Chapter Text
AN: Last reminder that this fic is sad and that it has a bad ending because y'all ignore warnings the same way y'all don't drink water
The leaves on Xiao Jiu’s wrist comforted him when everything else felt suffocating.
They were a breath of fresh air, the green blades giving him relief, a fleeting moment in time where he could close his eyes and trace the lush lines, forgetting about everything but the fact that there was someone out there who would love Xiao Jiu.
The leaves were the mark of his soulmate, the one person in the entire world who was supposed to love Xiao Jiu forever and ever with no takebacks.
He had other marks too. Mostly leaves and stems because Xiao Jiu hadn’t met his soulmate yet, but he did have a small flower in the dip in between his collarbones. It was a sprig of jasmine in full bloom, stark white and striking.
That was him, that was his flower, the one he would give to his soulmate when he met them, his mark of jasmine.
That one made him giddy—the idea of his soulmate tracing their own stems and leaves and vines as they thought of Xiao Jiu, of their soulmate, of the flower he would give them, made him feel gleeful—but his favorite mark was still the one on his hand, the leaf laying across the back of his forearm like a blade, straight and symmetrical, an even green that stood out on his pale skin.
It was the most visible of his soulmarks, the one he could always see when he looked at the back of his palm, the one that peaked out of his torn sleeve, nesting in between the fine bones of his left hand.
Xiao Jiu didn’t know what plant it was, it wasn’t something that grew near him, that much he could tell, but it felt familiar in a way that was almost supernatural, a soul deep knowledge of the plant that he knew he couldn’t get even if he read everything there was to know about it.
It was reminiscent of the feeling he would get about his soulmate, an instinctual understanding of the person that had inked his skin with the promise of their love.
Xiao Jiu didn’t know them, that much was true, but at the same time, he knew them.
He knew them from the way his soulmarks would tingle at night, the feeling no doubt reciprocated when Xiao Jiu ran his own hands over his sprig of jasmine, sending a quiet signal that he was there and that he was thinking of them.
It always made his leaves a little bit brighter, just that much more green in the morning, the blades looking much healthier than the body that displayed them.
It made him wonder too, about the identity of his soulmate.
He knew it wasn’t his Qi-ge, soulmates didn’t have to be romantic, Xiao Jiu knew that, they could be anything from siblings to star-crossed lovers, but he knew it wasn’t his Qi-ge.
His Qi-ge’s flower was different, so were his stems and leaves and vines, the morphology being far too dissimilar for them to ever be the same plant.
His Qi-ge’s plant was recognizable though, he’d seen it a lot in the medicines the physicians would brew, the ones he would steal as needed, sprigs of yarrow being used to treat everything from wounds to colds.
He knew his Qi-ge’s flower too, a yellow rose, the petals perfectly unfolded, the stems a healthy green.
It made him wonder about the connection between the two, a person and their flower.
Yarrow was used in medicine, so maybe his Qi-ge’s soulmate was a physician.
That would be nice, if he was. He could help them when they got sick.
He wondered if his own soulmate would be a physician, or a soldier, or an heir to the throne, or a simple farmhand.
He wondered if his soulmate would save him, or maybe Xiao Jiu would have to save them.
Maybe that’s how they would meet.
The thought brought a small smile to Xiao Jiu’s face.
It was a nice idea, unrealistic, but it was nice nonetheless.
But if they were meant to save him, then he hoped they did it quickly.
“YOU BASTARD!” said the booming voice of Shi Wu, snapping Xiao Jiu out of his reverie. “YOU CAN’T JUST TAKE OVER AN ENTIRE STREET!”
Because Xiao Jiu didn’t know how much longer he could last.
Xiao Jiu watched with rising dread as his Qi-ge darted in front of the carriage to save that ungrateful little swine of a child, the one that had tried to take what was rightfully his. He’d fought for that street, Shi Wu had no right to demand that he give it up.
But the pathetic little twerp had whined and Qi-ge, being the kind-hearted idiot that he was, had capitulated, and then that rusty old hoe had immediately gotten into trouble.
Trouble his Qi-ge had decided was his own problem—something for him to solve.
He’d tried to hold his Qi-ge back, he’d held onto to his hand and begged as much as he could in the short time he’d had left with his brother before he ran off to be a hero, but it hadn’t worked and—
There was a heaviness in Xiao Jiu’s chest that betrayed the seriousness of his situation, an instinctive weight on his psyche that made his surroundings seem a thousand times scarier, as if everything around him had slowed and stretched to warp his life into a nightmare. The image of the carriage’s shadow creeping over his Qi-ge looked suspiciously similar to the claws of a monster and Xiao Jiu—
His feet were moving before rational thoughts could enter his brain, his hands outstretched as he instinctively reached for the pool of power hiding beneath his stomach, his eyes wide and afraid as he forced a sharpened piece of the carriage into the horse beneath Qiu Jianluo, all in an effort to save his Qi-ge.
The horse reared up with a whinny, nearly knocking its rider off before it was forcefully settled, throwing everyone into a panic.
The people surrounding them, watching them—always watching and never helping—began to scream, running away from the wreck that had barely been avoided.
Xiao Jiu breathed heavily as he watched the commotion unfold, backing away as his eyes desperately tracked his older brother’s form that was weaving through the masses with that bastard Shi Wu still in his clutches.
He knew nothing good would come of this incident, everyone knew that Young Master Qiu was overbearing and ruthlessly Still, he couldn’t help but think it to be worth it when he saw his brother run towards him with not a scratch on his body.
The enormity of the situation seemed to descend upon him then in the brief moment before he was reunited with his brother. The knowledge that there would be repercussions made its home in his brain, a distant but persistent fear that he knew wouldn’t go away anytime soon.
He’d done what he’d feared his entire life, he’d revealed himself, he’d brought attention to himself, he was being perceived beyond what was safe. He wasn’t just a regular street rat anymore, he was one that had attacked a noble, had attacked a noble with his immortal powers, he was a target now.
There had been safety in his invisibility, in the dirt he’d smeared on his skin to hide away his face, in his slight form, in his ability to slip away at a moment’s notice. His safety had rested on the hope that he wouldn’t be noticed, and he’d thrown that all away for his Qi-ge.
His Qi-ge whose gentle head-pats and quiet laughter hadn’t been trampled yet, the one whose comfort was the only thing Xiao Jiu had been able to count on when times became tough, the one who’d saved him from certain death by picking him up as a baby, the one whose sheer goodness had never diminished even in the coldest of nights.
He’d traded in his safety for his Qi-ge. There was very little doubt in his mind that Shi Wu wouldn’t use this against him, he might not tattle but he wasn’t generous enough to be grateful, Xiao Jiu’s life would be hell from here on out but he didn’t regret it.
He refused to regret it.
Because his Qi-ge was still alive.
Qiu Jianluo watched with a distant amusement as a slave went out its way to grovel before him, his eyes glinting with cruelty as he sipped from a cup of wine.
“This slave-this lowly one is thankful for Young Master’s time,” said its pitiful voice, the sound high and nasally. “I just could not stand by and watch that disgusting Xiao Jiu get away with almost harming Young Master’s precious body.”
Qiu Jianluo leaned back on his chair, grinning lazily as he stretched out his hand for a maid to refill his wine glass, his gaze lingering over her trembling figure. The simpering sound of its voice had been music to his ears, it was a pity that it had stopped speaking. Well, he would just have to prompt it then. “Is that so?”
The slave flinched slightly, fear, delicious fear, creeping into its eyes. “Y-yes, Young Mast-Master Qiu.”
Qiu Jianluo looked back at the slave, his eyes scanning the body prostrating in front of him. It was too bad the slave wasn’t his type, the fear really was quite attractive.
Oh well. He still had the maid, the one with those wonderful eyes, so similar to his Haitang’s.
But first, he had work to do.
“Send a guard out to fetch that Xiao Jiu by sunset. Break his knees if you must, but I want him in one piece.”
Xiao Jiu pressed his face against the bars, his bruised legs aching as he looked at his Qi-ge for what might be the last time in his life.
“Come back for me, Qi-ge! Please! Promise me you’ll be safe! Promise me you’ll come back!”
There were tears in his eyes, ones he couldn’t control, and a tremble in his voice, lending a shaky quality to his words that he couldn’t seem to stop.
His Qi-ge’s face became determined though, his habitual easy-going expression fading into one of resolve as he started to back up from the cell. “Qi-ge definitely will, Xiao Jiu! Qi-ge promises you! Qi-ge will come back and Qi-ge will be powerful and Qi-ge will take you away! Wait for Qi-ge, okay?”
A hiccough made its way out of his throat without his consent, his head nodding quickly as he fought to keep his vision clear. He wanted to make sure he could see his Qi-ge
His brother left hastily, his footsteps echoing in his cell, the sound getting fainter and fainter until he could hear nothing but his own labored breath, until he couldn’t see anything through his tears.
He traced a trembling finger over his leaf, letting out a wet breath as he leaned back slowly, his knees coming up to shield his face.
The sob came when he couldn’t hold it back any longer, a great, heaving wheeze that made him feel like he’d stopped breathing altogether. He let everything wash over him, spilling the cauldron of emotions that had been simmering in his chest since this entire debacle had started.
Xiao Jiu was alone.
His Qi-ge was gone and Xiao Jiu was all alone.
He was trapped in a cell and his legs were just a step away from being broken and his body already ached as he thought of the beatings he would have to receive in the future and he was alone.
There were too many emotions in him, fear, guilt, sadness, despair, his brain working overtime to provide him with every single possibility of everything that could go horribly wrong. Images of his brother’s corpse flashed through his mind, his habitually hopeful face possessing the same expression he’d worn when the carriage had loomed over him. The feeling of the intense, crushing loneliness he would have to face if that were to happen haunted him.
There was a moment when he could feel nothing but a flood of fear and sadness and anguish, his sobs becoming quieter as air refused to be sucked into his lungs, his face twisting as the floodgates refused to close.
His hand traveled up his face to twist into his hair, gripping it and pulling as he grasped for something he couldn’t name.
A strangled yell managed to escape his throat, stifled by his bony limbs.
Then his arms tingled, his chest warming as his soulmate ran their hands over their soulmarks, almost as if they were comforting him.
It wasn’t-it wasn’t enough, per se, nothing but his Qi-ge’s arms around him could be enough right now, his older brother was gone, but it was something, something to remind him that there was hope still. Because there would be a time in the future where he would meet his soulmate and Xiao Jiu would be older and happier and he would never be alone ever again because soulmates were meant to be together, in any way, shape, or form. It was a bond forged by fate itself. There was-there was a person destined for Xiao Jiu, even if-even if his Qi-ge failed, even if everyone hated Xiao Jiu, even if he was reviled by the world, there was-there was someone who would care.
Xiao Jiu released the death grip he had on his hair, pressing his favorite soulmark against his eye, his breath easing as a new resolve filled him.
There was-there was hope still.
His brother could come back, he would do his best, Xiao Jiu was sure of it, and he had a chance of succeeding this time, but if everything else went to hell, then Xiao Jiu would still have his soulmate.
He still had his soulmate.
Xiao Jiu was startled awake by cold water being poured over him, his eyes snapping open, his mind still bleary from the restless sleep he’d fallen into.
His cheeks felt itchy, and his eyes felt swollen, the telltale marks that he’d cried himself to sleep but he couldn’t sit in a daze for long.
Strong hands gripped his arms, doubtlessly bruising the skin there, and dragged him up as his feet dangled uselessly beneath him.
A blank-faced guard looked down at him, his eyes devoid of any kindness that Xiao Jiu could appeal to. “The Young Master is calling for you. You are to be given a bath before you are presented to him. Behave, or we slit your throat.”
It was the lack of emotion that made him uneasy, the way the entire interaction seemed rehearsed, as if they’d done it a thousand times before. There was familiarity to the way they moved, muscle memory guiding them more than conscious thought, and it made alarm bells ring in Xiao Jiu’s mind.
They were used to this, used to detaining the unfortunate people who caught Young Master Qiu’s attention, used to ignoring their pleas. There would be no help coming from them.
Xiao Jiu nodded weakly, knowing that he had to give in, knowing that he had no way out. He couldn’t fight them all and he needed to conserve his energy for when he would truly need it.
And he had a feeling he would need it soon enough.
An idea brewed in Qiu Jianluo’s mind as he stared at the washed face of the slave that had dared to attack him, the slave that exactly where it belonged, kneeling beneath him.
It was pretty, with pale skin and black hair, plump lips and jade green eyes, all in a face that should still be soft with baby fat but wasn’t.
It wasn’t in line with Qiu Jianluo’s usual tastes, he liked them to be a bit older, around his sister’s age, but he couldn’t deny that the new slave was gorgeous, beautiful enough to attract Qiu Jianluo’s attention all by itself.
It would be easy enough to keep it near him, slaves were oh so easy to control, to use, but there was a new possibility with this Xiao Jiu.
His sister was getting older, her body was blooming quite wonderfully, and there would be a proposal coming to their doorstep soon, a proposal that wished to take her away from him.
That couldn’t be allowed, Haitang’s place was by her brother’s side. However, the court of public opinion would demand an explanation and he would need an excuse.
It was quite fortunate that the little slave was so beautiful, his Haitang was sure to be enamored by it. She always liked the pretty ones. And the slave itself should be honored to be of use to Qiu Jianluo.
A love story between a slave and a noble was always popular with the masses, what with their obsession with the idea of soulmates.
The love story wouldn’t exist, not on his watch, but the people didn’t need to know that.
Plus, with his plan, he got to keep both his Haitang and the pretty little toy.
Qiu Jianluo licked his lips. He couldn’t wait.
“Someone, send for my little sister,” said Qiu Jianluo to the room at large, not bothering to direct his order at anyone specific. “Tell her I have a new playmate for her.”
Xiao Jiu nibbled at the meat bun, his stomach aching from the bruises that liberally covered his torso, faking his own smile as Miss Qiu directed a grin his way, one that immediately faded when she turned away.
He didn’t know how he felt about Miss Qiu.
