Chapter 1: a prologue to allow Shen Yuan the time to mourn everything he has lost
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Shen Yuan dies without much fanfare in ‘his’ hospital bed, at dawn the day after his 21st birthday and its following celebration.
All in all, his death doesn’t come as much of a surprise: Shen Yuan has never been as naïve as his older brothers have always believed him to be, and he’s known for a long time that, sooner or later, his faulty immune system would screw him over and simply give up on him. Even the cocktail of pills and medicine that’s been keeping him alive for so long would one day undoubtedly fail.
He’s always known that that would be the end of him. No second chances for the poor little patient, just an hasta-la-vista-bye-bye-see-you-never type of death; nobody’s too young to die, after all.
(Shen Yuan should know).
It’s always been a matter of when, not if — in spite of all the vague estimates his doctors like to throw around (if more to pacify Shen Yuan’s fussy parents when they deign to stay in Shanghai for more than a few days at a time), it’s never been a well-kept secret that Shen Yuan has been living on borrowed time lately.
He’s always been able to see it in the nurses’ pitying glances when they check up on him.
(They’ve never been as sneaky as they think they’re being).
(Not even the sweet ah-ma that likes to bring him homemade mooncakes even though Shen Yuan is only very seldom allowed to eat them. Every now and then she’ll get choked up when she visits him in his fancy-schmancy private room, and Shen Yuan knows she’s thinking about how his days are counted).
(He’s pretty sure he reminds her of one of her grandchildren, but he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth; she’s often the highlight of his day when she comes over bearing gossip from the other long-term residents of the hospital’s VIP ward).
But that’s OK; Shen Yuan has had time to make peace with his inevitable early demise. After all, being bedridden for weeks at a time at the very least encourages a boy (man?) to think, if anything.
…anyhow.
His last day on earth is unexpectedly lovely: da-ge sends him a long text message wishing his Yuan’er a happy birthday and promising to visit the next day with his girlfriend, but Shen Yuan’s er-gege and meimei do come to visit him in his unnecessarily posh VIP hospital room, bringing a fresh batch of vegan, gluten-free muffins (courtesy of meimei) that don’t exactly taste like cardboard, but that certainly attempt to emulate the feeling of chewing it.
Er-gege gifts him a soft, oversized cable-knit sweater made of pale green wool with sleeves that Shen Yuan immediately pulls over his knuckles, delighted at the warm fabric, and a new pair of headphones.
Meimei paints his nails and spends at least an hour ranting about this one webnovel she’s been reading religiously in the hope of some improvement, but apparently ‘the shitty two-timing author has sold his integrity and artistic credibility, and must find it difficult to differentiate his mouth from his ass, considering all the shit that comes out of it’ because ‘honestly, at this point, taking a shot every time a badly-written sex scene is the apparent solution to a vague plot point is just a one-way ticket to alcoholism, and getting upset about it is pointless because a happy or satisfying ending is no longer possible’.
(Meimei’s words, not his).
(Which, wow, where did she even learn to cuss like that?)
(…er-gege’s probably at fault).
(Er-gege’s potty mouth would, on a good day, make a sailor blush like a maiden).
(Circling back to the webnovel, Shen Yuan has never admitted to his sister that her flowery descriptions of the dumpsterfire of a story make him morbidly curious, but in the end he’s never found the courage to tackle even the first page, horribly intimidated by the sheer number of chapters and the bloody battleground that is the comment section of each new update).
(While he’s in no shape or form a pushover, he lacks — alas — his meimei’s cutting-edge drive to defend very particular personal opinions against a bunch of no-face, no-name xianxia fans with too much free time on their hands).
Ah-ma drops by briefly to pinch Shen Yuan’s cheeks for not telling her what a special day today turned out to be, sneaking a few chocolate bonbons into his hands before the nurse checking the IV-drip can notice. She also insists on patting er-gege’s head in spite of being a full 30 centimetres shorter than him, and even tweaks meimei’s nose before she leaves with a satisfied hum and a promise to visit in a few days.
(The best part of ah-ma’s visit is his siblings’ dumbstruck reactions to her cheerful mischievousness and disarming charm — Shen Yuan’s pretty sure er-gege would’ve bitten any other person who’d attempt to touch his neatly-styled hair, and meimei’s bite is as bad as her bark, so someone going as far as playfully pulling on her nose without being torn a new one is, frankly, nothing short of a miracle).
…Yeah, it’s a great day altogether.
When they leave, a bit after 9 p.m., Shen Yuan can’t help but tease his meimei and wish her a very happy reading for the next update, rejoicing in the long-suffering sigh she exhales as er-gege cackles at her pained grimace. The way she flips them both off is as hilarious as it is well-deserved.
Warm happiness stays within him long after they’ve left, and before he falls asleep, he fondly recalls the day’s events, dopily smiling to himself.
Sleep’s embrace is pointless to fight, and Shen Yuan slips into unconsciousness with a light heart and the corners of his lips curled upwards.
He dies a few hours later.
Dying hurts both more than he expects, and less. It’s also not as scary as Shen Yuan feared initially. He’s alone, yes, but somehow Shen Yuan hadn’t expected anything else; it’s better this way, he knows. Less painful for everyone involved.
(For Shen Yuan, specifically. He’s not very brave, you see. Saying goodbye is not as bad when the other party doesn’t know it’s permanent).
It had been touch-and-go a few weeks ago, but then, some days before his 21st birthday, his lungs jumpstarted unexpectedly and decided that breathing was something they could do on their own. Shen Yuan had been relieved to take off the oxygen mask.
This time it’s not his lungs that have decided to play hooky.
It’s his heart.
His chest feels uncomfortably tight, and his heart stutters in his chest for a few counts before it starts beating a tattoo against his ribs. Shen Yuan’s heavy eyes flutter for a moment. Just a blur of images, a swirl of colours he almost recognises.
But then—
—there’s a sudden stab of pain, and his heartbeat loses all sense of rhythm it might’ve had.
It burns.
It burns, it burns, it burns—
The acute pain is short-lived, though.
It might’ve been a few seconds, it might’ve been a minute. (It might’ve even been an hour—). For a brief eternity, there’s nothing but the pounding of Shen Yuan’s heart, so fast in his ears, deafeningly loud, his whole body in full panic mode.
He glares up through his eyelashes, the whole room still a fuzzy portrait of familiarity. He gulps down air but it stings.
Shiny streaks of vermilion slip down his philtrum.
Shen Yuan shivers, the cold sinking in as he watches the spotted blood staining the front of his pyjama shirt like a Rorschach picture. He shakes his head, trying to clear all of the fuzzy acid spots from his vision. He quietly swallows oxygen into his lungs, but it burns—
but everything burns — his muscles, his joints, his bones, his organs.
He smiles and even that hurts now.
His heart thuds so hard it feels like it’s about to explode, and Shen Yuan wishes it would, because death sounds like Christmas compared to this.
There’s nothing more to him than breathing that’s too loud, a heartbeat that’s more of a deafening drumroll.
And then everything slows down.
…the beating now is lethargic; like it’s waiting to stop.
The soft, quiet thump of his heart against his bruised ribs is the only thing he hears. He’s numb and everything feels heavy.
He feels his heart beat;
one,
two,
three.
He wants that weightless feeling of dreams back.
Shen Yuan struggles to laugh, chest heavy, muscles numb. He feels his heart stop, its final beats fading into silence.
Now he can dream—
His last thought before he dies is: ‘I hope someone fixes meimei’s favourite trashnovel’.
He should’ve have known it’d have consequences.
So, yes, he’s dead.
He knows that much.
But so, if he died, why is he here?
And, most importantly: where exactly is Here?
In Here — wherever Here is —, there is no real way of measuring the passing of time: there’s no such thing as day and no such thing as night, no seasons, no distinctions between coldness and warmth, no breeze nor rain nor sun. There aren’t any stimuli that can offer any kind of proof that Shen Yuan still exists.
There’s nothing Here.
That is, nothing but Shen Yuan.
Shen Yuan floats in that nothingness, eyes closed. Darkness is all that’s present around him, engulfing him like a blanket providing a false sense of security, but he doesn’t give in. There is a gap in time Shen Yuan knows he’ll never get back, and what drives him to struggle the tendrils of black goo that threaten to fill his lungs is the terrifying thought that the gap seems to be growing larger.
The lack of something — anything — is unsettling. What is up? What is down? There’s no gravity here, nothing that can reassure his density. His own inner flame keeps his body from dissolving into nothingness, thrumming echoes of something warm tying him to his body. But why? There’s no use for his corporal form in here; in fact, being solid is very clearly a disadvantage. Hunger claws at his belly, thirst parches his throat, and his limbs are heavy with exhaustion.
But he can’t give in. He won’t give in. The only thing keeping him from completely falling into the darkness is the wild, primal instinct pulsing in his veins, driving him to protect himself from whatever looms in that shadow. Somehow, he knows that as long as he stays conscious, the dark won’t be able to hurt him or erase him from existence.
Shen Yuan’s OK with dying; he’s not OK with disappearing fully.
He’s petty like that.
(“You’re so petty, xiao-ge, I can’t believe we’re related—”
“Takes one to know one, meimei~”
“Take it back!”
“Never!”)
It’s a hard battle, that of the perpetual demands of his body — willing him to just rest — against the intrinsic survival instinct of his soul — ordering him to stay awake, to stay alert, to not let go. From an outsider’s point of view — if the possibility of there being outsiders here existed, which it does not — the battle would be invisible. They would only see a naked man still in his youth, with pale skin taut over lean muscle, strands of long black hair floating to the rhythm of a non-existent breeze. Closer, still, they would stay oblivious to the roaring fight going on inside Shen Yuan, for his facial features are relaxed, as if asleep.
But the rest he has been denied in life, the rest that has been granted to him here, is only superficial.
With nothing but time on his hands, Shen Yuan thinks, and he mourns.
Mourns the life he’s left behind, the siblings he has had to abandon without saying goodbye properly.
(They lost a brother, he lost them all at once—)
He mourns everything he knew and everything he’s loved; things he’ll never be able to do again and things he’ll never get to do for the first time. He spends time contemplating his sister’s philosophy on life and yearns for her comforting presence like one aches for a missing limb. He’s never been as alone as he is now; even when he had to spend weeks at a time in his private hospital room he had frequent visitors and even a friend or two in the same ward.
On the bright side! At least his siblings won’t need to visit the hospital so often now that—
Now that…
A new sensation joins his thirst and hunger, a dull ache blending together with the exhaustion weighing down on his chest, compressing his lungs and stabbing at his heart.
Thinking about it hurts, but he can’t not think about it.
It’s his life—
…or at least, it was.
By now, he’s pretty sure he’s stuck in some sort of eternal limbo, condemned to pass the rest of forever in a perpetual state of punishment, because why would he feel hunger and thirst and exhaustion otherwise, if not to repent for his sins?
(He’s not certain what sins he’s committed, being an all-around OK person and having spent all his life in and out of hospitals, but he’ll figure it out someday. If there’s one thing he has in Here, it’s time).
And, as time tends to do, it passes. Shen Yuan doesn’t try to measure it, comes to terms with his current reality. He’s cried all the tears he had naively stored away for ‘more important occasions’.
Like a fool.
Grief has long since made way for acceptance, which in turn has turned into boredom because there is abso-fucking-lutely nothing to do in Here. Shen Yuan’s sung through all the songs in his repertoire, and has even made up countless little nonsensical ditties like he used to do when he found himself spiritless in his hospital bed, desperate for some sort of distraction. He has acted out full soliloquies in his head, has taught himself to recite the English alphabet backwards, and he’s also started to build a never-ending story with his favourite movie characters and a mission that takes them through a somewhat untraditional hell and back.
Every now and then he’ll get a new idea to distract himself from the eternal nothingness, but once he’s exhausted every possible aspect of that new idea, he circles back to things he’s already entertained previously.
(All throughout this, melancholy sticks to him like shit to a shovel. Getting through things is very different than getting over them, and Shen Yuan suspects that there’ll always be an aching in his chest when he thinks about his family and his home back when he was alive — even though the last years of his life were spent mostly in ‘his’ hospital room and not the large townhouse he grew up in).
(Still, he’s allowed to miss it).
(Because yes, he misses his home like he misses his siblings. Intensely, and every single second of the day).
Do they think about him as often as he thinks of them?
(he hopes they don’t).
(while he doesn’t want them to forget about him, they still have lives of their own—)
(meimei was about to start university this semester; by now she should be attending classes already).
(er-gege is most likely in London, busy with the LL.M he had postponed for one year when Shen Yuan had to be hospitalised last winter).
(da-ge had been planning his wedding for next spring…)
But life goes on.
And then, Shen Yuan’s reverie gets interrupted by a whirring noise, not entirely unlike a machine humming to life.
Activation Code: ‘I hope someone fixes […] trashnovel’.
The sudden announcement is made by a mechanical voice that sounds similar to the Google Translate Lady. It doesn’t make any sense, but Here nothing seems to make sense, so Shen Yuan doesn’t even notice its oddness.
>What…?<, asks Shen Yuan, somehow projecting his question without ever opening his mouth. He tries to detect where the bodiless voice comes from, but when he tries to turn he finds himself unable to move. Does this means he’s not alone, after all? >Hello? Is anyone there? Can you hear me?<
A bright virtual screen appears in front of him, and on it, glowing characters that transcribe what the voice is saying:
[Unauthorised User detected. Please stand by as Unauthorised User is locked into Randomly Chosen Role. Pending… Pending… Pending…E̸͇͎͗̐̒Ŗ̶̨̬̙̹̮̻̗̜͇͓̪̻͕̽̐Ṟ̴̲̀͂́͒͆͠Ō̴̧̩͇̺͓̰̹̋͊͝R̷̠̱͍̗̘̝̱̲̬̩̈̌͐̎̈́̔̇́̈́̅̃͑͘͝͠; Unauthorised User is not familiar with PIDW novel. Unable to lock into Randomly Chosen Role
]
>What goes on? What is PIDW? Am I the Unauthorised User?<
[Training Wheels Protocol activated!
]
>The Training Wheels what—? What is going on? Who are you? Where am I?<
[You have transmigrated into ‘Proud Immortal Demon Way’! Welcome! Welcome! Welcome! Important things should be announced three times!
]
>Transmigrated? Isn’t that a decently popular trope in webnovels?< Shen Yuan has long since tapdanced past the point of no return, so his initial thoughts of doubt quickly get shoved aside by an overwhelming wave of this-might-as-well-happen resignation, tinged with a healthy dose of curiosity. He wonders where this is going.
[Indeed! HOST has died in their Original World and this SYSTEM intercepted HOST’s Last Wish concerning PIDW, transmigrating HOST’s soul into the novel to help HOST turn this ‘trashnovel’ into a worthwhile piece of classical literature (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
]
>I don’t think I’m the right person to ‘fix’ this novel, considering I’ve never even read it… also, I’m not— I’ve been told the way I pass judgement onto the media I consume is too subjective, too biased…<
[Isn’t everyone’s opinion biased? Isn’t that the point of opinions? <(￣︶￣)> HOST couldn’t be locked into Randomly Chosen Role, which offers HOST the privilege of leeway concerning OOC-ness! This SYSTEM has activated the Training Wheels Protocol to help HOST in their upcoming adventure. HOST has the universe in front of them now. The world will make more sense now. Everything will make sense!
]
>That’s really sweet!< Shen Yuan can’t help but say. After being alone for so long, any sort of companionship is welcome. And, if he’s to embark on a journey into a world he’s unfamiliar with, he needs all the help he can possibly get. If that means befriending a peculiar talking screen, then so be it; it’s not even the weirdest possibility he’s thought of during his banishment in Here. >I’m glad you’re Here, SYSTEM-laoshi. It was getting very lonely in this place.<
[Oh, glad to be of service, HOST! Let this SYSTEM introduce HOST to the new ID they’ve been locked into!]
The black all around him begins to clear, and as it oozes away, Shen Yuan can see more clearly than he’s ever could before. And there, in the middle of that vastly glow… stands a mirror, reflecting a figure.
He can feel less of a weight pushing on his shoulders, less darkness around him, until finally, there is no more. There is only Shen Yuan. Only Shen Yuan, and the brightly glowing screen of the SYSTEM.
He looks… good. There’s definitely traces of his old self in this face, somehow, but he looks so much more alive — flushed cheeks, glossy eyes, red-bitten lips. He looks like the best version of himself he could ever be. Photoshopped. Airbrushed, practically. Like someone had looked at his old self and decided to turn him into a deity worthy of being worshipped by hordes of humble mortals.
>SYSTEM-laoshi? Is this really me?<, he wonders, tracing the delicate arch of his cheekbones with a long finger, prodding at the swell of his bottom lip.
[It is indeed, dear HOST! Are you satisfied with your new appearance? (っ˘w˘ς )]
In spite of its monotonous voice, the SYSTEM somehow manages to sound smug.
>You can call me Shen Yuan, SYSTEM-laoshi<, replies Shen Yuan absentmindedly, turning his head this way and that to see how smoothly his long hair swishes. It’s like a waterfall of black ink down his back, only stopping halfway between his waist and hips; Shen Yuan dreads the undoubtedly arduous process of keeping it healthy and tidy, considering the only experience he has with ‘long’ hair is that one year he grew out a mullet, and occasionally braiding his meimei’s hair. >Or even A-Yuan, if you’d like. We’re going to be friends from now on, right? Or at least companions?<
[Then A-Yuan can refer to this SYSTEM as simply ‘SYSTEM’, no need for ‘laoshi’. Are you satisfied then, A-Yuan? This SYSTEM added a few details to the Original Goods’ body to fit A-Yuan’s warm character better (>w<)]
>I’m beautiful<, Shen Yuan remarks incredulously. >This feels unreal… Are you sure this is me? That doesn’t seem right.<
He flexes his arm and examines all of the muscles contorting, comparing it to his old body. He’s compact muscle now, an illusion — slender and strong. He suddenly has sharply shaped biceps and moulded muscles along his chest, ripples down his stomach, girth in his thighs. There’s more muscle than he’s ever had, extra height. He almost looks like his er-gege — were it not for the different hair, the green hue in his eyes, the slimmer waist.
[The Original Goods would be famed in the future for his jade-like appearance.]
>This face doesn’t look very jade-like to me…< muses Shen Yuan, brushing the pads of his fingers over the peach-pink flush of his cheeks.
[…A-Yuan is very unlike jade. A-Yuan has been very kind to this SYSTEM, so SYSTEM wanted to do something nice for A-Yuan too… (◡‿◡✿)]
>Oh,< Shen Yuan feels his face heat up, the compliment knocking him off-balance. It’s both odd and flattering, admittedly, that the SYSTEM has apparently taken such a liking to him. >That’s really sweet of you, SYSTEM. Thank you, I mean it, and I don’t wanna sound ungrateful, but— won’t it be even more noticeable that I’m not the Original Goods, then? As it is, it’ll be hard enough to settle into his role, so if the appearance has changed as well…<
[A-Yuan shouldn’t worry so much, this SYSTEM only has A-Yuan’s best interests in mind. Besides, the changes aren’t that obvious (*~▽~) As long as A-Yuan ~slowly~ eases into the Original Goods’ role, everything will turn out OK! Let’s look at the STATS now!]
The screen in front of Shen Yuan shimmers and shifts:
[PERSONAL STATS – Shen Jiu
Occupation: Qing Jing Peak head disciple
Affiliations: Qi-ge (Yue Qi, Qiong Ding Peak head disciple), Lin-shizun (Qing Jing Peak Lord), Mu Zheng (Qian Cao head disciple), Cang Qiong Mountain Sect
Relatives: one half-sister one half-sister (Qiu Haitang)
Abilities: street-smarts, strong cultivation (blockage due to yet-to-be-resolved childhood resentment), strategical & sharp mind, peerless pokerface
Personal symbol(s): Xiu-Ya sword (S) Not yet acquired
spiritual fan(s) (A) Not yet acquired
Current status: Unconscious, injured]
>‘Nine’? ‘九’? Why was the Original Goods called ‘Nine’?< asks Shen Yuan, bewildered. >Who named him?<
[The Original Goods used to be a slave. His surname was given to him by his Qi-ge, and the ‘Nine’ stands for the estimated age ranking in the clutch of child-slaves he was put in after some slavers abducted him and Qi-ge from the streets.]
>Oh…< Well, fuck. An ex-slave that made it all the way to head disciple of a cultivation sect? On his own? That’s pretty damn impressive…>Listen, SYSTEM, I’m not sure if I can simply take over someone’s life just like that… he clearly worked hard to get to this point in his life. How can I stand where he stood with a face as thin as mine?<
That’s unacceptable!
[The Original Goods’ Spirit is no longer in this world due to a quite severe qi-deviation. This SYSTEM suspects the Original Goods’s Spirit might have been intercepted by another SYSTEM for a transmigration of its own…]
So, if Shen Yuan backs down, Shen Jiu’s body will wither away and die, which is even more unacceptable. Maybe Shen Yuan could fake amnesia and start from zero? For a second, he considers voicing these thoughts, but after some consideration, he decides to keep that worry to himself. (At least, for now).
After all, SYSTEM seems pretty convinced Shen Yuan should do this.
>I’m scared…< he admits hesitantly, although ‘scared’ might be considered a bit of an understatement. Shen Yuan is terrified; he’s going to have to step into a man’s shoes and con his way through his already established life, talk to people he’s unfamiliar with that will expect certain behaviour from him—
If there’s something he knows for certain, it’s this: he can’t hope of completely replacing the late Shen Jiu — he can’t bring himself to do that to a dead man. Besides, there’s a chance — no matter how infinitesimal — that Shen Yuan will have to return this body to its original owner, so he can’t afford to slack off!
[This SYSTEM will help A-Yuan every step of the way.]
Slightly comforted, Shen Yuan nods. His next exhale is a little bit shaky, but the knowledge of what he can afford to do and what he can’t afford to do right now steels his resolve.
>Please take care of me, SYSTEM,< pleads Shen Yuan as he braces himself and comes to terms with what he’s about to do and what it might mean for his future wellbeing. >Let’s do this!<
[Good. Wake up now, A-Yuan. This body has been asleep for too long already. Good luck! (≧◡≦)]
And Shen Yuan opens his eyes into a completely new world.
Notes:
the term ah-ma (阿媽) means "grandmother" and, according to Wikipedia, does not refer to a wet nurse or a servant, but rather a "friend" who helps a family to raise a child (something like a nanny in English)
da-ge, er-ge, xiao-ge, and meimei stand for 'eldest brother', 'second eldest brother', 'youngest brother', and 'younger sister', respectively
thoughts??
Chapter 2: a chapter to introduce and establish one of our main favourite boys
Summary:
He can already picture himself floating several decimetres above this bed, spine arched unnaturally as he’s sprinkled with some sort of holy water… The image is, frankly, nothing short of ludicrous, but Shen Yuan has always had a very vivid, elaborate, and extensive imagination, and spacing out has never been an unusual thing for him.
Chapter Text
Having spent most of his life in and out of hospitals and clinics, Shen Yuan has woken up in plenty of unfamiliar places before (including but not limited to: the floor of er-gege’s Land Rover, face-down on his half-eaten plate of cold pizza, the family dog’s bed-basket, an empty bathtub, and that one time he fell asleep underneath the coffee table and ended up waking up by bashing his head against the underside panel because meimei had tripped over his legs). By now, seeing foreign ceilings overhead when he opens his eyes is not something that really disturbs him anymore; after all, he has experienced this plenty of times before, so the shock value has disappeared completely.
This particular tendency to fall asleep whenever and wherever — without any consideration or actual concern about his direct environment —, when combined with his already poor health, tended to worry the people around him; so, all in all, it’s not all that weird for Shen Yuan to wake up in an unfamiliar room with his hand held gently in someone’s grasp.
What is weird, however, is the forehead pressed to his wrist, the lips puffing warm breaths against his knuckles.
Blinking blearily, Shen Yuan tilts his head sideways, trying to get a better look at the person monopolising his hand and part of his forearm. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to focus on the dark head of hair bent over the edge of the cot he’s apparently laying on.
What the…
The angle the person’s head is bowed at makes it almost impossible to discern any facial features, because what isn’t hidden by a black sleeve, the bed’s sheets, or the downturned position of their head, is obscured by a curtain of silky dark hair that has started to escape the lacquered guan holding together a topknot. The hand cradling Shen Yuan’s feels big, fingers easily overlapping around his wrist, and something in Shen Yuan’s tummy tingles at the obvious strength their gentle hold belies.
The person murmurs something unconsciously against Shen Yuan’s skin, lips brushing against the fine skin on the back of Shen Yuan’s hand, and Shen Yuan shivers involuntarily before freezing like a deer in the headlights.
>…are they asleep?< he asks SYSTEM, holding his breath when the fingers holding his wrist tighten their grip briefly, relaxing again after a second.
[It looks like it ∠( ᐛ 」∠) ＿]
>Should I wake them up?< Shen Yuan wonders, eyes slowly tracing the slumped line of the sleeping person’s shoulders. >They must be really tired, to be sleeping here like this…<
[This SYSTEM believes this person will appreciate being woken up by A-Yuan as soon as possible.]
>You’re right,< agrees Shen Yuan, nodding to himself. His eyes are still fixed upon the person’s broadbroadbroad shoulders, watching them rise and fall to their breathing’s rhythm. >They’ll wake up with a crick in the neck if they continue sleeping like this!<
In spite of his confident words, Shen Yuan hesitates. By now there’s no way back, this he knows intellectually, but still—
Waking up this person will mean he’ll be perceived. Someone will be aware of his existence, he’ll have cemented his identity as Shen Jiu and won’t—
He won’t…
Shen Yuan exhales a long, tremulous sigh.
Here
goes
nothing.
‘Nothing’ is exactly what happens when Shen Yuan clears his throat weakly, immediately squeezing his eyes shut as he feigns still being asleep.
Shen Yuan counts to a hundred in his head before he dares open one eye to peek at the person sitting by his bedside. They haven’t even stirred.
Huh.
>They must be really really tired,< ventures Shen Yuan somewhat defensively when SYSTEM’s silence feels unmistakably judgemental. The only thing missing is a background chorus of crickets. Maybe a crow or two cawing, to set the mood.
Fortunately, SYSTEM takes pity on him as soon as it detects the gloominess the situation is evoking in its Host. Throwing a bit of glittery confetti, it tries to fix it:
[This SYSTEM doesn’t think they heard you…]
Nodding his head, Shen Yuan tries again — more pointedly this time —, and both he and SYSTEM wait another few seconds in the hope of some reaction. Nevertheless, the result is the same: still no response from the sleeping figure. It’d be almost humiliating if someone were to witness it.
[…maybe A-Yuan should try one more time. A bit louder, perhaps?]
Shen Yuan wrinkles his nose and subdues a petulant pout at SYSTEM’s gentle suggestion; he licks his lips and clears his throat once more, loudly.
As they say, third time’s a charm, because this time the figure sitting by the side of the bed startles and lifts their head.
“Xiao Jiu— oh, thank heavens— you’re— you almost lost it. And I thought I was the one with no self-preservation,” says the young man immediately, suddenly clutching Shen Yuan’s hand to his chest. His dark eyes, widened in concern and surprise, are red-rimmed. “You’re awake, Xiao Jiu— ah, does anything hurt? Can you hear me? Xiao Jiu, please—”
“What the fuck,” says Shen Yuan eloquently, unprepared for the man’s quick-fire fussing. His own voice sounds rough with disuse, but still the pitch is noticeably lower than it used to be in his first life. He almost sounds like gargling gravel is a hobby of his. Nice.
His hand is dropped like it’s on fire, and Shen Yuan is too confused about the emotional whiplash caused by this gesture to properly acknowledge the sharp flash of hurt that registers deep within his chest.
His tongue darts out to wet his dry lips.
>SYSTEM, who’s this?< he asks internally, his now-free fingers curling into a loose fist. >How should I address them?<
[This young man is Yue Qi, Qiong Ding Peak’s head disciple. The Original Goods internally referred to him as Qi-ge, but always called him ‘Yue-shixiong’ to his face and refused to hold a conversation longer than 5 sentences with him.]
Huh. Now there’s a can of worms Shen Yuan would rather leave unopened... But, in for a penny, in for a pound, right?
>…why so formal?<
[…To pointedly maintain distance between them. Yue Qi has been hiding something quite important for years, and the Original Goods resented him for this. Additionally, the Original Goods was convinced the only thing truly connecting them was the guilt Yue Qi feels about their missed connection. He hated feeling like an obligation borne out of a failed childhood relationship.]
>…does it have anything to do with— wait, why is Yue Qi at the top of the Original Goods’ affiliations list, if they don’t get along?<
[Yue Qi is the reason Shen Jiu ended up in Cang Qiong Sect, the reason Shen Jiu yearned to leave the Sect, and the main reason he never left.]
>Well— that’s not an ideal way to establish a relationship… I mean, isn’t it a problem when the life you have isn’t the life you want? Isn’t it a problem when the reason you want to leave is also the reason you stay? Isn’t it a problem when the thing causing you pain is the thing that brings you comfort?<
[A-Yuan is very thoughtful, ah *: ﾟ* ｡⋆ ฺ(* ´◡`)]
“…ao Jiu?”
Shen Yuan blinks back into reality, sniffling quietly as he lifts his hand to rub at his temple. Ever since waking up there’s been a dull ache behind his eyes and around his forehead, and it’s starting to get distracting.
“Are you alright?” asks Yue Qi softly, visibly holding himself back from reaching out. There’s a worried furrow between his eyebrows, and Shen Yuan feels the easily-ignored impulse to smooth it out with his thumb.
…there’s something oddly compelling about the other man’s puppydog-like eyes.
“This shidi is fine,” he answers after a beat of silence, glancing down at Yue Qi’s lap where his hands have curled into loose fists. “Could you— how long—?”
“Shen-shidi has been asleep for three days,” interrupts Yue Qi, immediately after biting his lip in repentance at his rudeness. A look of anxiousness mars his gentle features.
Shen Yuan doesn’t even blink, unfazed.
“That explains the dry throat,” he muses under his breath, wincing when Yue Qi stands up abruptly. “What—?”
Before he can properly understand what’s going on, a cup of bitter-smelling liquid is shoved at him. In spite of the unexpectedness of the gesture, the cup is offered in an exceedingly polite way — with Yue Qi elegantly supporting his wrist with his free hand —, and not a single drop of liquid is splashed over the fine rim.
“Shen-shidi should drink this,” manages to say the flustered man, pink starting to flush his cheekbones.
“…this shidi thanks Yue-shixiong,” Shen Yuan politely replies, removing his fingers from his temples and accepting the offered cup. “Is this—?” He lets his sentence die out on purpose, not wanting to assume erroneously.
“Medicinal tea!”
Nodding in acknowledgment, Shen Yuan goes to take a sip only to remember he’s still lying down on the bed.
Ah, fuck, he thinks detachedly, only to be chided by SYSTEM:
[Language, A-Yuan.]
>Yes, mama,< replies Shen Yuan playfully, amused by SYSTEM’s gentle reprimand.
“Could Yue-shixiong maybe help this shidi up?” he asks after an awkward pause in which neither of them move from their respective positions.
Shen Yuan’s somewhat timid request frees Yue Qi from whatever spell he had been stuck in, and he unfreezes, hands fluttering by his side like butterflies.
“Of course! Let this shixiong help you—,” stammers Yue Qi, supporting Shen Yuan’s back when he tries to sit up on his own. Detachedly, he notices how Yue Qi doesn’t touch him any longer than is strictly necessary, and archives the bad taste that leaves in his mouth to be analysed on a later date. “Wait here, I will go warn Mu-shidi that you have awoken—”
“No—!”
Shen Yuan’s sudden outburst takes both of them by surprise.
“…Shen-shidi?” asks Yue Qi tentatively, head tilting sideways as he looks questioningly at him, and, honestly, Shen Yuan must stop comparing this senior to a puppy because it’s doing weird things to his heart.
