path, gleaming white with qi glittering along the edge. She turned her blade to catch his instead of redirecting as she should have.

Under a strike from Wan Jian spiritual steel imbued with qi, the mortal metal cracked and shattered. Earthen eyes widened in horror as the shards of her Liuyedao- the same blade she had first lifted to train against him seriously all those moons ago- flew past her face, mirroring that horror in their reflection of her gaze for the briefest instance before they ended their final arc, scattering on the dusty ground.

No, he could not turn his Yingying into a Hunter. That did not mean she could not learn those lessons jut the same. One should always be aware of the limitations of their tools and themselves, as well as the abilities and weaknesses of their opponents when possible.

He spun Xiu Ya once and jabbed at Ning Yingying’s side- just because she was disarmed did not mean the fight was over. This was one lesson she had learned well, however and she quickly recovered from the shock and twirled out of the way with a dancer’s grace, using the momentum of her turn to launch her sword’s naked hilt at his face like a dagger.

He caught the hilt with his other hand and tossed it away to the side

Shen Qingqiu would have used a qi attack in the same situation, or one of the many daggers he had always kept tucked in his sleeves. Ignited some powders or talisman to blind and startle, to buy himself some time, or make an opening to land a lethal blow and/or escape.

Ning Yingying used her time to retreat, to put distance between them for her to reassess the situation and prepare for the next bought. She just didn’t have that ruthless instinct.

So no, Ning Yingying was not a Hunter. For better or worse, he had failed in that aim.

He could, however, see the warrior she was becoming and though a Warrior was of a lesser visceral threat than a Predator... to the majority of opponents, they were Danger enough. Liu Qingge was a Warrior. He held to a moral code of justice and had opinions on honour within his battles. He would not use dirty tricks spread about in dirty streets and dark back alleys, kicking dust, gouging eyes, pulling hair. Poisons, traps and talismans. For the vast majority of opponents, Liu Qingge and his Bai Zhan warriors, were a lethal threat in combat, but there was a reason Wu Yanzi, a Predator had been so very, very successful. Why he had only met his end at the blade of betrayal, wielded by another Predator, another Hunter. Had Shen Jiu approached the fight as a Warrior, he would have bled out besides Yue Qi into the earth of the Immortal Alliance Conference.

Perhaps if Liu Qingge had had less experience fighting against such tricks in his frequent clashes against Shen Qingqiu, he would have at some point met a similar fate.

Regardless, in this way Shen Qingqiu could ensure Ning Yingying was protected . If she knew to guard against such things, knew how to overcome them, she would only need enough of her own strength and skill to turn any battle on the offensive, powerful in her defence. As close to a Hunter as a Warrior could be.

He could see the echo of that warrior in her now. Her eyes are calm and intent on his, a placid smile gently curling about her lips. An answering smirk tugged at his mouth. He dropped down and swept out a leg, a touch of qi throwing up a thick cloud of dust. She quickly flapped it away with a flash of fan. With a flicker of qi sharpening his vision, he saw the embroidered silver bamboo, just like his, glittering with the rapid movement of casting wind blades.

Not fast enough, however.

With perfect Qing Jing form, he dodged and attacked again and again, a relentless close-quarters barrage that forced his opponent on the defensive and back to the same style ingrained in her roots under the stress of it. They battled like a pair of vicious, elegant cranes, his hands like striking beaks, her arms as sweeping wings. She kept up, barely, but failed to apply any elements of her Feathered Snake style. Disappointing.

Perhaps he should encourage her to seek out a spar with Xian Shu’s Liu Mingyan, he knew Ning Yingying wrangled spars and ribbon instruction from Xian Shu with some regularity, but to his knowledge she had never tested herself against the Azalea Peak’s Head Disciple. Though not as overt a personified weapon of war as her brother, the same Clan that produced him did her and he had taught her long and well besides. If there was ever a Predatory Warrior to match herself against, Ning Yingying would find no better in her current generation than the War God’s sister.

It might help her fully grasp the Feathered Snake Style, to integrate snake style moves and ribbon work from Xian Shu into her Qing Jing crane style sequences and fan techniques.

Ning Yingying’s aura suddenly sharpened and an arm struck out like a viper toward his throat, as if she hd read his disappointment. He parried her blow and opened her guard in the same move, lancing out a strike to her ribs, unexpectedly halted by her other arm winding around his like a coiling constrictor, holding him in place long enough for a fast blow to his sternum.