It was true that she was kind, there was no doubt about that, she was his only source of relief, but-
She’d been excited when she’d seen him, squealing about how adorable he looked and how small he was, about how his eyes were beautiful and ‘he would look amazing in green, gege. Can I dress him up?’
She’d jumped on the chance to play with him, holding onto his hands and dragging him around the manor with glee in her face.
She’d been nice to be around, her gentle touch so different from the way everyone else treated him.
But-
But it hadn’t lasted.
Not even for a single day, a single hour.
She’d yanked his sleeves up the moment she’d remembered the concept of soulmates, her eyes dimming as she realized he wasn’t hers by fate.
She’d still been nice, she’d still hung around, but it became rarer as time went by, her attention caught by the other pretty and shiny trinkets her brother bought for her.
He didn’t resent her exactly, she was still a child in all the ways Xiao Jiu was never allowed to be, but he would’ve preferred it if she just chose between her tendency to ignore him completely or shower him with attention.
Because it was bad when she wasn’t there but it was so much worse when she left.
Qiu Jianluo was always rougher with Xiao Jiu after he’d been bestowed with some peace, his blows landing with more force, leading to broken bones instead of bruised ones. The intensity behind his punishment was directly correlated with the amount of time Xiao Jiu spent in Miss Qiu’s presence, so he knew that he would be absolutely awful today.
Miss Qiu had spent an entire hour with him and every minute had made him dread her presence but every minute spent with her was another minute away from Qiu Jianluo and Xiao Jiu had never been strong enough to refuse her meager protection.
But delaying the inevitable would never make it go away entirely and Qiu Jianluo had been livid, almost maniacal in his behavior, his eyes red like he wasn’t even human, spitting curses as he brought down his fist with devilish glee.
Xiao Jiu had already had broken ribs but whip wounds and burns had been added to his list of injuries, his body protesting as pain flooded his nerves, sweat pooling on his skin as he shook from the sensation of kneeling on shattered knees, his breath bringing more agony with every pull of air.
His eyes blurred as he kept his mouth shut through sheer willpower, forcing himself to breathe through his nose even when every breath brought him closer to a punctured lung. He focused on his tingling soulmarks, separating himself from every other sensation as he tried to drown out everything around him.
It wasn’t fully successful, his abuse wasn't continuous and there were pauses where Qiu Jianluo would wander off to find his newest torture device, his house seemingly a bottomless pit for them. They always brought about a new wave of intense agony, managing to somehow make everything ten times more painful, which meant that he could never get used to it, making it impossible for him to drift away into oblivion.
There was such a pause once more, a sizzling sound breaking through the oppressive silence that had descended upon them after the noise of the beatings had subsided.
Xiao Jiu was yanked up by his hair, his neck laid bare for his torturer as his robes were torn apart, exposing his bare chest .
Qiu Jianluo clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a deranged smile spreading across his blood-splattered face. “Is poor Jiu’er afraid?” he cooed, his tone at complete odds with his actions. “Oh, that’s too bad. But what can I do, Jiu’er, you’ve been such a bad slave, presuming to take up my dear Haitang’s precious time, time she could’ve spent with me. And that deserves a punishment, doesn’t it?”
A red-hot brand was shoved into Xiao Jiu’s face, heat radiating off of it like a cruel caress, bringing tears to his eyes that he blinked away.
The brand dipped lower, held above his-
No, no, no, no, NO!
“A dog doesn’t need a soulmark, Jiu’er. And you’re not even worth as much as a dog,” whispered Qiu Jianluo, driving the brand into the dip between his collarbones, making Xiao Jiu scream for the first time since the beating had started.
Xiao Jiu’s breath hitched as he traced a finger over his soulmark, his jasmine, the one with “Qiu” branded over it.
His arms didn’t tingle.
That was more painful than every broken bone combined.
Xiao Jiu didn’t startle when the woodshed’s door was kicked in, he didn’t even squint his eyes when the light streaming in hit his face with the fury of an entire sun.
There was no point.
His soulmarks hadn’t tingled once since he’d been branded.
Weeks had gone by, weeks, when his soulmarks used to tingle every hour.
Footsteps approached him with the force of a gargantuan hippo, utterly graceless and crude, but Xiao Jiu didn’t care.
Weeks.
The footsteps stopped in front of his face and the body crouched down in front of him.
Weeks without his soulmate.
There was a bruising hand cradling his face and harsh lips imposing themselves on his own and-
Xiao Jiu snapped.
The blood that watered his body was the most soothing thing he’d ever felt.
“Burnt them down, did you?”
Xiao Jiu stiffened, his hold on the sword slackening until it clattered to the ground. He almost followed it, his body swaying in the breeze that blew past him.
Wu Yanzi grinned wickedly. “Finally had enough, eh? I’ll admit, I’m impressed.”
The rogue cultivator walked closer to Xiao Jiu, the fire’s reflection visible in his eyes. “I knew you had power child, but this is beyond even my expectations. It’s wasted though if you don’t hone it,” he said, his voice almost a purr, one that would’ve made Xiao Jiu’s hair stand on edge if he’d been just the slightest bit more cognizant. “This master can help you with that though, this master can help you become strong. So what do you say? Will you join me?”
There was a voice in Xiao Jiu's head, one that sounded like a memory and a future all at once, one that was warning him about-warning him about something.
But the voice was desperately quiet against the crackling of the Qiu Manor behind him and this-
This was his way out.
This-this was his way to find what was left of his Qi-ge, his way to find his escape, his way to find his hope.
(His soulmate.)
Xiao Jiu had no choice but to take it.
So he nodded and tried to not feel like the world was falling apart around him as he did so.
The master cultivator grinned wickedly. “There’s a good lad. Now, do you have a name?”
Xiao Jiu had no name, he had a number.
But he’d like a name.
“Shen Jiu,” said the slave child, the name settling into his being like an expensive, but well-worn cloak, soft and comfortable. “My name is Shen Jiu.”
Wu Yanzi hummed, stepping closer to Shen Jiu until he was a mere half step away, his breath smelling like acrid smoke. “Here’s your first test then, Shen Jiu. Survive.”
Wu Yanzi watched with little sympathy as his newest disciple tried to realign himself, desperately grappling with his spiritual energy to stay afloat, his Qi deviation a shadow of death on his shoulder.
Wu Yanzi would not help him, if the brat was to survive, he would do so on his own merit.
The child should be grateful, that amount of raw power would’ve resulted in a dagger in the heart for anyone else, but Wu Yanzi had been kind, he’d let the boy live.
However, that was the extent of his mercy, the rest was up to the brat.
Wu Yanzi leaned back, his hand behind his head, shielding it from the rough tree bark as he rested his bamboo hat over his eyes, a small smile on his face as he relaxed to the sound of his new disciple nearly killing himself a few feet to his right.
It didn’t matter to him if the brat didn’t survive, it wouldn’t be a big loss. He didn’t think it mattered to anyone if the child didn’t survive.
But if he survived....
Pretty boys like him—the ones that wouldn’t be missed, the ones that no one cared for—had many uses. Wu Yanzi was sure he could find one.
If all else failed, the authorities would certainly pay a fair price for the brat’s head.
He had killed nobles after all.
Shen Jiu traced his jasmine flower absentmindedly, his eyes staring into the campfire in front of him.
The tingling had come back, it had come back.
It was infrequent, not the steady presence Shen Jiu had been able to count on in his youth, a fleeting sensation that made it all the more painful when it went away, but it had come back.
It got better when Shen Jiu cultivated, his spiritual energy healing the wounds scattered around his body, but when he Qi-deviated, when he destroyed himself bit by bit, when he was hurt—
Suffice to say, Shen Jiu was never able to rely on its comfort anymore.
It was still a habit though, a habit he didn’t necessarily want to break, not when the tingling had come back.
His soulmate still existed, his leaves and vines and stems hadn’t lost their color yet so his soulmate still existed, and maybe it comforted them too.
It didn’t matter that their connection was broken, it didn’t matter that it was in pieces, it wouldn’t matter, ever, Shen Jiu swore that to himself. The state of his connection would never be important to him as long as his soulmate still existed, as long as they were still fated to love him, as long as they were still alive.
“Soulmates, huh?” said the drunk voice of his master, making Shen Jiu stiffen in his seat, a sense of looming dread making him ready himself to run at a moment’s notice. “Still believe in that shit, eh? That there’s someone who’s destined for you? That you’re meant to meet each other, that you’re meant to love each other?”
Wu Yanzi took another swig of his alcohol. “Well, let me give my stupid disciple some advice then, since he so desperately needs it.” A wicked grin spread across his face, one that completely lacked actual joy. “There’s no such thing as soulmates, Jiu’er, not for people like us. Not for scum,” said the rogue cultivator, his tone almost whimsical when he said ‘scum.’
“And there’s no doubt that we’re scum, now is there, Jiu’er? No, soulmates are for princes and peasant girls. They’re not for murderous little slave boys and thieving rogue cultivators, you brat,” continued Wu Yanzi, the beginnings of a slur appearing in his speech.
Shen Jiu grit his teeth, tensing his legs in preparation.
He didn’t want to hear this, this-it wasn’t true. It was soulmates, soulmates, they were for everyone, everyone that had a soulmark.
Wu Yanzi laughed, throwing his head back, his voice mirthless as he continued despite Shen Jiu adamantly wishing he wouldn’t. “Do you know how I know? Do you know how I know?!”
The rogue cultivator’s eyes were maniacal as he lifted his bottle of alcohol, his sleeve dropping down to show his soulmarks, mere outlines of leaves and stems and vines inked in black when they should’ve been filled with the colors of promised love. “Because I killed my soulmate with my own two hands and I never even got to know their fucking name.”
Shen Jiu stood up quickly, turning around and leaping over the fallen branches and traps set out around their camp as he ran, the thrum of his blood in tune with his footfalls, the sound of his master’s laugh echoing through the forest.
Soulmates were meant to love each other.
Soulmates were destined to meet.
Soulmates were-soulmates were fate.
That was what his Qi-ge had taught him, that was what he’d heard from every single street urchin, the undercurrent of wonder present in all of their retellings, a certain dignity given to the topic that was absent from everything else, something almost sacred in the way soulmates were referred to.
It was true that Shen Jiu hadn’t seen many soulmates, but it was also true that he’d seen some and-
It was wonderful.
It was so, so wonderful.
The bond was a perfect balance, soulmates completing each other, complementing each other, fulfilling each other in a way that seemed almost divine, a love so grand that it needed to simply exist.
Soulmates had no mold, had no restrictions. You could have one or ten, romantic or platonic, between people who were radically opposite in every way, or people who were so similar, it was uncanny.
The only constant was that they utterly, unconditionally, and completely loved each other. Loved every part of each other.
It wasn’t—Wu Yanzi had to be lying, there was no way—it was soulmates they were talking about, soulmates, people who were destined to love you, people who wouldn’t hurt you, he just—he had to be lying, he had to, that—they were fated—
He had to be lying, they—they probably died before they could meet, which was still tragic, still wrong, it was soulmates, it wasn’t supposed to be possible to not meet—it wasn’t supposed to be possible to do anything but love your soulmate and—
It was soulmates.
He had to be lying.
Shen Jiu wanted to escape.
He wanted to keep running, he wanted to not stop until he’d gotten as far away from that monster as possible (how had he been able to live with himself, his soulmate was dead), he wanted to run until he couldn’t anymore and then run some more because stopping would mean time for Wu Yanzi to catch up to him and that wasn’t a hell he would be able to survive.
He wanted to escape.
But he couldn’t.
His Qi-ge deserved a proper funeral, he was-he was a good person and he deserved that at the very least.
Shen Jiu had to stay, he—
He had to go back, he had to go back before his master decided to search for him, that was the only way to earn him the clemency he needed to survive, he had to go back to that monster.
He had to go back and it was dark and he couldn’t see his soulmarks.
He couldn’t feel them either.
Shen Jiu choked back the need to curl up in a ball and cry. Now wasn’t the time.
He had to go back.
Shen Jiu lay on the forest floor, twigs poking into his back as he stared at the night sky above him, a thin stream of blood flowing from his mouth as he tried to not scream, not wanting to attract any unsavory creatures that might be looking for an easy meal tonight—not when he couldn’t defend himself.
A leg hit him in his stomach, making him lose his ability to breathe for a solid minute, his lungs seemingly useless in sucking in any air.
“You ungrateful little wretch!”
There was a hot talisman on his chest, on his slave brand, sucking away his cultivation, making it go out of control before it left his body, scrambling his meridians into a jumbled mess, making him lose feeling in all of his limbs.
The effect was temporary, the talisman would burn up due to the strength of his cultivation after enough time had passed, but it was powerful.
There was a punch to his sternum soon after, causing him to wheeze as he became lightheaded, the lack of air making it hard to think.
“You dare to run away from me? Me?! When I’ve done so much for you?!”
Shen Jiu curled up on his side, his hands coming together to clutch the vines on his arms, gripping them desperately, hoping beyond hope that he would be lucky, that he would feel the tingling, just for a bit, just for a second, just enough to tune out the beating Wu Yanzi was giving him for running.
“You’re lucky I don’t sell you to the whorehouse near us, you filthy little mongrel!”
He felt nothing, nothing but the pain of his cultivation breaking away from him as his ribs were kicked into his lungs.
Wu Yanzi wrapped his wrists in leather, his lips twisted with disdain. “The Immortal Alliance Conference will net us enough to last the year if Jiu’er will manage to pull his weight. Of course, if that doesn't happen, then this kind master will find it hard to justify keeping you around, especially after that disgusting little outburst you had. Now, we don’t want that to happen,” he said, his voice cold. He looked up after he finished securing his arm braces, his eyes holding a mocking light. “Do we, Jiu’er?”
Shen Jiu stared at the ground, his side aching distantly as he didn’t respond. It wouldn’t matter.
“There’s a good lad. See, I knew you could be obedient.”
Shen Jiu was bathed in blood once more.
His Qi-ge was here and he was supposed to be dead and he couldn’t let Wu Yanzi kill him and-
The blood was sticky.