“Do not…leave, yet,” says Shen Yuan, trying to salvage the situation by averting his gaze from Yue Qi’s dazed face. He doesn’t say ‘please’— can’t even bring himself to, for some reason—, but there’s a certain supplicating undertone to his voice that makes Shen Yuan cringe, folding into himself like a piece of paper being crumpled. Where did that even come from?
For a few tense seconds, everything in the room seems to come to a halt; but then, right when Shen Yuan’s face feels so hot it could melt and he’s about to take everything back in exchange for his dignity (because, honestly, what does he need it for, anyway?), Yue Qi finally speaks up: “Of course,” he agrees, voice hoarse and stilted. “Yes, of course,” he repeats after he clears his throat once, slowly sitting down again by Shen Yuan’s bedside. “Of course…”
Inside his own head, Shen Yuan tries to rationalise his (frankly) ridiculous outburst when SYSTEM’s only reaction is a long string of question marks and one (1) single kaomoji that looks like this: (╥▽╥), and that has Shen Yuan feeling slightly offended.
>If I fool Yue Qi, I can fool anyone!< he defends himself, trying to convince both himself and SYSTEM as he takes a small sip of the tea. It’s bitter and too hot, but it doesn’t taste worse than some of the antibiotics Shen Yuan has had to take in his previous lifetime, so he bears with it. >If anyone else joins this circus now, I’ll totally be exposed for the clown I am! I need more time before I can venture into socialising with more people at the same time.<
It’s a moot point: they both know this isn’t the real reason Shen Yuan couldn’t stop himself from preventing Yue Qi’s exit, but Shen Yuan is fine with being chin-deep in denial and SYSTEM indulgently doesn’t point out how it’s plenty aware its Host’s reaction was purely instinctual.
“Does Xi— does Shen-shidi remember how he ended up here?”
Yue Qi’s question offers Shen Yuan a cheap victory (but a victory nonetheless), and, petty bitch that he is, he can’t help the small triumphant smile that curves his lips upwards.
Completely missing Yue Qi’s abrupt intake of breath, Shen Yuan shakes his head in a regretful way: “This shidi only remembers a sudden and sharp pain in his chest, and then only darkness,” he candidly admits, recalling his last life’s final moments. The shudder that creeps down his spine is thoroughly, painfully real.
Nodding in understanding, Yue Qi leans forward, forgoing his proper posture to softly touch his fingers to the back of Shen Yuan’s hand.
“Shidi suffered a qi-deviation during an— ah, an altercation with a few Bai Zhan Peak disciples,” he explains gently, oblivious to the way his gesture has left Shen Yuan reeling, tingles running up and down his arm. “Thankfully, Mu-shidi and Kun-shimei were nearby when it happened, so they were able to intervene before your meridians could be permanently damaged— apparently, the Bai Zhan disciples hadn’t even realised what was going on when Mu-shidi managed to knock you out with his acupuncture needles…”
“Really,” asks Shen Yuan, feeling slightly sceptical. What kind of altercation did Shen Jiu even end up in for his qi-deviation to go unnoticed by not one, but several people that were present at the time?
(A suspicious one, that’s what).
“It appears Liu-shidi singled you out to demand a spar between martial brothers, and when Shen-shidi refused, another Bai Zhan disciple started calling you unflattering names for walking away, and— well, Shen-shidi broke that disciple’s wrist when he grabbed shidi’s arm to prevent you from leaving, and things escalated from there.”
“Impudent prick,” whispers Shen Yuan, anger written in the twist of his mouth and slant of his eyebrows. He doesn’t even care that Yue Qi is clearly trying to euphemise what actually happened, too focused on that one detail that’s really rubbing him up the wrong way. “Should’ve broken more than just his wrist…”
Taking his hand back, Yue Qi tilts his head, visibly confused: “Shidi?”
“No means no,” hisses Shen Yuan vehemently, looking straight into the other man’s widened eyes. “Forcing someone into doing things after they’ve refused to do so? That’s wrong, it’s repulsive— that disciple is lucky he only got his wrist snapped—”
“Xiao Jiu—”
“—what if next time someone tells him no he ignores it, too?” continues Shen Yuan, feeling furious. His hands shake, and a few drops of tea spill over the fine porcelain rim. “What then, huh? Would he receive a mild reprimand and a half-assed slap on the wrist, at most? Or not even that—”
Reaching out to carefully pluck the fragile tea cup from Shen Yuan’s white-knuckled grip, Yue Qi tries to soothe him by saying: “I agree with you, and I— I understand why you defended yourself. The Bai Zhan disciples involved have already been accordingly punished by Yao-shishu. I expect they won’t have time to dilly-dally and go around picking fights with anyone any time soon,” he explains wryly. There’s a resigned type of sadness tugging at the corners of his mouth, and Shen Yuan immediately feels guilty about his emotional outburst, because that right there is a pair of lips made for smiling.
“I apologise, this wasn’t shixiong’s fault.” Rubbing at his tired eyes, Shen Yuan exhales a soft sigh.
Talking to Yue Qi is making him feel like he’s treading the fine line between moderate safety and a humongous precipice with all types of sharp and pointy rocks at the bottom, too far down to be visible, but still very present there. Luckily, Shen Yuan is nothing if not headstrong, patient, and a massive little shit.
He’ll pull it off.
Somehow.
“This shidi would like to rest some more,” he ends up saying after a short, awkward pause. It’s not even a lie; right now he’s already overwhelmed, confused and uncomfortable. He needs time to digest everything that’s just happened and all the information he’s received, and Yue Qi is too… distracting.
(Not that Shen Yuan would ever admit that out loud, but still).
“Alright,” agrees Yue Qi softly, nodding as he stands up once more. Straightening out his black robes, he looks at Shen Yuan with an undecipherable glint in his eyes. “This shixiong will visit Shen-shidi later, and bring Mu-shidi along.”
Shen Yuan hums in agreement, leaning back against the headboard of the bed as he rubs circles into the side of his neck, trying to relieve the tension built up there. Maybe by then he’ll have found a way to chill the fuck out, because right now he feels more like a ball of anxiety than like an actual person.
By the door, Yue Qi hesitates. Holding his breath, Shen Yuan watches in fascination how Yue Qi visibly steels himself, squaring his broad shoulders before he turns around one last time: “I’m very glad you’re alright, Xiao Jiu.”
And then he flees like a bat out of hell, ears flaming red.
What just happened—?
>SYSTEM, what is wrong with this body’s reactions to Yue Qi?< Shen Yuan demands as soon as he’s left alone in the room. >His touch burns and his stares feel physical. Something actually clenched in my chest when he went out of his way to avoid touching my back.<
[That might just be residual muscle-memory from the Original Goods… Remember, this body is already acquainted with Yue Qi, so its habitual reactions will remain at least for a while. It takes 21 days to break a tendency ( ꈍ ᴗ ꈍ ✿)]
>How am I supposed to ever function around Yue Qi, then?< laments Shen Yuan, groaning out loud and dramatically sliding back into a horizontal position, sprawling out on the thin mattress. Both his shoulders have now been bared by his inner robe’s sash loosening even further, but Shen Yuan is too busy wallowing to give a fuck about modesty and, consequentially, covering himself up properly. >I’m gonna fuck up the moment he smiles at me, he’s gonna realise I’m an impostor right away and he’ll tell everyone and their mother, ah!<
A sudden thought strikes him like a bolt of lightning.
>Shit, can they exorcise me? SYSTEM? Would they actually try to exorcise me, if they think I’m possessing this body?<
A-Yuan is overthinking this. This body belongs to A-Yuan now. There’s no possession whatsoever happening (◕ ˬ ◕ ✿)
>But would they actually, is the question—<
[Even if they would — which they won’t — this SYSTEM won’t let any harm befall A-Yuan. A-Yuan’s soul is precious and safe.]
SYSTEM’s words do manage to soothe Shen Yuan’s anxiety slightly, but the giggle that escapes his lips still sounds just a bit too hysterical. He can already picture himself floating several decimetres above this bed, spine arched unnaturally as he’s sprinkled with some sort of holy water… The image is, frankly, nothing short of ludicrous, but Shen Yuan has always had a very vivid, elaborate, and extensive imagination, and spacing out has never been an unusual thing for him.
Because it’s always been just Shen Yuan and his siblings, together since the beginning, and as a rather friendless child, he was forced to learn how to entertain himself.
His mild case of maladaptive daydreaming didn’t lessen with time even as he grew older, and he considered himself lucky his ‘overactive fantasy’ only replaced the human interaction he so dearly needed and craved, but never really interfered with his everyday functioning.
(The last few months before his death — ever since he was checked into the hospital for the last time ever — were especially lonely in spite of his siblings’ frequent visits).
(Not that he ever admitted it out loud, of course).
(They had enough worries, as it were, there was no need to add fuel to that particular fire).
Anyhow.
His favourite daydreams usually featured yellow fields filled with puppies and pink sunsets dusted with orange and blue hues that melted into spiralling chains of stars linked to each other with soft threads of light.
Another oft-visited one featured an exhilarating lack of gravity that had his heart swooping in his chest and his breath catching in his throat, an odd sense of euphoria boiling in his veins as he went upupup—
Sometimes — only sometimes — he daydreamed about packing his bags and just, leaving. Leaving everything he knew behind, venturing into the unknown without saying goodbye or writing a note.
(It’s not like anyone would miss him, he foolishly reflected during those moments, so what difference would it make?)
(He knows it wasn’t true, that his siblings loved him profoundly, but sometimes — especially when he was all alone in that big, cold hospital bed —, it became a little hard to believe…)
On rainy days, when he was feeling notably brave and silly, he dared to daydream about his parents actually loving him, giving him a home to come back to after routine check-ups at the hospital. Perhaps they’d shake their head fondly when he’d make a lame joke but they’d still laugh softly and kiss his cheek with a gentle muttered Yuan-er; maybe they’d listen to him when it was all just too much and so overwhelming he felt like he couldn’t properly breathe and like he was drowning in his own mind and—
(Every single time one of those Bad Days happened, da-ge ‘coincidentally’ decided that it was too late to drive back to his flat, and stayed the night with Shen Yuan, watching movies he grumpily complained about but still sang along with because he knew Shen Yuan secretly liked his deep voice).
(The morning after a Bad Day, Shen Yuan would find a Chokotoff under his pillow and his er-gege sitting by his bedside on one of the ugly hypermodern sofas the VIP room offered).
[A-Yuan?]
>I’m OK, just thinking…< Shen Yuan replies quickly, snapping out of his spiral of recollections. Ruffling his unbound hair, he thinks about the trials that await him, and can’t help but feel an odd sort of helplessness that constricts his throat and squeezes at his lungs. He doesn’t even want to imagine what his life would look like if he didn’t have SYSTEM helping him out…
[A-Yuan should rest; qi-deviations are hard on both the body and mind. A-Yuan’s new body is still recovering and hasn’t regained yet its full health.]
>But I’m not sleepy,< complains Shen Yuan, yawning so wide his jaw cracks. >I’m too pumped up to fall asleep now! C’mon, really!<
[Sleep, A-Yuan. This SYSTEM shall watch over you.]
Shen Yuan wants to childishly complain about SYSTEM’s fussy motherhenning that very clearly remind him of er-gege’s passive-aggressive TLC but then—
The sound of a soft lo-fi song playing in the background lulls him straight into sleep’s warm embrace.
[♫ NOW PLAYING ⊴ ⊲ ⊵ : elijah who — so_far_away.mp3 ♫]
Notes:
honestly, sy's life would've been so much more enjoyable as sqq if his system had a music player available,,,,
LOOK WHAT GARVI MADE FOR ME!!!!! THE BLUSH!!!! THE HANDS!!! SY'S EYELASHES!!! I AM: IN LOVE!!!! go check out her other work here! and make sure to give her lots of love uwu
Chapter 3: a chapter to let Shen Yuan adapt to a new body (and everything /that/ entails)
Summary:
Exhaling slowly, Shen Yuan extends his arms in front of him, turning his hands this way and that. There are callouses on his fingertips, he notices detachedly; on his fingertips and on the palms of his hands, too. They’re his, now, but he doesn’t have the memories of building them up through countless hours of sword training, or guqin practice.
Notes:
cw: in this chapter there's mention of shen jiu's past and everything that is implied in svsss about his childhood in the qiu household. it's not spoken about explicitly, but mind the author warnings. this story will allude to serious topics like slavery, abuse, and unhealthy coping mechanisms.
to make up for this, have an extra long update! (but don't get used to it uwu)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When he wakes up again some hours later, it’s — judging by the way the sun shines into the room through the large window — already well into the afternoon, and Shen Yuan notices several things all at once.
The first one is that a cover has been tucked over him and that he’s burning hot to the touch because the infirmary is warm with a sticky kind of heat that makes time move drowsily. The second thing he notices is that he can’t feel his hands and that his right foot has fallen asleep all the way up to his calf — this is going to itch like a bitch when it starts to wake up. The third is that his anxiety still hasn’t disappeared at all (if anything, it has augmented with the passing hours, now boiling evenly under the surface of his skin like dormant lava under the ground). The fourth and last thing Shen Yuan notices is the pressure on his bladder. He needs to pee. Badly.
Like, really urgently. Like, right now. As in, he’s tried to hold it in as long as he could, and now if he doesn’t get to use the restroom in the very close future everyone’s going to be very embarrassed about the entire situation, and Shen Yuan is pretty sure that’s the last thing anyone needs right now. OK, maybe not the last thing, but you get his drift, right? Like—
[A-Yuan. Focus.]
>What—?<
Sleep still fogs his mind, and he doesn’t want to move, but he has to stretch. He feels it all the way down to his toes.
Because this body has been badly hurt; he can tell from the lingering burning feeling in his bones and the ache weighting down his limbs.
(Ignoring the damage, the way he did the first time he woke up in this world, is no longer an option).
This is a body clearly resistant to punishment, though, so he stretches it all away with slow, careful movements, instinctually knowing how to move his limbs to avoid hurting himself further. When he hesitates here or there, SYSTEM gently coaches him through the exercises, suggesting little adjustments that leave Shen Yuan feeling boneless.
Left leg, right leg, back. Ohh. His lower back twinges. He twists, tucks his knees up, arches his spine, archarch arch… Something pops, and Shen Yuan moans happily. Good. Very good. Hips, right leg again, left leg once more, toes. He rotates his wrists, flexes his hands—
—that’s it, yes.
He can shift his weight now, but when he tries to stand, things grey out and when they come back, he’s on his knees again.
Fuck.
[Maybe A-Yuan should wait for a healer or medic to check A-Yuan’s injuries before attempting to leave the bed.]
>I mean, I definitely could do that,< replies Shen Yuan, puffing up his cheeks as he readies himself to try again. As if he’d ever let something as trivial as a stumble stop him from attempting once more. These limbs, no matter how weak they feel right now, are ten times as strong as his old body’s. >But where’s the fun in that? Let’s keep it sexy and dangerous, am I right?< Like hell is he going to flop around like a listless starfish; he’s already given himself time to feel maudlin about life. No time like the present to get over oneself!
[NO!]
>Boo, boring,< teases Shen Yuan as he blows a raspberry. Pushing himself off the floor by using the edge of the bed as a crutch, he manages to slowly steady himself onto shaky legs. It takes him a couple of attempts, but he finally succeeds in standing up straight after a few minutes of struggle. SYSTEM’s glaringly obvious disapproval does nothing to dissuade Shen Yuan from cheerily humming to himself as he rubs at his sore knees. >See? I haven’t brained myself!< he proudly announces once he stops wobbling, extending his arms triumphantly as he grins. “Ta-da!”
[Congratulations on not dying by embarrassingly knocking yourself out on the floor.]
>Aw, c’mon, SYSTEM! That’s harsh!<
But SYSTEM’s (undoubtedly salty) reply gets interrupted when a stern voice cuts in: “Just what do you think you are doing out of bed.”
Shen Yuan feels his soul exiting his body through his knees.
“Holy mother of fuck—,” he curses in English, turning around in surprise and falling down onto the hard wooden floor when his legs give up on him. Hissing at the throbbing in his hip due to the way he just bumped it into the bed’s hard edge, it takes him an embarrassingly long second to register the way the hand that didn’t break his fall has thrusted something out of the folds of his robe.
>What in the ever-loving fuck was that,< panics Shen Yuan, looking from the thin dagger still quivering where it’s imbedded in the doorframe’s wooden structure to the person he just accidentally almost-stabbed.
Because there, right by the door, stands a tall woman with fierce phoenix eyes and the sternest scowl Shen Yuan has ever seen on anyone. Her robes are simple and unadorned, the cut practical and the colour-palette muted and unassuming. She’s terrifying in an unapologetic sort of way that Shen Yuan can’t quite put a finger on.
(She reminds him of da-ge’s fiancé, a freckly little thing that had Shen Yuan’s eldest brother wrapped around her pinkie finger—)
(She’d liked to pinch his thin cheeks with a bit too much enthusiasm, but she’d also given the loveliest bearhugs. Shen Yuan had loved her like a big sister).
“You seem tense,” the woman deadpans, glancing at the miniature dagger stuck next to her head. She hadn’t even flinched, her sharp features relaxed into an unimpressed moue that barely changes when she directs her gaze towards Shen Yuan.
Suppressing a shudder and feeling his respect for her skyrocket, Shen Yuan warily calls out to SYSTEM: >…who is this and how do I get on her good side?<
[This young woman is called Kun Yaling, and she’s one of Qian Cao Peak’s most promising disciples. The Original Goods avoided the infirmary like the plague due to hidden injuries he didn’t want prodded, so they weren’t well-acquainted. A-Yuan can refer to her as Kun-shimei or Kun-daifu. Kun Yaling has a straight-forward personality, and she appreciates honesty and wit.]
“This shixiong apologises for his rash reaction,” manages to say Shen Yuan dazedly, inclining his head in a shallow bow of both greeting and apology. Inside his chest, behind his ribs, his heart still beats wildly, unable to calm down fully after the sudden fright. “Harming Kun-shimei was not this one’s intention.”
“Nice try,” Kun Yaling snorts, rolling her eyes as she fully steps into the room, closing the door behind her. “But throwing a dagger like that doesn’t happen if there isn’t at least a liiiittle bit of murderous intent behind it. Don’t worry, though, I’m not taking it personally. Pretty sure you would’ve tried to stab about anyone who made you startle like that.”
>I didn’t even know I could do that!< complains Shen Yuan internally, but deep down — somehow — he’s certain that if he’d truly wanted to harm Kun Yaling, the dagger would’ve struck true. (Which, OK, maybe it hadn’t been his intention, but still).
(Fuck semantics, nevertheless).
[…This SYSTEM will explain A-Yuan’s reaction later.]
Placated for now, Shen Yuan doesn’t want to get into a discussion with Kun Yaling about morality and intent, so, instead of voicing his complaints out-loud, he just hums non-committedly.
Deeming his reply satisfactory enough, Kun Yaling crosses her arms in front of her chest and takes her time observing the pathetic heap of limbs that is Shen Yuan currently.
“Alright, so. You got two options, kid,” Kun Yaling announces, right when Shen Yuan is about to say something because he’s feeling so damn uncomfortable under that undecipherable gaze. “Either you wait for Mu-shixiong and Yue-shixiong to come back, or you let me examine you and if — and only if — everything seems to be working how it should be, I discharge you and you’re allowed to leave as soon as you wish. Your choice.”
>Why are they ‘shixiongdi’ and I’m just ‘kid’?<
[A-Yuan. Focus. Stop pouting.]
Right, he has a reputation to uphold.
On any other day (in any other life), Shen Yuan wouldn’t mind either way: he’s been a patient for most of his 21 years of existence, so at one point medical check-ups turned into a practically daily occurrence. Occupational hazards, he’d liked to call them. Thus, the preconception of people prodding at his sickly body shouldn’t unnerve him like this. Because superficially, neither option sounds necessarily bad, but, for some reason, the thought of letting a man (boy, whatever) examine this body makes nausea rear up its ugly head at the back of his throat.
“This shixiong would prefer the second option,” he admits quietly, schooling his facial features into a more dignified pokerface when it feels like he’s giving away too much of his inner turmoil. “Please,” he adds after a very brief silence.
“Alright. Can I touch you?” Kun Yaling asks, crouching by Shen Yuan’s prone body. Her hands stay neatly on her knees until Shen Yuan nods his consent, and then she aids him back onto his legs. Once he’s properly reclined on the bed, she grabs his wrist and presses the tips of both her index- and middle finger to the soft skin of Shen Yuan’s inner wrist.
He fails to disguise the way he flinches when something warm and foreign tickles into his body, quickly creeping up his arm and seeming to concentrate behind his bellybutton. Fortunately, Kun Yaling doesn’t point it out; the only giveaway that she’s noticed is the infinitesimal paling of her lips as they flatten into a line.
“Honestly, it’s a miracle you didn’t qi-deviate earlier,” Kun Yaling scolds after a minute, her warm fingers tightening briefly around Shen Yuan’s wrist. “You were running on fumes, held upright by spite and— well, sheer stubbornness, I bet. Kid, do you even sleep? Your body was so exhausted you would’ve collapsed one of these days regardless of any hot-headed Bai Zhan brats’ involvement!”
Shen Yuan doesn’t answer, and Kun Yaling must interpret the way he glances down as both a confession and an expression of guilt, because she sighs quietly and continues passing him that warm something without chiding him.
It kind of tickles in a good way, and he can’t help but squirm.
“I’m using my qi to check your meridians,” explains the healer in an attempt to ease his jitteriness, watching his face attentively. “After a deviation as severe as yours, there’s a possibility of internal damage due to the sudden increase of flux in your system.”
“Like a fever? Burning the body from the inside,” ventures Shen Yuan, the curiosity he feels inside bleeding into his voice without his permission.
“Similar to that,” confirms Kun Yaling with a nod of approval, an odd twinkle in her eye when she looks at him. “Your core foundation is— well, it’s advanced, definitely, but it’s also fragile. Would I be wrong in assuming you’ve hit a bottleneck in your cultivation?”
Shen Yuan panics for a second, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise, before he remembers he can just ask SYSTEM.
>Had the Original Goods hit a bottleneck, like Yaling-shimei says?<
[Yes. Resentment was holding him back from his next breakthrough. This resentment would likely make this body more prone to qi-deviations, both before and after A-Yuan’s transmigration. This SYSTEM will explain more about this later.]
Huh. If Shen Yuan doesn’t have access to Shen Jiu’s full memory, does that mean the resentment SYSTEM is referring to won’t apply to him? Would he be able to push through the bottleneck?
[Later, A-Yuan. Do not make Kun Yaling wait.]
“Shimei would not… be mistaken in assuming that,” Shen Yuan says, looking away from her scrutinising eyes. Taking advantage of his long, unbound hair, he hides his face behind a thick curtain of hair and exhales a tremulous sigh.
>How’s my acting, SYSTEM?< he asks, fighting off a smile. He must stay in character to sell this farce, otherwise he’s fucked in the worst kind of way. >Do I deserve the Golden Rooster Award for Best Actor yet?<
[A-Yuan is going great (◠‿◠ ✿ )]
Encouraged by SYSTEM’s loyal praise, Shen Yuan counts to ten in his head before he straightens his spine and finger-combs his dark hair away from his face with his free hand, smoothing out his face into the Original Goods’ practiced pokerface.
“Irrelevant.” Lifting his chin, Shen Yuan steers the conversation away from possible plotholes in his knowledge about Shen Jiu’s cultivation. “Yue-shixiong mentioned Kun-shimei and Mu-shidi intervened before this shixiong’s qi-deviation could harm anyone else that had been present at the time.”
When Kun Yaling nods, he sighs in relief; it’d be awful if he’d accidentally hurt someone, consequences be damned!
[It wouldn’t have been A-Yuan’s fault, though… (ಥ﹏ಥ)]
>It’s not about fault! It’s about the fact that actual human beings could’ve gotten hurt,< complains Shen Yuan, shivering at the mere thought.
“Stop fidgeting, I’m almost done,” chastises Kun Yaling quickly, pressing the tips of her fingers a little bit more insistently into Shen Yuan’s pulsepoint.
For another long minute, both cultivators stay silent while Kun Yaling finishes checking Shen Yuan’s meridians.
“Shen Jiu,” starts to say Kun Yaling once she’s done, releasing his wrist and hesitating before she continues what she was saying. Being addressed by the Original Goods’ name is startling, and Shen Yuan’s breath catches in his throat. The way his blood is loudly rushing in his head makes it difficult to focus on the healer’s words. “I am aware of your… distaste towards being examined, but I must make sure your body is recovering properly. I promise I’ll be as quick and unobtrusive as possible,” she reassures him, a seriousness in her eyes that hadn’t been there previously.
“…if it must be done, then this shixiong will cooperate,” Shen Yuan settles on saying, hiding his confusion behind a façade of stoicism. Why hadn’t the Original Goods wanted to be examined? What had he been hiding? “Please take care of me, daifu.”
At this point, Shen Yuan’s brain goes into autopilot, and he starts disrobing. It’s a task on the wrong side of arduous — he’s not used to these garments, and his long hair gets in the way every other second, not to mention he’s still reclining on the bed —, but before too long, his pale inner robes are pooling around his waist, bruised torso on full display.
(During this entire process, Kun Yaling keeps looking at him weirdly, but Shen Yuan can’t figure out what he could possibly have done to elicit such a look directed at him — so he doesn’t think about it, shrugging it off easily).
“Kun-shimei?” asks Shen Yuan once he’s ready and Kun Yaling hasn’t moved from her kneeling position by his bedside, a contemplative twist to her pursed lips.
The healer snaps out of her reverie, pushing herself up and sitting on the edge of the bed.
“May I?” she asks, extending her hands and once again waiting for Shen Yuan’s consent before she starts examining his healing body. Kun Yaling is — as promised — effectively thorough and thoroughly effective; her fingers don’t linger any longer than is strictly necessary, and her touch is gentle while remaining business-like, detached but never cold.
Once she’s done checking his sore limbs (and tutting at the still-healing lacerations all across his skinned knees), she doesn’t even have to ask him to turn around before Shen Yuan — like the good little patient he’s always been — does just so, gripping the robes slipping off his hips with both hands to avoid flashing anything that should remain covered in polite company.
He’s busy pulling his long hair over his shoulder when he registers a sudden intake of breath behind him. Before he can turn around again to ask what’s the matter, Kun Yaling speaks up quietly: “The scars on your back,” she says cautiously, “—are they—”
“…that isn’t part of this examination,” replies Shen Yuan after a beat of silence, voice clipped as he unintentionally tugs on his own hair. He feels like he missed a step while descending some stairs, heart beating irregularly inside his ribcage.
>Scars? What scars? SYSTEM? What is she talking about? Does it have anything to do with the stiffness around my spine when I lift my arms? SYSTEM, please—<
[Leftover whip-scars from the Original Goods’ time spent as a slave. One of the reasons the Original Goods never disrobed in the presence of other people. Nobody knew about them, until now.]
>…not even Yue-shixiong?<
[Definitely not him. Probably only Mu-shidi, considering he was the one to heal most of the Original Goods’ wounds before A-Yuan transmigrated into this body. Additionally, in all of Cang Qiong Mountain, only the Original Goods’ shizun and Yue Qi know about the Original Goods’ past as a house slave.]
>HOW.<
[People made assumptions about his origins, and the Original Goods never felt the need to correct their erroneous assumptions.]
Not knowing how to reply to that, Shen Yuan stays quiet and lets his head hang. The sympathy he feels for the late Shen Jiu has been a constant companion of his since he woke up in this world, but realising he’s carrying the evidence of the Original Goods’ abused childhood on this body feels like a kick to the teeth…
“I won’t pry,” says Kun Yaling, interrupting the Spiral of Dread building up behind Shen Yuan’s sternum. “It is none of my business, and I won’t tell anyone else. However—,” she continues before Shen Yuan can react, brushing her knuckles over a patch of unblemished skin, “—as your appointed healer, I want to make sure you’re aware that, if they hurt or bother your movement, you should let me — or someone else you feel more comfortable with, whatever — check them out so they don’t make you suffer more than is strictly necessary. Got it? I’m against letting hubris prevent people from getting the help they need.”
Choked up for reasons he’s definitely not going to bother entertaining, Shen Yuan ends up nodding in acknowledgement without replying verbally; he’s unsure about how much Kun Yaling has been able to figure out by simply looking at his body, but he’s not about to dig himself into an even deeper hole by running his mouth and giving away he’s an impostor. By now she must already have concluded why the Original Goods had always refused to be examined physically by any healer.
(Shen Yuan is not going to ruin this).
“Stupid self-reliant children that don’t know when to ask for help,” she mutters viciously, prodding at Shen Yuan’s kidneys and ignoring his resulting hiss of discomfort. “Heavens above, the fact that you kicked those Bai Zhan brats’ assess in spite of the deplorable physical state you were in a few days ago, without even unsheathing that practice sword you like carrying around—! Well, it’s pretty damned impressive.”
“Meh, I’m fairly sure everyone on that peak would struggle to pour water out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel,” slips out of Shen Yuan’s lips before he can stop himself, glancing over his shoulder to look at the healer.
For a second, nobody says anything, both taken aback by Shen Yuan’s clearly uncharacteristic foot-in-mouth comment, but then Kun Yaling snorts and immediately pales like she can’t believe she actually almost-laughed at something Qing Jing’s infamously surly Head Disciple said.
Shen Yuan’s cheeks heat up when he feels Kun Yaling’s calculating gaze on the side of his face, and he swallows back a nervous chuckle, knocked off balance by the intrigued glint in her eyes.
“I did not call what you did ‘impressive’ to encourage you, though,” she says after a beat, returning her focus to Shen Yuan’s torso. Her voice has returned to its serious cadence, all traces of amusement having dissolved like sugar in warm water. “So don’t go getting any silly ideas now, hm?”
“This shixiong would never,” replies Shen Yuan, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from giggling when Kun Yaling unconsciously mumbles ‘this shixiong better not’, the fierce scowl on her face deepening the wrinkle between her dark eyebrows.
He lets her finish inspecting his back and easily turns around once more when she taps him twice on the shoulder, this time automatically knowing how to hold the robes pooling at his waist to cover himself. While she’s busy re-securing the bandages he hadn’t even noticed were wrapped around his chest, he uses the opportunity to further study the healer in front of him.
She’s— charming, admittedly, in a terrifying sort of way. Shen Yuan’s initial impression of Kun Yaling’s similarity to his da-ge’s girlfriend still stands strong, only reinforced by the way she had scowled and fussed about this body’s apparent ‘deplorable physical state’ (her words, not his; besides, Shen Yuan is pretty sure this body’s worst is still better than his initial body’s best, so he’s biased when he silently disagrees with her assessment. He’s had worse).
(Nevertheless, he makes sure to avoid showing his amusement outwardly).
(Shen Yuan might not be the brightest bulb in the box, but he knows not to cross someone like Kun Yaling or da-ge’s girlfriend).
“Your ribs are healing nicely,” comments Kun Yaling as she casually presses onto the hideously green-yellow bruise the size of a dinner-plate that covers most of Shen Yuan’s flank.
Now, Shen Yuan has had broken ribs before, due to some distinctively amateurish CPR gone wrong a few years ago; technically, this should be a sort of pain he’s experienced before, something that shouldn’t affect him all that much. (Exposure therapy, and all that she-bang).
—the breathy groan that rips its way past his throat is completely, 100% justified, though.
It’s a very different kind of pain to what he’s used to dealing with. In his first life, Shen Yuan’s chronic bad health put him through the wringer time and time again, but nothing has prepared him for Kun Yaling’s small nudge against his fractured ribs that has him gasping for air as a sharp ache alights his entire body in flames of protest.
“—fucking dickheaded motherfucking asshole, that hurts like a bitch,” he wheezes in English, breath punched out of his lungs as he lifts his hands to hide his face and teary eyes. Is this what ‘healing nicely’ feels like? Because if so, Shen Yuan did not sign up for this; he wants his painkillers and he wants them now.