The impact shuddered through his chest, impressive for mere months of adding strength training to her routine, but still less than half the power of a physical cultivator of a similar level and also weaker than some of her shixiong among her generation of junior disciples.

Before she could retract her arms, he revered her grip and caught her wrist, before he snapped up one leg and slammed her across the clearing with the flat of his foot impacting her centre of mass, not enough to snap her ribs, but most defininitely enough to bruise them.

She choked, breath forcefully expelled from her lungs, but admirably kept her wits enough to launch some daggers from her sleeves at him, even before she skidded to a halt.

Poor aim - he only needed to deflect one of the four and he hadn’t bothered to dodge – but it seemed she had in fact heeded his advice of keeping some extra blades hidden away.

He looked at the dagger in his grasp. There was the faintest pale mauve-blue discolouration along the edge.

His spine straightened with the upwell of pride. An infusion of Winking Periwinkle. A relatively common, unobtrusive woodland flower that could be distilled into a very fast acting hallucinogenic with the occasional effect of temporary blindness. Non-lethal and quickly metabolised even by a mortal constitution, but even the few moment of incapacitation in combat against a cultivator could be so very efffective. An oustanding choice.

She had done well.

She was still slightly rough and unpolished, of course. There was still work to be done to integrate her Feathered Snake style seamlessly with her Qing Jing Crane base, but she fought with elegant skill and unhesitating perseverance. Strength coiled within her forms and power backing her blows.

And now trying out poisons for her fangs.

This might not the path he had once wished for his bouncy little Baoding-Ying... and perhaps in a kinder world she would not have needed to steel her softness, to make her mind a fortress and her body the weapon of a Warrior. But in this world there was not so much mercy, thus his little silver chime-ball was reforged into a shining silver dagger, tempered and ready to be honed to that killing edge.

However, he knew the word was cruel, so he could not bring himself to regret.

As he looked upon her now, he was so, so proud of how far she’d grown.

Still.

She had growth yet before she would fully shine as the deadly blade of the woman he saw in her, proud and brilliant, glowing like the silvered moon. A beaming celestial which once wore the face of the brilliant flower that called herself his sister.

Her mother would be glowing , looking down upon her now. Ning Linlin would see a young woman who would never need to prostrate herself at the feet of filthy men for her own survival, she would see strong soul of so much opportunity, waiting to be explored. Ning Linlin would see her daughter, alive and thriving, ready to face her future with her head held high.

He could almost see her now, stood at the edge of the bamboo dressed in matching robes like she always did to pair with him, shining smile so wide it hurt, silvered tears slipping from the corners of her crescent eyes, precious pearls of grief and joy.

Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes against the sudden sting and inclined his head to his opponent, signalling to his disciple the end of the spar.

He watched for a moment as Ning Yingying immediately sagged in relief and rubbed at the dusty footpring on her robes with a pained grimace, taking deep and carefully measured breaths.

While she recovered, Shen Qingqiu removed some simple reed mats and a cloth from a plain qiankun pouch he’d prepared earlier in the day and set out his tea supplies. He brewed a pot of oolong and set out a few small dishes with cut fruit, a few sweets and one of lotus root stuffed with sticky rice and osmanthus honey. On a small plate in the centre, he placed two mooncakes.

Once she regained a normal respiration rate, Ning Yingying settled on the mat across from him,pushing stray strands of sweaty hair out of her face, attentive despite her physical exhaustion as she waited for his review. That is- until her gaze caught on the meagre offerings of food spread out.

With a sudden wet shine, brown eyes snapped up to green, “Jiujiu” her voice wavered.

He poured her tea and nudged the lotus root bowl towards her, placing a wrapped pair of chopsticks next to it. “Yingying has worked hard, she should recover her strength.” He hesitated for a breath, the added, “This uncle would also celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival with family in some way, now if not beneath the full moon in full tradition.”

Lotus roots for strong familial bonds like its tenacious fibres, pomelo segments for reunion, a taro filled mantou for good luck and round mooncakes for the completeness and inevitable reunion of the moon, for the completeness and unity of family.

It was not that Shen Qingqiu actively denied their bond, but he rarely demonstrated it a blatantly as this, even on the Mid-Autumn Festivals of years past. It would be a regret that weighed heavily on his soul however, if this was the last Festival of Family he had to spend with his adoptive niece and he squandered the opportunity to show her that she was loved.