It felt like damnation.
“Tell me the truth!” yelled Shen Jiu, his face twisted into a scowl.
He’d been-
His Qi-ge-
He’d been betrayed.
By his Qi-ge.
The person—the reason he’d stayed in the Qiu Manor.
The reason he’d stayed with Wu Yanzi.
The reason he’d allowed himself to be hit, cursed, prodded, poked, maimed, assaulted—
Insulted, mocked, broken, burned—
The reason he’d sat there and taken it when Qiu Jianluo had devised a new plan to make his body hurt without it ever being shown on his skin.
The reason he’d sat there and let Wu Yanzi almost crack his skull open when he got drunk.
The reason he hadn’t fought back when his soulmark, his one comfort, his fucking soulmark , had been burned.
“Xiao Jiu, I am so sorry—”
But the thrum of guilt in his voice was proof enough.
Yue Qi had left him behind, had left him to rot.
And Shen Jiu had been stupid enough to believe that he would’ve done otherwise.
“You’re ruined, Xiao Jiu,” the traitor said, his voice all choked up, almost like he actually cared. “They ruined you.”
A bitter laugh broke out of Shen Jiu.
They hadn’t been the reason he’d tolerated the abuse.
They hadn’t been the ones to promise to come back, they hadn’t been the ones to break that promise.
They hadn’t been the ones to abandon him after they’d gained just the slightest bit of power, the slightest bit of love.
(Shen Jiu wasn’t blind, he could see that the yarrow had sprouted.)
They hadn’t been the ones to leave him.
Shen Jiu felt like a flood was being held back by the skin of his teeth, a torrential downpour of insults and complaints and wrath that wanted to get out but couldn’t, his tongue suffocated by the sheer volume of the words he wanted to say, the words he couldn’t phrase, the words that had escaped beyond his grasp.
A sharp pain seized his heart as he stifled a wet breath, his brain engulfed by a misery so potent, it seemed to encapsulate every part of his being, tempered only by his sheer rage. The tumultuous emotions seemed to dance across his mind, coloring everything he saw in tinges of red. His fists clenched tightly, his nails digging into his skin as sharp betrayal seemed to cover his tongue with poison he couldn’t express.
Paragraphs and verses got stuck in his throat, blind, boiling anger covering it all like magma, the magnitude of everything he wanted to say overwhelming him until there was only a single phrase that could escape his mouth, one that was said with blinding amounts of vitriol, until for a moment, Shen Jiu wondered if it was the corpse of his dead master speaking. “You ruined me, Yue Qi. You ruined me.”
Shen Jiu poured the tea carefully for the Qing Jing Peak Lord, his posture the very picture of a sophisticated noble as he put everything he’d gleaned from the Qiu Family into use, ignoring the sharp ache of betrayal that threatened to redden his eyes. It wouldn’t do for him to look weak in front of the person who was going to decide his fate, decide whether he could become a cultivator, a proper one.
The Qing Jing Peak Lord took an elegant sip, his eyes curving slightly as a gentle smile spread on his face. It confused Shen Jiu slightly, he couldn’t understand why such a powerful person would need to look so kind. Even Yue Qi hadn’t looked that kind, exasperation had always followed his fondness.
“Shen Jiu,” said Peak Lord Shen Anwei, his voice as warm as the tea he’d been drinking, as warm as the fire at his back when he’d left the Qiu Manor. It didn’t make him any more trustworthy. Why did he look king when he had the strength necessary to be anything but?
Shen Jiu focused on the tingling of his arms instead of that too kind voice, it was the one thing he could trust, the only thing he’d ever been able to trust apparently.
“Welcome to Qing Jing Peak.”
Shen Anwei sat on the edge of his bed and closed his eyes as his soulmate massaged his head.
Zhao Yunlan hummed gently as he worked his magic, making his soulmate relax into his touch with gentle pressure. “You seem happy today, Xiao Wei.”
It took a moment for Shen Anwei to respond, his mind lost in the land between sleep and consciousness. “I am happy,” he started, stopping for a yawn. “I found a sprout today.”
“Oh?” intoned Zhao Yunlan, his voice mischievous. “Do tell.”
A sleepy smile spread across Shen Anwei’s face, his voice soft. “He has her eyes, A’Lan. He has shizun’s eyes.”
Zhao Yunlan laughed quietly, his eyes trained on the new disciple in front of him. He was practicing his forms while glaring at the training dummy in front of him as if it had personally disrespected him.
They were training in the private grounds of Qing Jing, the ones that needed permission from the Qing Jing Peak Lord to enter, and it was going much better than he’d expected.
Shen Jiu didn’t exactly have a formal foundation, the story behind that would have to wait, the little sprout didn’t trust them yet, but what he did have made him an....interesting opponent.
Not a challenge, the children couldn’t be a challenge to Zhao Yunlan, not yet, but an interesting opponent nonetheless.
The child was like a trickster, spontaneous and quick on his feet, his body bending to his every whim as if he didn’t have bones. The earth seemed to have no power over the youth when he fought, his leaps and twirls landing him safely out of harm’s way each time an opponent got too close for his comfort.
His methods weren’t orthodox, quite the opposite actually, but they were certainly nothing to scoff at, even proving to be deadly if you did deign to waste time with scoffing.
The child was a viper, in a good way, his attacks hitting with speed and almost inhuman precision.
It helped that there was desperation behind his every move, an edge to his strikes that helped them land. It didn’t paint a pretty picture of his previous life, nothing about him did, and there was a growing part of Zhao Yunlan that would very much like to strangle whatever and whoever had put that desperation into the child’s attacks, but for now, he would just be quietly pleased that the sprout had survived.
There was work to be done, the little sprout seemed to be of the idea that the best defense was offense and that would have to be surgically removed from his vocabulary because the best defense was actually defense, but there was real potential there.
Shen Jiu moved quickly, his wooden training sword swiftly plunging downwards until it stabbed the training dummy in a particularly delicate area, one that made sure that his pretend opponent wouldn’t be having any children any time soon.
Zhao Yunlan turned away, his shoulders shaking as he held in the urge to cackle like a villain.
So much potential.
Liu Qingge didn’t fight the urge to smile as he felt the ghost of his soulmate’s touch grip his hand.
He finished his strike, severing the reinforced training dummy into two neat pieces, feeling as if his soulmate was swinging his sword with him.
The first time he’d felt his soulmate had been when he’d been around two. He hadn’t known what it was at the time so he’d screamed possession and ran to his mother on wobbly legs, tears pouring down his face as he batted at his arms.
She’d laughed—gently—and she’d sat him on her knee and told him about soulmates.
From then, the highlight of his day had been when he would feel his soulmate’s touch once more, feel their smoke-like hands dance over his skin, anointing him with traces of their remembrance.
He felt it often but Liu Qingge could never get enough of it. If he’d had his way, he would feel his soulmate’s touch at all times, from the moment he awoke to the second before he fell asleep.
There was a practical reason too, the smoke-like sensation helped him learn more about his soulmate in the small, intimate details that weren’t important to anyone but him. Like the fact that their hands were slightly smaller than his with more slender fingers—they were almost delicate but he couldn’t be sure with the faintness of their touch.
They rested their palms on the crook of their elbow, tapping it with their index finger for long periods of time, perhaps when they were concentrating. They had a habit of rubbing their right ear, tugging slightly on the outer edge before they let go, only to repeat it all minutes later.
They also loved to run their fingers over the back of their hands, the left one in particular, presumably, the favorite of their various soulmarks. He’d often feel their wandering digits, prompting him to press a kiss to his own skin, hoping they could feel the imprint of his love across their soulbond.
But, that wasn’t the soulmark Liu Qingge loved the most, wasn’t the one that made him shudder with joy.
He loved it when his soulmate touched their flower—the soulmark he loved the most, the one they would give to him when they met, their jasmine—because then his entire body felt like it was being cradled, like his very heart was being held in the gentlest of embraces.
When that happened, it almost felt like his soulmate was in front of him—like they were surrounding him and engulfing him with their affection, like nothing else mattered but the bliss he was indulging in.
It never failed to make him feel better, it didn’t matter if he’d had the shittest day possible, his soulmate’s mere existence made everything better, made the world seem brighter. They were like the sun, bathing him in their shining rays, battling away any darkness that had managed to permeate his soul.
He loved them for it, loved them for thinking of him, loved them for loving him and he—
He couldn’t wait to meet them.
Shen Jiu rolled his aching shoulder, stifling a yawn as he blearily turned the page in his book, his eyes squinting as he read the characters by candlelight.
It was about the fundamentals of cultivation, the discourse around the subject, and the history of how it came about in the first place—the basics essentially.
He’d read it once already, and then read it again so he could annotate it properly, like he’d been taught to do when he started something new, but there was no harm in reading it a third time, this time to make his own observations around the theory of cultivation.
He wasn’t supposed to do that, he wasn’t even technically supposed to be awake— misinterpretations of the text could result in mistakes in the practical applications of the theory, which could cause numerous, completely avoidable, problems. It was a line that had been drilled into his skull before he was allowed to begin his studies, but he couldn’t help himself!
It was a fascinating subject and the emergence of spiritual power itself was a hotly debated topic, every organic thing had some spiritual energy, but there were so many questions about its origins.
Why did life forms have it in the first place? When did they begin to have it? How was it discovered that you could control it? When was it discovered that you could control it? What even was spiritual energy in the first place?
Was it like sunlight? Or was it something completely different?
There were so many questions and not enough answers to satisfy him, so he’d made it his side mission to try and figure it out by himself.
The only time he had for this side mission was at night when the world went quiet, which really wasn’t a problem for him.
Sleep didn’t come easily to him, it used to, when he was small and he could be engulfed in his Qi-g—in the traitor's arms, it used to be easy for him to doze off. It used to be hard to wake him up, but a long time had passed since then and he....he couldn’t sleep.
Not when his shizun and his Zhao-laoshifu slept in the room next to him.
It was kind, extremely kind, of his shizun and his Zhao-laoshifu to teach him personally so he didn’t make a fool of himself in front of the whole peak. Shen Jiu was even starting to believe that they didn’t have bad intentions, that they weren’t hiding behind fake masks of kindness, even when that mere notion had been too good to be true months prior but—
But they were still men.
Men that could overpower him with a blink of their eyes. Men that had a hundred times more prestige than Qiu Jianluo ever did, prestige they could use to keep him under their thumb. Men that could hurt him without consequence.
They held all the power and Shen Jiu was utterly helpless to do anything about it.
They never used it, which was mind-boggling in and of itself, but they had it and-
Sleep was a luxury for him these days.
He didn’t technically have to sleep on the peak, of course. His shizun and his Zhao-laoshifu didn’t restrict his movement—even though they could— and if he really wanted to, he could go down the mountain to sleep. There were many inns down there, brothels too if he ever needed any information, but he would need to be extremely cautious with them.
To go down the mountain would mean to either bypass the scrutiny of the entirety Qing Jing Peak or withstand it and—
Shen Jiu wasn’t yet at the level where he could successfully—and thoroughly—mask the fact that he was a street rat at his core.
This peak of prissy nobles was already freaking out about his presence, many shixiongs—and some shijies—had even tried to corner him to gauge his value. If they found any weakness in his persona, there was no doubt that they would use it to tear him to shreds.
The little bit of sleep he would get wouldn’t be worth it.
Plus, he could get a lot of work done when he wasn’t sleeping, so really, the extra time was just a bonus.
Shen Jiu smiled drowsily as he felt his soulmark tingle. It was very early in the morning—or very very late at night depending on how you looked at it—and his soulmate seemed to be fond of waking up before the sun did.
Shen Jiu closed his eyes, exhaling as he let himself relax to the tingling of his soulmarks and the clamoring of the early morning drills of the disciples from Bai Zhan.
His tingles were coming back, healing as his cultivation did—healing once more. They were about half as frequent as they used to be.
That alone was worth everything else.
Months.
Mere months.
Shen Jiu was sitting in front of him, his back straight and tense—it was always tense—but his fingers were fluid over the flute, flowing like water through a stream. The sound was just as melodious, evoking a sense of calm in Shen Anwei that he was usually hard-pressed to find, what with him being on a peak full of children who were constantly exposed to the more dramatic side of life.
The music took clear effort to produce, his disciple’s face was marred with lines of concentration, at complete odds with the graceful dance performed by his fingers. It didn’t lead to cultivating an air of mastery, the confidence was lacking, but that just made it seem more....endearing. Like a child’s first stumbling steps, or their first shaky strokes as they swam.
The song tapered off with a gentle trill, a quiet gasp for breath following its fading notes as his disciple lowered the flute in his hands with unsure eyes.
Shen Anwei let his habitual smile spread across his face, reassuring and praising in equal parts. He tried to make it seem as sincere as possible when his disciple darted what he’d come to learn were nervous glances in his direction, he didn’t want to scare the poor boy.
There were minor improvements to be made—his lung capacity needed done work, there’d been a mistake halfway through where the wrong tune had been played, the beginning had been shaky as some of the notes had fallen flat, and it also hadn’t been on beat for the first couple seconds—but his disciple didn’t do well with corrections.
He wasn’t combative like some of his other students, he didn’t try to argue the point to make it seem like their mistakes had merely been stylistic choices, or worse yet, not mistakes at all, but he went....quiet. Shrinking into himself as if in preparation for a blow that would never come. It didn’t seem to matter to him that he’d played beautifully for what should be a beginner’s first attempt, all he seemed to see were his faults.
It was a tricky situation, and it was—
It was maddening.
Shen Anwei had inklings, mere inklings as to the nature of his disciple’s past. He knew nothing concrete—he had a suspicion that he would only know the full truth if his disciple decided to trust him with that information—but he knew enough. He knew that his disciple ate too quickly, as if he was afraid that the food would disappear, he tensed when people merely brushed by him, and his words had the slightest twang of a street accent that was fading quickly as the days passed.