>There wouldn’t be morphine available in this world by any chance, would there?< he asks SYSTEM hopefully, digging his Mount of Venus into the part of his face where his forehead meets his temples.
[Alas, no morphine in this world, A-Yuan.]
>Figures,< he laments his fate. With a maudlin little sigh, he combs his hair back with his fingers, resting his hands on the sides of his neck.
“Now, remember: no strenuous physical training, and definitely no fighting whatsoever until your ribs are fully healed, you hear me? I will find out if you disobey this healer’s direct orders. Don’t test me,” Kun Yaling threatens as she continues to pat down Shen Yuan’s torso. If she’s weirded out by his sudden switch to English, she doesn’t show it. “I’ll tie you up myself if that’s what it takes to make sure you sleep an entire night and eat at least two full meals every day.”
Shen Yuan would be offended if he weren’t so intimidated.
“Kun-shimei, really,” he says, definitely not whining. “This shixiong is fine.”
“Fairly sure you are the type to be falling down while claiming to be fine all the way down to the ground,” the healer deadpans, pulling her hands back into her lap. There’s an amused little quirk to her mouth, a softness hidden in the corner of her eyes.
[Kun Yaling hits the nail on the head once again! This SYSTEM should really start keeping a tally…]
>Don’t gang up on me!<
[This SYSTEM would never!]
>Liar,< replies Shen Yuan, pushing his lower lip out into a pout.
“Get dressed, kid. You’re discharged,” says Kun Yaling, and she exits the room with all the dignity of an empress before Shen Yuan can do more than start bowing in gratefulness.
OK.
So.
First things first.
Three minutes later, when his bladder no longer feels like it’s about to explode, Shen Yuan feels like a new person, refreshed and prim.
And, now— now what?
Exhaling slowly, Shen Yuan extends his arms in front of him, turning his hands this way and that. There are callouses on his fingertips, he notices detachedly; on his fingertips and on the palms of his hands, too. They’re his, now, but he doesn’t have the memories of building them up through countless hours of sword training, or guqin practice.
>Look at me go, reaping the results without working for any of this,< Shen Yuan thinks, bitterness dripping into his heart like a leaky faucet.
He can’t help but compare them to the hands he used to have in his first life, much smaller in size, with bony and frail-looking fingers, prominent veins and a perpetual tremor, always cold and too dry, no matter how much he moisturized them.
Shen Yuan can’t lie: he loves these new hands, loves the long palms with slender, elegant fingers and rosy knuckles, nailbeds neat and healthy. He loves the strength they hold, the way they grip firmly and don’t shake constantly, steadfast and calloused. They’re beautiful.
And yet—
[They’re A-Yuan’s hands now.]
SYSTEM’s robotic voice sounds softer than usual, but Shen Yuan still startles at its comment. His first reaction is to deny it by shaking his head, but SYSTEM is having exactly none of this:
[These hands belong to A-Yuan. They’re A-Yuan’s now. A-Yuan deserves them, and will do great things with them. The Original Goods might’ve been the one to strengthen them, but A-Yuan will be the one to teach them gentleness.]
SYSTEM’s steadfast faith in him brings tears to his eyes, and Shen Yuan sniffles pathetically for a few moments before he can pull himself together.
>Sappy SYSTEM,< he teases, pretending the moisture building up by his eyes’ rims isn’t there. He doesn’t say ‘thank you’, doesn’t express his gratitude verbally, but he knows SYSTEM understands nonetheless.
SYSTEM’s great like that.
(The virtual confetti it throws at its Host is also a dead giveaway).
(Very endearing).
Feeling considerably more optimistic than a few minutes ago, Shen Yuan smiles to himself and walks over to the messy bed, straightening the blankets to the best of his ability (which admittedly isn’t all that impressive). On top of that, bending over is painful, so the result ends up leaving something to be desired, but Shen Yuan figures the intention is what counts, so he just tries to smooth all the wrinkles out of the sheets.
Once that’s done, he straightens up and puts his hands on his hips, carefully considering what his next steps of action are going to be. However, the feeling of thin fabric distracts him from his plans and makes him glance down at his chest; looks like the first thing he needs to do is to find something proper to wear, because while Shen Yuan doesn’t feel underdressed at all, he’s pretty sure the robes he’s currently wearing are the equivalent of a pair of yellow duckie boxershorts in modern times. Amusing, yes, but also utterly indecent, in other words, and now is not the time to find out how he feels about exhibitionism.
Thankfully, by the bed’s side, on top of a polished trunk with silvery metallic cornerbumpers, rests a set of neatly-folded clothes and a pair of white boots, a simple guan and a few ribbons in pale green tones.
Bingo!
Getting dressed is an adventure in and of itself; how anyone needs this many layers is beyond Shen Yuan’s comprehension (especially considering how hot it is). It takes him, by pure trial-and-error, six attempts before he can cinch the pale green sash around his waist without realising he forgot to put on another gauzy robe whose purpose seems to be completely ornamental because there’s no way in hell it offers anything else.
>Jeez, what a workout,< complains Shen Yuan, pulling on his sleeves to make them sit properly at his wrists, adjusting the arm guards that reach all the way to his elbows.
[A-Yuan mustn’t forget to tie back his hair, if A-Yuan wants to look the part!]
>…fuck.<
(The image of cutting off at least thirty centimetres of its length crosses his mind, but Shen Yuan immediately discards the idea — he wants people to not look at him, not to give them a reason to stare).
Annoyed at himself, he huffs out a sigh as he twirls a lock of hair around his index finger. Going out with his hair down is a no-no, then, but…
Discarding the metallic guan, Shen Yuan divides his hair into three separate strands and starts frenchbraiding it away from his face, the tip of his tongue peeking from between his lips as he concentrates on the careful movement of his hands. He’s out of practice and the speed at which his fingers work shows how long it’s been since he last did this on his meimei’s frizzy hair. After choosing the darkest of the ribbons to tie the end of his plaited hair, he can’t help but add a little bow to it. There, all done.
Satisfied, he’s now ready to leave.
Grabbing the dagger still embedded into the wood of the doorframe, Shen Yuan hesitates before he wraps it in one of the remaining ribbons and stores it away in his sleeve — a problem for tomorrow, or at least, later.
As prepared as he’ll ever be, Shen Yuan exhales a quiet breath and nods to himself. After a last look at the empty infirmary room behind him, he steps out of the building and into Qian Cao Peak, ready to explore.
[♫ NOW PLAYING ⊴ ⊲ ⊵ : Halsey ft SUGA (smyang vers.) — suga_s_interlude.mp3♫]
Grateful for SYSTEM’s company and humming along to its chosen playlist, Shen Yuan takes in this unfamiliar and brand-new world, trying to conceal the way he’s looking around him with surprise-wide eyes as he hungrily absorbs the colourful summery landscape all around him. Out here in the breeze, the temperature is more bearable, and several immense ginkgo trees offer some much-appreciated shade.
All around him, disciples dressed in the same browns as Kun Yaling stroll about the large clearing he’s stepped into, carrying books in their arms or baskets hung on their elbows; some others are sitting in little groups and seem to be discussing things of great importance, judging by their expressive hand gestures and occasional shout of disbelief. The occasional loner dozes off at the foot of the trees, hands folded over their stomach and head lolling forward, discarded notebooks by their side.
>Yikes, my reputation clearly precedes me,< comments Shen Yuan when he feels several gazes watching him warily. To discourage anyone from trying to talk to him, he keeps his pokerface on and unhurriedly makes his way through the clearing to the wide path that leads away from the buildings at his back, hands curled into loose fists by his side.
Shen Yuan’s strategy works flawlessly, and soon he’s stepping onto what SYSTEM calls the Rainbow Bridge and Shen Yuan calls a complete Mario Kart rip-off.
(Honestly, he should’ve probably seen it coming, because the bridge’s name doesn’t even try to hide its origins, but still).
(He had faith in the author).
(Also, couldn’t they have invested in handrails, or something similar? This shit is a completely new type of terrifying, and Shen Yuan isn’t even afraid of heights).
After a nail-bitingly tense trip in which Shen Yuan envisions at least three (3) different ways this could end up in catastrophe and several more reasons why this bridge is a terrible, very bad invention, he finally sets foot on Qing Jing Peak’s soil.
The tension that had been building up in his chest dissipates slowly, and once his hands stop shaking, Shen Yuan braces himself, and looks at his new home for the first time.
Green.
That’s his first impression.
Green and beautiful.
Qing Jing looks like Arashiyama’s famous bamboo grove at its absolute best, lush and fragrant and — most importantly — free of any tourists. It’s notably emptier than Qian Cao, with only a few disciples walking around with clear destinations in mind. As Shen Yuan walks forward, deeper into the grove as he follows the meandering pathway, he blessedly doesn’t run into anyone who tries to start a conversation with him. The most he gets is an elegant nod of acknowledgment, courtesy of two beautiful women that are resting underneath a pergola full of blooming wisteria, twin pipas on their laps.
Continuing this fun exploration, Shen Yuan hums along with SYSTEM’s playlist until he finds himself in a place that makes his heart stutter behind his ribs.
It’s a quaint little clearing nestled in-between the tall bamboo stalks, with a stream of limpid water crossing it diagonally before it disappears in the thicket. Sunbeams bathe the leaf-covered floor with golden hues, dustlight gleaming as it floats through the air and refuses to land; in the distance, the sound of birds calling each other.
It’s peaceful, perfect even.
But then—
“Shen Jiu—!”
A loud voice breaks the perfect harmony that had settled around Shen Yuan, and he can’t help but flinch as he registers the sheer angriness expressed in that single call, spitting out ‘his’ name with the same venom one would use to curse an enemy’s ancestors several generations back.
Here’s the thing: Shen Yuan is smart. He watches people and he notices things. He analyses and thinks about everything a hundred times before coming to a conclusion, even if he’s not always right.
Still, certain situations call for desperate measures. Having no desire whatsoever of finding himself at the business end of a sword, Shen Yuan lifts his chin, squares his shoulders, and turns tail.
“Yah! Shen Jiu!” yells the young man again, and Shen Yuan can hear the footsteps behind him coming closer. “Hold on—!”
For a second in time there, Shen Yuan considers simply sprinting away, because who cares about dignity when one’s well-being is in peril? The only thing that stops him from actually njooming the fuck out of there is a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Kun-shimei’s, saying don’t you dare, kid.
Sighing deeply, he allows his shoulders to slump in resignation for a brief moment before he squares them and he smooths his features out into their comfortable pokerface. Something tells him he’s going to need his face in check to get through this encounter in one piece…
And so he slows down and lets the loud individual catch up to him.
The person so rudely calling out the Original Goods’ name turns out to be a fine-featured boy with fair skin and a slender build, a good ten centimetres smaller than Shen Yuan himself and still carrying hints of that soft puppyfat of childhood in his cheeks and around his chin. He’s wearing simple-cut pale robes with leather wrist-braces and a grey sash tied tightly around his waist, a large broadsword strapped to his back.
There’s a tiny mole under one of his eyes that’s as distracting as his long eyelashes.
He’s absolutely adorable.
(Shen Yuan sort of wants to pinch his cheeks).
“Can I help you?” asks Shen Yuan somewhat reluctantly. He clasps his hands behind his back, fingers curling instinctively into fists.
>SYSTEM, who’s this?< he asks internally, unable to stop the way his eyebrows lift when he fully registers the boy’s beautiful features. >And why, pray tell, is he so pretty?<
[This would be Liu Jian, Bai Zhan Peak Lord’s most likely successor. The Original Goods addressed him as Liu-shidi — mostly to lord his own seniority over Liu Jian. As for his appearance, both his father and his mother are famously beautiful cultivators.]
>Some people truly are god’s favourites, huh,< Shen Yuan muses, watching the cute kid straighten his already impeccable posture. >This is one of the kids that didn’t intervene when the Original Goods went into qi-deviation, then?<
“Yes,” Liu Jian says, an impressive frown marring his face. Most of the fierceness of the gesture gets lost because of the softness of the rest of his features, and Shen Yuan almost coos out loud. “I mean, no— just. Shut up and listen.”
Well.
If Shen Jiu’s face hadn’t had this astonishing ease to keep its expression still, Shen Yuan’s eyebrows would’ve met his hairline.
“So. Shifu said I had to apologise to you, for some reason,” the Bai Zhan brat continues, crossing his arms in front of his chest and rolling his eyes like this entire situation is leagues below him. “So here I am. Apologising. I mean, I did challenge you to a fight, and— well, we all expected you to either cheat your way out of it or to use some dirty little trick to attack us sneakily, so really, who’s to blame? Anyway, that was that, I did what shifu told me to.”
Liu Jian nods when he finishes his speech, clearly immensely satisfied with what he apparently considers an acceptable apology.
What a self-righteous brat, thinks Shen Yuan in amazement. No wonder this kid and the original Shen Jiu repelled each other like water and oil; that was about the worst apology he’s ever heard.
It’s even bad enough to earn Shen Yuan’s pettiness.
“Oh, you needn’t worry about that, all’s forgiven,” he answers easily. And then, because he’s a little bit of an asshole: “Liu-shidi is giving himself way too much credit. Most of the damage this shixiong suffered was due to the qi-deviation. Why, in comparison, the bruises left by Liu-shidi are practically insignificant!”
Well-aware he’s being perhaps a bit of an annoying little shit but honest-to-god not giving a single fuck, Shen Yuan watches how Liu Jian’s face goes through several emotions and colours before settling on a puce-coloured grimace of absolute outrage. Admittedly, Liu Jian’s grimace is a thing of beauty. Quite literally, it’s a work of art and it’s also beautiful because, well, he’s beautiful and it’s really just not fair that he can make such a mopey expression look so good. Shen Yuan guarantees that if he has ever scowled, it has not looked anything like that.
He doesn’t even want to know what it looks like, actually.
(Not even with his new face).
Nevertheless, Shen Yuan supresses an amused snort at the sight. Can he afford to taunt Liu Jian in his current situation? Probably not, if one considers Shen Yuan’s absolute lack of self-defence knowledge. Is he still going to do it? Hell yeah! If he’s going to die a second time so soon after the first one, he’ll do so having fun — that’s all he can ask in his life, right now.
[A-Yuan is not allowed to die!]
>Yeah, yeah, SYSTEM, don’t worry, it’s a figure of speech!<
Focusing back on Liu Jian, Shen Yuan purses his lips and waves his hand frivolously, as if delicately flapping away a pesky fly.
“Really, shidi, this shixiong is fine and thanks shidi for his touching concern. Now go back to bashing your little friends’ heads in, or whatever you lot like to do for fun, yes? If your shifu asks, this shixiong will tell them shidi did a swell job at apologising,” he angelically says, tilting his head sideways in that faux-innocent way he 100% knows drives his er-gege up the walls with annoyance. In front of him, Liu Jian gapes like a fish, visibly speechless. “Shidi surpassed aaall of shixiong’s expectations. Congratulations!”
And to add insult to injury, he performs a textbook-perfect bow and turns around after a single heartbeat, flicking his long braid over his shoulder and mockingly waving goodbye with his fingers to dismiss Liu Jian without any more fanfare.
Take that, you prepotent brat, thinks Shen Yuan as he calmly walks away, a smug little smile curling the corners of his lips upwards. Don’t try me.
Notes:
SYSTEM is an enabler
the 'mount of venus' shen yuan presses into his forehead is the meaty part of your palm where your thumb meets your wrist, in case you didn't know (idk if there's another word for it?)
kun yaling (坤雅玲), my first oc for this fic (composed by the following characters: 坤 [kūn], meaning "earth, female", 雅 [yǎ], meaning "elegant, graceful, refined", and 玲 [líng], meaning "tinkling of jade")
BUT ALSO!!!!!! LQG'S FIRST APPEARANCE!!!! i chose the name 'jian' (健 [jiàn], meaning "strong, healthy") for him because 'qingge' is his courtesy/peak lord name and as we know, our boys are only disciples as of now~
also, 'shixiongdi' is the plural of shixiong uwu
Chapter 4: a chapter to shine some light on Qing Jing’s Peak Lord’s influence and temperament
Summary:
Stretching his arms over his head and marvelling at the lack of general pain — because apart from the smarting of his still-healing ribs, this is the first time in his life he’s not aching all over after a long night of well-deserved rest —, Shen Yuan looks around with curiosity to what is now his room, his home.
Chapter Text
Much to his chagrin, Shen Yuan’s second life’s first official sunrise brings even more challenges to his doorstep. Fortunately, the most pressing challenge has, at least, the courtesy to announce its arrival with a series of hard knocks against Shen Yuan’s door.
Grumpy as all hell, it takes him a second of blearily blinking around in confusion to remember where he is and how he ended up here, after being pulled so unceremoniously from a much-deserved dreamless sleep.
“State your business,” Shen Yuan says loudly, deep voice rough with sleep but still sounding much more awake than he actually feels. Rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles, he briefly considers opening the door out of nothing but sheer politeness, but that would mean 1) getting up, 2) getting dressed, and 3) opening his eyes properly, so that’s already a big no-no in and of itself; besides, he’s in no shape or form ready to entertain guests this early in the day.
“Shen-shixiong!” says the person outside his room — most likely a fellow disciple, judging by their chosen form of address. Their voice is muffled by the closed door, but even like this Shen Yuan can discern the young disciple’s obvious nervousness. “Shizun has requested shixiong’s presence in one shi, at sì hour in shizun’s garden!”
While by no means a genre-savvy individual, Shen Yuan knows that when someone of status in this kind of xianxia novels ‘requests’ something, they definitely mean ‘this is an order you can’t refuse or I’ll make you regret ignoring my oh-so-friendly invitation’, and he doesn’t even have to ask SYSTEM to confirm this. Progress!
“Alright, message received,” he tells the disciple at his door, covering a wide yawn with the back of his hand. “Thank you, shidi. Have a nice day.”
There’s a brief pause, and then, hesitantly: “Uhm, shixiong—? You too?”
(What a weird kid).
(Cute).
Shaking his head in confusion, Shen Yuan allows himself a few minutes of quiet idleness, lethargically acknowledging he’s — unfortunately — still not a morning person and filing that little piece of information away to complain about on another moment; after all, it’s practically the first flaw he’s encountered in this body, so he shouldn’t denounce its clear unwillingness (or, well, its inability) to function properly this early in the morning. It’d be like throwing the first stone to someone whose sins don’t outnumber yours—
—pretty stupid, all in all.
(And Shen Yuan is loads of things, but ‘stupid’ isn’t anywhere the top 10 of that particular list).
(Maybe in the top 50).
(Or top 25, if pressed).
(Definitely not higher, so sir).
When opening both of his eyes at the same time no longer feels like a Sisyphean task, Shen Yuan pushes himself onto his elbows, noticing with a pleased hum that the ache in his ribs has decreased exponentially.
>Man, this cultivation shit would’ve come in handy back in my old life,< he comments lightly, cupping his ribs with one of his hands as he leans all his weight on his other elbow. >Imagine the look on the doctors’ faces if I’d healed like this last time I broke my ribs! Oh, I’d pay big money to see that, SYSTEM— the sick little patient, suddenly a medical miracle! Surely they would’ve fallen over themselves to treat me all those following times, instead of behaving like I was just another nameless face. I mean, I was just another face, yeah, but still, all the nurses knew my name, at least… Fancy that, huh?<
[A-Yuan should not jest about his life and its worth.]
>It’s my first death and I can joke if I want to,< sing-song Shen Yuan in English to the rhythm of Lesley Gore’s ‘It’s My Party’, SYSTEM’s chastising disapproval rolling off of him like water off a duck’s back.
[A-Yuan is being a self-depreciating brat again… 눈_ 눈 ’]
With a bark of surprised laughter, Shen Yuan sits up fully, silk bedsheets sliding down his torso and into his lap. >Eh, I suppose I am, yeah…,< he admits easily, because he’s nothing if not self-aware about this particular part of his personality. At the end of his first life, to deal with his impending and inevitable death, he’d gotten used to turning towards self-deprecating jokes and a more merry-go-lucky attitude concerning dying and everything that would mean for him and his loved ones.
Perhaps not the healthiest of coping mechanisms, but it had been effective.
For him, at least.
(Meimei had hated his levity with every single fibre of her being, and she’d never hesitated to flick his forehead every time he made a silly joke at his own expense; her go-to strategy to make him stop was viciously piling compliments upon compliments onto her xiao-ge until Shen Yuan begged her to quit, ears and cheeks on fire as he wished for the earth to swallow him up).
(Da-ge always got this incredibly sad and faraway look in his eyes when Shen Yuan offhandedly made a light-hearted comment about life after his own passing; da-ge never chastised his younger brother the way meimei did, opting instead for a gentler route, reminding him he still had plenty of time in him).
(Er-gege, on the other hand, turned to anger when the helplessness got the best of him, his already taciturn nature closing off even further; even so, his snappish remarks never targeted Shen Yuan, but on more than one occasion, er-gege had had to leave the room to calm down after such a joke).
(Shen Yuan misses them with all his heart).
But there’s no point in crying over spilled milk.
Stretching his arms over his head and marvelling at the lack of general pain — because apart from the smarting of his still-healing ribs, this is the first time in his life he’s not aching all over after a long night of well-deserved rest —, Shen Yuan looks around with curiosity to what is now his room, his home.
All in all, the room is…quaint, Shen Yuan supposes; Spartan in an oddly charming way, tidy and unassuming. Not nearly as ostentatious as he’d expected last evening when he finally found ‘his’ room after his confrontation with that brat Liu Jian. After all, Shen Jiu’s status as Head Disciple is already made obvious by his intrinsically decorated disciple robes — he’d expect his home to depict the same prestige, but instead… well, instead he found this.
There’s a slightly rudimental pipa shoved into one of the corners of the bedroom, right next to an erhu and a guqin that’s partially covered by a pale cloth; on the round window’s sill above the daybed, a collection of wooden figures — tiny carved animals with little ribbons tied around their necks — are neatly placed in a row next to an incense burner. A single shelf holds around two dozen books, held upright between two copper bookends, and next to it there’s a large trunk with iron cornerbumpers and a similar albeit smaller trunk on top of it. On the other side of the room, a simple modesty screen hides a surprisingly spacious bathtub made out of bamboo.
It seems the only truly luxurious part of the room is the bed Shen Yuan is currently laying in, making it another thing he and Shen Jiu have in common: the bedsheets are high-threadcount silk, the numerous pillows are filled with feather-down, and the mattress is so unbelievably soft that comparing it to a cloud wouldn’t be too outrageous of a comparison.
It’s perfect, and Shen Yuan has slept like a log.
But it’s also…a peculiar choice for sure, considering the fact that Kun Yaling’s observation about this body’s exhaustion would logically mean Shen Jiu didn’t sleep nearly enough. The entire set-up is too personal — too deliberately practical — to be purely decorative, so its purpose must have been functional. Maybe Shen Jiu’s apparent sleep deprivation had less to do with will and more to do with ability… (or lack thereof).
With a drawn-out groan, Shen Yuan finally gathers enough will-power to heave himself off the bed, still in awe at the absence of joint-cracking.
>What’s on today’s schedule?< he asks SYSTEM, combing back the wisps of hair that have escaped the braid he slept it, ready to wash his face with the water in the bowl placed by his bedside.
[Meditation first, then breakfast, followed by bath-time and fixing A-Yuan’s hair, and after that, A-Yuan’s shizun requested A-Yuan’s presence.]
>Ugh, OK, let’s get it,< Shen Yuan encourages himself as he dries off his face with a towel. He folds his legs underneath him and unceremoniously plops down on the thin bamboo rug spread out in the middle of the room. >Coach me through it?< he asks hesitatingly, letting his body settle into a position its clearly accustomed to: spine straight and shoulders relaxed, hands resting in his lap.
[Downloading… Downloading… Downloading…
Acquired:
※Meditating_For_Dummies.zip]
>Perfect! Thank you, SYSTEM,< he replies, both amused and slightly offended at the name of the manual. With a content smile, he lets SYSTEM open the newly downloaded file, and he starts reading.
It’s through a combination of the detailed guide, some muscle memory, and SYSTEM’s encouraging coaching that Shen Yuan eventually manages to pace his breathing and relax his body enough to reach into himself like he’s being instructed. A pool of warmth becomes more obvious near what SYSTEM calls his lower dantian, a familiar feeling for this body but unfamiliar for Shen Yuan himself. For Shen Yuan it’s fascinating; he’s never felt anything like this. Now that he’s aware of the warmth of what’s supposed to be his golden core inside of him, he can’t unfeel it.
Two short knocks on his door rudely disturb Shen Yuan’s concentration and pull him away from this state of meditation. With a grumble of half-assed complaint, he unfolds from his lotus position and stands up straight.
>Am I expecting any more visitors this morning?< he asks SYSTEM, pulling the sleeves of his sleeping robes over his knuckles as he shakes out any wrinkles from the delicate fabric.
[This SYSTEM is unaware of any previous appointments the Original Goods might have had on this day. A-Yuan should get dressed properly, nevertheless. It’s inappropriate to show A-Yuan’s sleeping clothes to strangers.]
>Great, so it could be literally anyone,< sighs Shen Yuan, rubbing circles into his temple. With pursed lips he contemplates the idea of opening the door without putting on at least one additional layer of outer robes, but then a few more knocks on the door convince him SYSTEM is probably right: it’d be very inappropriate to do so. >Fuck!<
“Hold on!” he yells, scrambling to the two wooden trunks by the bookshelf, pulling out the first robe he sees and hastily pulling it over the sleeping clothes he’s currently wearing. Shen Yuan is still tying the sash he wore yesterday around his waist when he reaches the door, cursing under his breath and getting a strand of hair caught between his lips in the process, which only makes his mood worsen. “Coming, coming,” he mutters as he spits out the lock of hair stuck to his lips, opening the door abruptly. “—oh.”
Standing in front of him, fist raised as if ready to knock once more, stands Yue Qi. He’s dressed more elaborately today, black robes pristine and of visible high-quality; this time, his hair is neatly combed, a different guan holding his topknot in place.
(Shen Yuan sort of misses his more rumpled appearance).
(He feels positively frumpy in his own wrinkled robes, sash most-likely askew and hair escaping yesterday’s braid).
“Yue-shixiong,” greets Shen Yuan, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“You— Shen-shidi left Qian Cao before Mu-shidi and this shixiong could visit him, yesterday,” Yue Qi says politely, a tiny frown pulling on the corners of his lips. There’s something hesitantly reproachful about the way he’s holding himself just outside Shen Yuan’s room, hands clasped in front of him.
“Kun-shimei discharged this shidi after making sure recovery was going well,” Shen Yuan says, blinking slowly. He never actually considered the fact that Yue Qi would come to Qing Jing so soon, so he blurts out the first excuse he can come up with: “This shidi figured his duties as Head Disciple had been adjourned for too long already and hoped to ease someone else’s burden by returning as soon as was possible.”
For some reason, Shen Yuan’s excuse makes Yue Qi visibly upset.
“Xiao Jiu, you almost died,” he says, taking a step forward and raising his hands as if to grab Shen Yuan by the shoulders — to shake, or to hug, Shen Yuan isn’t sure (and certainly in no position to guess with certainty). The vehemence in his voice startles Shen Yuan, who instinctively moves backwards; seeing his reaction, Yue Qi freezes and drops his hands back to his side. “Nobody would condemn you for taking time off until you’re fully healed,” he says after a brief pause, pitching his voice lower.
Earnestness bleeds from his words, drips from his lips and drowns out everything else.
“I—,” struggling to find the right words, Shen Yuan settles for shaking his head instead. Maybe like this Yue Qi will fill the silence for him, maybe he’ll jump to conclusions; maybe he’ll know better than Shen Yuan what Shen Jiu would’ve meant by choosing to avoid a verbal answer.
“Xiao Jiu…”
That nickname is wrong — feels wrong — and Shen Yuan frowns without meaning to, wondering why being called an endearing nickname like ‘Little Nine’ makes him so uneasy. The snappish reply ‘don’t call me that’ is on the tip of his tongue, but he manages to bite it back before those words can escape his mouth because suddenly he’s not sure where that reaction came from.
“It’s a matter of principle,” he bullshits, lifting his chin in defiance as if he actually knows what he’s talking about. “A Head Disciples has duties, responsibilities! One cannot simply allow life to distract one from their commitments!”
Yue Qi narrows his eyes at Shen Yuan’s passionate declaration, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest. For a second, Shen Yuan is sure his farce has been discovered, and his heart drops all the way down to his tummy, but then Yue Qi speaks: “Is that what you told Kun-shimei?”
“That’s a low blow,” complains Shen Yuan before he can stop himself, lips pursing into a petulant pout. “Kun-shimei is scary.”
“…this is the first time I’ve known Xiao Jiu to admit being afraid of someone,” Yue Qi comments softly, and there’s a glimmer in his dark eyes that Shen Yuan doesn’t even want to start puzzling out.
“Shixiong should not get used to it,” he replies evenly while he shoots the older boy his best attempt at a frosty glare, which he does by channelling the sudden rush of frustration he feels at himself because he should probably have kept his big trap shut.
>Way to go, me,< he groans internally, barely supressing a face-palm. >Second day in this body and I’m already practically giving away my identity as an impostor…<
[A-Yuan did nothing wrong. The Original Goods might not have been the most playful of individuals, but he did have a sense of humour.]
>Fairly sure he didn’t show it, though,< Shen Yuan says, focusing back on the young man standing in front of him. >Might as well be carrying a neon sign as a hat that says ‘I AM NOT SHEN JIU’ or something like that.<
[A-Yuan’s fashion taste is not as tacky as that hat A-Yuan just described.]
Before Shen Yuan can even begin to laugh at SYSTEM’s appalled statement, he gets distracted by Yue Qi because there’s a small smile on his face, a smile that’s warm and almost disbelieving. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Yue Qi says, a fond inflection in his voice.
“Good,” replies Shen Yuan viciously, eyes narrowed in annoyance at himself. Why does Yue Qi keep making him feel so wrong-footed, constantly catching him by surprise? He doesn’t understand. What was Yue Qi’s relationship with Shen Jiu, anyway? SYSTEM has told him about the animosity the Original Goods felt towards his childhood friend, but then why is Yue Qi acting this way, like he’s happy about simply being in the same room as Shen Yuan, even if Shen Yuan is acting sketchy at best and antagonistic at worst?
It just doesn’t make any sense! No matter how Shen Yuan twists and turns to look at their situation from a different perspective, it still remains completely nonsensical!
It’s infuriating.
“…can this shidi offer Yue-shixiong a cup of tea?” offers Shen Yuan tentatively, barely stopping himself from fidgeting — Shen Jiu wouldn’t fidget, he reminds himself sternly, fingers curling into his palm, hands balling into fists. “Or—”
Apparently, that too is something Shen Yuan should’ve kept as a thought, judging by the widening of Yue Qi’s eyes and the way his lips part in surprise.
Feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, Shen Yuan wheezes out a harried ‘never mind’ and closes the door in Yue Qi’s face, pressing his back against the door.
“Oh my God, I am a disgrace, pure embarrassment on legs, the personification of absolute clownery—,” he groans, sliding down to the ground. “—seriously, ‘can this shidi offer Yue-shixiong a cup of tea’, are we fucking kidding?” he mocks himself, pitching his voice slightly higher to add theatricality to his spiralling and very justified crisis. “I’m gonna have to go into hiding for at least a few decades before I can show my face outside again,” Shen Yuan reasons, pressing his forehead against his bent knees. “You’ll keep me company, right, SYSTEM? Seclusion on my lonesome sounds excruciatingly boring.”
[A-Yuan...]
“I’ll take that as an enthusiastic ‘yes’, because if you deny me this right now I’ll probably cry!” Shen Yuan decides. “And I don’t know about this body, but in my last life I was told I was a very ugly crier! Also, let’s be honest, neither of us want that, do we? It’ll be uncomfortable for everyone involved— a tragedy, truly.”