Still, no matter how sincerely he felt them, actively dealing with affectionate emotions being expressed via tears from Ning Yingying was not something he was prepared to attempt. Or particularly willing to. So he diverted her attention with a brief review of her performance in the spar, ending in a suggestion to secure at least a casual sparring partner in Liu Mingyan if she was able.

Ning Yingying nodded thoughtfully and commented that she and some other Qing Jing girls were going to go over to Xuan Shu to see their Festival display later in the evening and she hoped to see Liu Mingyan. Apparently, her fellow Head Disciple had recently drawn her spirit sword from the Wan Jian Halls, but Ning Yingying hadn’t yet been able to congratulate her or ask its name.

He watched her, observing the brief flickers of longing in her fain pout. “Perhaps Yingying will be able to spar with Liu-shizhi with her own spirit blade, soon enough. She is swiftly approaching the point of readiness.”

Ning Yingying blinked in shock, mouth gaping slightly before an ear-splitting grin stretched it into a half-moon taking up the majority of her face.

They talked a while longer, mostly Ning Yingying telling him of the Festival preparations of other Peaks that she and her friends who had remained in the Sect instead of visiting home intended to tour.

He watched her talk with vibrant animation, the thought resurfacing of her current blossoming, where once she had withered- strangled to a mere mask among that flower field of hundreds. She would not be thae same woman as that other world, and neither would Luo Binghe become the same as that Emperor of Three Realms, belonging to none.

They had both grown strong, one through honing vicious skill the other by harnessing his raw cultivated power. Though their paths had pulled them away from the closeness of their younger years, Shen Qingqiu could not help but be glad for the death of that near dependency, after all, it was a lesson that never stuck with Qi-ge and Xiao-Jiu and look at what became of them.

The memories of the soul shards had been lingering closer to the surface as the days shortened and shadows lengthened. To the point where seeing one disciple, Wei Zhi, lose concentration during the Fire Quelling session he requested of Jing Shen had set off a mid-level Qi Deviation. The plume of flame rising close to her face, startling the sly grin into a mask of shock and instinctive fear... in that other world, she was burned alive in the flame that swallowed Qing Jing Peak. There was no Fire Quelling training and no Jing Shen disciples to help, not when they were dealing with the same on their own Peak and throughout the whole Sect. There was no aid to come, just more corrosive Liquid Malice burning from above.

Most of his Hallmasters had been massacred by demons and monsters sieging the Sect, but his disciples had more frequently fallen to the Burnings. Not even their bodies were left behind to mark their passing. Only choking ash and charred black earth.

Emperor Luo Binghe had ensured that the Shen Qingqiu of that life had witnessed every angle of every moment of the Sacking of Qing Jing in perfect detail, every time he succumbed to his weakness and slept. A tapestry woven from the memories of every demon present. Of every instance of death, suffering and sacrilege. Luo Binghe himself had lit the fire in the Great Library.

His only comfort was the steps he had taken to ensure such a thing would never again come to pass.

Demonic flames were more difficult to Quell than mortal fire, but it even a weak attempt would have more effect than the nothing of water against that malicious heat. This way, should his disciples ever encounter the beast, the outcome was no longer a predetermined certain, excruciating death.

Though he was confidentthat it would never again come to pass from Luo Binghe’s instigation.

He would ensure it.

As the sun progressed on its journey across the sky, Shen Qingqiu prepared his Bamboo House for his... visitor.

He took care with every choice he made, as each one would be under close scrutiny for the slightest suggestion of a veiled insult.

He lit orange and ylang ylang incense sticks and displayed them in elegantly crafted ceramic white lotus bloom holders. Scents for calming, refreshment and mood elevation, with the smooth floral base of sweet ylang ylang and fresh top notes of citrus orange.

The tea set he selected was a black lacquer set inlaid with mother of pearl lotus flowers and painted with cranes in the larger water scene on the pot. White lotuses for peace and modesty, unity, harmony and the transformation from evil to good, to remind his martial sister of their shared connection despite the animosity. Cranes for their shared (assumed) Immortality. Black... Qi Qingi would associate the colour with water for the scene and a mere product of the dark lacquer, but privately, Shen Qingqiu had chosen it for the colour’s other associations- honour and death. For in this life, Shen Qingqiu’s death was a foregone conclusion (had been in the soul shards life, his as that Shen Qingqiu, when he had allowed the clouds gathering at the mountain tops to obscure his vision from the truth of his roots, of his core. When he had once thought he could Ascend above those clouds and escape the mortal realm to divinity). The most he could do now was prepare and hope something in that translated to some honour written between the dripping scarlet staining his ledger.