There were slight quirks to his movements, his steps not as fluid, not as practiced as they should be for the noble he was trying to portray, his face showing a sliver of the anxiousness that never seemed to fade from his eyes, his grip much too tight on the fan he preferred to keep at his side.
It was obvious that his newest disciple wasn’t rich, wasn’t of noble stock, but the fact that he hadn’t even come from a good family, one that should’ve cherished the prickly child in front of him, made his heart pang with sorrow.
Shen Anwei had never expected perfection from his disciple, he never expected it from anyone, but it was clear that someone had and his disciple had been punished for it when he’d inevitably failed to meet their unrealistic standards.
(That was what hurt him most, the fact that it wasn’t the criticism that was the problem, it was the result of the criticism.)
It was the worst with music, his disciple had a foundation—a shaky one but a foundation nonetheless—in the rest of his schooling. He knew how to fight, he knew how to write, he knew how to read, but he had no prior knowledge with music.
And yet, and yet, in mere months, months, his disciple had learned the basics of three separate instruments.
It would’ve taken the average person a couple of years at the least—it would’ve taken Shen Anwei himself an entire year— but his prickly disciple had done it in mere months.
And yet, he seemed to think that he’d be flogged because he missed a beat or two.
It was a tricky situation to maneuver, he couldn’t just let Shen Jiu make the same mistakes but pointing them out delicately was a more difficult task than he’d anticipated it to be.
He didn’t always succeed, every interaction seemed to bring his disciple nothing but panic, his brain working overtime to find the true intent of the speaker, as if there was always a trap set up for him. But the more they interacted, the more he showed that he wouldn’t hurt Shen Jiu for his mistakes, the easier it got.
“It was well played, A’Jiu,” he started, gently, hoping to ease away the anxiousness that had flared up in his disciple's eyes, “there were minor mistakes, but those can be rectified with some more practice. However, for today, A’Jiu should just take a break, he’s made this master proud and he deserves it.”
Shen Jiu didn’t believe him, he could see it in his eyes. He was waiting still, dreading the moment the other shoe dropped.
“This disciple thanks Shizun for his regard and will strive to be worthy of it,” he replied, deflecting as he always did, his voice quiet. There was a flame of determination there though, a soft resolve blooming in those green eyes that were so similar to his Shizun.
For a moment, there was a shift in his disciple, a faint dignity appearing in him, his wiry frame gaining a kind of strength that was dazzling, making him look like the peak lord Shen Anwei intended him to be.
There’d been no doubt in his mind when he’d first seen the child but now it was clear.
He’d found his successor.
He would announce it in a couple months, to give his disciple more time to adjust, to develop more before he was thrust into his position. It would be too cruel otherwise, but he couldn’t help the thrum of delight he felt—melding with the concern he could never fully discard—when he looked upon the child in front of him.
At the future lord of Qing Jing before him.
Shen Anwei would need a new name for his disciple though—something to do with autumn, his Shizun’s favorite season.
Hmm.
Shen Qingqiu was a wonderful name for a peak lord.
Shen Anwei watched with pride as A’Jiu presented his latest painting to a small group of Qing Jing’s hall masters, his stature every bit that of a noble young master.
The confidence that he’d lacked previously seemed to shine through him now, adding a certain aloofness to demeanor, making people regard him with a bit more consideration, their gazes focusing on him without them noticing it.
His bearing was graceful, his words eloquent, and his tone was never hurried, making him look like the master he was becoming.
A’Jiu had grown a lot since he’d first come to Qing Jing, had achieved a lot, and now.
Now he was ready.
“You will be the future Qing Jing Peak Lord, Shen Qingqiu,” said Shen Jiu’s shizun and he felt something crack in his chest.
This-this was everything he’d ever wanted. He’d wanted to be powerful and he’d gotten it, he was going to be the future Qing Jing Peak Lord, there would be a single person above him in their world’s hierarchy, he would be the second most influential person in their entire world, he would have respect, this was what he’d wanted all along. His shizun was even happy about it—the good kind of happy he always was that didn’t result in Shen Jiu getting either hurt or humiliated—but why was it that name?
Why did it have to be that fucking name?!
Shen Jiu tried to control his expression, letting the disbelief color his features while desperately holding back the horror, the revulsion.
It didn’t entirely work—there was the tiniest sliver of a moment where his mask wasn’t fully intact—but his shizun and his Zhao-laoshifu didn’t seem to notice, they were too busy being genuinely pleased for him to examine his microexpressions.
(He’d gotten better at that, at pretending everything was okay even when all he felt was a pit of anguish engulfing him whole.)
He should be grateful, he’d wanted to be peak lord, he’d wanted that position, he’d worked it, he wanted it, he did, but he didn’t want that fucking name.
Why did it have to be that name?
Wasn’t the brand enough? Wasn’t the severance of his connection with his soulmate enough? Why must it hound him like this? Why must it be that fucking name?!
Shen Jiu would’ve been fine with anything else, literally anything else, so why did it always have to be that horrendous, revolting, abysmal name?
“Autumn was my shizun’s favorite season, little one. She compared it to the ashes of a phoenix, the most important element of its eventual rebirth,” said his Shizun, startling Shen Jiu out of his shock and answering the question he hadn’t had the courage to ask. The fact that he missed her was so obvious it was painful. “It’s a hard season, endurance is vital, but it is also a time for rest, so you can grow back stronger,” his shizun continued, lifting a hand and placing it on Shen Jiu’s head with the gentle touch of a feather. It felt like benediction. His eyes were starting to prickle. “A’Jiu has persevered through much difficulty but after perseverance comes growth and this master believes that A’Jiu will grow to be the most radiant of them all. Autumn suits you, my child.”
How was Shen Jiu supposed to react to that?
The sheer thought that went into his name was astounding. Shen Jiu had been named after a number, but this name-it had meaning.
There couldn’t be a way to fake that level of fondness, Shen Jiu took pride in the fact that he could wear emotions like actors wore costumes, but that just meant that he knew when people were lying and his shizun—he was being genuine.
Sincere to the tip of his ear and kind to the deepest crevices of his mind.
He’d given Shen Jiu a name that meant something to him, and he’d given him a name that meant something else, something more powerful and aloof, to everyone else.
His shizun had given him everything, his position, his power, his knowledge.
His entire being, the person he was right now, the succeeding disciple of Qing Jing Peak, the future lord of the scholarly peak, second only to the most powerful person in the world—everything he was was due to the person sitting in front of him.
The person who was looking at him with genuine affection, the one whose gentle hands felt like a balm to his soul, the one whose voice sounded like songbirds, the one who’d given him his name expecting it to be the gift he’d meant it to be.
How was Shen Jiu supposed to tell him that his very soul revolted against the thought of wearing that family’s name as his own?
How was Shen Jiu to break his shizun’s heart when he’d so clearly put it into everything he’d done for him?
How was he to bear the mark of the family that had taken away his sole comfort—his steady connection with his soulmate?
His shizun’s eyes were hopefully expectant, true joy curving his lips into his kind smile, the one that made Shen Jiu feel safe.
He didn’t even notice what he was doing until he’d already fallen into his shizun’s embrace, his face hidden against his solid chest as arms wrapped around him with a comforting strength.
It was all gentle pressure and soothing touch, all-encompassing but kind, something to melt into because the hug would be steady regardless of his own state.
What could Shen Jiu—Shen Qingqiu do but thank him? Thank him for his kindness, his belief, his care.
His shizun had given him everything.
What could Shen Qingqiu do but thank him for his name?
Shen Anwei gazed thoughtfully into the distance, half of his mind trained on the child who’d fallen asleep in his lap.
He would let him sleep for just a bit longer, the child overworked himself with worrying frequency, and it felt nice to have him near, have him be close enough to protect wholly and completely.
Plus it gave him a chance to think.
“The annual Twelve Peaks Martial Arts Meeting,” he started, letting his words hang in the air as he mulled over his thoughts, knowing his husband would figure out what he was talking about without him having to spell it out for him.
“Does Xiao-Wei want our little sprout to compete?” asked his husband, sitting across from Shen Anwei and looking at them both with loving eyes. It made his heart flutter.
“It would be a good chance to introduce him as the succeeding disciple, but it depends on how well he fights,” responded Shen Anwei, hiding a question in his answer.
“I’d say he would win against most people,” responded Zhao Yunlan, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes. “Maybe not Yue Qingyuan, Qi Qingqi, or Liu Qingge, but he has a solid chance against everyone else. He would certainly impress people, not much harm in letting him compete.”
Shen Anwei hesitated. He knew that to be true, their little one’s skill was undeniable, but he still worried.
The child would do well in the competition, it was almost guaranteed, but if he didn’t do well for some reason, then he would never forgive himself for it.
It was his first public outing as the official succeeding disciple of Qing Jing, if their little one didn’t live up to his own expectations, he might take it as him disgracing his peak—as if such a thing was even possible.
But if Shen Anwei delayed it for another year, it might be taken as him having no faith in his disciple, which would crush his budding confidence.
There were no good options—there weren’t any bad ones, but no good options—and Shen Anwei didn’t know what to do.
His husband got up from his seat and crouched down in front of him, a hand grasping his shoulder and the other gently carding through their little one’s silky hair with the type of tenderness that made love replace the blood in Shen Anwei’s veins. “He’ll be fine, Xiao Wei. You have to trust him, my love.”
He did, there was no doubt about that.
But he was still worried.
Shen Anwei sighed.
That wasn’t a good enough excuse.
Shen Anwei reached up and held his husband’s hand in place, squeezing it gently before he released it. He rearranged their little one in his lap so he could pick him up and carry him to his room, the child’s head falling into the crook between his neck and his shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
A content smile spread across Shen Anwei’s face, his mind settling as their little one did in his arms. “We can tell him tomorrow then, let’s let him sleep for today. It’s been a busy day.”
Liu Qingge watched with rising anticipation as his cousin sister fought against Yue Qingyuan, hoping to proceed to the finals.
Qi Qingqi jumped up high, landing in the singular weak spot in Yue Qingyuan’s defense before she let her hammer fly, its path eerily focusing on the Qiong Ding succeeding disciple’s body before it harmlessly shot past him as he evaded it at the last second.
It would take some time for the hammer to return, time his cousin sister took to back up as far as she could, dodging attack after attack.
There was a moment’s pause before the hammer slammed into her hand that was crucial, determining the fate of the match.
Her focus had shifted slightly to the weapon and she was already tired, which resulted in her being just a second too late to jump away from Yue Qingyuan’s sudden assault.
He rushed her, crossing the distance between them in less than half a second, resulting in her having to desperately evade his sword. She was off-balance however, unprepared as she was for the attack, so her position became hopeless.
There was no way for her to regain control of the fight after that, even if she did her best. The result of the match was already determined.
Qi Qingqi lasted another minute before she lost definitively, drooping when the practice sword was pointed at her neck, sweat dripping down her face as she heaved for breath. In all fairness, Yue Qingyuan didn’t look much better.
There were disappointed murmurs from the Xian Shu section, the fight really could've gone either way, but Liu Qingge watched with slight bemusement as some of the girls began to surround Qi Qingqi, offering her sympathy and fluttering eyelashes in equal quantities, fighting for the chance to gain her favor.
That never made sense to him. Disregarding the fact that his cousin sister was the absolute worst, she already had a soulmate. He wondered why people were still trying to seduce her.
Luckily, his cousin sister knew what decorum was.
A smile floated onto Liu Qingge’s face when he saw Qi Qingqi hone in on her soulmate. She was a tall (although everyone was tall compared to his cousin sister. It made her fighting with a huge hammer seem just that much more comical, even when it was ruthlessly effective), and gentle Xian Shu disciple who was shyly offering his loser cousin — he would milk her defeat for weeks— some water.
His cousin turned beet-red, her eyes practically shining as she drank the water offered to her, her gaze never straying from the blushing figure of her soulmate. She grinned like a fool when she was done drinking, saying something that made her soulmate fuss with her clothes as she looked away. At least she seemed pleased.
Qi Qingqi practically melted.
Liu Qingge suppressed the urge to cackle at his cousin being an embarrassment to herself. Some warrior-pirate-princess she was when she couldn’t even look her soulmate in her eyes without combusting.
He would tease her about that too. For months.
He knew his cousin would get back at him for it, would ridicule his own fumbling attempts to woo his soulmate. She would do it better too.
She was the one who could use words properly, the one with a silver tongue—she was the intelligent one. She’d be an absolute nightmare once he met his soulmate.
But he didn’t care.
He looked forward to it actually. Because if she was teasing him about his soulmate then that meant that he’d met them and nothing could dampen his spirits after that.
Liu Qingge shook his head, cracking his neck as he tried to focus. He’d be here all day if he kept thinking about his soulmate and he couldn’t let that happen. He had a competition to win.
The Qiong Ding succeeding disciple was a tricky opponent, even when he never used his sword. He had immense power, aided by the fact that he seemed to be able to read his adversary’s movements with frightening accuracy.
At his prime, there were very few people who could defeat him, and that list didn’t include Liu Qingge.
(Not yet.)
However, Yue Qingyuan was quite tired now, so Liu Qingge had a decent chance to beat him, especially since he still had another match before the finals.
(It irked him that it wasn’t a fair fight, he would prefer losing to winning dishonorably, but a fight was still a fight and this.
This was still a challenge.)
Yue Qingyuan would obviously win his semi-finals match.
The disciple from Qing Jing was good. Liu Qingge hadn’t seen him fight but he’d heard it from his fellow disciples as they mourned the losses of their favored champions. Plus, he had to have some skill to reach the semi-finals to begin with, so he couldn’t be too shabby.
But Yue Qingyuan was a once-in-a-lifetime genius and Liu Qingge was sure that Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t be a match for him. The fight would be quick, like they all had been. Hopefully, it would also be interesting.
He had a feeling it would be, there was something in his gut telling him to pay attention. Usually, that something warned him of incoming danger, but it was different today. It was lighter almost. Anticipation, instead of dread.
Liu Qingge ran a finger over his soulmark, the one on his left hand, bouncing his leg as he saw them face off against each, wetting his lips as he waited for them to start fighting.