[This SYSTEM will stay with A-Yuan, for as long as A-Yuan needs this SYSTEM to stay.]
“Good, so you’ll stay forever, then!”
[…if that’s what A-Yuan wants.]
“Very much so,” Shen Yuan whispers, swallowing the urge to cry. SYSTEM doesn’t answer, but it doesn’t need to. Its presence just outside of Shen Yuan’s focused field of view is as comforting as a warm hug from one’s favourite person.
(And when did that happen?)
A few minutes pass in silence.
From his spot against the door, Shen Yuan lifts his head and blows a raspberry.
>Let’s get busy,< he sighs, pushing himself onto his knees and then standing up properly. >Help me choose an outfit worthy of the Original Goods, SYSTEM!<
[First, a bath.]
>I’d rather shower, if it’s all the same to you. Are there even showers in this world? That’d be pretty dope,< comments Shen Yuan, pulling on one of the loose ends of the ribbon holding his braid together to undo the pretty bow he made the day before. The rest of the plait he disentangles with his fingers, looking for a comb somewhere in this still fairly unfamiliar room.
[Inside the small trunk. And no, showers are not part of this world.]
>Thanks!< Shen Yuan chirps, waddling towards the indicated trunk. >Ah, that’s a pity… How will I fill the bathtub? Do I need to use a pail and do several trips to fill the tub fully? Is there a well nearby?<
While Shen Yuan untangles his hair with the ivory comb he finds at the very bottom of the wooden chest, SYSTEM shows him a detailed diagram of a ‘heating talisman’ drawing — stroke order included.
Filling the bath is surprisingly easy, afterwards; there may be no showers in this world, but there is an intricate plumbing network in every building on Qing Jing Peak, and all it takes to start filling the tub is the twist of a faucet. Apparently, regulating the temperature of the water is still a work in progress, according to SYSTEM, but Shen Yuan is more than thrilled about having running water at all. Besides, he has the heating talisman design! It takes him several tries before he manages to draw one that actually works, but with SYSTEM’s assistance, he successfully sticks two finished talismans to the edges of the now-filled bamboo bathtub.
Humming along to a song randomly chosen from SYSTEM’s endless supply of lo-fi ditties, Shen Yuan uses a washcloth to scrub the black smudges from his fingertips, courtesy of the charcoal stick he’s used to draw the talismans. His wet hair hangs like a heavy curtain across his back.
[A-Yuan shouldn’t linger in the tub for too long. It is almost sì hour. A –Yuan has an appointment to attend.]
>Fuck, you’re right,< groans Shen Yuan, rubbing harder at his skin with the washcloth. >First impressions are important. I can’t be late on my first day!<
[…technically it will only be a one-sided first meeting.]
>Still!<
By the time someone knocks on the door for the third time that morning, Shen Yuan is neatly dressed and struggling to tie his hair back in a half-updo. Startled by the knocking, Shen Yuan accidentally drops the strands of hair he’d pulled back, and with a colourful curse that has SYSTEM flashing emojis of disapproval, he gives up and simply ties his hair up in a high ponytail.
When the person outside knocks once more, he’s as ready as he’ll ever be.
Probably.
Outside his door stands a tiny teenage girl with a round face and a constellation of freckles dusting her cheeks. Wearing a standard set of Qing Jing disciple robes, hair twisted into a bun, she’s looking at him like a deer caught in the headlights trying to play it cool.
[This is disciple Zhao Fang, a fellow Qing Jing Peak disciple; A-Yuan’s shimei!]
“Ah, Zhao-shimei,” Shen Yuan says, quirking his lips into a polite smile. “Good morning.”
“Uhm, good…morning?” the girl standing in front of him says, eyes widening even further. She seems to struggle to find her words for a few seconds, before she brusquely spits out: “Shizun is waiting,” and then audibly snaps her jaws shut.
“This shixiong shall let shimei lead the way, then,” Shen Yuan gallantly says, tilting his chin in what he considers an elegant nod of acknowledgment. The little disciple in front of him doesn’t fully agree, judging by the twin spots of colour suddenly gracing the apples of her round cheeks. “Shall we go?” he says after a brief silence, blinking in confusion when Zhao Fang merely looks at him with a constipated look on her face. “Shimei?”
>SYSTEM? Did I do something wrong?< he asks SYSTEM, carefully reaching out with his hand but not daring to touch the disciple’s shoulder.
[A-Yuan did nothing wrong. This SYSTEM is unsure about disciple Zhao’s reaction.]
“Shimei?” repeats Shen Yuan, tapping Zhao Fang on the shoulder with a single finger.
That seems to do the trick, and Zhao Fang startles out of her daze.
Without saying anything, she turns around and briskly speedwalks away, making Shen Yuan jog to catch up with her.
>Do you think they can kick me down the peak? Like, literally kick me?< asks Shen Yuan conversationally as they walk, remembering the terribly-designed Rainbow Bridge. In front of him, the little disciple warily glances at him over her shoulder; when their gazes meet, she eeps in alarm and turns her head away. Shen Yuan is slightly worried she might just have given herself whiplash. >I mean, we don’t want that, of course. But. Hypothetically. Could they? Or, well— would they? ‘Cause like, hear me out! That’d be bad, yes, but would I survive?<
[A-Yuan won’t be kicked down the mountain!]
>How sure are you, SYSTEM? On a scale from 1 to 10, 1 being like, jumping to conclusions that are baseless at best and dangerous assumptions at worst, and 10 like, pretty sure?<
[This SYSTEM guarantees an 11.]
>Out of 10!? Boy, I like that confidence. I’ll be sure to remind you of this if I end up being yeeted down the peak like Po in Kung Fu Panda 1 after fighting with Master Shifu.<
[That won’t be necessary because A-Yuan won’t be tossed out.]
Shen Yuan wants to snort at SYSTEM’s sweet conviction, but then the little disciple leading the way stops dead in her steps and after a squeaky ‘we’re here!’, she scurries away quicker than Shen Yuan can thank her for accompanying him.
>Someone’s in a hurry…< he comments as he watches her run away like a bat out of hell, bemused. >Should I be in a hurry, too?<
[A-Yuan is right on time.]
Well. There’s no time like the present.
Here goes nothing.
Stepping into the elegant pavilion, Shen Yuan schools his features into a blank pokerface.
“This disciple greets shizun,” says Shen Yuan as he bows easily, muscle memory taking over. Eyes downcast, he waits until the woman reclining on the canopied daybed makes a mellow sound of acknowledgement.
“Hm, Shen Jiu…” she replies, watching him straighten up with her peach-blossom eyes heavy-lidded and disinterested. She’s slowly waving a folding fan in front of her face, languid like a spoilt house-cat sunbathing on its favourite cushioned bed.
Feeling scrutinised, Shen Yuan barely stops himself from fidgeting, locking his knees to avoid rocking to and fro.
“So you’re back,” she comments unhelpfully after a pointed silence, raising her eyebrows delicately in a way that makes it obvious she means ‘alive’ instead of ‘back’. She doesn’t sound particularly thrilled about it, either.
“Shizun is correct,” confirms Shen Yuan, tilting his chin in the world’s tiniest nod. On the one hand, he wants to keep his head up and show his ‘new’ shizun he’s worthy of the Head Disciple title even though he’s, in fact, no longer the boy she appointed to the position; on the other hand, every single nerve in his body is telling him to protect his throat because this woman will pounce upon the very first hint of weakness shown.
“I see…”
For a long, excruciating minute, nobody says a thing, and Shen Yuan is honestly starting to feel like a particularly intriguing insect underneath an overzealous collector’s magnifying glass.
>SYSTEM, should I say anything? I feel terribly uncomfortable and I am this close to running my mouth just to alleviate this frosty atmosphere with an ill-timed joke that will get me thrown off this Peak faster than you can say ‘what in tarnation’.<
“Don’t make Qing Jing Peak lose face again,” she ends up saying, “Dismissed.”
“Shizun,” says Shen Yuan with another bow, biting the inside of his cheek to swallow back the hysterical laughter bubbling at the back of his throat. When he straightens up his spine again, the woman is no longer looking at him.
Shen Yuan flees.
Notes:
yes, sy's shizun tiny little cameo is enough to give her the honour of starring in this chapter's title, she's that impactful
a pipa (琵琶) is a chinese musical instrument with four strings (from the plucked category)
sì shí hour (巳時) is between 9-11AM, so sy's shizun expects him at 9AM
sy's shimei is called zhao fang (zhao - 赵; fang - 芳 meaning "fragrant, virtuous, beautiful”) uwu
Chapter 5: a chapter about settling in, learning to pace oneself, and making new acquaintances
Summary:
By the end of the first week, Shen Yuan is beyond exhausted and ready to throw in the towel. There’s a persistent headache behind both his eyes, sharp and annoying, the kind that makes Shen Yuan recall the frequent migraines he used to get in his first life.
Notes:
my apologies, exams came in and curbstomped the inspiration & motivation out of me. however, here we are! took me a while, but let's continue this uwu
enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
And so, the first week of Shen Yuan’s new life happens, and it takes him about one day before he figures out that actively settling into a strict, pre-established routine is apparently even harder to do than building one up from the ground.
Nevertheless, he does his best to adapt to the Original Goods’ rigid training as he follows Shen Jiu’s personal schedule and generally tries to avoid what SYSTEM calls OOC-behaviour by winging the rest to the best of his abilities.
So far, said abilities have been more than adequate, his efforts have been proven fruitful, and his acting is a raging success, if he may say so himself: exactly zero (0) people have accused him so far of being 1) an impostor, 2) possessed, or 3) a funky cocktail of both afflictions.
Clearly Shen Yuan is nailing this transmigration thing.
(Of course, he’s too busy pretending to be a good little Head Disciple to really talk to people, but that’s neither here nor there).
(If having minimal interaction with human beings is what’s required of him to get through all of this, Shen Yuan will avoid people like it’s a sport and he’s going for gold at the Olympics).
(Besides, it’s not like he has time to play around and socialise, anyway…)
Another thing that quickly becomes obvious is that SYSTEM is a godsend and that it deserves a fruit basket. Two fruit baskets, even.
All the fruit baskets.
Without its valuable contributions, Shen Yuan would be in deep shit. SYSTEM makes him daily to-do lists, downloads several documents for Shen Yuan to read, plays lo-fi in the background when Shen Yuan’s attention drifts away and he starts to daydream while trying to meditate. SYSTEM takes care of him.
It’s— odd, to find comfort in someone else’s structured daily life, but Shen Yuan can’t help but latch onto it with everything he has in him; the metaphorical whiplash caused by the differences between his first and his current life still has the vertebrae of his neck feeling tender— figuratively, of course.
Nevertheless, things are improving steadily.
So Shen Yuan meditates, reads cultivation manuals, practices writing with a brush, and learns how to do laundry by hand because apparently he’s unable to use a brush without ending up covered in ink from head to toe. He also bullies SYSTEM into downloading a manual on talismans when washing several layers of robes daily turns out to be too time-consuming.
(Who would’ve thought).
Fortunately, being Head Disciple brings more advantages than just a beautiful room he doesn’t have to share with anyone, because otherwise the staggering amounts of paperwork he has to work through would definitely not be worth it.
One of these advantages is that meals are brought to him three times a day by Zhao Fang, who still refuses to say more than three words in his presence but keeps peeking at him when she thinks he isn’t looking. She always lingers at his doorstep for a minute or so before she takes her leave, but the one time Shen Yuan politely asks her if she’d like to join him and share a meal with him, she runs away so fast that, had his door been closed, there’d be a Zhao Fang-shaped hole in the wood. It brings her message across, so Shen Yuan decides to wait another week before extending her an invitation again.
She’ll stop being so skittish, sooner or later, and Shen Yuan will befriend her through sheer stubbornness. He’ll annoy his way into her good graces.
So meanwhile, Shen Yuan continues eating his meals alone, finding some solace in the watery congee that reminds him of the hospital meals that sometimes were the only thing his stomach could digest without revolting against him.
Not the tastiest of meals, but filling nonetheless.
(Sometimes that’s enough).
(It’s not like Shen Yuan would be able to make anything better on his own, so).
Another advantage is that, as Head Disciple, he’s absolved of attending most classes with the other Qing Jing disciples. He’s expected to balance his individual studies with his duties as the peak’s de-facto administrative mastermind — an euphemism, really, because a more apt description would be ‘glorified secretary’; all of the work, barely any recognition, not a smidge of the glory.
>No wonder the Original Goods was so stressed out,< Shen Yuan comments to SYSTEM late into the fourth night. He’s been yawning for an hour, but there are a few documents he still has to revise before he can finally go to sleep. On the corner of his desk, a single lantern glows gently. >Doing all the heavy lifting and— yo, did he get any vacation days? SYSTEM, do ~I~ get any vacation days? This is a very important question.<
[The Original Goods did not get any vacations days ( ｡ • ́ ︿ • ̀ ｡)]
>Wow, OK, poor dude,< sighs Shen Yuan, dipping his brush into the remaining ink still left in the well of his inkstone. >So, by the same rules, I don’t get any either? That doesn’t seem right...<
A big drop splatters onto the paper, and Shen Yuan blankly stares at the ink staining the characters he spent the last hour meticulously writing out.
“Fuck,” he dispassionately says out loud, sighing in defeat.
SYSTEM doesn’t even admonish his cursing, and that’s telling enough.
“Alright, yeah, this is going nowhere,” decides Shen Yuan, shaking his head as he starts to clean up his workspace. “No point in half-assing anything more tonight, ‘cause that will only give me more work for tomorrow. Let’s go sleep.”
[Shall this SYSTEM wake A-Yuan up at 7AM?]
>…Make it 7:30, please.<
[Alright! d=(´▽ ｀)=b]
>Thank you, SYSTEM,< says Shen Yuan, standing up and shuffling over to the waterbasin by the bed. After using a heating talisman, he washes his face and hands, unties the ribbons keeping his sleeves up and out of the way, and brushes out his hair. Once he’s changed into his sleeveless sleeping robes, Shen Yuan slides under his blankets and huddles into a compact ball, hugging his knees.
Not a minute later, he’s fast asleep.
[♫ NOW PLAYING ⊴ ⊲ ⊵ : Epik High — lullaby_for_a_cat.mp3♫]
By the end of the first week, Shen Yuan is beyond exhausted and ready to throw in the towel. There’s a persistent headache behind both his eyes, sharp and annoying, the kind that makes Shen Yuan recall the frequent migraines he used to get in his first life.
>Got any spare Paracetamol, by any chance?< he asks SYSTEM, gently scratching at his scalp with his nails. >I am about to lose my entire freaking mind.<
He’s sprawled out on the bamboo rug, using one of his spare underrobes to cover his eyes and block out the light. A pile of unfinished documents doubles as a pillow underneath his head; reading had turned out to be difficult that morning, the characters blurring together and blending into one big indecipherable mess not entirely unlike a Rorschach picture.
[This SYSTEM recommends A-Yuan visits Kun Yaling at Qian Cao Peak… A-Yuan’s ribs have healed properly, but Kun Yaling would probably like to make sure that the qi-deviation that brought A-Yuan to this world didn’t leave any permanent consequences to A-Yuan’s body.]
>Does she have Paracetamol?< Shen Yuan asks, perking up. He pushes himself up on his elbows, but the sudden movement makes the robe covering his face slip down, crumpling onto his chest. The bright light hurts his eyes and he squeezes them shut, groaning in complaint at the sharp stab of pain inside his skull.
[Unfortunately, this world does not have Paracetamol.]
>No Paracetamol, no morphine… disappointed but not surprised,< jokes Shen Yuan weakly, getting into a seating position. With his legs stretched out in front of him, he rubs at his smarting eyes with the back of his hand.
[Kun Yaling is proficient at acupuncture. This SYSTEM believes her needles will help relieve A-Yuan’s headache.]
Needles…
(Hadn’t Shen Yuan left those things behind? This body is supposed to be healthy).
“…OK, yeah, you win,” concedes Shen Yuan, groaning again.
[The short trip to Qian Cao Peak might also be beneficial for A-Yuan’s general well-being. A-Yuan could use some fresh air after spending so many days shut in…]
“Aw, c’mon! I’ve had nothing but fresh air since I transmigrated—”
[A-Yuan knows what this SYSTEM means! <( ｀^´)>]
Laughing loudly at SYSTEM’s comical offense, Shen Yuan manages to get up from the floor. >OK, OK, I won’t tease you anymore… for now, at least,< he promises, patting down his robes until they fall flawlessly once more. His tired body protests when he reaches up to tie back his hair, but his ribs behave themselves and stay quiet, truly healed after only a few days.
Before he exits his room, he snatches a silk hand-fan from the smaller trunk, tucking it for later use into the sash cinching his waist. He leaves the unadorned practice sword by the door where he left it that first night; he won’t be needing it today.
Eyes squinted against the bright sunshine bathing the world in light, he sets off towards the Rainbow Bridge, focusing on taking regular strides without stumbling. Occasional bouts of dizziness force him to concentrate fully on where he’s putting his feet, little energy left to pay attention to the graceful way of walking the Original Goods favoured when he was alive.
>Is it me or are people avoiding me even more today than the day I left Qian Cao Peak last week?< he asks SYSTEM when someone hastily turns around as soon as they make eye-contact, their eyes widened in alarm. >That’s the third person that looks like they forgot to turn off the oven at home the second they see me.<
[A-Yuan looks like he’s on the warpath ( ❁ ´▽` ❁)* ✲ ﾟ*]
“What,” he says, stopping abruptly. “Why—? You know what, it doesn’t matter—”
Gritting his teeth, he trudges on with his fists clenched by his side, squeezing his thumbs to distract himself from the acute pain inside his skull. Eyes still squinted and eyebrows furrowed into a tense line, Shen Yuan soon reaches the Rainbow Bridge, and after that, Qian Cao Peak.
Just like last time, the large field in front of the infirmary buildings is filled with disciples engaging in enthusiastic debate and leisurely walking around in pairs; underneath the ancient ginko trees, a teacher lectures a class of young children that look enraptured, sitting in a half-circle around the instructor.
Once again, Shen Yuan feels the weight of countless stares on his body, but this time nobody dares to maintain eye-contact with him when he fiercely glares at the few people who don’t look away fast enough.
[A-Yuan is scaring them…]
>Serves them right! What a bunch of nosey busybodies,< refutes Shen Yuan, not even faltering in his steps. At this point, he’s sure that if he loses the momentum he’s built up, he’ll crumble like a house of cards. Bouts of vertigo threaten his balance every step of the way, and by the point Shen Yuan is inside the infirmary he woke up in when he first transmigrated, a thin layer of sweat is pearling his forehead and cheeks.
Finally safe from prying eyes, he unlocks his muscles and lets himself sink down onto the floor.
“Shit,” he wheezes, manually manoeuvring his legs into a position that allows him to rest his forehead on his knees. “This— bad idea. Definitely—”
[A-Yuan’s heartbeat is too fast, it needs to slow down. Breathe in, hold it for 5 seconds… 4, 3, 2, exhale now. Very good. Again. Breathe in, hold it…]
Following SYSTEM’s instructions, Shen Yuan manages to fight back the nausea clawing at his throat, pacing his breaths attentively. After a few minutes, his heartbeat has dropped to acceptable BPM.
[Well done, A-Yuan. Kun Yaling shall be here soon. Rest for a while.]
Unfortunately, approaching footsteps force Shen Yuan to lift his head from his knees and rob him of a chance to relax his eyes. The brightness of the environment, however, once more intensifies his headache, and Shen Yuan can’t help but shield his eyes with one of his hands.
The sound of footsteps grows louder until a tall figure appears in Shen Yuan’s field of vision, and in a moment of insanity, all he sees is er-gege coming to check up on him after a long day.
“What’s up, gege,” Shen Yuan says without looking up from where he’s slouched against the wall, pressing his knuckles to his eyes until all he sees is a swirling kaleidoscope of colours against the dark red background that is his inner eyelid.
“What…is up?” the newcomer asks, sounding confused.
Having had his own greeting turned on him, Shen Yuan can’t help but sigh deeply, rubbing little circles underneath his tired eyes with the tips of his fingers. “Ugh, not much, personally. I mean, ‘ve got a bitch of a headache, and probably the undeniable need to sleep for a full day— maybe even two, who knows? Not me, that’s for sure, it’s nobody’s fault but my own that I ended up in this situation— ‘m just reaping what I sowed,” he complains, blowing a raspberry because he knows it’ll make his er-gege laugh. “Ah, how the mighty fall, suffering the consequences of my own stupid actions. Your scolding last time didn’t teach me the lesson I needed to be taught, clearly… I’m sorry, gege, I’ll do better next time. What about you, you alright?”
“Uhm— this shidi greets Shen-shixiong and wishes him a swift recovery?” is the reply, and it takes three full seconds before the weight of the words down on Shen Yuan.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispers in English, freezing.
With dread pooling deep in his belly, Shen Yuan oh so slowly lowers his hands and opens his eyes to look at the person he’s been talking to so casually.
Fuck indeed. The face that greets him isn’t his er-gege’s; it’s one he’s never seen before, and belongs to the man that just entered the room.
The man in question is very tall and dressed in brown robes not entirely unlike Kun Yaling’s — perhaps a bit more complex in cut and embroidery. The slant of his eyebrows is elegant and distinguished, but the way the corners of his mouth are naturally curled upwards melt away any sternness the brows could’ve denoted; instead, this person looks warm and affable, charmingly friendly in spite of his warrior’s musculature.
Before Shen Yuan can spiral too much, however, SYSTEM jumps in to help:
[This young man is Mu Zheng, Qian Cao Peak’s head disciple. The Original Goods regarded Mu Zheng as the closest thing to a friend on Cang Qiong Mountain, and the only person trusted to treat the Original Goods’ wounds. A-Yuan can refer to Mu Zheng as either Mu-shidi or Mu-daifu.]
“This shixiong apologises,” Shen Yuan says, flustered, as he tries to scrap what little is left of his credibility and dignity, tilting his head in a solemn nod he hopes conveys both acknowledgement and apology. “This shixiong mistook Mu-shidi for— someone else.”
Mu Zheng’s long eyebrows lift in an almost imperceptible gesture of perplexed scepticism, but he’s clearly too polite to point out Shen Yuan’s blunder.
“Shixiong shouldn’t have to,” Mu Zheng replies, tilting his chin cordially. “Is— is Shen-shixiong waiting for someone in particular, or could this shidi be of any assistance?”
“Right, yes— does shidi know when Kun-shimei will come back, by any chance?”
“Kun-shijie left yesterday with a cluster of disciples to collect a selection of rare herbs that— well, it doesn’t matter, truly,” says Mu Zheng, cutting himself off when Shen Yuan’s face crumbles at his words. “Uhm, in every case, shijie will most likely return overmorrow, if everything goes according to plan—”
“—overmorrow?” Shen Yuan interrupts, voice pitching higher with dismay. Grimacing at the very real possibility of having to weather this horrible headache all by himself, Shen Yuan buries his face in his hands to hide the tears of frustration building up in the corners of his eyes. He’s doomed.
>I’m doomed,< he tells SYSTEM very matter-of-factly.
“Shen-shixiong?” Suddenly, Mu Zheng’s voice sounds much closer than it was a few seconds ago, and when Shen Yuan peeks through a tiny gap between his fingers, he sees that the man has crouched in front of him, a look of concern marring his handsome features.
“Yes?” sniffles Shen Yuan, widening the crack between his fingers slightly to look into Mu Zheng’s eyes.
(Deep down, he knows he’s acting oddly, that the original Shen Jiu would never ‘stoop’ to this level, debasing himself by asking for help—).
(Shen Jiu would never cry in front of anyone).
(Too bad Shen Yuan isn’t Shen Jiu).
(Some leeway must be allowed, right?)
“Can I help?” The sheer earnestness in those copper-coloured eyes almost floors Shen Yuan, dazing him momentarily. Warmth floods his ears and cheeks, and after a brief second of silence in which neither man moves nor speaks, Shen Yuan nods pitifully.
“I have a headache,” he says with a mournful little sigh, and then immediately feels the urge to slap himself in the mouth. The Original Goods would’ve never been so pathetic! “…that came out whinier than intended,” Shen Yuan calls himself out, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Look— I have a lot of work to do, things to catch up on, and this headache is making me nauseous and blurring my eyesight—”
Nodding decisively, Mu Zheng raises one of his big hands, effectively stopping Shen Yuan’s little rant. “This shidi understands. You were hoping Kun-shijie’s acupuncture would lessen your pain?” he ventures, straightening up while at the same time pulling Shen Yuan up by the elbows as if he weights nothing at all.
Too stunned to speak, Shen Yuan merely nods like a bobblehead, eyes wide and jaw slack. Unfortunately, this thoughtless movement worsens his vertigo, and Shen Yuan’s knees tremble under his weight; only sheer stubbornness and the desire to at least maintain a smidge of dignity keep him standing upright.
“This shidi is less skilled than Kun-shijie, but will still try to aid Shen-shixiong,” says Mu Zheng, pulling Shen Yuan into one of the separate infirmary rooms. “Please, lay down on that cot. This shidi shall go get the needles now.”
And with that, he turns around and exits the room.
>What the fuck was that,< casually comments Shen Yuan, taking off his boots by stepping on each heel and then sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the cot indicated by Mu Zheng. His heartbeat still rattles inside his skull, stabbing his temples, but the nausea quickly recedes now that he’s seated.
[The Original Goods’ reluctance to get treated by Mu Zheng meant that the Original Goods only visited Qian Cao Peak in case of emergency. Mu Zheng must believe A-Yuan’s situation is a dire emergency, and seems eager to help.]
>Wow, now I feel even whinier…<
[A-Yuan did well in coming to Qian Cao Peak to seek help. Kun Yaling would have been proud of A-Yuan, had Kun Yaling been here (◕ ᴗ◕ ✿)]
Feeling warmth spreading inside his chest, Shen Yuan basks in SYSTEM’s reassurance. A small smile plays around the corner of his lips.
“Thank you,” he whispers, carefully placing his hands on his lap as he settles into this body’s preferred meditation posture: eyes closed, shoulders loose, spine straight.
Finally, Shen Yuan relaxes.
But then, not even ten seconds later:
“Mu-shixiong, I need— oh, it’s you,” comes a loud voice from the door, and Shen Yuan just barely stops himself from groaning and dramatically falling backwards; the voice’s inflection changing violently from excited to deadpan is so hilarious that Shen Yuan’s irritation gets overshadowed by his sheer amusement.
“Liu-shidi,” answers Shen Yuan, briefly opening one of his eyes to acknowledge the youth’s presence. Having done his part, he shuts his eye again, determined to ignore Liu Jian’s entire existence; he already has a headache, there’s no need to add to it by pointlessly quarrelling with a rude teenager dead-set on antagonising him.
Alas, a person’s heart plans their way, but it’s the heavens that determine their steps.
“What are you doing here,” demands Liu Jian, sounding like a petulant child that has just been told they aren’t allowed to eat the last cookie in the cookie jar.
“This shixiong fails to see how that is any of shidi’s business,” casually replies Shen Yuan, fishing out the folding fan stashed in his sash and opening it with a flourish that miraculously succeeds on the first try. Lifting it to hide the lower half of his face, Shen Yuan lazily fans himself, eyes still closed.
>See no evil, hear no evil,< he jokes at SYSTEM, resolutely staying calm. Cool as a peerless cucumber, that’s what Shen Yuan is. Zen incarnated. >And speak no—<
“Who do you think you are to decide what’s my business and what isn’t?”
>…yeah, on second thought, fuck the ‘speak no evil’ thing.<
“Is shidi this one’s father?” asks Shen Yuan, dismissively glancing at Liu Jian over the edge of his fan. “—or this one’s mother? A sibling, perhaps? Maybe a shizun? A shifu, or even an elder? Ah, shidi should really learn to quit while he’s ahead,” tuts Shen Yuan, channelling his meimei’s most condescending headshake and revelling in Liu Jian’s full-body puff of . “Nosy little boys who play with fire get their fingers burnt.”
By this point, Liu Jian’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are mad. His chest is heaving with each breath, and his hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat. Still, for someone who could kick Shen Yuan’s ass seven ways to Sunday, Liu Jian doesn’t look very threatening…
“Liu-shidi?” asks Mu Zheng, entering the room before Liu Jian has the chance to reply to Shen Yuan’s taunting. “Is something the matter?”
In front of Mu Zheng’s earnest attention, Liu Jian deflates like a balloon that’s been poked with a needle, and Shen Yuan has to bite the inside of his cheek to swallow back his laughter.
>That really took the wind out of his sails, huh,< he tells SYSTEM, lifting his fan a little bit more to fully hide his amusement.
[Liu Jian has been previously chastised by Mu Zheng for picking fights with the Original Goods.]
>Oh, shit? Really? Serves him right, heh. Cocky brat…<
[The Original Goods too has been chastised by Mu Zheng for provoking Liu Jian too often…]
>…uncalled for!< loyally defends Shen Yuan, narrowing his eyes as he looks at a bashful Liu Jian lamely explain his presence in the infirmary. >He might’ve been an asshole, but considering how little sleep he got, how much uncredited work he did, and how freaking annoying Liu Jian is, I can’t say I blame Shen Jiu for occasionally giving in to temptation and kicking the brat’s butt …but OK, yeah, he was also an asshole, I won’t deny that… Kinda like me, right?<
[(* ⌒ ▽ ⌒*) θ ～ A-Yuan is often naughty, but A-Yuan is not an a*****. A-Yuan is good and kind.]
>Aw, thank you, SYSTEM,< replies Shen Yuan, genuinely touched. There’s something deeply sincere about SYSTEM’s compliments that outdoes other’s more eloquent praise. (Even if Shen Yuan’s not entirely sure it’s what he deserves). Eager to change the topic away from himself — lest he actually blushes —, he focuses on the two other people in the room: >Nevertheless, Liu Jian is a prat and he deserves to be scolded.<
Behind Mu Zheng’s back, Shen Yuan purposefully makes eye-contact with Liu Jian, and sticks out his tongue.
“You—!” says Liu Jian, huffing and puffing in outrage as his cheeks pink even further. His right hand goes to grab the hilt of his sword and starts to pull it from its sheath, but he stops the second Mu Zheng presses down on his forearm.
“Liu-shidi?” asks Mu Zheng, turning around to glance at Shen Yuan, who’s innocently fanning himself as he waits for them to finish talking. “What happened—?”
“Shidi seems awfully distracted,” Shen Yuan comments, closing the fan in his hand with a resounding snap. “Perhaps Mu-shidi should tend to Liu-shidi first. This shixiong can wait—,” no he really fucking can’t, “—while this matter is resolved. How about that, hm?"
"No!" replies Mu Zheng, and his sudden outburst takes both Shen Yuan and Liu Jian by surprise. “No, no, it’s alright, shixiong was here first, this shidi shall tend to Shen-shixiong now—”
(It’s the closest Mu Zheng has come to losing his composure since Shen Yuan dragged his sorry self to Qian Cao Peak).
“Uhm, alright?” Shen Yuan says, exchanging a bewildered look with Liu Jian before the other youth remembers his deep dislike towards Shen Yuan and immediately scowls, hmphing in disgust and looking away, arms crossed in front of his chest.
>Childish…<
“If shixiong could lie down,” suggests Mu Zheng as he brandishes a handful of needles, features smoothing out into a perfect pokerface. All traces of anxiousness have been wiped away, and a glint of resolve lights up his copper-coloured irises.
Mistrustful of the wickedly sharp-looking needles, Shen Yuan slowly stashes his fan back into the sash around his waist. “This one shall be in shidi’s care, then,” he says softly, pulling on the ribbon that keeps his topknot up and away from his face, and letting his hair cascade down his back.
(Mu Zheng doesn’t react for a second, looking blankly at a point somewhere under Shen Yuan’s chin, and Shen Yuan valiantly fights the urge to tease Mu Zheng by asking him what he’s looking at).
To the side, Liu Jian quietly scoffs.