He could hope, at least. If he could at least staunch the flow of poisonous spite and curdled dislike between himself and Qi Qingqi, it would be a step in the right direction.

In the set, he would brew Silver Tip Jasmine, with jasmine being a traditional tea to welcome guests but the scented Silver Tip leaves being among the finest blends he had in stock, received from a former disciple particularly skilled in music, who married into a family of consequence within the Imperial Palace. A light, floral blend that would not offend her standing within the sect or her noble roots. Though he knew she would not touch it, he also prepared a small dish of pomelo segments, for reunion, familial unity and a wish for prosperity. In this arena, it was appearances that mattered most. Anyway, it complimented the incense.

He had bathed after departing the morning training session and had stood for a long while, looking at the array of his robes, mind turning over each little detail, digging for deeper meaning behind every stitch, every shade, every layer.

The was no way to win, especially as he didn’t know what exactly Qi Qingqi had demanded an audience for.

So he simply donned his typical Peak Lord robes, Qing Jing spring green and Cang Qiong white, with bamboo embroidery done in his own hand, as always.

But no fan.

No.

Qi Qingqi, for all her skill in court speak and manipulation, rouge and silks and clever words or coy looks, was an astonishingly forthright person at heart, much like her cousin reigning over Bai Zhan. If he wanted change then he would, to some point, need to be direct. No subtle speech emphasis or hidden messages in the movements of his fan. No hiding.

Almost exactly the time they had agreed, he felt her approach. She had arrived just late enough show her disrespect by the implication that she was comfortable making him wait, without being overt enough to warrant acknowledging it.

She entered, escorted in by Lan Yue, looking flawless as ever. Sable hair swept up in an elegant coil, secured by the red coral hibiscus hair crown she had worn since before he entered the Sect, complementing the cherry dark paint across the fullness of her lips. Her burning gaze caught on him immediately, the sweep of black kohl beneath each almond eye making the liquid darkness of her gaze that much more striking.

Were she a courtesan, she would undoubtedly be any brothel's highest earner, a rare beauty unseen by the common eye, shrouded by veils and whispered of in awe and envy behind ilk screens and painted fans. The sort of treasure only revealed to those willing to part with a noble’s ransom to be served tea and perhaps hear music or play a game of mahjong.

Though had she even the faintest notion that Shen Qingqiu had placed the concepts of herself and prostitution in the same consideration, she would gut him, emasculate him and once he had bled out under her pitiless, void-like black eyes, she would vanish his body and invent a circ*mstance for his disappearance, the truth of his demise never to be discovered nor linked back to her in any way. Like this, Qi Qingqi was as ruthless as Shen Qingqiu himself and as much a brute as her cousin Liu Qingge. Almost the perfect equilibrium between strength and strategy, warrior and assassin, except she did enjoy setting her problems on fire more than was perhaps advisable.

The curtesy lines were exchanged and the atmosphere of the room was soon thick and oppressive.

Qi Qingqi held her cup but did not drink- a slight.

“This Lord has noted that many of Qing Jing’s disciples are present in the Sect for the Mid-Autumn Festival. Most of most of Xian Shu’s disciples have returned to their homes to reaffirm familial bonds.”

He sipped his tea, regretting the decision to forego a fan dearly.

“That be as it may, many of Qing Jing’s disciples hale from kin too distant to be visited within a reasonable frame of absence. The outer Sect disciples in particular are typically apprenticed from relatively isolated cultivator clans, such as Peak Lord Qi’s escort, Lan Yue of the Gusu Lan Secular Clan.”

“Indeed...” A single dark violet nail caressed a white lotus bloom on the cup. Thankfully, his ears were spared a sound of metal-on-teacup scraping or infernal absent tapping by Qi Qingqi’s lack of habitual wearing of nail cages, unlike their martial sister Min Qingbao of the Artificer Peak. “And would Disciple Ning be among that number?” Black eyes watched him intently beneath the token facsimile of softness in the dark veil of half lowered lashes.

He met her gaze steadily, blinking placidly, the immutable calm easier for his genuine lack of understanding as to what exactly her challenge was. It also helped that he was quite tired from the morning spar and would like to soak the aches out of his bones in the Quiet Pool.