He didn’t know much about Shen Qingqiu’s fighting style, but Yue Qingyuan’s approach usually involved heavy attacks hitting with impossible speed. They were spaced out, but each was brutal. He would probably take the chance to attack first, striking quickly before retreating to gear up for another hit. However, he didn’t keep to that pattern for long.
Liu Qingge knew he used it to feel for his opponent’s strategy so he could better counteract it. The first ten moves or so would be mainly diagnostic, but everything after would be a systematic breakdown.
Qi Qingqi fought in much the same way, which was why she was the biggest challenge (for now) for Yue Qingyuan in a fight.
It would take someone of incredible expertise to be able to defeat a powerhouse like Yue Qingyuan, and there was no way that Shen Qingqiu was such a powerhouse. He was a scholar.
He could still have an interesting strategy though. Maybe he would rely on speed, attacking in the lulls between the first moves to try to quickly incapacitate Yue Qingyuan. Or maybe he’d use shields to try and deflect the attacks sent his way.
Liu Qingge didn’t know which strategy the Qing Jing succeeding disciple would use—he himself would use a mixture of both—and for a moment he deeply regretted not watching his fellow martial sibling's matches.
It was a peculiar feeling, the regret. He didn’t usually feel it as acutely with something as inconsequential as this tournament, but it was kept nagging at him, telling him he’d missed something important.
(He trusted his instincts, he wouldn’t be alive today without them, but they seemed....overactive today. Irrationally so.
Liu Qingge didn’t know why, there was nothing in this tournament that should cause him to be on the lookout for....something, so he decided to just. Ignore it. Until it went away.
Like his paperwork did.)
Well. He couldn’t do anything about it now.
At least his ignorance and curiosity wouldn’t last for long, not with the semi-finals starting soon.
The referee raised their hand, causing excitement to build up in Liu QIngge. They put two fingers in their mouth to whistle, the indication for the start of the fight, stopping when Yue Qingyuan sheathed his practice sword.
Liu Qingge’s face scrunched up in puzzlement, not understanding why Yue Qingyuan wasn’t preparing himself for his first attack.
“This Yue Qingyuan forfeits,” said the Qiong Ding succeeding disciple, a smile spreading over his face, answering Liu Qingge’s question but setting off a hundred more.
There was an oppressive silence for a moment as people tried to understand what had just transpired, their confused eyes scanning around the tournament grounds for some sign of a joke, some inkling of a prank.
Whispers broke out immediately when it was clear that Yue Qingyuan wasn’t joking.
The disciples turned to each other to discuss why the person most likely to win the tournament had forfeited instead, their instantaneous explanations becoming more fanciful by the second, the cacophony of their noises building until the sect sounded like a particularly busy market.
Some claimed exhaustion while others spouted their conspiracy theories about jilted lovers but Liu Qingge ignored them all.
He squinted his eyes, focusing on the still figure of the Qing Jing disciple, wanting to see if he’d missed something important about his unexpected opponent, something dangerous enough to warrant Yue Qingyuan’s forfeit. That would be a major oversight on his part if that turned out to be true.
The Qing Jing succeeding disciple was thin, almost reedy. He didn’t look like much from the back, didn’t even look like he could hold his sword, let alone use it. His wrists were too thin, the green of his soulmark barely poking out from his arm braces. It wasn’t a plant he could recognize, not from this distance and not with most of it being covered up, but he could swear he’d seen it before.
Well, other people’s soulmarks were none of his business.
The only strength in the figure before him was in his posture, stock-still and perfect, like his spine had been replaced by an iron rod.
It made him look determined.
(It made him look lonely.)
From Liu Qingge’s point of view, it almost looked like the Qing Jing disciple was facing off against the sect, their burning eyes fully trained on his body as they talked about him. It couldn’t have been easy to be the object of their scrutiny but Shen Qingqiu stood tall.
There was a trickle of fascination in Liu Qingge.
Maybe he had misjudged the Qing Jing disciple, maybe he had some grit in him, maybe Yue Qingyuan had a genuine reason to forfeit—maybe winning would still be a challenge, an uncertainty.
Maybe this fight, this opponent, this moment was what his instincts were warning him about.
He wanted to find out.
The Bai Zhan succeeding disciple stood up, tightening his arm braces as he unsheathed his sword, twirling it around lazily. There would be a five-minute break before the finals began and Liu Qingge would make the most of it, not necessarily because he needed to loosen up, but because he needed to do something while he waited.
A shadow fell on him as he lightly stretched, causing him to turn to his side.
Yue Qingyuan was standing there, a hesitant smile on his sweaty face as he greeted Liu Qingge. “Liu-shidi,” he said, anxiousness apparent in his eyes. “This shixiong was wondering if you could do him a favor?” he asked, putting up a muffling shield to give them some semblance of privacy. It was more straightforward than he was used to with the Qiong Ding succeeding disciple but that’s the way he liked it, so Liu Qingge let it go.
“This shidi will do his best, Shixiong,” he replied in a neutral voice, his mind on his future opponent as he continued to stretch.
The hesitant smile never slid off of Yue Qingyuan’s face. “We all know that Liu-shidi is an exceptional fighter,” he started, speaking slower than normal, almost as if he was mulling over every word. “He has many accomplishments and his prowess with the sword is undeniable. This shixiong also knows that Liu-shidi will never harm his martial siblings but this shixiong is just a bit anxious for Shen-shidi. He’s not as skilled as you, Liu-shidi. Therefore, this shixiong was wondering if Liu-shidi would be willing to go a bit easy on him-”
Liu Qingge stopped mid-stretch, his body freezing as something eerily close to disappointment sunk into his bones.
It felt weird in his heart, as if that feeling in its entirety was an abomination. He’d always been a passionate person and his emotions had always been stronger than his peers—it had been a point of contention in his youth—but the strength with which he felt utterly repulsed by the disappointment was astonishing.
It felt personal somehow, like it was an attack on the very sinew that he was made of, as if it was being picked out of his body to form a picture he didn’t like. He couldn’t figure out a reason, he didn’t think he particularly had one, but that disappointment hit him in his core.
He felt off-balance, like he’d been wronged somehow, like his entire worldview had been skewed. It was as if something had happened that should’ve never happened, and he hated it.
He didn’t understand it but he hated it.
He turned to the Qing Jing disciple to look for his answer, his eyes narrowing once more on his slender figure.
Was this how that Qing Jing disciple had planned to make his way to the finals? Through the strength of the future sect leader? Through his pleas and entreaties and bargains?
Was that all his opponent was, a coward who couldn’t fight his own battles?
(Why did that thought hurt?)
Was the determination fake then? Was his composure merely a fluke? Did he really not have enough strength in his wrist to even hold a sword?
Was he cheating?
(Why did that thought hurt?)
Did the other participants also get a visit from Yue Qingyuan, asking them to go easy on Shen Qingqiu?
Did they even hesitate before agreeing? A favor from the future sect leader was a priceless gift, more valuable than any recognition they could get from a simple tournament; he wouldn’t be surprised if they did.
But was that how Shen Qingqiu got to the semi-finals? By using Yue Qingyuan?
But why was Yue Qingyuan even helping that Shen Qingqiu? Why was he letting that coward use him in the first place?
It couldn’t be because they were soulmates, Mu Qingfang was Yue Qingyuan’s soulmate, and the Qiong Ding succeeding disciple was an honorable man. He wouldn’t entertain having affairs, regardless of the rumors that were rapidly being discussed by the rest of Cang Qiong.
So what could it be? Some other form of blackmail? Did Shen Qingqiu have something on Yue Qingyuan that he was using to get what he wanted? Was he really just a sly coward? Was that really all he was?
“Liu-shidi?” asked Yue Qingyuan, breaking Liu Qingge out of his reverie. “Is that possible?”
No. No, it wasn’t.
He would’ve hesitated more before, Yue Qingyuan was worthy of his respect, he wouldn’t have agreed but would’ve hesitated, but now, he couldn’t even do that. Not with the feelings overwhelming his brain.
“This shidi is sorry to disappoint Yue-shixiong, but I cannot. If there’s anything else you would like me to do, please let me know.”
There was disappointment in Yue Qingyuan’s eyes but Liu Qingge couldn’t do anything about that. He wouldn’t dance to the whims of a cowardly scholar—he refused.
(It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he didn’t know how, but he knew that it wasn’t supposed to be like this.)
“Ah,” started Yue Qingyuan, his tone regretful. “Well, this shixiong understands. Thank you for the consideration, Liu-shidi.”
Shen Qingqiu let out a slow, deliberate breath, his grasp on his spirit sword tightening as he made his back infinitesimally straighter, ignoring the scrutiny of his fellow disciples.
He had to fight the succeeding disciple from Bai Zhan today, the one that was already called their War God.
(It was supposed to be Qi-
It was supposed to be that traitor.
They were supposed to have a confrontation, it was supposed to be that traitor, but he didn’t even have the decency to face him.
He didn’t even have the decency to rub it in Shen Qingqiu’s face that he was better off without him.
How cruel was it then that Shen Qingqiu felt his own inadequacy regardless.)
He didn’t need to win, his shizun had told him that over and over again, but Shen Qingqiu could still feel the warmth of his shizun’s hand on his head and he wanted to win.
He wanted to win, he wanted that glory, he wanted to make his shizun proud, he wanted to win for the person who’d given him everything .
Shen Qingqiu walked onto the field with measured steps, his stride every bit that of a well-bred noble, his face exuding an easy confidence, one he couldn’t quite feel.
Liu Qingge met him halfway, his slender form doing nothing to hide his power.
They bowed to each other, waiting for the half-moment pause to end before the match would begin with the referee’s whistle.
It felt like an eternity, it felt important, it felt like-like something was supposed to happen then, but nothing happened except for the loud, ringing whistle.
Liu Qingge struck first, not bothering to stake out his opponent before he went in for the kill, a disarming move that Shen Qingqiu had to leap gracefully away from.
It threw Shen Qinqgiu’s prepared strategy out of the window—he’d expected the Bai Zhan War God to wait, he’d waited for everyone else—so he’d had to resort to the more unorthodox methods in his arsenal.
He’d wanted to be graceful, he really had, he’d wanted to be prim and proper and correct, he’d wanted to show the sect that he was worthy of his position, but there’d been no time for grace after that first attack.
Liu Qingge was a blur, his attacks and defenses too quick to be perceived, let alone be understood.
Shen Qingqiu had had to use every offensive and defensive technique he knew to keep the fight going, making dust storms and blades out of leaves when all else failed him. His limbs had lashed out like his life was at stake, his movements sharp, precise, and strong; tricky enough to confound even the war god. Not for long though.
Because Shen Qingqiu was losing his initiative—and any advantage that he could’ve had with it—with every second that passed.
Fighting Liu Qingge was like fighting a hurricane, a sentient hurricane. His attacks were fast and sure, hitting with the advantage of experience, his movements never wasted on anything superfluous. It was almost barbaric, the simple ruthlessness with which he cut his opponent down, but it was incredibly effective. He could see the shadow of Qi Qingqi in those maneuvers, the one opponent he’d dreaded facing.
Shen Qingqiu twirled around on a single foot, jumping high in the air and aiming to strike with his fan when he lost his balance.
It was a minor misstep, just a forward lurch as Shen Qingqiu tried to realign himself, but it was enough of an opening for the War God.
In a move remarkably similar to the one pulled by Yue Qingyuan, Liu Qingge disarmed him, winning the fight once and for all.
Shen Qingqiu fell to his knees with a sword pointed at his neck.
“Yield,” the victor said, his voice cold, almost dispassionate, as if he was bored. He didn’t even look winded. There was ridicule in his eyes.
Shame burned in Shen Qingqiu, his movements rougher than necessary as he got up, cleaning his robes with a quick talisman before he turned to look his opponent in the eye for a final remark.
Except Liu Qingge beat him to it. “Pathetic,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain.
Shen Qingqiu bristled, forcing himself to remain civil, forcing himself to not explode, he had an image to take care of—one he couldn’t afford to tarnish any further, not after the stunts he’d pulled—and he couldn’t curse out Liu Qingge.
“I’ll beat you next time,” he said instead, his voice quiet and venomous as his composure was held by a thin thread of silk.
Liu Qingge snorted with utter disgust.
(Why did that hurt?)
“With what skill?”
“They’ll need more missions together,” said Shen Anwei, his eyes trained on the fighting disciples before him.
His little one grabbed Liu Qingge’s hair, yanking it with enough force to make Shen Anwei flinch slightly. That must’ve hurt.
It was a good thing they were fighting in a relatively isolated part of Cang Qiong. Neither of their reputations could’ve taken the fallout from the general populace seeing two succeeding disciples of Cang Qiong fight like school children, rolling around on the floor of the forest and getting twigs in their hair.
Little Qingqiu would not be pleased. Hot water was about to become a scarce commodity on Qing Jing Peak.
Again.
Feng-shidi sighed, a tired and resigned sound that resonated with Shen Anwei to his soul. “Yes, yes they will.”
The Peak Lords had to get along, the very foundations of Cang Qiong were based on the bonds forged between people, but his little one was still new, his shaky relationships were understandable.
With time though, they should settle. Especially if that time was spent on nearly deadly missions where you had to depend on each to survive, thereby fostering a sense of camaraderie out of hardship, even stretching as far as fondness for each other that grew from a fundamental understanding of one another that came from knowing how they would act in times of peril.
Cang Qiong had been a powerhouse for millennia . They’d got this down to a science.
While they were at it, maybe they should also throw Shang Qinghua into the mix. He could use some friends and Shen Anwei could use the favor from the Peak Lord of An Ding. There was this pendant he wanted to make for his little one that required a special type of jade. He’d had a hard time finding it, but it wouldn’t be an issue for his Li-shidi, he was sure of it.
Shen Anwei closed his eyes in exasperation as Liu-shizi ripped his little one’s outer robes, causing a truly murderous glare to arise on his child’s face.
It seemed that it was time for him to be a responsible adult and stop the fight before his little one killed Liu-shizi.