[A-Yuan can trust Mu Zheng.]
Alright. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
Once he lies down and gets in a comfortable position, force of habit kicks in, and Shen Yuan’s entire body relaxes; ever since he can remember, IV-tubes and injections have been a part of his (daily) life, so the idea of acupuncture is not as scary as it would’ve been otherwise. A thing like this is an occupational hazard of being alive as Shen Yuan, the good little patient.
“This is shixiong’s hegu point,” narrates Mu Zheng, inserting one of his needles between the base of Shen Yuan’s thumb and index finger. It tingles. “This point regulates defensive qi, and is the most important to relieve tension in the skull,” he says, carefully twisting Shen Yuan’s wrist to stab another needle into his skin, right under his thumb, “—and this one is called tai yuan—”
Mu Zheng carries on, adding a few needles to Shen Yuan’s jawbone and kneecaps while he explains what each of his gestures are for. The combination of the healer’s gentle touch, his warm baritone voice, and the absolute exhaustion Shen Yuan has been dealing with all week long, soon lull Shen Yuan into sleep’s warm embrace.
And so Shen Yuan falls asleep in Qian Cao Peak’s infirmary once more, safe and sound, and without any pain.
Notes:
木正, Mu Zheng —木 (mù), meaning "wood", and 正 (zhèng), meaning "right, proper, correct"
i'm not an expert at acupuncture (or even an amateur), so my apologies if any of the info given is incorrect. please don't take my word as Law, i know very little about very few things :c
WHERE MY MU QINGFANG STANS AT YOOOO
Chapter 6: a chapter concerning decisions about the foreseeable future
Summary:
“You even think of leaving that bed without my permission, I’ll make sure you physically can’t,” casually remarks Kun Yaling from the room’s doorframe, where she has been standing for a minute now, witnessing Shen Yuan dig himself deeper into the hole he’s made all on his own.
Notes:
,,,,,,,,,it took me a while, huh
garvi, this one's for you. it's short, but it felt right
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Congratulations,” says Kun Yaling drily, looking supremely unimpressed. “You slept for a day and a half.”
“—well,” smartly replies Shen Yuan, scratching at the side of his neck with an awkward smile on his face. Deep down, he wants to defend himself and his (bad) choices, but then his oft-absent Survival Instinct rears its head and Shen Yuan wisely decides to stay silent, lest he unintentionally invokes Kun Yaling’s wrath of righteousness.
“You’re a calamity,” the healer continues impassively as she takes a seat by his side and wraps her fingers around his wrist. “To yourself and to me. I recall — quite clearly, may I add — that I, as your healer, strongly advised you to rest the last time you ended up in this infirmary. Is that such a difficult thing to do? You need sleep, you need to allow yourself some time off in order to heal. Your body just cannot keep up with everything you’re asking it to do!”
“But, shimei—,” complains Shen Yuan, shivering slightly when Kun Yaling’s cool qi flows into his body. “There’s so much to do all the time, every day— I mean, someone has to deal with that workload, right? I can’t just—”
“Then maybe you should find people to help carry that workload, hm?” Kun Yaling points out sharply, using her free hand to poke at Shen Yuan’s chest. “Labour isn’t only physically taxing, Shen-shixiong. Frankly speaking, a week of rest should’ve shown big improvements upon your health, but there’s barely any difference to be detected here,” she continues, and the disappointment in her voice is so obvious Shen Yuan feels like crying. “If you insist on being stubborn, I will see myself forced to prescribe you strict bedrest. Compulsory bedrest.”
Shen Yuan huffs and averts his eyes, the fingers of his free hand fiddling with the sleeves of his robes. The Original Goods would never ask for help, right? He’d gotten to where he was before his passing all on his own, through hard work and sheer force of will.
[A-Yuan isn’t the Original Goods, though…]
Shen Yuan doesn’t reply; while SYSTEM has a point, finding people to help with his duties involves actively talking to them, and that’s… yeah, that’s a Big No for now.
Maybe in the future.
“I promise I will take it easy from now on,” says Shen Yuan with a solemn twist to his mouth, trying to look serious and trustworthy, as if he isn’t crossing his fingers out of sight.
[Little liar.]
“—and I’m supposed to believe that?”
“But I already said I promised—,” whines Shen Yuan childishly, but a single unimpressed look and a raised eyebrow make him stop his complaints, pushing out his lower lip into a pout. “…fine. Alright, yes— I will listen to you, Kun-daifu. Your word is law, Kun-daifu. This humble one wouldn’t dare disobey, Kun-daifu.”
“Your enthusiasm is heart-warming,” deadpans Kun Yaling, voice cold enough to give someone hypothermia. “In any case, I shall go inform the two headless chickens you scared that you woke up, don’t go anywhere,” she announces after a minute, cutting off the steady flow of qi and finally releasing his wrist.
“Two…headless chickens? What—,” Shen Yuan begins to ask, adjusting his sleeves so they don’t bunch up around his elbows anymore. “Shimei?”
“One would think that Mu-shidi would be able to keep his cool, considering he’s a trained healer…” mutters Kun Yaling with a look of disdain as she walks out of the room, flicking her hair dramatically.
>SYSTEM, what is Kun-shimei talking about?< Shen Yuan asks, confused. Her words make sense in a grammatical and syntactical way, but semantically… >I don’t think I understand.<
“—Xiao Jiu!”
>You know what, never mind that— I’m guessing that’s Headless Chicken Number One…<
“Shen-shixiong, you’re awake,” says Mu Zhen, entering the room at a more leisure pace than Yue Qi, but still walking fast enough to make his sleeves flutter. There’s a faint smile hidden around the corner of his lips.
>…and that’s Headless Chicken Number Two, then?<
[This SYSTEM believes so (◕ ᴗ◕ ✿)]
>Why and how are they here, oh my god.<
[Perhaps A-Yuan should ask Yue Qi and Mu Zhen!]
>…never mind, I’m OK with this whole Not Knowing Things thing.<
“Yue-shixiong, Mu-shidi,” greets Shen Yuan, smiling awkwardly. He’s not entirely sure why these two men are here, so he can’t think of anything smart to say. Should he use the excuse of wanting to sleep some more to make them leave?
“How are you feeling?” asks Yue Qi, falling to his knees by Shen Yuan’s bedside and reaching out to touch Shen Yuan’s forehead with the back of his hand. Concern colours his voice, creases his brow, and widens his eyes, and Shen Yuan feels both flattered and fully undeserving of it.
“This shidi is fine,” he tells Yue Qi, although he lets him fuss all he wants, obediently turning his head when Yue Qi gently pinches his chin to move his face this way and that, staying still when Yue Qi goes to check his pulse. “Really, it was merely a migraine, all that was needed was some rest.”
Yue Qi gives him a glance full of pity and gentleness, clearly believing Shen Yuan is merely downplaying the seriousness of his condition.
“Shixiong, really!” snaps Shen Yuan, pulling his hand back and using it to cover his blushing cheeks. He can’t recall ever feeling this flustered before; why does this man keep catching him by surprise? “It’s nothing serious!”
Turning away from Yue Qi makes Shen Yuan look straight into Mu Zhen’s face, whose shocked expression morphs into one of amusement and revelation.
A very suspicious expression, if one were to ask Shen Yuan’s opinion.
(Not that anyone is asking him. Shen Yuan just likes to share it. SYSTEM is always listening, after all).
“Yue-shixiong was just worried,” the medic speaks, stepping forward so he too can check Shen Yuan’s pulse.
With a huff of disdain to hide his growing fluster, Shen Yuan’s foot-in-mouth syndrome rears its head and he says: “If you wanted to hold my hand, all you had to do is ask.”
His slip is met with stunned silence, and Shen Yuan feels his cheeks burn.
“Not that I would ever want that—,” Shen Yuan denies immediately, unconsciously pitching his voice higher. “Ha, who would want that? Not me, no! Of course not, why would I even—”
“Shidi—”
“Anyway,” Shen Yuan practically yells, frantically changing the topic while he tries to hide his face behind a curtain of his hair, grateful for its length for the first time. Where the hell is his fan? Did someone take it while he was conked out? Wondering about his fan’s whereabouts, Shen Yuan’s brain scrambles for something else to say, secretly hoping for the earth to swallow him up; a good earth-opening would be very welcome right about now. “Thanks for coming all the way here, even if it’s sort of pointless because I was just about to go—”
“You even think of leaving that bed without my permission, I’ll make sure you physically can’t,” casually remarks Kun Yaling from the room’s doorframe, where she has been standing for a minute now, witnessing Shen Yuan dig himself deeper into the hole he’s made all on his own.
“Kun-shimei!” says Yue Qi, aghast.
“Ha! You’ll have to catch me first,” says Shen Yuan, because apparently he’s brought a pickaxe with him, and hitting rock-bottom isn’t going to stop him from running his mouth and getting himself into an even deeper mess. Still, he can’t help but notice the flash of amusement that crosses Yue Qi’s eyes, and how the tiniest of smiles touches Mu Zhen’s lips, but they’re gone before Shen Yuan can react.
“Considering the state your body is in, Shen Jiu, you wouldn’t even make it outside without being caught.”
Oh.
Right.
Of course.
The blatant way the Original Goods’ name is spit by Kun Yaling is like a bucket of cold water over Shen Yuan’s head, instantly dampening his mood, and he feels his face shutter back into its default cold expressionlessness.
>Stupid, stupid, stupid,< he berates himself. >SYSTEM, why am I allowed to speak, ever?<
[A-Yuan is not stupid. There is nothing wrong with A-Yuan’s spontaneity.]
>It’s too OOC. I can’t have people questioning my sanity and Not-Being-Possessed lifestyle this early into my second chance! Oh, SYSTEM, what should I do?<
[The Training Wheels Protocol allows this SYSTEM to assist A-Yuan in any and all tasks. In case of Host’s indecisiveness, this SYSTEM can offer three dialogue options. Would A-Yuan like this assistance?]
>Yes! Yeah, please!<
[ Choice Menu – Shen Jiu
In reply to Kun Yaling’s «Considering the state your body is in, Shen Jiu, you wouldn’t even make it outside without being caught»
Options:
A):“Try me, bitch.”
B):“I guess we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”
C): Nothing. User glares at Kun Yaling in defiance. ]
>…Option A is not even in the same league as the others so scratch that one immediately, wow I don’t have a death wish. Fuck, I dunno, I think I can rule out B too ‘cause that’s a bit too cocky. Perhaps option C is the best one…<
[Is A-Yuan sure?]
>Yeah, let’s go with option C!<
[Understood!]
The moment SYSTEM flashes its affirmative answer to Shen Yuan’s choice, Shen Yuan feels a strange sensation taking over his entire body, and for a few terrifying, eternal seconds, Shen Yuan moves without his permission. He feels his eyebrows push together, eyes narrowing into slits and upper lip curling into a faint sneer.
Were he less freaked out about the sudden takeover of his body, Shen Yuan would feel both proud and impressed about the Lucius Malfoy-level of disdain and coldness radiating from his own face.
(Perhaps calling it ‘disdain’ is doing it a bit of a disservice).
(Perhaps ‘aloofness’ would be a more apt appellative).
(It’s not an alien expression on this face, in every case; to this face, putting on this mask feels as natural as breathing).
“What Kun-shijie means—,” gently interrupts Mu Zhen, releasing Shen Yuan’s wrist and taking a step back, uncertainty etched on every line of his face, “—is that shixiong shouldn’t push himself too hard.”
“…”
>SYSTEM, is that an accurate translation of Kun-daifu’s words?<
[Heavily edited, but otherwise perfectly acceptable.]
“…this shixiong understands,” quietly replies Shen Yuan, nodding once.
Despite Shen Yuan’s easy concession, Yue Qi looks troubled by something, and his expression makes guilt claw at Shen Yuan’s heart. After a brief moment of hesitation, he reaches out and pulls on one of Yue Qi’s sleeves.
“Yue-shixiong?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. “What’s wrong? Shixiong looks upset.”
“Ah, Xiao J— I mean, Shen-shidi shouldn’t worry about his shixiong,” says Yue Qi with a smile, eyes curving into gentle crescents. It’s like this sudden mask of polite stoicism has hooked onto Yue Qi and dragged him thousands of metres away from Shen Yuan’s bedside, to a dimension completely his own.
“Ah,” replies Shen Yuan. It’s an overused excuse he’s heard a thousand times; hearing it once more doesn’t improve his mood. “So Yue-shixiong is allowed to worry about this shidi, but the other way around is not alright. This shidi understands.”
There’s an odd, choked sound behind Yue Qi, and Shen Yuan looks over Yue Qi’s shoulder to see Mu Zheng covering the lower half of his face with one his sleeves.
“Mu-shidi,” says Yue Qi sharply, warning clear in his voice.
Looking chastised, Mu Zheng lowers his gaze: “This shidi apologises.”
Shen Yuan almost waves away the healer’s apology, but before he can even lift his hand, Yue Qi speaks again: “Shen-shidi should rest. We shall take our leave now. Let’s go, Mu-shidi.”
“Hold on—”
“Wait—”
But Yue Qi has already made up his mind and doesn’t even falter. “I’ll drop by tomorrow, Xiao Jiu,” he says, unceremoniously shoving Mu Zhen along. “Qi-ge is sorry.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
He doesn’t drop by the next day.
Shen Yuan spends three full days in the infirmary under Kun Yaling’s strict orders and even stricter supervision, distracted only by the paperwork he manages to get delivered after bribing one of the Qian Cao disciples, who then contacts little Zhao Fang and somehow convinces the young girl to bring all his pending work to the infirmary.
It’s clear Kun Yaling doesn’t fully approve of Shen Yuan’s diligence, but the one time she voices her disapproval, Shen Yuan innocently replies that he’s complying the healer’s dictated treatment to a T by staying in bed all day. After that, she keeps her complaints to herself, merely frowning when she comes in to check up on Shen Yuan’s recovery and unfailingly finds him poring over documents.
(It almost feels like he’s back at the hospital, proof-reading er-gege’s thesis or meimei’s book reports to curb his boredom and make himself useful).
The only thing missing is his smartphone and the perpetual background sound of Shanghai’s traffic.
>Fuck, I miss Douyin and I miss Weibo…< laments Shen Yuan on the third day, massaging his stiff wrists and smearing even more ink on his bare forearms. >I also miss my laptop and my phone and ballpoint pens.<
SYSTEM doesn’t reply immediately, but Shen Yuan doesn’t mind. He knows it’s listening.
>And I also miss socially-acceptable short hair,< he grumbles, blowing a few silky strands of hair away from his face. He tries to keep it tidy, he does, but even if he ties it back into a ponytail in the morning, it already falls apart by the time noon has passed. >Ugh, I’m never going to be able to leave this room, am I.<
“Shen-shixiong,” says Kun Yaling, suddenly walking into the room with a flutter of her robes, “—last check-up before you’re discharged.”
[…A-Yuan was saying?]
>Oh, shut up, will you.<
“Brilliant, yes, good— that’s fantastic news,” he says out loud, lifting the miniature table straddling his lap to put it aside, careful not to jostle the inkstone on top of it. Smiling eagerly, Shen Yuan thrusts out his arm towards Kun Yaling, who stares wide-eyed at the pale, ink-stained forearm shoved under her nose.
“Uhm,” she says, momentarily frozen.
“Ah, this shixiong apologises,” mutters Shen Yuan self-consciously, taking his arm back and rubbing at his wrist with his thumb. “I ought to wash myself, I’m very dirty.”
“—I’ve seen and handled worse,” says Kun Yaling, a stubborn set to her lips. “Give me your arm, come on.”
More reluctantly than before, Shen Yuan extends his arm once more, letting the healer wrap her fingers around his wrist. The stream of her now-familiar qi entering his system is soothing and expected, so Shen Yuan leans back against the headboard and closes his eyes.
“What’s the verdict, daifu?” he asks after a minute of harmonious silence. “Am I allowed to return to Qing Jing today?”
“It seems shixiong is anxious to return to his peak,” observes Kun Yaling, no particular inflection in her voice.
“Perhaps a bit.”
“How come?”
“…I miss my own bed,” says Shen Yuan, opening his eyes to find Kun Yaling already looking at him with her eyebrows furrowed in contemplation.
It’s not a lie, per se, but it’s also not the entire truth.
They both know it.
Neither call out Shen Yuan’s mistruth.
Instead, Kun Yaling merely nods slowly to herself, as if Shen Yuan’s words confirm something she’s been ruminating about. “Hm, is that so…? Well, good news for you, shixiong. Your physical condition has improved significantly since you fainted—”
“—hey! I didn’t faint—”
“—which means you can return to Qing Jing Peak as soon as you wish. Normally I’d prefer to wait, to get my shifu or Lin-shishu’s approval, but shifu is currently not on Qian Cao, and Lin-shishu hasn’t visited even though I sent someone to inform her. So—”
>SYSTEM, who’s Lin-shishu?<
[That would be A-Yuan’s shizun’s name.]
>Ooooohhh, OK.<
“Eh, that’s alright, shizun doesn’t tend to involve herself with trivial matters,” says Shen Yuan, taking back his arm when the healer releases her gentle grip.
“…but shixiong is Head Disciple,” says Kun Yaling. As Shen Yuan stands up and adjusts his robes, she takes a step back and tilts her head to the side, confusion obvious in the line of her fine eyebrows.
Shen Yuan waves away her concern, bending down to put on his boots. “Unimportant detail.”
Gathering his things, he whistles a silly tune and ignores the way Kun Yaling seems to glower in the background. Hair re-tied and arms filled with his paperwork, Shen Yuan turns around and faces the healer: “I’m all done, ready to go.”
Kun Yaling nods and, just before she leaves, says: “Shen Jiu. Remember to be careful. Your foundation has stabilised considerably since your last qi-deviation, but there are still a few issues concerning your meridians and general qi-flow due to forced and incorrect cultivating techniques you might’ve used in the past. Don’t push yourself too hard.”
“…understood.”
“Good. You’re dismissed,” she says, regal like a queen. “Also, there’s ink on your face.”
“And you only tell me now?!”
“You’re fortunate I told you at all,” says Kun Yaling, a little smile curling her lips as she turns around and leaves the room.
“Thank you, beloved jiejie!” he yells after her, just to be a shit. Shaking his head and rubbing at his cheek with his sleeve, Shen Yuan exhales a little sigh; he’s a bit sore, but standing up and moving around feels good after several days of physical inactivity. “OK,” he mutters to himself, looking around to check if he’s carrying everything he brought to Qian Cao Peak. “All set— let’s go home, SYSTEM!”
[Yes. Does A-Yuan desire any background music for the trip back to Qing Jing?]
>Oooh, yes! I finally get to have my own soundtrack, heh,< merrily replies Shen Yuan, exiting the building and crossing the large gingko clearing without paying the staring disciples any attention. >What would fit the mood? Something victorious, right? I mean, I doubt anyone has missed us on Qing Jing, but that’s… inconsequential. Ha. Anyway, SYSTEM, gimme something cool!<
[♫ NOW PLAYING ⊴ ⊲ ⊵ : Derek Duke, Neal Acree — victory.mp3♫]
>…heh, that’s a good one. Meimei always had good taste.<
Stepping onto Qing Jing soil, Shen Yuan feels a weight lifting off of his shoulders, and he pauses for a minute, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. Now that he has managed to escape Qian Cao, the idea of returning to his little room and unfinished piles of to-be-revised documents doesn’t seem all that attractive…
“Ugh, I just want to do things, I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life filling in paperwork for someone who doesn’t even appreciate my hard work,” he complains out loud, kicking a rock away. “SYSTEM, what’s the point of getting this second chance, anyway, if I only use it to live someone else’s life? Am I bound to waste my life like this? It doesn’t make any sense, I should at the very least have some narrative influence or, or like a role, or something, just—”
[There are certain Life Achievements that A-Yuan must unlock through the completion of missions assigned by this SYSTEM. Due to the activation of the Training Wheels Protocol, any other aspect of A-Yuan’s new life is A-Yuan’s to choose, and A-Yuan’s alone.]
>Wait, really?<
[Yes.]
>Really really? For real? Truly?<
[Really really.]
Well, that changes everything.
>OK, so, SYSTEM-darling, what’s the first mission I have to achieve?< Shen Yuan asks, skipping the rest of the way to his home.
[ Main Mission #1: Turn that reputation upside down! From infamous to virtuous!
Reward upon completion - Nie Huaisang’s Most-prized War Fan
Punishment upon failure - ???
Time limit - 6 months]
>…so it’s like a game? I can do that! Also, who’s Nie Huaisang? Is it a magical fan?<
[Nie Huaisang is the leader of the Qinghe Nie Clan. The war fan is craftily disguised as an ordinary — albeit beautiful — hand-painted fan, but it has been reinforced with metal plating in its guards.]
>Fun! I hope he won’t miss it too much.<
High-spirited, Shen Yuan finally reaches his room without running into anyone.
Alright, so.
First things first.
Rolling up his sleeves and tying them back with ribbons, Shen Yuan gets to work.
Four hours later, two small shrines occupy the space underneath the large window: one for his siblings, and one for the late Shen Jiu.
The altar dedicated to his siblings is organised chaos, an amalgamation of odd knickknacks Shen Yuan has been collecting unconsciously since he first transmigrated into this world. There’s a block of sandalwood that reminds him of da-ge’s favourite aftershave; a calligraphy brush similar to the one er-gege used to write poems; a shiny, weirdly-shaped stone that wouldn’t be out of place in meimei’s collection of crystals. There’s a cheap copper ring like the one da-ge always wore on his thumb; a vial with chili oil er-gege would’ve loved; a ribbon of fine silk meimei might’ve used to give herself a hairbow.
All of them things that represent the Shen siblings.
Next to it stands the shrine for Shen Jiu. On it, Shen Yuan has left one of the Original Goods’ folding fans, a well-cared specimen with guards made of lacquered bamboo and a hand-painted landscape on the leaves. In front of it stands a carved wooden cat with a green ribbon around its neck, a tiny guardian holding vigil over its late master.
Adjusting the cat figurine on top of it, Shen Yuan grabs a stick of incense and lights it, carefully arranging it in the copper burner. Closing his eyes and placing his handpalms together, Shen Yuan bows deeply in front of the makeshift altar.
“I hope, wherever you might be now, that you are happy, and that your next life treats you well, Shen Jiu,” he says, voice rough with guilt and gratitude. “Thank you. And I’m sorry.”
>Sorry I took this from you.<
He stays bowed for a few minutes, paying his respects to Shen Jiu in silence.
When he straightens up again, there’s a frown of resolve on his face: “No way to go but ahead,” he mutters to himself, nodding with resolve. “From now on, it’s me against the world. Well, me and you, SYSTEM,” he chuckles. “We make a good team, don’t we?”
[Yes, it is a good team.]
“That’s what I thought, hehe— alright, then! Let’s go!”
And so Shen Yuan’s second life ends, and the first day of his third life begins.
(For real, this time).
Notes:
a big smooch to all of y'all the keep reading and commenting on this fic <33 y'all the mvps
Chapter 7: a chapter about survival and the privilege of gentlemanliness
Summary:
Muscle-memory works in his favour, yes, but it also throws a hurdle into his path because it’s clear he can’t purely count on intuition to fight, right? SYSTEM tells him that Qing Jing’s most important disciplines — aside from mastery over the four arts — are strategy and war tactics.
Notes:
oops_i_did_it_again.mp3 so uhhhhhhhh i'm not dead. have a chapter!
cw: graphic description of violence and a very vague allusion to implied noncon. if any of this triggers you, you can skip the paragraphs in italics (from We’re told we fight like we have been raised by wolves to the sentence Whether they are envious or hate us isn’t part of our concern.) i'll add a quick recap at the end uwu
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It takes about a week before Shen Yuan feels like throwing in the towel, packing a little knapsack, and leaving the mountains with a succinct adieu and not a single glance backwards, consequences be damned.
Unfortunately (for him and his as-of-yet subpar stress-level management skills), he has a mission to complete, and, for a mission with a name as silly as «Turn that reputation upside down! From infamous to virtuous!», he has found it incredibly difficult to adapt his behaviour to the expectations he has set for himself.
He still meditates, he still cultivates, he still does his chores as Head Disciple. He still trains his body, practices his calligraphy, and continues learning about talismans from SYSTEM’s downloaded library.
But now he also starts wandering around Qing Jing in the evenings to observe the other disciples’ routines and keeps trying to befriend Zhao Fang, who one day actually snorts at one of Shen Yuan’s foot-in-mouth observations.
(She immediately catches herself and schools her face back into her habitual moue of composure and wariness, but still Shen Yuan counts it as a victory).
(He walks on clouds for the rest of the day).
(Kun Yaling, who’s there because she brought medicinal tea—‘someone has to make sure Shen-shixiong doesn’t burn out and it’s pretty obvious it’s not going to be shixiong himself, so I guess I’ll have to’—, witnesses everything and calls him a fool).
(It sounds awfully close to— fond).
Another welcome addition to his daily schedule is figuring out how to take his classical guitar-playing skills and translating those into mastering the pipa, because he’s otherwise far too intimidated by the guqin and the erhu gathering dust in his room. It goes surprisingly well, and at the end of his first session, he’s able to clumsily play the intro to ‘Wonderwall’.
(Meimei would be so proud of him).
However.
First and foremost, Shen Yuan uses his time to bring out Shen Jiu’s practice sword for the first time.
Circumstances don’t seem to want him to succeed in this endeavour, regrettably. Muscle-memory works in his favour, yes, but it also throws a hurdle into his path because it’s clear he can’t purely count on intuition to fight, right? SYSTEM tells him that Qing Jing’s most important disciplines — aside from mastery over the four arts — are strategy and war tactics. This means that a Head Disciple that relies on nothing but instinct and luck to fight is a useless Head Disciple, as good as worthless.
Qing Jing can’t have that; Shen Jiu deserves a better legacy than that.
So, gathering every scrap of his courage, Shen Yuan valiantly puts on his big boy pants and makes his way to the Peak’s training grounds, where a class of his fellow disciples are being taught sword forms by a tall, stern-looking senior that SYSTEM labels as Hall Master Yang and who has a perpetual wrinkle between her eyebrows.
Unexpectedly, this particular encounter brings to the light another issue, and that is the fact that none of the Qing Jing Hall Masters seem very willing to spend any time voluntarily sparring with Shen Yuan.
(Or even spend any time around him in general, for that matter).
(They’re not really rude about it, but that almost makes it worse).
(Shen Yuan isn’t used to being disliked).
(He finds he doesn’t really fancy feeling like this).
But mama didn’t raise a quitter!
Initially, Shen Yuan ascribes their lukewarm attitude to Shen Jiu’s own cold aloofness, a direct defence-mechanism to the Original Goods’ self-imposed social isolation.
He reckons it’s something he’ll be able to overcome, given some time.
Every day for a week he walks down to the training grounds and politely asks the present instructors whether any of them would be amendable to spar with him.
On the seventh day after his first challenge, one of the Hall Masters reluctantly agrees to spar with Shen Yuan. They agree on meeting later that same day, after the evening’s last class, and Shen Yuan takes his leave after bowing deeply, hiding his excitement behind his habitual pokerface.
>Look at me and my bad self!< he preens later, as soon as he’s safe in the privacy of his own room, puffing out his chest with his closed fists resting on his hips. Posturing while SYSTEM launches virtual confetti all around him, Shen Yuan allows himself a few minutes to be silly while he does a little victory dance. >Progress!<
Progress, indeed.
By this point, it shouldn’t have surprised him that things do not go According To Plan, but not even he — as a tried and true overthinker — could’ve guessed the terrible, horrible no-good way things blow up in his face.
(He truly shouldn’t have sold his ox before he’d found a horse).
It starts off deceptively alright.
With a quiet whisper, the borrowed sword glides out of its sheath as Shen Yuan grasps its pommel with one hand and flourishes it widely. In his other hand, he holds a short dagger. Both blades have been dulled to avoid any serious risk of injury.
Standing in front of him, his opponent mirrors his movement, and Shen Yuan exhales a quiet breath, nervous energy keeping his spine as taut as a fiddle string.
The weight of a sword in his hand feels comfortable, familiar. It feels right.
He’s ready.
His wrist knows how to move, his feet know where to step.
Spin, parry, parry, feint, twist, lunge, thrust. Shen Yuan’s body is a two-handed fighter; his sword and dagger work in perfect concert, the two flashing, clashing, darkening with blood. They are extensions of his arms, of himself, each movement instinctive, unconscious, precise. He pays conscious heed to his opponent’s eyes, blades, and body, to his footing on the uneven, rock- and sand-littered ground—
The Hall Master’s sword comes too close for comfort to Shen Yuan’s side, a sudden burning pain across his left biceps and then—
—he blacks out.
He comes to standing above the dazed volunteer, the business end of his practice sword poised dangerously close to the man’s trembling Adam’s apple.
He staggers backwards a small step, only barely catching himself, and then he drops his weapon and rushes forward, because there are gashes in the Hall Master’s dark robes — stained even darker by blood — and slices in his flesh. There’s also a scratch along the middle of his bottom lip and a jagged cut on his temple.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, kneeling beside the wounded man in an instant. “I’m so fucking sorry— hold on, don’t move, I will—”
>SYSTEM! What the fuck do I do? How do I help him? He’s hurt and it’s my fault, I did this to him! Why did I— how did I do this?!<
[A-Yuan, focus.]
>How can I focus in a situation like this?< he screeches mentally, fingers fluttering uselessly around the Hall Master’s torn robe, hands scrambling to cover his wounds.
“You’re gonna be OK, you’re gonna be OK,” he whispers as he looks into the man’s eyes.
[This SYSTEM will guide A-Yuan, but A-Yuan will need to focus.]
>OK, OK, shit, fuck, yeah— I can do that, can’t I, yes!< Shen Yuan chants to himself, trying to stop his heart from beating out of his chest. >I’m brave, I’m a brave boy— man! Brave man! An adult, even! Yes, I am. Am I?<
[A-Yuan.]
>Focusing! Yes, boss!<
Snapping out of his spiralling crisis, Shen Yuan lets SYSTEM guide him through the Hall Master’s healing process, pooling his qi in the palm of his hand and using it to staunch the bleeding and assess the nature of the Hall Master’s injuries. A few ribs, a couple of fingers, a lot of blood.
[A-Yuan can do this.]
“Shen Jiu!” yells someone behind them, and Shen Yuan recognises Hall Master Yang’s voice even if he doesn’t look up, carefully letting his qi heal the surface wounds under his handpalms. “What have you done—”
“Yang-shijie,” gasps the man, teeth pink as he tries to smile reassuringly; it’s a grotesque thing, more a grimace of pain than anything resembling a smile, but Shen Yuan appreciates his optimism when he says: “It’s not as bad as it looks—”
It is still pretty bad, though, even if it’s true that the sheer amount of blood seeping into the dirt underneath them makes it look worse than it actually is. If it weren’t for SYSTEM’s analysis and constant reassurance, Shen Yuan too would think this was a man on the brink of death.
Unfortunately, the man’s light-hearted words don’t seem to calm down Hall Master Yang, who drops down onto her knees next to Shen Yuan and tries to pull the wounded Hall Master away from him, making the man wheeze and cough out a bit of pink spit.
“Do not jostle him—,” barks Shen Yuan, and he would personally slap her grabby paws away if he didn’t have his own hands full, “—because right now his insides are basically only held actually inside him by sheer stubbornness and me, so hands off!”
The wounded Hall Master chuckles wetly at Hall Master Yang’s affronted expression.
“Shen Jiu, I am still your instructor—,” she tries to protest, because if you are losing an argument, attack your opposition’s status, sure. That’s arguing one-oh-one.
“I don’t particularly care right now,” says Shen Yuan, looking at her with equal parts cold indifference and frosty judgment. As on edge as he is right now, he can’t be held responsible for his words right now. “Believe me.”
Focusing back on healing the damage, it takes a few minutes before SYSTEM deems the man stable enough to be transported to Qian Cao for some proper, professional care and an in-depth check-up to fix Shen Yuan’s hurried patch-up work.