“Such interest in the private affairs of mere junior disciples, ones of another peak no less.” He commented idly, then had to suppress a sigh at her immediate bristling. In a tone of plain neutrality, he asked directly, “For what purpose did Qi Qingqi visit this Shen Qingqiu? Surely it was not to discuss the social lives of our disciples over tea.”

The airs of the Peak Lady of Fairies flowed away from her bearing like unfurling petals exposing a heart of molten flame. Sat across from Shen Qingqiu was a warrior woman forged in the heat of battle, Captain of the infamous Black Pearl who near single handedly defeated the World-Eater Sea Demons over treacherous waters to reclaim her ancestral clan territories. Whose eponymous pearl she still wore studded in her right ear, a warning and a reminder- rumours whisper what they like, but Qi Qingqi had never been tamed. She was still the same Sea Wolf she had always been, merely adapted to solid ground.

Eyes as dark as the moonless night snared his focus like a riptide, the cold twist to her features promising a death of drowning.

The Burning Red Hibiscus spoke.

“A girl named Ning Yingying, junior of Qing Jing Peak. She used to appear frequently on my Peak, engaging with my girls in many fields and interests. Her visits suddenly stopped. The girl appears only rarely, each time with visible wounds . Then she comes to the Peak more regularly and stays for longer, as if she doesn’t want to leave, or to have to return to the Peak of her colours. On the training fields, she seeks out martial combat only. She fights harder and more viciously than ever before, desperate to build her speed, her strength, her power. When my girls have asked, she says she’s been receiving ‘ personal training’ from her Peak Lord.”

Fiver perfectly painted dark red nails curl about the dark navy hilt of her Hai Qiedao, a suggestion of heart blood yet to be sacrificed unto the unfeeling depths of the deep blue sea.

“Choose your words wisely, Shen Qingqiu, and explain to this Lord why a young girl is desperate to get strong enough to escape your Peak .”

Shen Qingqiu surged forward and snarled in her face, rage flaring like a geyser, incinerating all rational thoughts and careful plans. At the insinuation that he was-

To Ning Yingying -!

“Ning Yingying has been a disciple of Qing Jing since she was nine years old and I love her as my own daughter!”

Black eyes rounded like the pearl in her ear, painted lips parting on a breath, but Shen Qingqiu was not done.

“Her mother was my sworn sister and declared her child my niece, entrusted me to guide her through life's journey when she died. Until now, I have coddled her, cosseted and sheltered and as such made her unable to protect herself from life’s dangers.

I realised my failure in upholding that promise, that I’d broken the trust by sister put in me, when I realised that my protection is as fickle a presence in Ning Yingying’s future as the chance that my next inevitable Deviation will not be my permanent last.

Ning Yingying will be Head Hallmaster of my Peak, given time, but Zhang Yawen grows weary, and the years run too short. Ning Yingying was not prepared for this path, so I am finally doing my duty and preparing her for life ahead.”

He was shaking, in the hands gripping the table, in the voice near screaming at the woman across from him. But he couldn’t stop, as if a river dam had been dislodged and now all the filth and clogged emotion spikt forth in an unrelenting torrent.

“I asked her! I asked her. I told her of the hardships she would face, the pain and the difficulty she would have to overcome, but I told her she would be strong for it. Stronger than other paths I laid out for her, strong enough to protect herself.

And she. Said. Yes.

So she asked for support from a similar style and different opponent of Xian Shu Peak! She fights hard because she knows she can do better! She comes with injuries because she works so damn hard , every single day !”

He was half stood, rearing over the table, vision narrowed down to two points of perfect darkness, black moons trapped within white skies. His face was hot and burning, two lines of searing heat sliding over his cheeks. It might hurt, Shen Jiu couldn’t tell. Something was wrong but he couldn’t quite-

“I have not- did not...”

He shook his head, as is to dislodge the haze. His eyes blinked, and again, and caught on something- Spring green silk, stitched with bamboo stalks, like Yingying was wearing.

Yingying

Yingying-

His head napped up and clarity pierced like a lance of light through the mist, there and gone like a loosed arrow.

“And you come into my house and accuse me of- predatorily abusing my disciple.”