Again.
It was true, what they said. Parenting truly was a practice in patience.
Shen Qingqiu grit his teeth, his eyes straying from the path to the gray-clothed disciple beside him.
They were on another mission together, a relatively easy one, but a mission nonetheless and Shen Qingqiu hated it.
His skin always felt itchy when Liu Qingge glared at him in disgust, a complete opposite of the tingle he would get when his soulmate caressed their soulmarks. It almost felt like it was being melted off his body in patches, his entire body resisting against the brute’s mere presence. His stomach would feel like it was being turned inside out and his lungs would lose their ability to hold in any air until the only thing Shen Qingqiu could do was get that stupid expression off of Liu Qingge’s imbecilic face. Preferably through punching him.
(It was almost like Liu Qingge was his fated enemy, just like his soulmate was his fated lover.)
It was uncomfortable to be around him and Shen Qingqiu hated it. He wanted to refuse the mission, just once, he’d just wanted to refuse a single mission, it felt like the peak lords were just looking for excuses to make them be in each other’s presence sometimes, but something always stopped him.
It wasn’t even his shizun, that was a part of it, but it wasn’t entirely his need to not disappoint his shizun.
There was an insistent tug deep within his soul that made him seek out Liu Qingge, made his head turn to him, made his eyes focus on his punchable, beautiful, face.
Shen Qingqiu’s current theory was that it was his self-preservation instincts going into overdrive, looking for a threat in the person that had beaten him so thoroughly.
Experience had told him that men got off on that sort of power, it would make sense for Liu Qingge to be the same. He was a battle-loving meathead, and you don’t get that way without having some brutality in you.
He’d thought that was the reason he kept looking at him, an innate anxiousness when met with a man who could overpower him in an instant, but it-it wasn’t the same.
He knew what that felt like, knew it intimately, knew it from the lash of Qiu Jianlou’s whip to the break in his bone from Wu Yanzi’s grip, he knew that fear like he knew his soulmarks, with complete and utter certainty, and that feeling—that wasn’t fear.
It wasn’t anything, it wasn’t curiosity, it wasn’t a perverse disgust at the creature that was the Bai Zhan succeeding disciple, it was just....a tug.
A tug that made his heart flutter when Liu Qingge was looking much too picturesque for a battle-brained maniac drenched in sweat, a tug that made his mouth dry when he saw the Bai Zhan succeeding disciple look particularly triumphant after he’d beaten another senior hall master in his peak, a tug that made his brain feel at peace when he saw the brute exist near him without degrading him.
A tug that made him look at Liu Qingge and see him kneel in front of the street rats and give them coin from his own purse, handing it to them like they were human and not throwing it in their general direction, assuming it would be picked up.
A tug that made him hear when Liu Qingge defended a prostitute from a drunkard at the town market, stopping his attacks with simple nerve strikes, never showing any disgust at the soulmarkless status of the person he’d saved.
(He had blushed quite wonderfully though when he’d seen what she’d been wearing.)
A tug that made his body turn towards Liu Qingge’s direction, as if Shen Qingqiu was a lost traveler and the Bai Zhan brute was his North Star.
It was utterly incomprehensible, the phenomenon and it-it needed to stop.
Shen Qingqiu already knew that Liu Qingge was better than him in every way, he didn’t need to see proof of it, he didn’t need to see him be kind, he didn’t need to see him be good.
He—
He didn’t need to see Liu Qingge’s chest.
Liu Qingge had thrown off his cloak, deeming it to be too hot for the humid afternoon that had been birthed from the misty morning.
Shen Qingqiu had tried to politely avert his eyes—Bai Zhan disciples always left their robes wide open, a custom for when they was were searching for their soulmates, in direct contrast to the Qing Jing fashion of only letting the soulmarks show once they’d flowered—he had no interest in seeing Liu Qingge’s torso, except—
Except he hadn’t been fast enough.
(He was never fast enough.)
And then he couldn’t look away.
Because Liu Qingge’s soulmark was flowering.
His jasmine had flowered.
Shen Qingqiu’s jasmine was blooming on Liu Qingge’s body.
Oh, fuck.
Shen Qingqiu wasn’t able to focus after that revelation, not even when he was being attacked by the beast they were hunting, its claws ripping into his sleeve, painting his soulmarks in red, the mangled cloth and skin managing to hide them from view.
Liu Qingge was his soulmate.
‘Pathetic.’
Soulmate.
‘With what skill?’
Shen Qingqiu held his bleeding wound with a blank expression on his face, his hands the only thing stemming the blood flow, his mind too chaotic for him to even attempt to heal the wound with his spiritual energy.
Liu Qingge was his soulmate, the person who was destined for him, the person who was his fate, the person-
The person who was supposed to love-
The disdain in Liu Qingge’s face as he beat him once more, his words dripping with disgust as he talked about how Shen Qingqiu had wasted his potential, that he was just a lazy, good-for-nothing, young master, that he was a coward, that he didn’t deserve-
Soulmates were meant to love each other.
Soulmates were destined to meet.
Soulmates were fate.
That was what Shen Qingqiu had been taught.
Everything he’d read about soulmates, everything he’d seen, everything-
‘Because I killed my soulmate with my own hands and I never even got to know their fucking name.’
His soulmate was supposed to love him.
He knew what flower it was now, not from watching it bloom on his own body like he was supposed to, no, he had to see it on his soulmate’s chest: a single red hyacinth, majestic and unmarred. Beautiful in every sense of the word but—
But absent from his body.
Because there was not a single red hyacinth blooming on his skin and his soulmate didn’t love him.
Mu Qingfang patiently wrapped his patient’s wound with clean gauze, having already cleaned the lacerations and generously lathered them in a salve that promoted healing. It also had the added benefit of not leaving any scars behind, a fact that he hoped Shen Qingqiu would appreciate, considering that the wound had cut through his soulmark.
It was a quick procedure, one he’d done a thousand times, one that Shen Qingqiu shouldn’t have needed if his cultivation had been up to par, but Mu Qingfang wasn’t here to judge.
That did nothing to aid the awkwardness he felt when he faced the young man in front of him.
Mu Qingfang was his doctor, nothing should’ve affected the way he treated his patient, he knew he had to remain objective, he was a professional, but it was hard to do so when he faced the one person that could ruin his entire life.
It wasn’t likely, Mu Qingfang had faith in his soulmate, but it was hard to let go of his doubts when Shen Qingqiu was the one person his soulmate seemed to pursue with reckless abandon.
After all, Mu Qingfang was Yue Qingyuan’s soulmate, but Shen Qingqiu was something else.
He wouldn’t say something more, he trusted Yue Qingyuan, his soulmate was a good person, a respectable person, he wouldn’t entertain a dalliance with a youth who wasn’t his soulmate, he knew what was acceptable, what was right, but he couldn’t say the same for Shen Qingqiu.
To his credit, the Qing Jing disciple never made advances on Yue Qingyuan either, he was downright blunt and bordering on the edge of rudeness when he rebuffed the future sect leader, but that—
That also made him seem like a jilted lover.
There was betrayal in his eyes when he looked at Yue Qingyuan, a fact he’d only been able to discern because he’d been looking, but Yue Qingyuan had guilt in his and that—
That was problematic.
It wasn’t obvious, his soulmate’s smile was a great cover, making him look indulgent instead of pained, but Mu Qingfang had earned the privilege of knowing Yue Qingyuan, and he couldn’t hide from him.
His soulmate felt guilty towards Shen Qingqiu and the Qing Jing disciple himself acted as if Yue Qingyuan had wronged him greatly.
But Mu Qingfang knew that his soulmate was a good person.
Which meant that it all had to be a misunderstanding.
He didn’t know how but he knew that it had to be a misunderstanding.
A misunderstanding he couldn’t even fix! He didn’t know what had caused it, he didn’t know the root of the conflict, he knew nothing and, to top it all off, neither of them seemed to be willing to tell him anything, even if he asked!
Mu Qingfang wouldn’t force them, he had no authority over Shen Qingqiu, and he knew better with Yue Qingyuan, relationships couldn’t be built on coercion after all, but that just increased the awkwardness he felt when he interacted with Shen Qingqiu.
It wasn’t anything Shen Qingqiu did. Really, it wasn’t, but there was an urge in Mu Qingfang to defend his soulmate from accusations and romantic pursuits alike that wouldn’t go away no matter what he did— that especially wouldn’t go away when there was nothing for him to do.
He knew he couldn’t fix it, he’d tried it once, despite his better judgment.
It hadn’t worked.
Shen Qingqiu had closed up, his eyes chilling until they resembled chips of green, frozen glass, his demeanor turning hostile.
But he hadn’t loosened his lips.
He’d never spoken of the slight he felt aggrieved for, he never explained himself.
It didn’t help that Shen Qingqiu was an icebox, his face refusing to contort with any emotion, not unless they were monumental in magnitude.
It made it that much harder to gauge him. Mu Qingfang tried his best but he wasn’t a miracle worker, he couldn’t always decipher the complex code that was Shen Qingqiu.
Which was why his current blank face was slightly worrisome.
Shen Qingqiu’s expressions were always controlled, always, Mu Qingfang could swear that he was wound up tighter than a clock, his face set on a cool disinterest that sometimes delved into disdain when he felt adventurous, but it was never just blank.
There was always the feeling that Shen Qingqiu was twenty steps ahead of you when you talked to him, as if he already knew what you were going to say before you said it, but that seemed to be worryingly absent from his current demeanor, which was downright unnerving.
But it was always unnerving to talk to him, and Mu Qingfang was a doctor, he wouldn’t let that get in the way of his treatment.
“Shen-shixiong should avoid getting his bandages wet, but he should be healed completely within the week,” said Mu Qingfang, his voice gentle but firm, instructive without being commanding. “This shidi shall give you the ointment you have to apply on the wound. Make sure to change the dressing every day or so. Does Shen-shixiong have any questions?”
“Yes,” replied Shen Qingqiu, his voice surprisingly soft.
Mu Qingfang paused, surprised.
“Shen-shixiong is free to ask this shidi any question. This one will do his best to answer you.”
Shen Qingqiu gazed at Mu Qingfang, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side as he did so, his eyes almost dazed. It made him look young. “Does Mu-shidi know much about soulmates?”
Mu Qingfang could hear the blood pulsing in his veins. “This shidi does know a fair amount, Shen-shixiong.”
“Is it true then? What they say about soulmates?”
A lot of things were said about soulmates, too many things, and most were true.
But some were not and Mu Qingfang needed more clarification.
Especially if this could be it, if this could be the chip that would settle his fate once and for all.
“That depends on what Shen-shixiong is talking about.”
Shen Qingqiu nodded, once, his eyes never losing that blank look. “Is it inevitable then? Fated? It is always fated?”
“Does Shen-shixiong suspect that he has met his soulmate?” asked Mu Qingfang, not quite willing to answer the question before he understood the situation. He needed to know who this was about, he needed to know if this was about Yue Qingyuan, if this was Shen Qingqiu throwing caution to the wind and declaring to pursue Mu Qingfang’s soulmate.
Shen Qingqiu hesitated, his face melting into the slightest bit of apprehension that was immediately wiped away. “Yes, I do think I have.”
That was-that could be wonderful.
Mu Qingfang felt as if a mountain had been lifted from his shoulders but he could still see it hang over his head.
He had to do his best to steer Shen Qingqiu in the direction of his soulmate, for Shen Qingqiu’s sake if not for his own. Dalliances were not tolerated by fate, they would only result in misery. It wasn’t one of the more common facts known about soulmates, but it was a certain one.
“That is truly delightful, Shen-shixiong,” he said with warmth in his voice. Whether it was fake or not was known only to him. “Having a soulmate is a wondrous feeling, quite literally a heaven-sent gift, if you’ll excuse my little quip,” he continued, his mouth quirking up to a mockery of his real smile. He didn’t feel any of the mirth he was projecting, not yet. He only felt apprehension. “The bond is almost always one of true companionship, I wish Shen-shixiong the best in his journey to court his soulmate.”
“Only almost?”
There was uneasiness in the question.
Mu Qingfang would have to be careful, he didn’t want to scare Shen Qingqiu away from the topic entirely.
“Well, there are some cases where it doesn’t work out, but they truly are as rare as they’re made out to be. In any case, it wouldn’t be something I would worry about extensively,” replied Mu Qingfang, pausing as he thought about Shen Qingqiu’s prickly personality. It wouldn’t do for Shen Qingqiu to drive away his own soulmate. “It’s not effortless of course, Shen-shixiong will need to put in the effort to make it work.”
Shen Qingqiu wetted his lips. “Would Mu-shidi be willing—could you give this shixiong some advice? On how to make it work?”
Mu Qingfang let a smile spread across his face, a true one this time. It seemed like Shen Qingqiu really was focused on his own soulmate, which could only mean good things for him. “Well, it’s just like any other relationship. Patience is key, and it might take time before a solid relationship is formed. There needs to be understanding. In the meantime, be good to them. The rest will fall into place.”
‘Be good to them.’
That was—he could do that, surely it wouldn’t be too difficult.
It was-it was his soulmate. It couldn’t be too hard.
Fate itself would help him and if he could start to love Liu Qingge without knowing he was his soulmate, then surely the opposite must also be possible, must also be probable.
Shen Qingqiu would just have to be patient, like Mu Qingfang said.
He would just have to be good to Liu Qingge and wait.
He could wait.
(It would work out this time, it would, it was fated to work out this time.
His brother might’ve betrayed him, he might’ve discarded him like Shen Qingqiu was trash, he might’ve left and never looked back, not even once, he might’ve been relieved to leave the street rat behind, but it would be different this time.
It would.
They were soulmates.)
He could wait and be a good soulmate.
What should he even do though? What would Liu Qingge like?
Swords? Shields?
But he already had all that, Shen Qingqiu needed to give him something special.
Liu Qingge didn’t care for poems, he probably wouldn’t even understand them in the first place, but maybe he could paint him something.
He could also carve something for his sword? Something useful, Liu Qingge wasn’t one for vanity, but he could make it look pretty anyway.