“Done,” he breathes out, pulling his blood-slick hands away from the makeshift bandages he’s wrapped around the wounds, strips of cloth he’s ripped from his own outer robes. “He’ll need to go to Qian Cao because he could use some stitching around the belly, but the internal damage has been repaired,” he explains dazedly, staring at his still hands. They’re not shaking. How are they not shaking, they should—
“I will take him,” Hall Master Yang says, pulling him away from his spiralling panic.
Shen Yuan stares at her for a moment before briefly closing his eyes and nodding: “Good,” he says, shifting his body. “I’m sorry. Again. I didn’t mean to— I should’ve— sorry.”
Hall Master Yang doesn’t say anything in response, but she doesn’t look as murderous as she did before. In an impressive show of upper-body strength she lifts the injured Hall Master into a bridal carry with what looks like no effort at all; she even manages to unsheathe her own sword without dropping the man, stepping onto it and barely wobbling because of the added weight.
“…we’ll discuss this soon,” she states, and just like that, she lifts off and flies away without looking back.
The moment Hall Master Yang and her cargo leave his sight, Shen Yuan sways on his feet, suddenly exhausted, hot and sticky. He wants a shower. He feels floppy and disconnected and sick, with a headache like a solid brick pressing against the back of his eyes.
>Fuck.<
Moving makes him feel like a ragdoll, and walking requires serious focus and effort, but somehow he manages to stumble home without running into anyone, and when he finally reaches his room, he takes his time to congratulate himself for not falling over. As soon as he closes the door behind him, the floppy factor intensifies and he lurches sideways, hitting his forehead against the protruding doorframe.
>Double fuck!<
There are dull points of pain in some places, but otherwise he feels as fine as before the fall. Once he’s sure there isn’t any real damage he even laughs at himself, or at least chuckles weakly.
“Oops. I fell,” he states out loud. “Silly Shen Yuan.”
For some reason, hearing himself saying this feels like the funniest thing that’s ever come out of his mouth, and he can’t help but giggle some more.
[A-Yuan is slaphappy and in shock. It is time for A-Yuan to wash and go to sleep.]
>It’s not even— what, 7PM?< complains Shen Yuan automatically. >It’s too early!<
[A-Yuan used a lot of qi, and this has exhausted A-Yuan’s body. To replenish energy, A-Yuan should rest.]
…on second thought, SYSTEM might have a point. The stale smell of rusty blood wafts off him, and his eyelids are struggling to stay open.
Next thing he knows he’s submerged in warm water with his knees bumping against the edge of the tub, the tips of his toes slowly numbing but finding that he doesn’t quite have the will to get up yet. He opts instead to remain where he is, staring at the ceiling expressionlessly as he leans back until the water laps at his chin and caresses his ears, head resting on the edge of the tub.
The noise in his head waters down.
He closes his eyes.
Silence.
Finally.
The explanation to his body’s reaction comes that very same night, in the shape of a memory masquerading as a dream that slips through SYSTEM’s tightly-locked Backstory Content.
It goes a little bit like this:
We’re told we fight like we have been raised by wolves.
‘Your opponent ought to die facing you’, we remember being reprimanded once we came to Qing Jing. ‘A cultivator fights for honour, and the honour of his sect, and allows his opponent that same honour’.
Logically, we know this to be—somewhat—true; this we have learned: our opponent ought to see and know who has bested them. And we, the victor, should grant them the final dignity of our attention until they have properly passed. But experience has also taught us that this, logically, is—
—fucking bullshit.
The instructor that told us about ‘gentlemanly fighting’ had probably never fought multiple foes at the same time, all intent upon killing them and not particularly concerned about how they did it.
We think back to the time Wu Yanzi dared to call himself our master, and suddenly we are 15 again and fighting for our life against a pack of cutthroats desperate to put an end to our miserable existence.
It’s ugly, vicious work; still we smile, we sneer, we grin, we taunt.
We pivot away from a literally underhanded thrust and shove our sword into the bastard’s chest, through his heart. We shove the man away, watching as he falls and dies.
Good.
We grab the topknot of the next man nearest us and pull his head down, slamming the heel of our hand into his nose and driving it into his brain. Thrusting his body away, we palm a blade deftly and, spinning around, hurl it into the throat of the man who dared raise his sword to our back.
We rush forward, pausing only long enough to pull our blades from the bodies of our victims, and begin winnowing down the number of men left.
A thrust to a back, a slash across a throat, here a sliced hamstring, there a ruined shoulder. We kill and maim with equal ease, equal skill, using every weapon at our disposal, every nasty trick we’ve learned in the gutters of the world.
We have our fingers, nails, feet, elbows, knees and teeth, all of which we use without shame, and with a vicious glee.
We are a stabbing, slashing, gouging whirlwind of fury, hair flying, eyes spitting fire and lips spitting curses.
We are a creature of fury,
blood,
and death.
Suddenly we are grabbed, thrown and go down hard, the bastard who’s thrown us fumbling with our robes and leering down at us with obvious, and ugly, intent.
No—!
Fury rises hard and hot in us and we slam our foot into his crotch, tearing an anguished scream from him, then roll and leap up, blade slicing into his groin as we rise, then plunging through his eye and into his brain.
Another someone foolish enough to try and grope us pulls on our robes but we grab his hands and twist, breaking both wrists with an audible snap. He howls and we strike, silencing him with our retrieved blade between his ribs straight into his heart.
It is possibly the most merciful kill we have made so far; but we don’t care about mercy, or about
fucking
honour.
The next bastard facing us has pulled a dagger from seemingly nowhere and gotten under our guard, slashing us through our robes before we even see the wicked little blade.
Our sword spills his intestines, a dagger rips through his throat.
Before we can quite process it, we are done. We stand on our private battlefield, amid the dead, the dying and the maimed; exhausted and bathed in blood, both our own and that of our victims.
This is survival.
We are alive.
Mostly.
We stay silent for long moments, taking stock. We ache in more places than we care to admit, can feel the burn of gashes in various places, know tomorrow our entire body will be a tapestry of livid, painful bruises.
Just another day’s work, then.
Our experience doesn’t translate well into the gentlemanly ways our instructors on Qing Jing try to press onto us. We withstand scathing looks of disapproval when there is nothing remotely elegant or glorious in our mud-covered silhouette, knuckles stinging from the punch we have thrown to our opponent’s jaw.
We don’t get praised for our victory when we finish the fight sitting on top of our opponent, pressing their face into the dirt and snarling while pinning their arms down with our knees. We win, again and again, but we receive frowns instead of encouragement; we get told off for our lack of refinement, for the ‘underhanded’ methods we use to come out on top; they tell us we aren’t allowed to showcase our ‘dubious skills’—their words, not ours—outside our Peak until we can guarantee we won’t bring shame to Qing Jing.
It makes us—
very
—angry.
Where we come from, there is no such thing as a fair fight: you either win or you die trying to drag your opponent with you to Huangquan.
No honour among killers.
(because that’s what we are, isn’t it).
Trash, gutter rat, basketcase.
So we deal with derision and scorn; we deal with the sting of betrayal and abandonment that cuts so deeply; we come to terms with what we now realise was loyalty placed in the wrong ideal, the wrong person.
Instead of shrinking back and trying to become invisible, we rebel. If the people want something to talk about, they are damn right going to get it. We become more polished and start hiding our face behind our fans; when we break the rules, we do so quietly. We don’t make a loud statement; we make a quiet statement that leaves people wondering how it’s even happened, and experience has taught us how to get what we want in a subtle way. It means shutting up and never asking for help, because we are smart enough, capable enough to handle it. Because we have to.
Because how dare we fight our way to the top through every pair of eyes that look down on us, through every meeting where we are hushed by the sound of someone else talking, through every time someone call us something else than our name, how dare we yearn for something.
Where is our honour? Where is our gentlemanliness? Who cares if we’re Qing Jing’s rightfully chosen Head Disciple, the best suited for our position, the quickest-thinking, the one who makes the hardest things look easy?
We want to howl at the moon, we want to slay the beasts that best us, we want to rule our home with bloody fists.
We are not going to stop standing up and demanding what’s coming to us. We are going to be somebody. We are going to make them remember us.
Whether they are envious or hate us isn’t part of our concern.
We burn.
Needless to say, Shen Yuan wakes up from that particular dream feeling quite off-balance. The entire thing felt… too real; it felt like his soul had melded with another one, like his hands are the ones stained with blood now even after waking.
(Well, even more blood, now).
But Shen Yuan has never killed anybody.
How can it feel so real, then? Why can he recall how it feels to extinguish a life with his own hands, then? How does he know what it looks like when a pair of eyes lose their light and glaze over into a dead man’s stare?
Howhowhow—? Why—?
It takes him two days before he manages to pull himself out of his funk and returns to his daily life, pushing his dream (and everything it brough with it) aside.
He doesn’t tell SYSTEM.
Instead, he writes it off as leftover shock and guilt about the catastrophic sparring session. SYSTEM buys it.
(Shen Yuan feels guilty about not telling SYSTEM the entire truth).
(But it’s not a lie, per se. He does feel guilty about almost gutting a man; he is still shocked, just maybe not in shock).
Taking advantage of Shen Yuan’s absentmindedness, SYSTEM adds another O to the virtual tic-tac-toe board, getting three in a row. Shen Yuan sighs in defeat as he dramatically lets himself fall backwards onto the rug, discarding the jiandao manual in his lap and the cooling talisman attached to the bruise on his forehead, courtesy of that night’s momentary lapse of body-coordination.
For all the advantages having longer limbs brings to the table, an improved sense of physical self-awareness when exhausted is not one of them.
“OK, you win this round. That makes it… uh, 24 for you, and 23 for me. How about 27 out of 54?”
[Perhaps A-Yuan should eat something, first.]
“Maybe,” agrees Shen Yuan, blowing away a strand of hair that has fallen into his eyes. His lunch was delivered more than an hour ago, and it’s still steaming underneath a funky food umbrella that has a heating talisman stuck on top of it. “I mean, I can multitask.”
[This SYSTEM is aware. A-Yuan has been procrastinating in addition to all the work A-Yuan has done.]
“Well, yeah, I guess so” says Shen Yuan with a giggle as he wrinkles his nose, rolling on the floor towards the table on which his lunch awaits him, “—no need to call me out like this, though…”
He can’t help but pout because it’s true; SYSTEM is right and Shen Yuan has been procrastinating. He said he would learn how to be a proper Head Disciple and he has been working on it — just, maybe not as hard as he could’ve, these last days.
“It’s just— I mean, at this point I’m just throwing spaghetti at the wall and hoping that it sticks,” sighs Shen Yuan, pushing his sleeve back and lifting the umbrella covering the food. “And it’s not really sticking, is it.”
[…A-Yuan could recruit a third party to learn from.]
“Huh? As a teacher, you mean?”
[Yes.]
“Well, we’ve established I can’t convincingly ask a Hall Master to just teach me how to wield a sword, so…”
[Why not?]
“This body will kill indiscriminately the moment it feels threatened. SYSTEM, you know that even better than I do, and you were there. You saw. I can’t spar with anyone this body doesn’t trust, and hey, it just so happens that this body doesn’t trust anyone at all! Killing someone will get me booted off the mountain quicker than I can say ‘wait, I can explain’— if they don’t kill me in punishment, of course. Hall Master Yang already has me on her Shit List.”
[Then perhaps A-Yuan should ask someone the Original Goods could’ve grown to trust.]
“Yeah, right,” snorts Shen Yuan, stretching his arms above his head, chopsticks brandished in his hand. Something in his spine satisfyingly pops, and Shen Yuan groans. “I don’t think there’s anyone like that in this entire sect. Shen Jiu fled from camaraderie like a once-scalded cat flees from cold water.”
[There is one such person in Cang Qiong Sect.]
“Oh, yeah? Who?” asks Shen Yuan, face scrunched up in a grimace of scepticism; the facial expression loses some of its effectiveness due to the way his cheeks are bulging with food. “Where can I meet them, then?”
[A-Yuan has already met this person.]
“You don’t mean—?”
[This person is Yue Qi.]
“…no fucking way.”
Looking out the window, Shen Yuan leans on the wooden table with his hands curled into fists. If what SYSTEM says is true…
“It doesn’t make sense. There has to be more to the relationship between Yue Qi and Shen Jiu,” says Shen Yuan, shaking his head and taking another bite of rice. “Yue Qi is too subdued when he talks to me, so unless he’s afraid of me — which, while not entirely ridiculous, is a bit of a farfetched reason to act like a kicked puppy around me —, it means that something must’ve happened to make the Original Goods so reluctant to befriend Yue Qi, right? SYSTEM, am I right? Is there more to this?”
[This SYSTEM isn’t allowed to reveal any Backstory Content while the Training Wheels Protocol is activated.]
“Huh? Why not?!” The dreams he’s been having feel a lot like the Backstory Content SYSTEM is talking about, so why is this specific memory off-limits?
[Some of the information hidden in the Backstory Content could be traumatising to the Host. The Training Wheels Protocol has been activated to protect A-Yuan from the Original Goods’ past.]
“…is that one of the reasons I have none of Shen Jiu’s memories?” Directly, at least.
[That would be correct.]
“Well, shit,” Shen Yuan says empathetically. “So I’ll continue flying blind, huh.”
And if that isn’t a happy thought.
[A-Yuan should finish eating, first.]
“…you’re right.”
So he does.
Once he’s fell-fed and fully presentable — not a hair out of place, take that! —, he finally gathers enough courage to break his self-imposed seclusion. So, taking long, purposeful strides, Shen Yuan exits his room and—
—almost immediately finds his way obstructed by an unexpected obstacle, stopping him dead in his tracks.
Because there’s a tot of a child standing in front of Shen Yuan, with big eyes and practically her entire tiny, dimpled fist shoved into her mouth. Dressed in neat little robes, she doesn’t even reach Shen Yuan’s thigh.
“Are you lost,” says Shen Yuan, looking at the little girl with bemusement.
“Gege?” asks the toddler, tilting her head to the side as she blinks her dark eyes at Shen Yuan. There’s a smear of dirt on her little nose.
“I’m not—? Look, kid, I think you got the wrong disciple. I mean, I totally get it, though, the uniforms can be confusing at times, right? Although my robes are slightly different to the rest of the disciples’ on Qing Jing, look,” Shen Yuan explains, pointing at the embroidery along the edges of his outer robes. “Pretty neat, ah, look at the detailing in these flowers.”
“Pretty gege!” yells the child with enthusiasm, nodding as she lifts her arms and smiles widely: “Up! Pretty gege, up!”
What the fuck.
“…look, I have never carried a kid in my life—”
“Up,” repeats the little girl, pushing her lower lip into a petulant pout. It’s surprisingly threatening, considering she can’t weight more than 12 kilograms soaking wet.
“Well, what if I drop you, huh, what will you do then, pipsqueak?”
“Pretty gege, upupup—,” said pipsqueak demands once more, more sternly this time. Shen Yuan’s words go, unsurprisingly, ignored, but then again he isn’t really sure how one deals with children in general, so maybe it’s his fault for trying to argue with a kid who apparently really has their mind set upon being picked up.
Maybe children are just Like That and there’s nothing he can do about it.
“Well, alright then,” Shen Yuan relents, sighing like it’s just So Much Work as he bends down and lifts the toddler up by grabbing her under the armpits. “I’ll just carry you like I’d carry a sack of potatoes and I don’t wanna hear any criticism from you, little miss, because the potatoes never complain about my technique and that’s what we’re working with, alright?”
“Up!” cheers the little girl, smiling so wide her cheeks bunch up and almost make her eyes disappear.
Carefully settling the child on his hip, Shen Yuan ignores SYSTEM’s obvious amusement and bounces the child a few times, much to her delight.
“Where even are your parents?” he asks, wincing when the child grabs a handful of his ponytail and tugs. How can these tiny hands have such a strong grip? Are all children like this? “Hey— don’t do that! That hurts, ow—!”
“Diedie busy,” replies the child very seriously, trying her best to put Shen Yuan’s hair in her mouth. “A-Niang busy also.”
“And where might I deliver this little package to, then?” says Shen Yuan while he softly pinches the kid’s tiny nose. “Hm?”
Hiding a wince when the toddler tugs once more on his ponytail in protest, he waits patiently for an answer, trying to subtly extract his hair from the girl’s clutches.
“Hey— where do you live, tiny one?” he tries once more, hitching the child a little higher on his hip.
“Why?”
Stupefied, it takes him a second to react: “Why—? Well, so I can take you there, of course!”
“Why?”
“To bring you back to your parents,” explains Shen Yuan, deciding that he might as well get moving. SYSTEM is suspiciously quiet. Shen Yuan has an inkling that it’s laughing at him.
“Why?”
“I imagine they miss you,” says Shen Yuan as he sets off. “Though I can’t guarantee it, considering how far you’ve gotten away from everyone.”
[A-Yuan, do not tease the child.]
Shen Yuan sniggers at SYSTEM’s gentle admonishment.
“Far?” the child asks, cocking her head to the side and looking so much like a small puppy that Shen Yuan just melts.
“Very far,” he nods seriously. “Only this gege lives on this side of the training fields. You see that road over there? That one leads to where the other disciple dormitories are— and behind that? Those are the quarters for the all the Peak’s seniors and their families. They’re next to the building the servants live in.”
“Gege alone?” is what the toddler chooses to focus on instead, catching Shen Yuan by surprise.
“Yes, this gege lives alone,” he agrees, quickly flicking his ponytail to his other side as soon as it’s released.
“A-Yi here,” the child — A-Yi, apparently — says, wrapping her short arms around Shen Yuan’s neck and hiding her face against his throat. “Pretty-gege no alone.”
Oh, no. Now Shen Yuan is going to cry.
“Hm-hmm,” he agrees again, unable to add anything else because as choked up as he is, it’s a miracle he’s been able to make a sound that’s not a croak or a sob. It takes him an embarrassingly long time before he feels like he can speak again without making an absolute fool of himself. “A-Yi is very kind.”
“Pretty-gege kind also,” A-Yi points out, leaning back to beam at Shen Yuan, and that’s it: Shen Yuan is going to steal this child.
>Wait…<
Because he has apparently already kidnapped a child.
>I’m gonna get so expelled,< Shen Yuan states matter-of-factly, stepping off the Rainbow Bridge onto Qiong Ding’s humongous welcoming courtyard. >I stole a child. And a precious one at that— wow, I’m the worst of the worst. An absolute garbage human. Stranger-danger personified. I stole a child. I stole a child. This is just another step further into my grave.<
[A-Yuan did not steal A-Yi.]
>…I sorta did, though. Didn’t I?<
[A-Yuan is taking care of a child that was left without parental supervision. For all intents and purposes, A-Yuan is babysitting.]
>That is a very valid point and I am glad you mentioned it,< says Shen Yuan, nodding to himself. >That does make me feel less like a criminal.<
[(✿◕‿◕)]
Squaring his shoulders and ignoring the gawking Qiong Ding disciples who shamelessly stop whatever they’re doing to stare at him, Shen Yuan carries on, only paying attention to A-Yi and her ceaseless chatter. The little girl has a lot to say, and even if half of it doesn’t make any sense, Shen Yuan tries his best to reply when necessary and react properly when A-Yi pauses briefly to let him respond, much to SYSTEM’s amusement.
Before he knows it, they stand in front of his destination; it’s only then that he hesitates briefly.
>Would Shen Jiu knock?< he asks SYSTEM warily, but before SYSTEM can reply, he has already pushed open the door, stepping into the office before he can lose either his courage and momentum.
“Xiao J— I mean, Shen-shidi,” greets Yue Qi, jumping up from his seated position and getting some drops of tea on his sleeves in the process. His eyes flit to A-Yi, who’s curiously looking around the Qiong Ding Head Disciple’s office, still perched on Shen Yuan’s hip as she sucks on her thumb distractedly. “What’s wrong? Why do you have a—”
“Teach me how to fight.”
“Yes, of cour— wait, what?”
“I said—,” repeats Shen Yuan more forcefully, lifting his chin, “—teach me how to fight.”
“Shidi—?” Yue Qi tears his eyes away from A-Yi, a disbelieving look in his face.
“I do not trust you—,” and wow, if that doesn’t dim the light in Yue Qi’s puppydog eyes, “—but I trust you will be able to defend yourself if I somehow— well, that’s not— anyway. Can you, or can you not? If you can’t, I’ll just find someone else to do it,” says Shen Yuan with confidence he does not feel. Who could he even ask, Liu Jian? He’d rather stab himself a few times than ask the Bai Zhan brat for any favour, if it’s all the same to SYSTEM.
[No stabbing!]
“I can! Yes, I definitely can!” says Yue Qi, looking like a bobblehead as he nods frantically. “But, may I ask… why?”
“No.”
“But, shidi—!”
“Alright, yes. This shidi has stumbled upon a… let us call it a complication of sorts, for a lack of a better word,” says Shen Yuan, lying because there is no better, more accurate word, “—and it turns out that, of all the disciples in this sect, the number of people I would trust to point a sharp sword in my direction can be counted on one hand.”
Only one or two fingers would be needed, too.
Shen Yuan isn’t about to just say that, though.
How embarrassing.
“So, that is the explanation.” At least, the official one. “What is shixiong’s answer? Shall Yue-shixiong teach this shidi how to fight, or not.”
All of a sudden, Shen Yuan is dreading Yue Qi’s reply.
>What if he says no?<
[Yue Qi won’t say no.]
>But what if he does, ah?<
[Then this SYSTEM shall help A-Yuan find an alternative. A-Yuan doesn’t have to worry.]
“I— yes, I will help you, of course I will teach you how to fight— are you sure you want my help? Shidi?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t sure,” replies Shen Yuan, suddenly feeling several kilograms lighter.
“Then gladly!” says Yue Qi, beaming. After a beat, his smile dims a little, hesitation in every line of his strong body: “…may I ask… why does Shen-shidi have a child with him?”
“…this one is babysitting.”
And then, with a final bow and ignoring the blush heating up his cheeks, Shen Yuan twirls around and leaves as fast as he can without losing what’s left of his dignity.
Notes:
recap, for those who skipped the gore: a flashback masquerading as a memory, told from a perspective in which sj and sy's souls are fused (hence the use of "we" and "us"). several men are graphically killed, one of whom tries to pin down sj/y with obvious Bad Intentions. the perp gets castrated and killed. the memory blends into sj/y arriving at qing jing and getting berated because they fight too wildly. sj/y, however, still believes: you either win, or you die trying. no matter what it takes.
clarifications:
- jiandao : (剑道) basically kendo, here used as "way/path of the jian" (which is the type of sword they use in xianxia)
- [...] or you die trying to drag your opponent with you to Huangquan : Huangquan (黄泉) means "Yellow Springs" and refers to the taoist concept of hell
- new oc! precious baby yang xinyi (a-yi for now), with 杨 (yáng) meaning "willow, poplar, aspen" and 欣 (xīn) meaning "happy, joyous, delighted" combined with 怡 (yí) meaning "joy, harmony"ONE COMMENT = ONE HEADPAT FOR A-YI
also: garvi if u read this, check your discord!!!!<3333
Chapter 8: a chapter to establish a tentative friendship
Summary:
He must be desperate, he thinks; he’s not all that different to Shen Jiu. He knows now—somehow—that the Original Goods didn’t like to be alone, that he kept feeling afraid of being rejected by everyone.
And in more than some ways, Shen Yuan can relate.
Notes:
let's all collectively ignore Just How Long it took me to update :^)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Well, that was particularly humiliating,” comments Shen Yuan, bouncing A-Yi in his arms as they step upon the Rainbow Bridge once more. The rush of adrenaline that made him flee from Yue Qi’s office like a bat out of hell is finally slowing down its frantic racing through his bloodstream, and the sound of Shen Yuan’s heartbeat is not as loud in his ears anymore.
Compose yourself, idiot, Shen Yuan berates himself as anxiety loosens its tight grip around his heart, and he can finally straighten his spine without fearing it will snap.
There is something to be said about a human’s fight or flight instinct and the way it has evolved to apply to the stupidest of situations, but Shen Yuan has no real desire to spend any more time than is strictly necessary thinking about his blunder; it’ll probably become one of those incidents that are only remembered at the wee hours of the morning, when one is trying to sleep but instead one’s brain decides to play The Humiliation Tapes Of Life on loop because why not.
“Gege? Why?” asks A-Yi, pulling Shen Yuan from his chaotic thoughts. She has once more grabbed a strand of Shen Yuan’s hair but has yet to tug on it or try to eat it, so Shen Yuan lets her be.
“Gege made an utter fool of himself—,” says Shen Yuan cheerfully, “—which seems to be a newly-discovered talent of mine, considering how often it’s been happening lately.”
“Why?”
“I think here you ought to ask ‘how’ and not ‘why’,” says Shen Yuan with a chuckle, freeing one of his arms to boop A-Yi’s nose.
“Why?”
“Are you doing this on purpose—”
“Purr-poise?” repeats A-Yi very seriously, crossing her eyes to watch Shen Yuan’s finger, still close to her little nose.
“…you’re lucky you’re cute, kiddo,” says Shen Yuan dryly when the urge to coo passes. With a fond shake of his head, he takes his hand back and carries on walking back towards Qing Jing.
[A-Yuan is whipped.]
>Am not.<
[…A-Yuan can try to fool himself, but A-Yuan cannot fool this SYSTEM.]
>Uncalled for!<
[A-Yuan is easily bullied.]
>I am n— I don’t— that does not mean you must bully me so often!<
Just then, A-Yi yawns widely and rests her head on Shen Yuan’s shoulder, one of her little dimpled fists still holding tight to a strand of glossy hair while the other curls around his neck.
“Nap-time for A-Yi?” asks Shen Yuan as he tries to subdue the grin threatening to split his face in two.
“Mn. Night-night, gege.”
“Night-night,” says Shen Yuan, voice strained.
>SYSTEM, I’m gonna die of cuteness overload, I cannot handle this—<
[Not whipped, hm?]
>…why would you kick a man when he’s already down?<
SYSTEM’s reply is a long string of laughing kaomojis that Shen Yuan primly ignores, sticking his nose in the air as he continues walking while making sure to stay in the middle of the Rainbow Bridge.
Left alone with his thoughts, Shen Yuan considers the consequences of his decision to recruit Yue Qi to help him train. He feels conflicted about how easily the Qiong Ding Head Disciple agreed to his request—after all, if Shen Yuan has a lot of duties and responsibilities, Yue Qi undeniably has even more, so Shen Yuan can’t help the gnawing of guilt when he thinks about how he’s stealing what little free time Yue Qi has.
Even distracted as he is, he doesn’t forget to politely smile at two purple-clad disciples he crosses paths with, ignoring the way they stare at him with a weird look on their faces.
“Everyone is looking at you—,” he whispers to A-Yi with a shake of his head as he side-eyes another disciple that drops their sword when Shen Yuan’s gaze meets theirs, “—you’d think they’ve never seen a cute kid taking a nap, huh?”
A-Yi, asleep in his arms, does not reply.
That doesn’t deter Shen Yuan, and not much later, he finally reaches the bifurcation that leads this leg of the Rainbow Bridge towards Qing Jing. Much to his relief, there is less pedestrian traffic the closer they get to his Peak, and Shen Yuan can already visualise the refreshing cup of tea that awaits him back in his bedroom.
He needs about 3 to 5 business days to process this morning’s events.
At least.
Humming softly, Shen Yuan sidesteps around a young man so absorbed by the book in his hands that he doesn’t notice he would have bumped into someone.
>Do you think I’ll have time to take a nap today? I feel like I deserve a nap. A-Yi is having a lovely nap and I’m jealous.<
[A-Yuan still needs to read through three Peak reports whose revision is due today.]
>…can’t I do that afterwards?< he tries to bargain as he steps off the bridge onto Qing Jing soil.
“—Shen-shixiong!”
“Huh?” says Shen Yuan, stopping and turning around towards the voice calling his name. “Oh, Mu-shidi, how are y—”
“How did you do it,” demands Mu Zheng, robes askew. His hair is all kinds of crazy, making him look like he’s walked through a hurricane, but when he notices Shen Yuan watching he merely runs a hand through the damp strands, pushing it out of his face.
“Good morning, shidi, it’s good to see you, shidi, I’ve been well, thanks for asking,” says Shen Yuan, frowning in confusion at Mu Zheng’s uncharacteristic dishevelment. “Also, what on earth are you talking about?”
“The hallm— I saw— Yang-qianbei brought a man to Qian Cao yesterday. A man who should’ve— would’ve been dead, do you understand what I’m saying?”
“…try again, but this time slower,” encourages Shen Yuan, shifting A-Yi’s weight on his hip so she’s safely out of Mu Zheng’s windmilling arms, just in case. Blissfully unaware of the world, A-Yi continues sleeping in Shen Yuan’s hold.
>SYSTEM, is Mu Zheng being possessed, or this just him on too much caffeine?<
[This SYSTEM has scanned Mu Zheng and the results show no abnormal turbulence in Mu Zheng’s spirit. Additionally, Mu Zheng’s vitals test negative on signs of caffeine-intake. Ergo, Mu Zheng’s behaviour is not influenced by any outside factors.]
>Huh, you can actually do that? Scan people like that?<
[A-Yuan, focus.]
“You saved a man’s life,” says Mu Zheng, eyes wide and eyebrows raised like he’s trying to make a point.
“…yes,” confirms Shen Yuan slowly, leaning back slightly. Unsure of what the healer is trying to tell him, he can’t help but feel a little bit defensive. He’s certain Shen Jiu’s reputation wasn’t bad enough that the fact that he didn’t just stand there while a man was bleeding out in front of him should come as this big a surprise.
“You saved a man’s life. Shixiong. You saved a man’s life!”
“—yes, and what about it?”
“All about it!”
“Begging your pardon?” Safe to say, Shen Yuan has lost all understanding he had about this particular conversation.
>I am offended. Should I feel offended? Because I certainly do,< he tells SYSTEM. In his arms, A-Yi mutters something in her sleep and wiggles as she searches for a better position to rest her head, and Shen Yuan instinctively adjusts his hold on her so she doesn’t topple over.
“…whose child is this?”
“Mu-shidi, do not change the topic,” deflects Shen Yuan snappishly. He doesn’t raise his voice, but that doesn’t diminish the steel in his tone. Inside his chest, safely hidden behind his ribs, Shen Yuan’s heart twinges. “This shixiong was aware that many in this sect did not hold him in high regard, but I must admit that it does come as a bit of a surprise that Mu-shidi turned out to be one of the most outspoken ones.”
“Huh?”
“If you’ll excuse me,” says Shen Yuan frigidly, trying to hide his hurt as he lowers his eyes and dips his chin in polite goodbye.
“Wait—! Shixiong, I— I don’t know what— I don’t underst— did this shidi say something that offended Shen-shixiong?”
“…are you mocking me?” asks Shen Yuan quietly, looking at Mu Zheng over his shoulder. Something ugly inside of him wants to lash out, wants to hit himself because why is he being so fucking weak, wants to straighten up and act like nothing can affect him.
“Shixiong?”
“You seem sincere, though,” continues Shen Yuan, cocking his head, squinting in suspicion at Mu Zheng’s wide-eyed look of confusion. “I don’t understand your intentions at all, Mu Zheng.”
“…I feel like shixiong must’ve misunderstood this shidi’s intentions,” says Mu Zheng carefully, hands still extended towards Shen Yuan, palms facing the ground.
“So shidi isn’t mocking me?”
“No!”
Well. There go all his hopes of Mu Zheng thinking he isn’t a mess.
“Then why did shidi accuse this shixiong of being callous? Callous enough, truly, that the fact that I helped a man bleeding out right in front of me is so note-worthy that shidi felt the need to come all the way to Qing Jing so express his astonishment about it.”
“It’s not— not about what you did!” says Mu Zheng, shaking his head. “It’s about how shixiong did it!”