In the deathly silence of the Bamboo House, he stood, panting, then collapsed back into his seat, sightless eyes roaming incessantly, shaking hands clenching and releasing, again and again. I’d never do that, never, never, never, never. I’m not like- I'd rather die before- I'm not like- Maybe his mouth was still moving or maybe the noisewas just the screaming in his head, threads of thoughts spun around in his mind, tangling, snapping, snagging, frayed and disconnected and-

Pressure on his upper arms, turning him to one side, black moons and white skies, cherry dark lips- “Jiejie, I’m not-, I would never-, please ”

A low female voice, smooth and soothing, “I know. I know you wouldn’t. I know that know. I believe you. I’m sorry shixiong. I believe you. Shimei is here. I believe you. Come back, Shen-shixiong, come on. I believe you, come back.”

Strong arm wrapped around him, hot palms settling on his back and suddenly emanating with heat. Heavy yang fire qi like magma circulated his spirit veins, sinking into his bones and searing the Deviating eddies back into normal currents, boiling him from within in the best way.

He gasped and half expected to see steam escape, but there was just rich violet silk, staining with dark red-brown splotches. It was the same when he blinked again, but the stains were slightly larger. It didn’t matter.

The voice kept speaking, female and safe. Smooth and confident, low and without rush or panic, rolling like motion of a wave. It was alright, he could sleep, she would guard him. Keep him safe until he had to wake and face the world again.

He was safe and felt good. Aching and burning and freezing, but... distant. It was-

He was-

For the first time in so, so long, Shen Qingqiu was warm.

Eventually, day's light faded, painting the sky a masterpiece of colour in parting, soft scattered cloud clusters warmed with peach and gold, great wispy brushstrokes like horse's manes captured in majestic sweeps and coy flicks blushing rose and flushing red, the ever shifting myriad settling into sleepier colours as the sky darkened from halcyon to cobalt, silver stars twinkling in the richest depths teasing the furthest reaches of the horizon.

As the clouds draped themselves in dusky blues and demure purples, Shen Qingqiu blinked slowly, taking in the tiny, scattered beacons igniting into being as the Festival lanterns were lit across Cang Qiong, a sea of fireflies rousing from slumber.

After Qi Qingqi had stabilised him, she had leaned out the door and bellowed for the nearest disciple to fetch Mu Qingfang. She had sat close until hearrived and stayed close during the Healer’s assessment, even stayed once he had left. Silently refilling his forgotten cup and setting it by the pills and tonic Mu Qingfang had inflicted upon him, pointedly moving the plate of orange segments closer to him.

Silent,but not cold. Not with the heat of her qi curling around his bones, stoked by Mu Qingfang’s wood nature to a banked, long-lasting simmer. Like bathing in a hot spring.

She had spoken only once, when the medicine was taken and the tea drunk, when she eventually made to leave and paused in the doorway. Turning back to face him, Qi Qingqi had bowed, low and respectful, and apologised in low, subdued tones for her conduct towards ‘Shen-shixiong’, then she had left. Wishing him a well rest as she excused herself from the Bamboo House.

Now, he was seated on a secluded edge of a cliff, autumn colours decorating the forest at his back, his Sect spread out below him, a warm hearth of golden candle flames rejoicing in the love of family and friends. Of connections and togetherness.

He hoped they would never know a day where demonic living flame turned warmth deadly, laughter to screaming and reduced those connections to ashes scattered on the ground together. Cold and dead and forgotten.

Dry leaves crinkled beneath approaching footfalls. He didn’t bother turning to look.

Someone sat down beside him with a sigh, slumping back to recline, feet dangled carelessly over the edge.

Shang Qinghua’s head listed to one shoulder, clever brown eyes thrown into a contrast of dark shadow and flameas the lantern glow lit them with streaks of liquid bronze. “Company, shixiong?”

Shen Qingqiu blinked at him and turned back to the view. He didn’t speak, but nudged the small plate of mooncaketowards his apparent companion.

With a small grin, Shang Qinghua pulled out two wooden travel cups, a jar of osmanthus wine and a mooncake each. Sweet lotus paste for Shen Qingqiu and a five kernal nut for himself. How he had somehow managed to discover Shen Qingqiu’s partiality towards sugar was an embarrassment for another day. One where he didn’t feel quite so... distant.

They didn’t speak of family, of people they were not sharing this time with. No questions were asked about those messy circ*mstances.

They didn’t speak at all.

Merely sat together in companionable quiescence, sipping sweet wine from battered cups and eating snacks from mismatch sets looking at the glow of festivities from a distance beneath the full moon.

In the quiet of the moon, with the weight of the calmcompanionship beside him, wine heating his belly and qi curling through his meridians, the lights below seemed to glow just a little bit warmer.