And Bai Zhan disciples ate like they’d been starved for decades, maybe he could make him some food.
Shen Qingqiu paused, remembering the last time he’d attempted to cook.
Maybe he could buy him some food instead, that could work.
And Shen Qingqiu could make him medicine!
Liu Qingge was hurt often—the thought sent a frisson of discomfort through him, which was weird because it hadn’t happened before— and Shen Qingqiu might not know how to cook but he did know how to brew, he was a master in the art of tea making, and most medicines were just plants brewed for a certain amount of time. So. He could make him medicine.
And he could help him with his missions! Liu Qingge rarely did research, so Shen Qingqiu would do it for him.
It still didn’t feel like enough, soulmates were bound by love eternal, how was he supposed to convey that through measly actions, it would never be enough, but it-it was a start.
It was a start.
Shen Qingqiu felt true happiness spread through his body.
He’d met his soulmate, the person destined to love him and never leave him and he would never be alone ever again and nothing could go wrong.
Absolutely nothing.
Shen Qingqiu sat on a bench beneath a large tree, his left hand supporting a board that had some parchment on it as his right hand smoothly drew on it with a stick of charcoal. A group of his own peak’s disciples was loosely surrounding him as he practiced his sketches, their eyes darting over to him as they attempted to copy him.
Shen Qingqiu only let them because it provided him the cover he needed to stay beneath the tree.
There was another group of disciples a bit to his right, sitting on a stone bench in an open pavilion on the grounds of Qing Jing. Some were older than him, and some were younger, but they were all adults. Chatty adults.
Chatty adults that were chatting about a certain Bai Zhan disciple.
“This shimei almost wishes that Liu-shixiong will never find his soulmate,” said a disciple Shen Qingqiu didn’t know the name of. She was from Qian Cao, judging from her robes. “I mean, think of the view that will be lost. It’ll be a pity for certain, don’t you agree, shixiong?” she continued, her tone teasing.
Another youth in their group sputtered. This one he knew. He was from Qing Jing and mediocre at best in everything he did.
“Now, shimei, you know that Liu-shidi is not my soulmate—”
“But that doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate that he, objectively, looks good half-naked. Plus, who knows! There’s still time to get a date or two out of him before he meets his soulmate. He’ll need the experience,” she said, wriggling her eyebrows.
The youth the comment was directed at blushed deeply, eliciting giggles from everyone in their group.
He tried to shush them, or at least, he made it look like he did but Shen Qingqiu could see the consideration in his eyes.
“Come now, shixiong,” said another boy from Bai Zhan. Shen Qingqiu strained his ears to see if he would finally get the information he wanted, making this entire outing worth it. “It doesn’t hurt to try, and this shidi can even help you! I can tell you what Liu-shixiong likes and maybe he’ll be so overcome with your consideration that he’ll give you a smile,” he continued, pausing for dramatic effect. “Maybe even a hug. Maybe something more....”
“Shameless!” said the disciple from Qing Jing, echoing Shen Qingqiu’s thoughts on the subject at hand. Now if only he’d meant it, that would be great. But no, he continued to sit there with blushing cheeks and excited eyes.
It didn't matter, their helpful advice would also benefit Shen Qingqiu.
“There’s nothing shameful in giving him a present or two, shixiong! It’s just to show your appreciation! Now, Liu-shixiong isn’t really picky but he likes spicy food—melt a hole in your stomach spicy—and he loves chicken in particular. There’s also this specific oil he likes to use for his sword, they stopped making it, but I know a substitute that’s basically the same thing. He has no preference for tea, but this shidi knows that he has a habit of drinking some before going to bed. It calms him down apparently. Also....”
Shen Qingqiu memorized every detail that related to Liu Qingge’s preferences.
At least the torturous socializing session had paid off.
Shen Qingqiu held a jar of the oil in his hands, one he’d made on his own.
It was the first thing he’d focused on, Liu Qingge treasured his weapons above all, and it wasn’t all that hard for him to procure the oil.
Sure, the ones who’d made it had gone out of business, but Shen Qingqiu had a nice stockpile of money and they were quite willing to sell him the recipe in return for a modest sum of gold.
It was a mixture made from the essence of the Sword Silk Plant. The plant had fibers that were as thin as hair and as sharp as broken glass. As such, harvesting them was a pain, especially since they wrapped around anything that gave off heat and fed from the blood they spilled.
However, their essence had the magical quality to make any weapon strangely flexible. It also improved the sharpness but that was a secondary quality. The extent of the flexibility depended on the material the weapon was made of but it did mean that Liu Qingge’s sword wouldn’t break as easily if it was caught between the maws of an especially strong demon.
Cheng Luan was a spirit sword, it was very hard to break in the first place, nearly impossible, but only nearly, especially since Liu Qingge seemed determined to fight the very demons that could break his sword.
As such, an item that was barely necessary became vital, became coveted.
It would be a good gift, he was sure of it.
But-
How was he to give it to Liu Qingge in the first place?
Shen Qingqiu couldn’t face the suspicion, the ridicule he would face, the disgust he was facing, if he were to just march up to Liu Qingge and hand him the gift.
Liu Qingge didn’t like him—not yet, it had to be not yet— and he wouldn’t accept a gift from Shen Qingqiu.
And Shen Qingqiu couldn’t even show him his soulmarks!
He had no flowers that belonged to Liu Qingge, none he could show without opening his robes, and the very idea of showing Liu Qingge the only proof he had was sickening because—
Because there was a brand marring his jasmine.
He would tell Liu Qingge about his past, he wouldn’t hide it, relationships were built on trust, Mu Qingfang had said that and he must be doing something right because Qi- that traitor had abandoned Shen Qingqiu for him, but—
He....he couldn’t show him his jasmine, not yet.
Not until a red hyacinth bloomed on his body.
But that meant that Shen Qingqiu would have to give Liu Qingge the oil without him explicitly knowing it was from Shen Qingqiu.
He could leave in it the Bai Zhan training grounds, the ones reserved for senior disciples. They were pretty easy to sneak into.
And he could write a note, detailing that the oil was meant for Liu Qingge, given to him by his soulmate. No one would dare steal it then.
The note would have to be written with his left hand, he couldn’t let the entirety of Bai Zhan know that it was from Shen Qingqiu, it would defeat the entire purpose of hiding that the gift was from him in the first place, but he could scent the oil with the jasmine green tea pearls he cultivated. It was a slight waste of good tea but it was a subtle identifier, one only a select few knew about. Liu Qingge wasn’t in that pool of people specifically, but Shen Qingqiu knew that he himself smelled like that tea, he drank it regularly, so it should still be obvious after a while.
It was a solid plan and, more importantly, it could work, especially if he started to be more amicable to Liu Qingge.
Fate would do the rest, he was sure of it.
Liu Qingge traced the flowers, multiple flowers, on his skin with a fond smile on his face.
The first time a flower had appeared, Liu Qingge had nearly jumped for joy.
The first bud had been beautiful, a speck of pearlescent white, surrounded by its stems, the petals neatly enclosed on themselves.
He’d watched it bloom over the next five minutes, his utter happiness making him smile until his face started to hurt.
His soulmate was here, they-they were here and they loved him.
They knew him and they loved him.
They’d sent him a gift, with a note —they had amazing handwriting—and the gift was so thoughtful.
He’d run out of that oil a couple months ago and he’d been looking for a substitute—a shidi of his had found one that he swore was similar but it was just the fragrance, not the actual properties—but his soulmate had made it just for him.
They’d made it well too! It was better than the one he used to buy!
They must be skilled to be able to harvest the Sword Silk Plant, and they must excel at making elixirs. Liu Qingge couldn’t help but feel proud that such a talented person was his soulmate.
The oil itself was top quality, but the smell.
The smell.
Liu Qingge didn’t care much if things smelled good, didn’t care at all if that was their only purpose, but this oil—it smelled heavenly.
It smelled like jasmine, his favorite flower, his soulmate’s flower.
A drop of the oil could make his surroundings smell faintly like the floral scent for hours.
Every part of the gift, be it the container or the scent or the fact that his soulmate had made it for him, made him giddy and—
He wanted to meet them, he wanted to see them, talk to them, he wanted to hold their hand and never let go.
He wanted to protect them, wanted to let them know they could rely on him, wanted them to know he was reliable, wanted them to know he loved them.
He hoped they knew, they had to know, but he wanted to say it to them himself, wanted to cradle their face in his hands and look them in the eye and tell them he had loved them from the moment he’d known about them.
He-he needed to say it to their face.
They were hesitant about meeting him for some reason, Liu Qingge couldn’t even begin to fathom why, but they-they didn’t need to be.
Liu Qingge loved them already and he knew it in his bones that he would love them when he found them as well, so they didn’t need to be anxious.
But they were, they had reservations and that was—it wasn’t good, he didn’t want them to be hesitant about his love for them, but it was something they could work on together.
After he found them.
Because he would find them.
They must be in Cang Qiong, they had to live close by and they had to be a cultivator to be able to sneak the oil into Bai Zhan.
So they had to be in Cang Qiong and they had to know him.
They were skilled with plants, they had good handwriting, and they were a master at brewing.
That was a start, he could work with that.
It would just take some time.
He’d waited for more than twenty years to find his soulmate, he could wait a bit more.
Plus, they loved him and they were giving him gifts— gifts they spent so much effort on.
It couldn’t be too hard to find them.
Not when fate itself would help him.
Shen Qingqiu snuck into Bai Zhan once more, this time with some dragon’s beard candy tucked inside a qiankun pouch that was embroidered with a poem he’d composed himself, one about autumn as a hint towards his identity. He’d made it easier to understand on purpose, his soulmate was a rather....direct person, so it would be prudent of him to make it less complicated for him and him alone.
His soulmate was away on a mission, he’d been focusing on ones that had the Sword Silk Plants nearby, a thought that made Shen Qingqiu giddy, so his absence made it the perfect time to leave him a gift.
He'd learned from snooping around that this candy was his soulmate’s favorite, and he’d embroidered the bag itself to the best of his abilities, so he hoped that Liu Qingge would like it.
There was also some medicine in the pouch; topical ointments and pills that could treat most injuries. There were bandages as well, all sorts of bandages, even ones made from a rare type of cloth that prevented infections and halted blood loss. It was essentially everything one needed for an emergency first aid kit. Another of his more practical gifts, something he thought his soulmate would appreciate.
He’d made most of the gifts to be more frugal, all except the candy, but the raw material cost had still emptied his pockets of all but his emergency funds. Still, he couldn’t help but think it to be money well spent.
He’d worried, when he was younger and more destitute, about whether he would have the means to provide for his soulmate, to care for his soulmate the way he himself had wanted to be cared for.
The idea of buying things purely for the sake of making his soulmate happy had seemed like a luxury beyond his means for so long that being able to do so now made him feel almost....drunk.
He would be careful, the life lessons carved into his bones wouldn’t let him be anything but, he knew he would be responsible, but he would indulge himself, just this once, just for this, just for this one thing.
Just for his soulmate.
Liu Qingge stared at the candy in front of him, wanting to take a bite of it but making himself refrain from ruining its perfection.
It was-it was another gift, another thoughtful, well-meaning gift, and he didn’t want to ruin it.
He wanted to keep it as it was, pristine and tidy, so he could see it every day and be reminded of his soulmate.
He wanted to store it with the other containers, the ones that used to have the oil. They were empty now but he didn’t have it in himself to throw them away.
But he also wanted to use it, wanted to wrap his scrapes with the bandages given to him, wanted to eat the candy that was tempting him, wanted to delight in the physical proof that his soulmate cared for him.
He wanted to feel his soulmate’s care wrap around his body.
He wanted-he wanted to express his gratitude, his affection, his love for the person who was loving and caring for him from a distance, he wanted to find them, he wanted to envelop them in the world’s strongest embrace and never let go.
He wanted them, any piece of them, every piece of them.
He wanted to find them.
But he didn’t know how! There weren’t any clues! Or at least, none that he could decipher.
He already knew they were in Cang Qiong and that they weren’t in Bai Zhan but Cang Qiong was a large sect, it would be ridiculously easy to hide.
The closest thing he’d had to a lead was the oil, but the people who’d originally made it had moved away before Liu Qingge had been able to interrogate them, making the clue entirely useless.
The next thing he’d tried had been the poem, which was strangely familiar, as was the handwriting, he could swear he’d seen it somewhere before, and his brain kept associating it with the color of jade, but he hadn’t been able to make any sense of it.
It was a masterful poem, he was sure of it, his soulmate was amazing at everything, of course they’d be an outstanding poet, but it didn’t help him figure anything out.
His soulmate had good handwriting, they were skilled with plants, they were a master at brewing, they were a breathtaking poet, and they were incredibly considerate. He knew that much.
But none of that was helpful towards finding his soulmate. Or at least, Liu Qingge hadn’t found it to be particularly helpful.
He wouldn’t give up and he would find them, he would find them and hug them (maybe he’d get a kiss or two), and he would tell them he loved them, and then they’d live the rest of their lives together.
It would just....take more time apparently. Not long, just longer than this.
He could do that, he could wait. He would wait for as long as it took.
He just hoped that they knew he loved them in the meantime.
He loved them so much.
“This shixiong challenges you to a rematch, Liu-shidi,” said Shen Qingqiu, hiding a slight grimace behind his fan.
He didn’t especially want to spar, he didn’t even want to win against Liu Qingge, not anymore, you could never truly win against your soulmate, but Liu Qingge liked to fight.
So, Shen Qingqiu would fight him.
It wasn’t always particularly pleasant, it never had been even when his goal had just been to beat Liu Qingge, the derision he faced when he lost wasn’t something he could just brush off his psyche, but he’d noticed that that ridicule had started to come only from the people surrounding them, not from his soulmate.
He was still dismissive and contemptful but it was....fading with every fight.
Barely, just barely, but it was fading. He could feel it.
A rematch was a worn-out excuse by now but it was one no one questioned.