“…I do not understand,” quietly says Shen Yuan, taking another step back as he feels the last dredges of anger leaving his body.
“The healing method used by Shen-shixiong—,” replies Mu Zheng, closing the distance between them once more, his warm eyes shining in excitement, “—is a method this shidi has not been introduced to yet, even after several years of study under my Shizun’s supervision.”
Hm.
Well, fuck.
Fuck indeed.
>…oh, shitsticks. SYSTEM, what do I do?!<
[…this SYSTEM apologises for inadvertently causing this situation.]
>You don’t have to say sorry! Without you, the Hall Master would’ve surely died, or worse. We’re just gonna hafta put on our big boy pants and deal with this somehow.<
Out loud, Shen Yuan exhales a soft ah! of acknowledgement and decides to play it dumb for the time being: “So it is like this, then.”
Pasting a lukewarm smile onto his face, Shen Yuan lets the pregnant silence stretch into an awkward one.
Mu Zheng fidgets, his big frame shifting uncharacteristically for a respected cultivator of his calibre. A minute passes; Mu Z hen finally seems to realise Shen Yuan doesn’t have any intention of speaking further without being encouraged, and, after taking a long look at the sleeping A-Yi in Shen Yuan’s arms, visibly squares himself to bite the bullet.
However, what comes out of his mouth isn’t another probing question or accusation, but rather a suggestion that takes Shen Yuan by surprise: “Could this shidi bother Shen-shixiong and join him for tea?”
>SYSTEM? What…?<
[This SYSTEM believes Mu Zheng does not harbour any ill intentions to A-Yuan.]
“…then this shixiong shall lead the way,” he says after a beat, accepting SYSTEM’s opinion easily. “If you’d follow me.”
Mu Zheng falls into step next to Shen Yuan, hands clasped behind his back. From the way Shen Yuan can feel the other man’s gaze returning to him every other minute, it’s clear Mu Zheng has something on his mind he would like to ask, but neither disciple speaks up.
By the time they’re halfway to Shen Yuan’s quarters, Mu Zheng’s glances have doubled in frequency and Shen Yuan’s inner monologue—accessible only to himself and SYSTEM—is nothing more than a continuous stream of yodel-screaming mixed with some colourful cursing that would make meimei very proud but instead results in SYSTEM’s half-assed chiding.
>A hundred yuan says he cracks before we’re seated.<
[A-Yuan better be prepared to lose then (´ w` )]
>We’ll see! Mu Zheng clearly has questions he wants answered.<
[Does A-Yuan even have a hundred yuan?]
>…low blow, but true. Jeez, I’m broke as fuck. Let’s bet something else?<
[Does A-Yuan have any suggestions?]
>Pfff, I don’t know…How about—?<
“Uhm, shixiong?” Mu Zheng’s mouth makes such interesting shapes when it moves. Shen Yuan is a bit too busy admiring them to actually process what the boy is saying.
“I’m sorry, what?” he asks dazedly.
>Ha-ha! Pay up!<
“That disciple over there appears to be calling your name,” says Mu Zheng perceptively as he points towards an approaching Zhao Fang whose entire body-language screams I Am In An Anxious Mood.
[A-Yuan was saying? :)]
>Gloating is untoward,< he scolds SYSTEM, chagrined. Out loud, he acts in a much more civilised way: “Ah, Zhao-shimei, there you are. Is something the matter?”
As she comes to an abrupt stop a few metres from Shen Yuan, Zhao Fang immediately checks him out from head to toe; self-conscious, Shen Yuan tightens his hold on A-Yi, wondering what exactly Zhao Fang is looking for.
Whatever it is she hoped to find (or not), she does (or doesn’t), and the panicked expression on her face loosens a bit.
“Da-shixiong,” she says brusquely.
“…yes?” replies Shen Yuan after a few seconds of silence, curious but cautious.
However, Zhao Fang doesn’t continue that particular argument, and instead briefly glances at Mu Zheng, who’s watching their interaction with interest.
“I shall bring tea,” she announces, and without further ado she turns around and stalks off.
“Your shimei is certainly, uh, interesting,” notes Mu Zheng with a polite smile attempting to cover the bewilderment he’s obviously feeling.
“She’s lovely,” honestly says Shen Yuan, easing himself down into a criss-cross-applesauce seating position on the porch, careful not to wake A-Yi as he settles her down on his lap. “Join me, shidi.”
As Mu Zheng does just so, Shen Yuan better arranges the child between his knees, letting her little head rest on the inside of his knee. When he looks up, Mu Zheng is watching him with a complicated look in his eyes Shen Yuan is not entirely sure how to interpret. Luckily, before Mu Zheng gathers up the courage to speak, Zhao Fang returns and places a tray-table hybrid between Shen Yuan and Mu Zheng, retreating without saying a word and primly ignoring both Shen Yuan’s ‘thank you’ and the rosy hue staining her own cheeks.
After a few minutes of harmonious silence—on Shen Yuan’s part, at least on the outside—, Mu Zheng clears his throat, putting down the teacup in his hands with immaculate care, pinkie cushioning and everything.
“Does shidi want to ask questions, or should I just explain what happened?” says Shen Yuan, running the tip of his finger over the rim of the teacup in front of him.
“As far as I understood Yang-qianbei’s explanation—,” says Mu Zheng as if he isn’t about to starts a veritable onslaught of observations, somehow talking slow as syrup, and yet, also not giving Shen Yuan any time to regain his composure, “—Shen-shixiong injured Ren-qianbei during a friendly sparring session. The wound was severe, severe enough that untimely assistance would’ve been disastrous, even with Yang-qianbei’s field medicine knowledge. However, Ren-qianbei was patched up by you. Now— well, my theory, after studying Ren-qianbei’s injury while I healed him, is that you channelled your qi directly to the wound and damaged tissue, right? Instead of targeting the meridians to stimulate the body’s healing through Ren-qianbei’s own qi.”
>…is that correct, SYSTEM?<
[It is. A-Yuan focused on directly repairing the damage by manipulating the organ and muscle tissue, mending the flesh artificially.]
“I did,” agrees Shen Yuan quietly, not offering up anything else. It’s harder to make mistakes that way, Shen Yuan’s learnt.
“When— how did you learn that? Who taught you? How long have you—?”
“I learned because it was necessary,” says Shen Yuan, lowering his eyes to peer into the teacup in his hand. If SYSTEM hadn’t taught him this healing method, Hall Master Ren might’ve succumbed to his wounds, and his death would be Shen Yuan’s responsibility. It would’ve weighted on his conscience and eventually flattened it into a pancake. It also might’ve gotten him expelled from Cang Qiong Sect altogether.
He shivers at the thought, and quickly takes a sip of tea to wash away the foul aftertaste this particular fear leaves behind in his mouth.
“As for who taught me… well, they’re not part of Cang Qiong,” he says, lifting his nose as he awaits SYSTEM’s praise for having managed to tell the truth without revealing anything important.
[Well done, A-Yuan.]
Shen Yuan preens.
Internally, of course.
He’s aware he still has a role to play.
“I see,” says Mu Zheng, looking at Shen Yuan with a slight frown marring his forehead. “…would you teach me?”
“Didn’t you say your shizun would teach you someday?” replies Shen Yuan sharply, sudden panic making him defensive.
Biting his lip, Mu Zheng nods as some hesitance shines in his eyes. “Can I still ask questions, or…?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.
>Will you help me bluff my way through this?< Shen Yuan asks SYSTEM before he reacts to Mu Zheng’s question outwardly.
[Always.]
So Shen Yuan nods, and Mu Zheng smiles.
“Talk me through what you did, then?”
And Shen Yuan settles back, and does—
—exactly that.
An hour and a half later finds Shen Yuan and Mu Zheng finally quieting down into a contemplative silence, a fresh batch of tea seeping in the teapot resting between them.
Once he got into a more detailed retelling of the process, Shen Yuan forgot about feeling anxious, and now that he’s finished his tale and Mu Zheng has run out of questions to ask—and honestly, Shen Yuan thought that moment would never come, Christ almighty that guy can be inquisitive—, he can feel relief settling over his shoulders like a warm blanket on a winter’s morning.
He really pulled that off, huh.
But.
Apparently there is still at least one question left to deal with, because after some minutes of (blessed, blessed) silence, Mu Zheng speaks up once more: “…can I ask now about the child?”
With a little sigh, Shen Yuan brushes aside any decorum he’s kept so far and leans back on his hands, careful not to jostle A-Yi, who’s still nestled in the space between his crossed legs. “A-Yi was toddling around the Peak this morning. She’s decided I am pitiful and lonely and that she should keep me company today. We’re buddies now, I think.”
He can’t help but smile fondly, shifting his weight to one of his hands so he can free the other one and carefully brush his index finger down the slope of A-Yi’s little nose. The dozing child smacks her lips and bats at the finger disturbing her rest.
“So she’s not—”
“Good heavens, no—,” interrupts Shen Yuan, wanting to clarify he’s not, in fact, a kidnapper, “—I did not steal this child!”
“…that is not what this shidi was implying,” says Mu Zheng, sputtering out a laugh. “I thought she might’ve been yours.”
“As in—?”
“Your child, yes,” nods Mu Zheng. “After all, outside the Jianghu, in the secular world, both shixiong and I would most likely be married by now.”
“The fuck?!” says Shen Yuan in English, too bamboozled to even care about this slip. His Gen Z-brain is trying to process the implications of Mu Zheng’s careless comment. Married? With a child?
As if Shen Yuan isn’t practically still a child himself?
“Seeing Shen-shixiong today reminded me that there are many things about Shen-shixiong I still don’t know.”
“Well, one surely cannot say we have been particularly close in the past,” manages to reply Shen Yuan once his brain is back online. As far as he knows, Mu Zheng’s relationship with the Original Goods was practically non-existent, even in a professional way. “Why does shidi mention this?”
What do you want from me, Mu Zheng?
“Because this shidi would like to be.” The earnest way Mu Zheng says this simply floors Shen Yuan. “Shen-shixiong is… nice—”
Nice?!
“—and this one would be very honoured to be able to befriend shixiong—”
…pardon?
“—if shixiong would be amenable to it, of course.”
“I— well, I haven’t had friends in a long time,” stammers Shen Yuan, voice small and tentative, not sure he can say the words back. It’s not a lie; it is also ridiculous how easy it is to have Mu Zheng here on his porch—like they’re just two regular dudes who do regular things like drink tea together. But there it is, and it feels awfully comfortable, and Shen Yuan is suddenly overwhelmed by how much he yearns for companionship.
He must be desperate, he thinks; he’s not all that different to Shen Jiu. He knows now—somehow—that the Original Goods didn’t like to be alone, that he kept feeling afraid of being rejected by everyone.
And in more than some ways, Shen Yuan can relate.
“…I’d like that,” he says after some hesitation, hoping he doesn’t sound quite as desperate as he feels. He looks up at Mu Zheng, who’s been quietly waiting for Shen Yuan’s response, and finds himself returning Mu Zheng’s subsequent beam of a grin with a more subdued smile of his own. “I’d really like that.”
And it’s as easy
as
that.
The remaining tea gets consumed in a much more relaxed atmosphere, conversation alternating between stilted and pleasantly natural as they get used to each other and each other’s Head-Disciple-Off-Duty Personality and quirks, having only interacted in strictly business-like situations.
It’s surprisingly… mellow.
SYSTEM even puts on some jazz in the background.
Shen Yuan could get used to this, he thinks as his teeth catch his lip before his smile can pull the corners of his mouth up, blinking happily at Mu Zheng when he shuffles close to refill the teacups.
“Here,” Mu Zheng says softly, fingers pushing a full cup over the sleek surface of the tray-table hybrid.
There’s something teasing in Mu Zheng’s grin, the height of his dimples, the way his tongue peeks out between his teeth. Shen Yuan looks up with a defiant chin, jerking his head like a thank you, cornering a piece of his lip with sharp teeth to still the ache and need to smirk at Mu Zheng.
Before he can do anything, they get interrupted.
“Disciple Shen,” says Hall Master Yang stiffly as soon as she stands in front of them, dipping her chin. “I believe you have something of mine,” she continues, eyes flickering to Shen Yuan’s lap.
Ah.
Mystery solved.
A-Yi’s A-Niang has arrived.
“Of course,” says Shen Yuan with an awkward smile. “Should I wake her—?”
“…how long has she been asleep?”
“About two hours, I think?”
Mu Zheng nods in agreement when Shen Yuan looks at him for verification.
“Yeah, about two hours,” Shen Yuan confirms more confidently, shifting in place.
“Alright, then she’s had her nap of the day,” says Hall Master Yang as she steps forward and crouches next to Shen Yuan, extending her hand to brush her daughter’s wispy hair away from her face.
Startled by her sudden proximity, Shen Yuan sharply inhales a lungful of air through his teeth as he leans back and away from the woman who clearly hates his guts.
>You think she’s gonna kill me for spending time with A-Yi?< he asks SYSTEM, fear and wariness tensing his muscles, his body getting ready to defend itself.
Before SYSTEM can dissuade Shen Yuan’s troubles, A-Yi stirs and blinks open her eyes.
“A-Niang!” she crows as soon as she has awakened properly and finally realises just who’s in front of her; struggling upright with no regards of what she might be hurting, A-Yi lets herself fall into her mother’s waiting arms with a happy giggle. “A-Niang, A-Yi has went on an ad-van-ture!”
“Adventure, kiddo,” corrects Shen Yuan automatically, and promptly shuts up as he realises what he’s done. “Sorry,” he whispers, averting his eyes from Hall Master Yang’s unreadable look.
>…would running away shatter what’s left of my self-esteem?<
[A-Yuan’s already home. It wouldn’t be very logical for A-Yuan to run.]
SYSTEM has got a point, ponders Shen Yuan as he pats down his clothes and stands up without any creaking joint (—and wow will he ever get used to that?).
“This disciple encountered A-Yi wandering the Peak, and took the child with me to visit Qiong Ding because I could not find a caretaker nearby and I loathed to leave her unaccompanied,” he explains, pokerface neatly in place. “I apologize for any inconveniences this might’ve—”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because a high-pitched voice interrupts him: “A-Niang, can Pretty-gege live with A-Yi and Diedie and A-Niang ‘cuz Pretty-gege live alone and that is sad.”
Mu Zheng guffaws.
“What— A-Yi, I am not lonely—!” screeches Shen Yuan, mortified enough that he completely forgets Shen Jiu’s practiced poise. He turns towards Hall Master Yang, who’s already (still) looking at him: “Qianbei! I didn’t—!”
“Sweets, you cannot go around adopting geges willy-nilly,” says Hall Master Yang instead, addressing her daughter patiently.
“But Pretty-gege?” A-Yi insists, looping her chubby arms around her mother’s neck as Hall Master Yang stands up, the girl held securely in her arms. “A-Niang, please?”
“How about this, sweets: we’ll come visit this… Pretty-gege of yours, about once a week? How about that?” suggests Hall Master Yang diplomatically, facing Shen Yuan and lifting her eyebrows as if to check with him whether he agrees or not.
“Huh?” Shen Yuan snaps back into reality before he manages to reach an Humiliation Culmination in his brain, and because of that he struggles to process what is happening right in front of him. “—yes? I mean, of course! Yeah, yes. Uh…”
What has he agreed to, exactly?
“Good,” says Hall Master Yang, nodding like Shen Yuan just passed a test of some sort, which does not help in making the whole bewildering situation any less bewildering. “Alright, sweets, say goodbye to these two geges, and let’s go home, hm? Diedie is waiting for us, and he’ll want to hear all about your adventures today.”
“Bye-bye, Pretty-gege! An’ other gege also!” chirps A-Yi obediently, waving both of her hands wildly. Hall Master Yang has already adapted her hold on her daughter to allow her the freedom to do so without falling, and with a final dip of her chin, she turns around and walks off with little A-Yi chattering about something or the other.
“What just happened,” Shen Yuan asks Mu Zheng as he lets himself fall ungracefully back down on the porch.
Mu Zheng just laughs at him.
What an asshole.
Shen Yuan is glad they’re friends.
Notes:
thanks for sticking so long with this fic even with my disastrous procrastination caused by a lack of inspiration and plenty of stress, a cocktail that would give anyone a hangover<3
vocab:
mu zheng refers to hall masters ren & yang as 'qianbei' (前辈 — qiánbèi), which literally means senior and is a term of address for members of an elder generation
also, the injured hall master finally has a surname! he's called 任 (rén), of uncertain meaning :')
Chapter 9: a chapter to clear up some things and laying down the groundwork for the inevitable adoption
Summary:
SYSTEM doesn’t reply, but that doesn’t deter Shen Yuan. They’ve had this argument a few times a day every day since Yue Qi agreed to spar with Shen Yuan, and by now they’ve reached an impasse.
Notes:
,,,,,listen, inspiration is a fickle thing. add that to the fact that i am working on my thesis and doing an internship, and well,,,, but here we are!!!! a short chapter, but it's given me some motivation to get back into it :') ive had half of it written for months, and ive hated a huge chunk of it for most of that time :] i deleted some of it and re-wrote the rest, and im quite happy with this one! i hope y'all are too! enjoy!!!
(not beta'd, but ill revise it later lmao)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Re-tying the ribbon around his ponytail for the third time to see if this time it stays in place, as it should, Shen Yuan continues ribbing SYSTEM about acquiring the transcription for Mulan’s ‘I’ll Make A Man Out Of You’. He’s been unsuccessful thus far, but Shen Yuan is nothing if not stubborn as a mule, and it’s not in him to give up on something he’s really enthusiastic about.
Immovable object meets unstoppable force. Or something like that, he’s sure. Maybe the other way around?
“—and I’m just saying—,” he states, as matter-of-factly as he can just to be annoying, “—that I would feel infinitely more motivated to learn how to stab things with this stupid sword if I had the proper background music! Motivation is key!”
He secures the ribbon with a second knot, just to be sure.
SYSTEM doesn’t reply, but that doesn’t deter Shen Yuan. They’ve had this argument a few times a day every day since Yue Qi agreed to spar with Shen Yuan, and by now they’ve reached an impasse.
“Look, I agree that a training montage is not realistic, however helpful it would be,” he says, fists on his hips. He’s accepted reluctantly that he’ll have to work (and work hard) to achieve anything worthy of his Head Disciple position, but that doesn’t mean he’s very thrilled about it. “So you know for a fact that asking for a guqin or pipa transcription of that song would take, in comparison, barely any effort on your part.”
This does bring a reaction out of SYSTEM, even if it’s only a small buzzing sound that Shen Yuan now knows to interpret as a fond sigh.
“Da-shixiong! Da-shixiong, quick!”
Alarmed at the sudden arrival of one of Zhao Fang’s quieter friends, a young girl called Gao Yazhu, Shen Yuan feels his triumphant smile slip from his lips.
“Gao-shimei?” he asks, reaching out to catch the teenager as she stumbles into his room and into his arms, stabilising her as he casts a worried look at her. “What’s the matter? Did something happen?”
“Zhao-shijie— and the others— a fight with Bai Zhan disciples, and— please help them!” she wheezes out, and Shen Yuan barely has the mind to grit out a ‘where’ through the immediate fog of rage that clouds his rational mind and takes over his body.
“Qian Cao meadow.”
And Shen Yuan is off, practice sword forgotten on the floor of his room.
(When SYSTEM asks him afterwards, he can’t quite remember how he got to Qian Cao).
(He remembers flashes of clarity, remembers bumping his shoulder into someone).
(He remembers elbowing a disciple out of his way, remembers ignoring their protests).
(And he remembers jumping onto Qian Cao soil with enough impetus to leave a small crater where he lands).
It goes like this:
Shen Yuan arrives on Qian Cao with the fury of a thousand demons guiding his steps and less fanfare than one would expect, considering said fury.
It takes him less than five seconds to locate his targets, and half that time to reach them before the apparent leader of the blue-and-white-robed assholes can deliver another hit to a defiant Qing Jing boy whose face is bloody and bruised.
“And to think you believed you had a chance—?” Whatever deeply intelligent thing the Bai Zhan disciple was about to share with their public is interrupted because Shen Yuan suckerpunches him straight in the kisser with enough force to send him falling flat on his back.
“Close your mouth,” Shen Yuan sneers, barely restraining himself from shaking out his smarting knuckles. ”You are wasting everyone’s time.”
One of the other three Bai Zhan disciples hurries to the felled top dog to check up on his prone form, shoving a finger under his nose to confirm the main bully is still breathing.
“He’s out cold,” she says disbelievingly after a pause, looking first at her fellow disciples and then at Shen Yuan. Her fingers are a little bloody when she withdraws them.
Good.
“Da-shixiong,” says Zhao Fang, relief clear as day in her voice.
“Zhao-shimei,” replies Shen Yuan, without turning away from the wary Bai Zhan teenagers but looking at his shimei with a frown of concern. “Are you hurt?”
Zhao Fang quickly shakes her head, using her sleeve to wipe at a smudge of dirt on her cheek. “How did you know—”
She gets interrupted by the loud arrival of Gao Yazhu, who’s huffing and puffing and cursing in a most unladylike manner as she joins them. Her hair has slipped from its twin pristine buns, and two spots of red colour her cheeks, but Zhao Fang lights up like Gao Yazhu’s the next best thing since sliced bread and proceeds to squeeze the living daylights out of her friend.
>SYSTEM, could you scan the kids, please?< Shen Yuan asks as he dismisses the Bai Zhan teens and crouches next to the beaten Qing Jing disciple. It’s a boy he’s never seen before, skinny with the awkwardness of a recent growth spurt but round cheeks that give away his youth, puppyfat still clinging to his face.
“Can you stand?” he asks the boy, who quickly nods. Before they can both get up, however, Shen Yuan is alerted by SYSTEM about a nasty ankle injury and a sprained knee, both on the same leg.
Shen Yuan is going to kill the Bai Zhan disciples if it’s the last thing he does on this blasted mountain—
“Hm, alright, that will need professional tending, I’m afraid,” he grimaces, trying to push down the anger urging him to kick the fallen bully a bit more. “Put your arm around my shoulders, shixiong will help you—”
Vaguely, in the very back of his mind, it registers to Shen Yuan that he is acting like da-ge; Shen Yuan has never been able to be the one to physically help someone else out, always the one being helped by his older brothers (and later on his little sister) when his body gave up on him time after time. It feels a little bit like a stab in the heart, but this time the hurt is soothed by a wave of warmth at the image of pride on da-ge’s face if he could see him like this.
As he lets the injured boy gingerly lay an arm across his shoulders, Shen Yuan notices some twitching movement from the knocked-out Bai Zhan bully, apparently not so knocked-out anymore.
>Good. Would’ve hated to have to lug him to the infirmary, too,< he tells SYSTEM, who buzzes faintly in protest. The thought of dragging the bully face-down over the ground perks him up slightly, though. >Too much effort entirely.<
[The infirmary is just on the other side of this field.]
>Semantics.<
“Whu—”
Yeah, definitely no longer knocked-out. The Bai Zhan ringleader scrambles onto his feet, slapping off the hands of his fellow disciples trying to help him out, and attempts to straighten out his dusty robes with a ridiculous amount of pompousness. And then: “You cheated!”
“Heavens, you’re truly impossible to underestimate, aren’t you,” comments Shen Yuan, channelling er-gege’s best dismissive look of distaste even as he gathers the boy against him and starts to push them both off the ground. “The fact that you’ve lived this long is both surprising and disappointing.”
“How dare you—”
“No. How dare you—,” interrupts Shen Yuan, finally upright, “—pick fights with other disciples and act like you’re not in the wrong.”
“What! I am not—!”
“—not smart enough to know when to stop running your mouth? Yeah, I gathered that from your incessant babbling. Was a punch in the mouth not enough? I get that violence isn’t an answer, but it sure as hell should’ve sent a message.”
“You— you—!”
“Me, yes,” snarls Shen Yuan, not flinching when the main Bai Zhan pest tries to get up in his face, ignoring the way his two friends are trying to hold him back by grasping at his sleeves. “Now. Get out of my way before I make you.”
For a few seconds, it looks like he is going to have to use physical violence to be able to get to the infirmary, but before either Shen Yuan or the Bai Zhan disciple can do anything more than glare at each other, they’re distracted by yet another interruption.
“What is going on.”
And if it isn’t the last person Shen Yuan wants to see right now.
[Liu Jian enters the scene.]
>I hate how much you enjoy my suffering, SYSTEM. Today is the worst. I hate today.<
[∠( ᐛ 」∠) ＿]
“Stay out of this, Lui-shidi,” he says out loud, glaring at the newcomer. “This is none of your business.”
“I disagree.”
“Of course shidi does,” says Shen Yuan with a forced smile. “Kindly move out of the way because I do not have time for you or your inflated sense of self-importance right now.”
“Then make time because I am talking to you! Fight me, Shen Jiu!” Liu Jian yells, unsheathing his sword and pointing it at Shen Yuan, whose first reaction is to take a step back. Before he can do so, however, he remembers the hurt disciple cradled in his arms, and thus forces steel into his spine to avoid further jostling the kid.
“…can Liu-shixiong perhaps not see that da-shixiong is in the middle of something more important than being challenged to a spar?” asks Zhao Fang, coming to stand by Shen Yuan’s side and cutting off Shen Yuan’s own disbelieving and considerably less polite ‘are you blind as well as dumb?’. She presses her shoulder into Shen Yuan’s arm to show her quiet support and, on his other side, Gao Yazhu does the same.
Meanwhile, it seems the bully has gotten around to gathering his wits about him for the first time today, because he finally speaks up, pointing an accusing finger at Shen Yuan: “Liu-shixiong! He cheated!”
“Shen Jiu? Of course he did, he always does,” Liu Jian disdainfully and without hesitation, as if that’s what’s to be expected of Shen Yuan and people who ever suspected otherwise should all be considered dumbasses.
And that’s it.
“Listen here, you self-congratulating prick, I’ve had it with you and your attitude,” Shen Yuan seethes, wishing for once that looks would kill so he could bury Liu Jian and just be done with all this bullshit. “I don’t care who the fuck you are and I certainly don’t care about you, but this? This has got to stop— I have been belittled my whole life by rich brats like you, and I’m done with being made feel like I’m a lesser being because I started cultivating later in life. We can’t all be privileged little shits. I came here to become stronger so people like you would not be able to hurt me anymore. I have worked twice as hard as any disciple on this blasted mountain to get to where I stand today, and you’ll have to pry this place I call home from my cold, dead hands. I’m done being demeaned by wankers like you who like to stomp around in your big fancy boots and think that beating people black and blue is an acceptable way of establishing dominance. Ha! Please, don’t make me laugh! Half of you would struggle to find the exit in a room with one single door even if you were given a map! So leave me alone and fuck off to your own peak, you— you brute!”
The only two things preventing Shen Yuan from stabbing Liu Jian is the injured disciple in his arms and the fact that he doesn’t have a sword on his person.
Next to him, Zhao Fang sniffs in agreement.
“Now get out of my damn way.”
And Liu Jian does.
“Xiao Jiu—” starts saying Yue Qi, and when the fuck did he arrive to the party?
“No.” Shen Yuan really doesn’t have time for this. “Not today.”
Clenching his jaw to avoid screaming out his frustration, Shen Yuan doesn’t look at any of the surrounding disciples and marches forward towards Qian Cao’s main infirmary, where he woke up only a few weeks ago.
(and isn’t that a weird thought?)
(it feels like it was both yesterday and a lifetime ago).
Followed by Zhao Fang and Gao Yazhu, he steps across the infirmary’s threshold and tries to block out the fervent gossiping that starts as soon as it looks like he’s out of earshot, letting his feet automatically take him to the sickroom he has been attended in previously.
>SYSTEM?<
[Yes, A-Yuan?]
>Do you know where those words came from? They weren’t mine.<
[...]
>SYSTEM, please, I’m afraid.<
[Later.]
>Promise?<
[Promise.]
“Thank you.”
Shen Yuan, still reeling from his weird outburst and SYSTEM’s unusual evasiveness, looks down at the injured disciple he’s carrying in his arms, a bit surprised to hear him talk now. “Eh?”
“This shidi is… very thankful, for da-shixiong’s intervention,” says the disciple, looking down at his knees. He looks terribly embarrassed, and his embarrassment is making thin-faced Shen Yuan feel flustered.
“Ah, shidi does not need to thank this shixiong,” he says, shaking his head with a lopsided smile and stupidly aware that, if he didn’t have his arms occupied, he’d be flapping his hands. Inside his chest, his heart tickles funnily. “This shixiong can only apologize to shidi for not arriving sooner. Perhaps shidi’s injuries could have been avoided, then.”
“With all due respect,” speaks up Gao Yazhu timidly from behind them, “—da-shixiong came as soon as possible. Any tardiness would be this shimei’s fault.”
“No fault, then,” says Shen Yuan with a chuckle, bending at the waist to place the disciple on the cot. “Alright, there you go.”
And then, from behind them:
“Shen-shixiong, how on earth are you in my infirmary again.”
Whoops.
Notes:
i think it's hilarious that yq didnt even get to say a full sentence
new oc!
• Gao Yazhu: 高 (gāo) meaning “tall, high” — 雅 (yǎ) meaning "elegant, graceful, refined" combined with 筑 (zhù) meaning "lute, zither, build"i dont think there are any other terms to clarify, but feel free to comment any doubts *finger guns away into Endless Abyss*
Chapter 10: a chapter of banter and progress, friendship and questions
Summary:
Shen Yuan didn’t even know Zhao Fang could look so well-behaved. The few times he has tried telling her what to do has only begotten him the stink-eye and her dainty nose pointed skywards. He sort of misses the shyness she suffered around him at the beginning.
Notes:
HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!! I HOPE Y'ALL LIKE THIS NEW CHAPTER, sorry it took so long lmao
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“In my defence, I’m not even the patient this time, Kun-shimei,” complains Shen Yuan, pasting on a very put-upon expression on his face and stepping backwards as he pointedly ignores the wide-eyed way his kids are looking at his sudden change of demeanour. “Although I might be responsible for another patient that shall be shortly arriving, if those Bai Zhan idiots have even an ounce of sense in them.”
“Unlikely,” whispers Zhao Fang, and Gao Yazhu giggles, covering her mouth with her sleeve.
“I was…notified, of said altercation,” says Kun Yaling stiffly, side-eyeing the kids before she focuses back onto Shen Yuan. “I would’ve intervened if you hadn’t arrived when you arrived.”
Shen Yuan’s nod of acknowledgement coincides with Mu Zheng’s hasty entrance.
“Shen-shixiong!”
Shen Yuan finger-waves at him and suddenly finds himself being manhandled as Mu Zheng grabs his shoulders and practically swirls him around, checking him frantically from head-to-toe.
“Mu-shidi, hey, stop— it’s alright, I am not hurt,” he says, slapping away Mu Zheng’s probing hands and trying to sidestep out of reach. “In fact, I am slightly offended that your first thought, when you heard that I got into a fight, is that I might be the one hurt. It was very one-sided, you know,” he adds, sniffing and brushing out the wrinkles in his uniform, ignoring the smarting of his knuckles. “I came, I saw, I kicked ass. That’s it. I’m fine.”
“I will be the judge of that—,”says Kun Yaling, looking thoroughly unimpressed at Shen Yuan’s theatrics.
“But, shimei—”
“—if you know what’s good for you,” she finishes decisively.
Shen Yuan gulps, shutting up. SYSTEM flickers a kaomoji onto its screen in a gesture of compassion, which is not even a little bit helpful.
“That’s what I thought,” says Kun Yaling smugly, and Mu Zheng muffles a giggle behind his hand at Shen Yuan’s incredulous stare. “Am I understood? Shen-shixiong.”
“…fine. Fine, yeah,” exclaims Shen Yuan after a beat, throwing his hands up in defeat. “But only after you take a look at everyone else. I’m serious.”
“Alright. Deal.”
“Great.”
“Excellent,” says Kun Yaling, and proceeds to pointedly ignore him while she rounds up his kids and settles them into a neat row with only a few words and her stern eyebrows.
Shen Yuan didn’t even know Zhao Fang could look so well-behaved. The few times he has tried telling her what to do has only begotten him the stink-eye and her dainty nose pointed skywards. He sort of misses the shyness she suffered around him at the beginning.
[No, you don’t.]
>Hush.<
“Shijie won’t tell, but she was worried about you,” whispers Mu Zheng, leaning down to speak directly into Shen Yuan’s ear. His breath tickles Shen Yuan’s neck and makes him startle physically.
“‘Worried’ is not the vibe I got, definitely,” replies Shen Yuan, scratching at the sudden itchiness at his neck. “Personally, I got the distinctive vibe of ‘how-dare-you-step-into-my-infirmary-again’, but that might just be me.”
“‘Vibe’? What does that mean?” asks Mu Zheng curiously, and oh, Shen Yuan could hit himself.
“Uhm,” he says instead.
“…shixiong?”
“Ah, it’s just an expression! Not very widespread, I reckon. I, uh, I read it in a poem some time ago. Very experimental. You know how the new-wave poets are. Ahead of their time.”
“Right. And what does it mean, exactly?”
“Well, it refers to the, um, the subjective impression you get in a particular situation? From something or someone?” Shen Yuan explains, trying to sound like he’s not making it up on the spot. “For example, when I said I did ‘not get that vibe’, I meant that I did not get the impression that Kun-shimei was worried about me, but rather the opposite.”
“Ohhh, that makes sense,” says Mu Zheng, nodding along with shiny eyes. “Subtle. I like it! ‘Vibe’. It has a nice ring to it.”
Shen Yuan can only watch in horrified fascination as his shidi mouths ‘vibe’ to himself a few more times before he smiles widely and dips his head in a gesture of gratitude.
“I will definitely add it to my vocabulary, Shen-shixiong. Thank you for your guidance.”
“Ah, no need to thank me, shidi, this shixiong is always happy to share his literary findings.”
>What just happened,< he asks SYSTEM, dazedly turning back to where Kun Yaling is done prodding at the ankle of the disciple whose name Shen Yuan still doesn’t know.
“Fortunately for Jin-shixiong, nothing’s broken,” says Kun Yaling, gracefully standing up and brushing non-existent wrinkles out of her skirt. “Unfortunately for Jin-shixiong, sprains are quite an annoyance for cultivators and non-cultivators alike. Shixiong shall require bandages, rest and lots of meditation. No running or sparring for at least three days.”
“Does shimei recommend more days of rest?” asks Shen Yuan, worried.
“Three days of rest is the bare minimum, but yes, a few more days would be preferrable,” says Kun Yaling, raising an eyebrow at Shen Yuan. “Why do you ask? Shen-shixiong has not shown himself to be one to listen to a doctor’s recommendation, after all.”
“Ah, pffff,” says Shen Yuan, flapping his hand nonchalantly. “Lies and slander. Besides, do as I say, not as I do!”
His kids stare at him with eyes as wide as dinner plates, and Shen Yuan winks at them, much to their delight.
Kun Yaling, on the other hand, doesn’t look very impressed.
Mu Zheng just looks happy to be here.
“Anyway,” says Kun Yaling, and as she turns back towards the kids, they all wipe their smiles from their faces and try to look as innocent as possible. “Mu Zheng will clean your scraps and bruises while I take a look at your shixiong.”
“Yes, shijie,” says Mu Zheng obediently, and walks over to the cot where Jin-shidi is laid down.
“Traitor,” whispers Shen Yuan, just as Kun Yaling carefully grabs Shen Yuan’s sleeve between two fingers and pulls him towards a free cot on the other side of the room.
He sits down, automatically extending his wrist so Kun Yaling can press her fingers against his pulsepoint. For a long minute, neither speaks up; on the other side of the room, Shen Yuan’s kids chatter quietly with Mu Zheng, who’s busy dabbing at Jin-shidi’s scraps with a damp cloth.
The cool touch of Kun Yaling’s qi rushing through his meridians tends to be familiar in a comforting way, but this time it feels cold; he hadn’t noticed until now how agitated his own qi feels as it condenses and expands rhythmically, echoing the accelerated heartbeat currently slamming against Shen Yuan’s breastbone.
Huh. Has that been going all since Gao Yahzu came calling for his assistance?
“Shixiong’s qi is all over the place,” mutters Kun Yaling, shaking her head in a way that reminds Shen Yuan of er-gege. “You’re on the brink of a qi-deviation.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not,” repeats Shen Yuan, suddenly irritated. He might be a few years younger than the healer, but that doesn’t mean he’s OK with being treated like a kid. “I’d be able to tell.”
“…would you?” asks Kun Yaling, not as dubiously as she could’ve asked it.
“Yes.” With SYSTEM’s help, of course, but Kun Yaling doesn’t need to know that.
The doctor doesn’t reply verbally, but Shen Yuan can see the way her eyebrows pull together and realizes that she’ll let the topic go—for now, at least. Small mercies.
“How is your daily meditation going?”
“Well enough.” When he doesn’t fall asleep, of course. In a way, not falling asleep is progress!
“Headaches?”
“Manageable.”
“Sleep?”
“Perfectly adequate.”
“That’s for me to judge,” snipes Kun Yaling, finally releasing Shen Yuan’s wrist, which falls limply to his side.
“You asked!”
“I asked whether you slept. As in, at all.”
“And I replied to your question,” says Shen Yuan as he stands up, patting any potential wrinkles out of his robes. “Succinctly.”
“Debatable. You clearly referred to the quality thereof. Not the quantity.”
“Now you’re just nitpicking, shimei.”
“I wouldn’t have to be if you’d just let me do my job, shixiong.”
“Slander! I am being most cooperative!”
“If you were cooperative, you wouldn’t have had that massive qi-deviation that almost killed you, you absolute nitwit!”
“…you have to admit that I’ve gotten much better, though,” says Shen Yuan after a brief pause, because maybe Kun Yaling is right and Shen Jiu was a secretive little shit that would apparently rather die than admit to any weakness.
“…I shall admit to it,” concedes Kun Yaling, dipping her chin in acknowledgement, and Shen Yuan has to stop himself before he punches the air in victory. Instead, he very maturely returns her nod, even if he can’t help but brightly grin at her.
Kun Yaling doesn’t reply with a grin of her own, although Shen Yuan can read the smile in her eyes.
It’s only when a muffled eep breaks the silence that Shen Yuan remembers there’s other people in the room with them, and immediately schools his face into his best poker face as he turns towards the kids.
Mu Zheng just looks amused, as he tends to do, but Shen Yuan’s kids are staring at him and Kun Yaling with eyes as big as saucers.
“So, all patched up?” Shen Yuan asks, looking from Jin-shidi to Mu Zheng. “What does shidi prescribe for the patient?”
“Well, Jin Hai should stay off his leg for a few days, and, as Kun-shijie said, no running or sparring for at least three days. Five would be preferrable. Seven, ideal.”
“You heard Mu-shidi,” says Shen Yuan, and Jin Hai nods very seriously, his ears and round cheeks tinging pink when Shen Yuan looks at him in approval. “Alright. Shixiong shall bring you back to Qing Jing tomorrow, then. I’d prefer if you’d stay the night at Qian Cao, for your knee’s sake. Mu-shidi and Kun-shimei will take great care of you.”
Mu Zheng nods eagerly, and Kun Yaling doesn’t speak up to protest, which Shen Yuan takes as a ‘yes’ as enthusiastic as Mu Zheng’s.
“Will you be alright, Jin-shidi?”
“Yeah! I mean, yes, da-shixiong, this shidi will be fine,” replies Jin Hai sheepishly, trying to salute from his seated position. Before he can topple over, Shen Yuan steps forwards and catches him by the elbow, gently guiding him back to his original spot. The kid is cute, yes, but clearly not in possession of a lot of common sense. Shen Yuan will have to keep a close eye on him, in the future.
SYSTEM buzzes at that thought, and Shen Yuan can feel its amusement even though it doesn’t say anything at all.
>You know I’m right! I don’t know why you’re laughing!<
[No reason at all, A-Yuan. This SYSTEM is being very serious. As the situation demands. ]
But then—
[(๑*ᗜ*)]
>…we’ll talk later, you and I.<
“Uhm, good. Very good. Then I shall escort your shijies back to Qing Jing now, so they don’t miss any more lessons,” says Shen Yuan, nodding at Zhao Fang and Gao Yazhu, who groan in complaint and try to wheedle Shen Yuan into letting them play truant.
(Well, Zhao Fang wheedles).
(Gao Yazhu just gives Shen Yuan the biggest Bambi eyes he’s ever been on the receiving end of).
(It’s almost persuasive enough).
But Shen Yuan must be a good da-shixiong!
“Absolutely no way,” he states, firmly looking at the wall lest he accidentally make eye contact with Gao Yazhu and wavers in his decision. “Missy One and Missy Two are going to class and practice their erhu and guqin playing respectively. If we leave now you’ll only miss the first half of the theoretical lesson. You will not change my mind.”
“Da-shixiong knows our schedules?” asks Gao Yazhu with a tinge of incredulousness in her voice, eyes still wide but no longer glistening with unshed tears.
“Of course I know your schedules,” replies Shen Yuan, confused at the sudden change in Gao Yazhu’s attitude and the way she magicked away her tears. He must figure out that trick for himself; it might help him out of future annoying situations. “I know everyone’s schedules. It’s my job to know and to keep track of every disciple on our peak.”
“No, it’s Lin-shizun’s job,” interrupts Zhao Fang, a calculating look in her eyes as she stares Shen Yuan down.
Snorting, Shen Yuan shakes his head. “Every thankless little job on Qing Jing is my responsibility. I make your schedules and I assign teachers. I am the most disliked person on our peak for a reason, Zhao-shimei, not just because I might be moody or easily irritable.”
“You’re not the most disliked person on Qing Jing!” says Jin Hai, vehemently shaking his head and looking mightily dismayed. “You’re not!”
“Jin-shidi,” says Shen Yuan patiently, lowering his voice to not further upset the boy, “—people on Qing Jing avoid me. They walk the other way when I am about to run into them, and pretend not to see me so they do not have to talk to me. I am not liked. I know that, and I am fine with that.”
[Liar.]
>There is absolutely no reason to call me out on this, you meanie.<
“Surely not everyone,” says Zhao Fang, her voice smaller than Shen Yuan has ever heard it and oh, it hurts to see her look so crestfallen all of a sudden.
“Well, my favourite shimei clearly tolerates me!” he says cheerfully, resting his fists on his hips. “That is enough for me— oof.” Abruptly being hugged around the middle almost makes Shen Yuan topple over, but he manages to brace himself just in time and finds Zhao Fang clinging to him, her face shoved against his chest. “Shimei?”
“Da-shixiong is also my favourite,” she says, voice muffled by the fabric of Shen Yuan’s robes. Moved, Shen Yuan wraps an arm around her shoulders and gives her a squeeze, unused to being hugged by someone more than a head shorter than he is.
(Back in his first life, even meimei was of height with him, so this is a new experience).
“Ah, shimei,” he says, smiling; with his free hand, he pats her head softly, careful not to mess up her hair. “You’ll make me tear up.”
“Then da-shixiong can cry, and anyone who has a problem with it shall be dealt with,” Zhao Fang growls, not moving from her spot against Shen Yuan’s torso.
“Of course,” he says, so fond he could melt. He lets her choose when to release the hug, and when she steps back after a minute, he smiles at her and doesn’t comment on the bright blush staining her cheeks. “Feeling better?” he asks her, cocking his head to make eye contact with Zhao Fang when she looks away in embarrassment.
“I should be asking that!” she complains, but her frown disappears when Shen Yuan’s smile broadens.
“I personally am feeling much better,” he says, booping her nose and waltzing out of reach of her indignant swatting, laughing all the way to hide behind Mu Zheng’s large frame. “Ready to go, girls?”
“Yes, da-shixiong,” says Gao Yazhu obediently, hooking her arm with Zhao Fang’s and starting to walk towards the door. “Bye, Jin-shidi! See you tomorrow!”
“Bye, Gao-shijie! Bye, Zhai-shijie!”
“If the Bai Zhan brutes do decide to come to the infirmary, keep them away from Jin Hai,” whispers Shen Yuan to Mu Zheng, before he follows the two girls out of the room. “Thank you for your help,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll come by tomorrow before noon.”
“ Of course. See you tomorrow, shixiong,” says Mu Zheng, walking Shen Yuan to the steps that lead to the clearing in front of the infirmary. “I will take care of Jin-shixiong.”
“Thank you,” says Shen Yuan sincerely, and with a last grin to Mu Zheng, he follows the two girls onto the Rainbow Bridge and out of Qian Cao. He walks with his hands clasped behind his back, a few steps behind Gao Yazhu and Zhao Fang; the wind blows harsher than it did earlier that day, and there’s less traffic than usual on the bridge.
Stepping back onto Qing Jing is a relief.
Reaching the door to his room, even more so.
“We’ll go to class now,” says Gao Yazhu, clasping her hands into a salute. Next to her, Zhao Fang does the same. They both have an innocent look to their faces that reveals very clearly that they’ve herded him towards his own room on purpose. “Thank you for your help today, da-shixiong.”
“Of course,” says Shen Yuan, nodding at them and returning the salute. He’s not too bothered by their machinations, so he lets it slide. He knows they mean well. “Anytime, shimei. I am here to help.”
“We know,” she replies with a wide smile, already turning away. “Bye!”
Waving goodbye at the kids, he steps into his room and closes the door behind him.
Alright-y, time to panic!
“Fuck,” says Shen Yuan, dropping himself onto his bed and sinking into the collection of pillows spread all over the mattress. “Fuck,” he repeats, with more feeling. “Fuck!”
[Language, A-Yuan.]
“Am I possessed?” asks Shen Yuan, voice pitching higher. “Or worse, am I possessing someone? Is Shen Jiu still here? You said he’d transmigrated too! I cannot possibly take over his life when he’s still here! Is he here? SYSTEM?”
[A-Yuan is making a lot of assumptions, and should try to calm down.]
“How am I supposed to calm down?” Shen Yuan wails, digging his knuckles into his eyes. “Am I supposed to be casual about this? I might’ve stolen someone’s body! I think it’s very understandable that I might be slightly unchill about the whole situation!”
[A-Yuan.]
“I’m a thief, a body-snatcher, fuck, shit—”
[A-YUAN!]
“Sorry,” Shen Yuan says sheepishly, shocked out of his spiral by SYSTEM’s sudden and wild buzzing. “I’m sorry, SYSTEM, it’s just— a lot.”
‘A lot’ is, in fact, underplaying the sentiment. Shen Yuan can feel himself teetering on the edge of a sobbing fest, and it takes all his concentration to keep his breathing steady and rhythmical. In, hold, out. Repeat. And again, from the top.
It takes him almost half an hour before he feels like a person again.
[This SYSTEM shall look into it.]
>Thank you,< Shen Yuan replies, feeling how the knot of anxiety in his chest loosens just a fraction. >Please. I need to know.<
[Of course. Now, A-Yuan should take a nap. It has been a trying day.]
“Yeah,” says Shen Yuan out loud, staring at the ceiling. “I should. I dunno if I can, though.”
[A-Yuan must try. This SYSTEM shall put on some music to help A-Yuan.]
“OK. Thanks, SYSTEM,” Shen Yuan whispers, closing his eyes and pulling on his ribbon to undo his ponytail. “You’re the best.”
[Sleep, A-Yuan. This SYSTEM shall be here when A-Yuan wakes.]
>Alright. Wake me up if you find anything, eh.<
He slips into a restless sleep much faster than he thought he would, but his exhaustion is too strong to fight.
[♫ NOW PLAYING ⊴ ⊲ ⊵ : Camille Saint-Saëns, Sebastian Comberti, Miriam Keough — the_swan.mp3 ♫]
Notes:
jin hai, the first male oc! another of sy's precious kids, with the characters 金 (jīn)/海 (hǎi), meaning “gold”/meaning "sea, ocean"
it's a bit confusing who counts as a shidi or shixiong, because in svsss it's not with age, but with peak rank and THEN seniority within peaks, and i am not always clear on how each character would address another :/// if anyone notices a mistake, please let me know in the comments, please! i do not have a beta reader, so all mistakes are mine and sometimes they slip through the cracks :^)
Chapter 11: a chapter to open the door towards the next journey
Summary:
It takes Shen Yuan several days before he notices Yue Qi hasn’t kept his promise about sparring with him.
Notes:
so uhm it's been a while. hello! welcome back! if you're jumping back in since my last update, you might notice that ive given SYSTEM a new look! no more yellow comic sans, we've moved onto blue!!! i hope you all like the changes :D (it's been a few hours of work to change all the previous chapters too hhhhhhhh)
since the last update: i finished my thesis and gradutated, got a full-time job, moved, and then my partner got diagnosed with a brain tumor, so it's been a rollercoaster! i will not apologise for not updating sooner :] (my partner is doing fine and finishing treatment, no worries, they're a fighter<3)
have a short update!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It takes Shen Yuan several days before he notices Yue Qi hasn’t kept his promise about sparring with him.
Once he realises, he’s not sure how he hasn’t noticed before, considering how much emotional effort it took him to even ask, but the reality is this: he forgot because has been a bit distracted since he found out that perhaps Shen Jiu isn’t as gone as they thought he was.
The problem is that he’s not entirely certain whether Yue Qi forgot, too.
It’s a thought that occurs to him fleetingly during one of the classes he’s supposed to supervise as Head Disciple—a daily activity which mostly consists of him pretending he knows what he’s doing, nodding and humming thoughtfully from the back of the classroom at appropriate intervals.
These supervising sessions have, weirdly enough, grown to become one of his favourite duties overall, because all that eavesdropping allows him to 1) learn along with the other students and 2) get to know the other Qing Jing disciples. Of course, it might be stuff he’s supposed to already know as Head Disciple, but Shen Yuan has been dropped rather unceremoniously in the deep end and if this is what it takes to keep up the façade of Good Little Head Disciple, then by god he will do it.
Doing it with gusto is an added, if unexpected, bonus.
Leaving in the middle of class is, unfortunately, not an option—and it is entirely his own fault. Eager to do well, Shen Yuan has been rather stubborn in applying a first-in-last-out approach to these sessions; suddenly changing his routine would only raise unwanted questions among the nosy little disciples that have recently started to shadow Shen Yuan when he is out-and-about Qing Jing.
(It’s mostly something that’s become popular amongst the youngest of the bunch, and they are not as subtle as they think they are, but considering nobody has directly approached him, Shen Yuan hasn’t been able to complain about it).
(Except to SYSTEM, who has been subjected to many a late-night Complaining Conferences, even though SYSTEM has been… sleepy, lately. It seems to be taking a lot of energy to run the diagnostic scans, and its commentary and participation has been sparse).
(Shen Yuan misses the company, and he’d tell SYSTEM if he knew it wouldn’t distract it from its hard work).
What is all comes down to is that, before he can leave—regardless of urgency—, Shen Yuan has to wait until the classroom has emptied and the last stragglers have been sent off with a quick but sincere word of praise for their calligraphy work. This particular class is truly improving in leaps and bounds, and Shen Yuan is genuinely proud of them, but with time to ponder on his approach and how he will breach the subject of the broken promise to Yue Qi, he strategizes.
His first option is jumping the gun and throwing a mini-tantrum, meimei-style, taking Yue Qi by surprise and not giving him time to think of an excuse; it wouldn’t be his preferred strategy, per se, but meimei usually got her way when she used it on their older brothers, so at least it’s been tried and tested. It could be Shen Yuan’s best chance, all things considered.
His second option is less outwardly-aggressive and more passive-aggressive, and involves a bit of guilt-tripping. However, it’d be a shot in the dark that could backfire spectacularly if Yue Qi doesn’t follow the exact script created in Shen Yuan’s head, so: doable, but risky. Perhaps even too risky! Yue Qi has repeatedly shown behaviour that Shen Yuan has found hard to predict, which in return throws Shen Yuan off balance, and he can’t be having that; he will need to be in control of the conversation at all times to get the results he desires.
>This option is starting to sound less and less appealing the more I think about it…,< he comments to SYSTEM, who buzzes in acknowledgement.
His third and last option is to approach Yue Qi calmly and extending a new invitation; they’re both busy men, after all, and it is possible that Yue Qi simply forgot about his promise, and isn’t actively avoiding him on purpose after their last exchange on Qian Cao Peak.
(What a rotten thought).
The issue with this option is that this particular train of thought leaves a taste in his mouth worse than Kun Yaling’s preferred tea, oversteeped and bitter. Each time he thinks about it he’s hit with a wave of vexation at Yue Qi, a strong feeling of cynicism that’s mixed with something hopeful and slightly pathetic, knotted around his throat like a too-tight bowtie.
(He’s not entirely sure whether this feeling comes from him directly or from the phantom of Shen Jiu, but once he’s aware of it, it’s hard to ignore even if he can’t quite make sense of its origin, which only adds to his vexation).
Shaking his head to clear it like an etch-a-sketch, Shen Yuan pulls on the silk ribbon holding his sleeves back and lets them fall into place, wrapping the ribbon around his hand into a neat bundle that he stores into his left sleeve. After checking himself for ink stains, he exits the empty classroom and, much to his relief, finds the corridor devoid of people too.
Luck seems to be on his side so far.
Hopefully it’ll stay with him, too.
(At least until after his little talk with Yue Qi).
His leisure walk to and over the Rainbow Bridge passes without incident, and after a little while, Shen Yuan is officially stepping onto Qiong Ding Peak soil. It’s only then that he encounters the first real hiccough in his half-assed plan: he doesn’t actually know where Yue Qi lives, exactly.
He knows where to find his office, yes, and he also knows that, as opposed to Shen Yuan—whose office doubles as his bedroom, leisure room and living room—Yue Qi is important and fortunate enough to have his living quarters separated from his working space.
This means that, on the off-chance Yue Qi isn’t in his office, Shen Yuan wouldn’t even know where to begin searching for him.
The other Qiong Ding disciples aren’t likely to tell him; just like last time, Shen Yuan can feel many pairs of eyes on him, but not a single person has made an attempt to greet him or even acknowledge him directly.
Rude.
Primly ignoring the way he’s being ignored, Shen Yuan continues ahead on his path to Yue Qi’s office, back straight and posture impeccable.
If Yue Qi isn’t there, he’ll consider asking the least-rude-looking disciple around, but for now he has a destination to get to; he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.
For now, he’ll try his luck here, he thinks as he steps into the field he was too preoccupied to notice the last time he visited.
The Qiong Ding Peak’s main hall stands glorious, pale and imposing in the middle of the Sect’s largest meadow, its nameplate catching the sun’s light and making the dew droplets on the ponysfoot covering the entire field twinkle like stars. Tendrils of silvery mist curl around the base of the hall, staying close to the ground and disappearing into the forest of goldenrain that surrounds the meadow.
Not even the infirmary on Qian Cao feels as peaceful.
>Here we go, SYSTEM, wish me luck!<
In a way, he does get lucky: Yue Qi is there, in his office, which was exactly the only place Shen Yuan knew to look for him, which means he doesn’t have to ask any of the nasty little disciples outside where to find their Head Disciple.
Downside: Yue Qi’s not alone.
Fuck.
“Xiao Jiu—!” says Yue Qi, visibly surprised.
“This disciple apologises for intruding—,” Shen Yuan says before Yue Qi can add anything else, bowing deeply, “—and shall return later, when it is a more opportune moment.”
“Ah, young Shen,” calls a slight man Shen Yuan has never seen before, right as he’s about to exit the room backwards. He’s seated at Yue Qi’s desk, willowy and dark-skinned and beautiful in an ethereal way.
>…SYSTEM? A little help?<
[This man is Jun Xiuchen, sect leader of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect and Peak Lord of Qiong Ding Peak, shizun to Yue Qi and shishu to A-Yuan.]
Ooooooooh.
Fuck indeed.
The Sect Leader steeples his fingers, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he studies Shen Yuan. Fixing his face into a neutral look of polite interest while mentally yelling at SYSTEM about the sudden flux of information being thrown his way, Shen Yuan meets the Sect Master’s limpid eyes just as he speaks again: “The opportune moment you speak of seems to be happening already.”
“Hmph.”
Shen Yuan glances at the person who just hmphed derisively and finds himself looking at his shizun, lazily reclining against a myriad of colourful cushions arranged behind her back. There’s a plate of candied fruit on a small tray next to her hip.
“This disciple greets Lin-shizun,” he says, bowing respectfully to her. She acknowledges his greeting with a hum and immediately stabs a piece of the candied fruit with one of her razor-sharp nail guards, bringing it to her mouth and biting into it delicately.
>Gosh, she’s fucking terrifying.<
“Allow this master to explain,” says Jun Xiuchen, and Shen Yuan straightens his spine as he focuses all of his attention back on his newly-discovered shishu. “One of these missives—,” the Sect Master explains, gesturing gracefully at the large amount of paperwork covering Yue Qi’s desk, “—recently arrived from Shuang Hu City. Considering it falls within our territory, as you may know, it is our duty to answer all missives, no matter how insignificant they may seem.”
Shen Yuan nods, vaguely remembering one of SYSTEM’s first superficial geography lessons. Shuang Hu City is a relatively small town located not too far from Cang Qiong Mountain, famous within the Sect for its colourful market and rambunctious Mid-Autumn Festival.
“It is this master’s intention to send a retinue of disciples to attend to this matter,” announces Jun Xiuchen, tapping the wooden desk with a fingernail. “Most disciples are familiar with Shuang Hu City, and the missive makes no reference to anything that might imply demonic involvement. It should be easily solved.”
“This disciple understands,” says Shen Yuan, dipping his chin into a nod. “It would allow the investigation to happen in a controlled environment, while remaining a learning experience for those involved.”
“Just so. It has been decided, then: young Shen shall accompany a select group of disciples to town, and supervise their investigation. You shall remain uninvolved, as there should be no reason for you to intervene, but it will surely encourage the disciples to have someone that could intervene, would it become necessary.”
“…pardon?” Shen Yuan says, blinking in incomprehension. Surely it is a joke; surely it can’t be anything but a joke.
Right?
Wrong.
“It is a good idea,” says the Sect Leader placidly, agreeing with himself when no one else does.
Because it is abso-fucking-lutely not a good idea, and Shen Yuan is ready to lengthily and explicitly tell everyone present exactly why it is the Worst Idea in the history of Bad Ideas, when he’s interrupted by his shizun.
“It shall be done as such,” and her eyes look at Shen Yuan long enough to communicate ‘do not challenge me or else’.
Not eager to find out what that ‘or else’ means, Shen Yuan shuts his mouth and swallows his complaints. They taste awful.
“Excellent!” says the Sect Leader, flicking the sleeve of his robe so its non-existing wrinkles smooth out. “You shall leave in two days’ time. Yue Qi shall help you decide which disciples to take, but the list shall have to be approved by either me or your Lin-shizun before being made official. You’re dismissed.”
“Jun-shishu, Lin-shizun,” says Shen Yuan, bowing. He makes sure to glare at Yue Qi for a second before he calmly leaves the office, and waits until he’s outside of the main hall before he storms off back to Qing Jing.
>I can’t believe Yue Qi just stood there doing nothing!< he seethes at SYSTEM, feeling the rage that’s been bubbling under his skin start to boil over. He needs to hit something. Maybe even stab something! Someone? Ideally Yue Qi. >How didn’t he point out that I’m a terrible choice as a chaperone? He knows I’m gonna get someone killed!<
The second the door to his home slams closed behind his back, Shen Yuan gives in to gravity’s call and lets himself slide down to the ground, face tucked against his knees.
“Holy fuck,” he says out-loud, hysterics-tinged laughter spilling out of his lips. Did that just happen?
SYSTEM, who’s been quiet all this time, buzzes slightly. Shen Yuan knows now to translate the little sound into an admonishment for his potty mouth, but he’s too wired to care right now.
“This is like, so bad,” he giggles, pulling on his braid. “It’s so bad I didn’t even consider it when I was thinking of all the bad things that could happen, and I made a list. A list, SYSTEM. Alphabetical!”
He doesn’t mention that one of the things he added to his list was ‘Yue Qi sends me off the mountain’, because while it’s not exactly what happened, it hits pretty close to home.
“I can’t believe he didn’t speak up! I mean, I understand why, but how could he do me so dirty!”
[A-Yuan. Yue Qi has his duties, too.]
“Now is not the time to talk sense into me,” complains Shen Yuan, pushing himself off the floor and kicking off his boots. “Now is the time to be dramatic.”
And dramatic he allows himself to be; he falls into bed and rolls about for a while, complaining loudly and eloquently and even shedding a tear or two. SYSTEM takes it like a champ and commiserates Shen Yuan at the right intervals,
By the time Shen Yuan is done, he no longer feels to urge to stab anyone—not even Yue Qi.
Because what could possibly go wrong?
Notes:
another oc, this time yue qi's shizun! jun xiuchen: 君 (jūn) meaning "king, ruler" — 秀 (xiù) meaning “luxuriant, beautiful, elegant, outstanding” combined with 辰 (chén) meaning "morning"
i hope you like him, ive had a lot of fun writing him :)
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Sat 10 Oct 2020 01:12PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:07AM UTC
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atlas_aster on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Sep 2020 02:10PM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Sat 10 Oct 2020 01:13PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:07AM UTC
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Finchy_Winters on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Sep 2020 02:18PM UTC
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Finchy_Winters on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Sep 2020 02:19PM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Sat 10 Oct 2020 01:03PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:08AM UTC
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Blackstar17 on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Sep 2020 02:54PM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Sat 10 Oct 2020 01:03PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:08AM UTC
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casil on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Sep 2020 03:01PM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Tue 27 Oct 2020 08:55PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:08AM UTC
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meridien313 on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Sep 2020 03:06PM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Tue 27 Oct 2020 09:05PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:08AM UTC
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Derelict Cleric (Guest) on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Sep 2020 03:42PM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Sat 10 Oct 2020 12:59PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:08AM UTC
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thewanderingcat on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Sep 2020 04:01PM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Sat 10 Oct 2020 01:00PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:09AM UTC
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Kaana on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Sep 2020 05:08PM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Sat 10 Oct 2020 10:29AM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:09AM UTC
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braidedribbon on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Sep 2020 07:48PM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Tue 27 Oct 2020 08:42PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:09AM UTC
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nyoomerr on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Sep 2020 10:20PM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Sat 10 Oct 2020 10:28AM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:09AM UTC
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Crystal_Sky on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Sep 2020 10:45PM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Sat 10 Oct 2020 12:59PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:09AM UTC
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Merryday (Guest) on Chapter 1 Mon 14 Sep 2020 12:12AM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Sat 10 Oct 2020 12:54PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:09AM UTC
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Muddie202 on Chapter 1 Mon 14 Sep 2020 03:54AM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Sat 10 Oct 2020 10:33AM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:09AM UTC
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Esmenet on Chapter 1 Mon 14 Sep 2020 04:04AM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Tue 27 Oct 2020 08:55PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:09AM UTC
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Mirthful Malady (Skarl_the_drummer) on Chapter 1 Mon 14 Sep 2020 08:18AM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Sat 10 Oct 2020 10:27AM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:10AM UTC
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garvtae on Chapter 1 Mon 14 Sep 2020 09:24PM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Tue 27 Oct 2020 08:53PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:10AM UTC
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Cara (Guest) on Chapter 1 Mon 14 Sep 2020 10:03PM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Sat 10 Oct 2020 10:32AM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:10AM UTC
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owlwithafringe on Chapter 1 Mon 14 Sep 2020 11:07PM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Tue 27 Oct 2020 08:42PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:10AM UTC
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Kepler_16b on Chapter 1 Tue 15 Sep 2020 02:08AM UTC
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wei_yuandao (LongLastingForevermore) on Chapter 1 Tue 27 Oct 2020 08:42PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 28 Oct 2020 09:10AM UTC
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