They named him a sore loser and they said he couldn’t handle defeat, but their name-calling was a small price to pay for the privilege of spending some time with his soulmate. Even when that time was spent with Shen Qingqiu getting thrashed.
“I accept,” replied Liu Qingge, his tone indifferent. He rolled his shoulders, tightening his arm braces as he walked to the makeshift arena without even glancing at Shen Qingqiu.
It stung, the disregard, but Shen Qingqiu didn’t let himself feel it. It was a familiar pain by now and one he didn’t want to give the privilege of acknowledgment. It too would fade with time.
Instead, he just walked to face off against his soulmate, preparing himself for the bruises he would have to ice later on.
Liu Qingge attacked first, as he always did, but he waited for a whole moment this time, as if he was assessing Shen Qingqiu—the way you would an actual opponent.
It was a good sign. Probably. Hopefully.
But Shen Qingqiu didn’t have much time for hope.
He’d gotten better at counteracting Liu Qingge since the last time they’d fought and could often last almost fifteen minutes against him on a good day. He couldn’t win but he could give him a challenge.
On a good day.
Today wasn’t a good day though.
He hadn’t gotten any sleep in weeks and he wouldn’t be getting any in the days to come either, so he was much too tired for it to be a good day.
He hated the fact that his subconscious didn’t seem to trust his shizun and his Zhao-laoshifu, they were so kind, but with the increase in the smackdowns he’d been receiving recently, it was hard to relax. Especially when his dreams—
When his dreams were filled with bruising holds, when his dreams were filled with hands tugging his hair, ripping it out of his scalp, when his dreams were filled with his own screams, when his dreams were filled with aching lungs and burning feet, when his dreams were filled with the agony of a brand taking away his sole comfort, when, when, when, when, when-
When his dreams were filled with images of his soulmate attacking him with pure hatred in his eyes.
There were days when all he could do was curl up in his bed and pretend the arms holding him weren’t his own as he muffled his cries on his pillow, counting down the seconds before he would be forced to get up with dread rising in his mind.
Other days were better, made better by the tingling of his soulmarks, but there weren’t enough good days for it to matter. Not really.
There were solutions of course. He could take medication, he could stop sparring, he could sleep down the mountain. He had options.
But the medication made him feel floaty, like his soul was being separated from his body. He had no control over himself when he took it, which was more stressful than his original predicament, meaning it wasn’t a valid solution. And going down the mountain had never been an option at all.
He could sleep in an inn, that was true, but it was the same problem all over again, except this time, the men sleeping in the rooms next to him would be strangers who very well could want to hurt him.
The other option was the brothels, filled with women he couldn’t help but view as protectors, even when they were considered abominations by the rest of society, left to rot with their soulmarkless bodies. They’d been a source of comfort for him when he was young—he could go to them for shelter on days when they didn’t have much business, and they’d give him a meatbun or two if he was extra nice to them, which he always was. Those brothels had been of much lower quality than the ones near Cang Qiong and there was always tacit understanding to never bring up the nasty bruises while still being extra careful of them, but they’d been some of his kindest memories, ones where he’d actually felt safe.
But if word got around that he’d gone to the brothel without a pressing need for it, then he’d be seen as lecherous. If it was just his reputation at stake, he would’ve taken the risk and damned the consequences, he was sure that his shizun and his Zhao-laoshifu would understand, or at least, they would let him explain, but that wasn’t the only consequence.
Going to the brothel for anything other than its intended purpose was an offense beyond mere flirtation, beyond momentary physical attraction—it was seen as the mark of an unfaithful soulmate.
They were supposed to be used for emergencies relating to sex pollen, that was true, but more often than not, brothels were for the type of people who couldn’t even set aside their carnal desires for someone as important as their soulmate. Their depravity knew no bounds and they were the true scum of society. Shen Qingqiu would never blame the brothel women, they were just trying to survive in the only way given to them by society, but he had no compunctions against judging their clients and he hated those bastards, hated the fact that they thought themselves to be beyond the bonds of fate—thought their desires to be more important than the loyalty they were supposed to show to their soulmates.
He couldn’t be seen as one of them, but he would be seen as one of them if he went. He could only avoid detection for so long, after all.
He couldn’t do that to his soulmate, he couldn’t betray his trust before he’d even earned it—before he even knew it was Shen Qingqiu’s to earn.
So. The brothels were out of the question.
And he couldn’t just stop asking for rematches—they were helping him. Liu Qingge’s disdain was fading with each match, so did it really matter that he was being smashed into the ground each time he fought? Did it really matter that the aches reminded him of Wu Yanzi’s beating—of Qiu Jianluo’s even? Did his pain matter?
Not to Shen Qingqiu, not for this, not for anything but especially not for this. He could handle it, for his soulmate he could handle anything.
Plus, it wouldn't actually be that bad if Shen Qingqiu hadn’t taken it upon himself to not hurt Liu Qingge while sparring, so really, this was his own fault.
He didn’t throw the fight, he did his best regardless, he had a feeling that Liu Qingge would hate him more if he deliberately let him win, a feat that he couldn’t even do considering the fact that he had no chance of winning, but he....hesitated.
It cost him sometimes. He couldn’t maneuver as freely and a whole host of his abilities were out of the question, but he managed.
It was even helpful—the restriction—it made him a better fighter. It didn’t let him win, but that still didn’t really matter either.
He didn’t want to hurt his soulmate, even if it wouldn’t actually hurt him.
Soulmates weren’t supposed to hurt each other, and if losing was the price he had to pay for doing his duty as a soulmate, then he would pay it gladly.
Plus, Liu Qingge wasn’t even being particularly harsh, he was just fighting regularly.
So what if every hit felt like a stab to his soul, so what if every punch made his heart ache, so what if his hands would shake when Liu Qingge pointed his sword at him with frosty eyes, so what if his efforts weren’t reciprocated?
What? Was Shen Qingqiu to just give up when he’d finally gotten closer to his red hyacinth? Was he to give into this measly pain when he’d survived far worse at a far younger age? Was he to give up on his soulmate when he’d already risked far more on a bond with far less surety? Could he not wait for his soulmate the way he’d waited for his Qi-ge, knowing this time for certain that he wouldn’t be abandoned? Could he not just wait, even when he knew for sure that his soulmate’s love was promised to him? Could he not just wait when he knew, knew for sure this time, it would just be a matter of time?
(What was he to do when he tried to not hurt his soulmate but Liu Qingge took every opportunity to hurt him?
What was he to do when Liu Qingge hurt him because he didn’t know that Shen Qingqiu was his soulmate?
Was he to give up? On his soulmate?
Shen Qingqiu—he couldn’t.
So what could he do except deal with it and have patience and be a good soulmate?
What could he do but take the bruises and the lacerations with the knowledge that they would stop as soon as a red flower bloomed on his body? That they would only stop after a red flower bloomed on his body.
Shen Qingqiu was very, very familiar with pain. He could deal with it for a little while longer, he could, he could wait.)
He could wait. So he would wait.
Shen Qingqiu was flipped by his right arm, the movement rough enough to make it pop out of its socket, the cold metal of Chen Luan a familiar weight on his neck, digging into the thin skin there until it bled slightly, just enough for it to sting.
“Yield,” said the stony, dispassionate voice.
Shen Qingqiu sighed quietly, willing away the tears before they ever formed in the first place.
“I yield.”
Shen Qingqiu was tired.
Everything felt hazy, his head was pounding, and his eyes were throbbing in tune with his heartbeat. It felt like a fog had fallen over his consciousness, masking everything but his awareness of his complete exhaustion, a sensation which seemed to be amplified in direct contrast to his fatigued brain’s capabilities.
Every inch of the energy left in his body went to his posture, making him sit perfectly as his shizun said something that made faint alarm bells ring in his soul. Shen Qinqgiu didn’t have it in him to pay them any attention, not when his entire self was being used to listen to his shizun.
“There’s something haunting the well near a village under Cang Qiong’s protection, little one, and we’ve been summoned for help. Now the mission will be a collaborative operation between the succeeding disciples of Qing Jing, Bai Zhan, and An Ding....”
“There is a mission for you, Qingge,” said Liu Qingge’s shizun, Feng Anhu. His voice was quiet, but firm, expecting to be obeyed without outright commanding it. Not yet, at least. “Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua shall be joining you, child.”
Feng Anhu held up a hand before Liu Qingge could even begin to complain, his eyes closed as if he wouldn’t even tolerate seeing a hint of protest.
Liu Qingge shut up, sullenly, hoping his protests would somehow be transmitted over to his shizun, despite his attempts to not personally witness them.
But could anyone blame him?!
It was a mission with two of the most useless martial siblings in the entire sect! No one would be happy!
(There was that discomfort once more when he thought of Shen Qingqiu, thought of his nature, thought about how vile and cowardly he was.
It had been getting better as that dastardly scholar began to become more useful at using the sword he possessed but it never fully went away.
It was....uncomfortable, the fact that it never went away, which just made his feelings amplify, as if they were a tumorous growth grating away at his....
His something—something that was important to him.
Then again, it was probably because Liu Qingge didn’t want such a pathetic martial sibling to be a fellow peak lord.
He couldn’t fathom another reason for the life of him, so it had to be that, it had to be his ethics—his morals making him feel this way.
....
It didn’t feel right, the feelings or the reason for his feelings, but it couldn’t be anything else, so it had to be that.)
“Qingge shall leave at dawn tomorrow.”
The trip to the village had been quiet, with Shang Qinghua the only one to try and make idle conversation as they flew on their swords.
His, admittedly slightly pathetic efforts, had trailed off as the quaint dwellings of the town had come into view. It probably hasn’t helped that the only responses he’d gotten had been single-worded and terse, fraught with tension, but that couldn’t be helped.
Liu Qingge had been grateful for the quiet once he’d shut up, but that was the only thing he had to be grateful for.
Shang Qinghua had run off as soon as the fighting had started, dark, misty spirits arising from the well like smoke from a fire pit.
For a single moment, Liu Qingge had felt appreciative of the Qing Jing scholar, at least he’d fought with the spirits while Shang Qinghua had just hidden himself away like a frightened Brown-Nosed Squirrel Mouse.
That appreciation had died a smoky death as Shen Qingqiu once again proved how utterly incompetent he was at fighting.
It was as if all the progress he’d shown in the past few months had gone down the drain, his movements becoming unrefined and jerky, like he was a novice once more.
He couldn’t even seem to hit the damn things, let alone kill them.
If this went on for much longer, they would be swarmed by the never-ending barrage of spirits.
Liu Qingge was trying his best but he was only one man, he couldn’t fight all the spirits by himself.
They would need backup, actual backup, if the spirits didn’t stop multiplying soon.
Liu Qingge noticed Shen Qingqiu twirling to face the well out of the corner of his eye, tracking the motion of his attack as it sailed harmlessly past the swarm of spirits and hit a single stone in the perimeter around the well, making it burst out in flames instantly.
He suppressed a scowl at the wasted attack, holding back his utter irritation for the future as he began another assault on the spirits that surrounded them.
It was as if he was in a bubble, surrounded on all sides by the misty figures enclosing upon him, his sword cutting a path through them towards the outside world.
He began to develop a system to mow down the ghosts, striking up a rhythm as became more familiar with them, his attacks becoming more streamlined. They weren’t hard adversaries but their sheer magnitude still posed a big threat for him, a threat that didn’t subside in any reasonable time frame.
It felt as if an entire age had passed by before Liu Qingge saw the hoard of spirits begin to thin, he had to chase the ones that were still left, killing them swiftly with a single stroke of his blade.
The end was in sight, despite the utter uselessness of his teammates, and the fact that he’d completed another mission successfully was almost enough to make him forget his irritation.
Except.
Except, suddenly, there was a stinging pain on his upper back, centered near his right shoulder, his dominant hand, and it wasn’t like the wounds given to him by the spirits.
No, this was familiar to him, the sting of spiritual energy lashing out against his hardened skin, sinking into it and tearing it apart, directly fighting against his own cultivation to destroy him.
It wouldn’t win, it wasn’t powerful enough to, but it had the potential to debilitate him, and had they been in the midst of a serious fight, it could very well harm him severely, if not cause his death outright.
Liu Qingge turned around with blood roaring in his ears, his eyes widening as he saw the figure of Shen Qingqiu aim at him with his sword.
There was a moment where he felt nothing at all, not his fatigue and certainly not the pain from his injuries, a moment where there was utter quiet.
Then the severity of the situation seemed to descend on his brain like a wraith of destruction on the less fortunate, making it difficult for him to think of anything but the evidence of betrayal in front of him.
He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think.
Shen Qingqiu, Shen Qingqiu, his-his martial sibling, someone he was supposed to be able to trust, had tried to kill him.
Shen Qingqiu had tried to kill him and that—
That hurt more than anything else in his entire life.
He’d been poisoned, bruised, beaten, nearly eviscerated, and yet, and yet, the cowardly attacks of a cowardly scholar hurt him more.
(He was supposed to be able to trust him, he knew it in his soul, he was supposed to be able to trust him.
He didn’t know why—he couldn’t even fathom how he felt such utter certainty—but he was supposed to trust him.
But he couldn’t.
And that hurt.)
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes were blown wide, filled with panic, the hand holding his sword was shaking slightly, and suddenly, everything made a bit more sense.
The apparent slide in his skills, the way he couldn’t seem to hit the spirits literally surrounding him, the way he seemed to aim at anything but the damn things trying to kill them all.
He’d wanted Liu Qingge to die, had wanted it to look like an accident, like a mission gone wrong, he’d wanted to make it look like he’d had nothing to do with it and he’d tried to kill him himself when that hadn’t worked.
And now he was panicking because his attempt at homicide hadn’t worked either.
He was panicking.
Shen Qingqiu was panicking because he hadn’t been able to kill Liu Qingge.
He’d tried to kill him.
That hurt.
It was visceral, his reaction to the mere statement, let alone his reality, and yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel anything but the pure, raw agony that was flooding his bloodstream.
It made him want to rage, to yell and scream and cry, it made him want to grab Shen Qingqiu by his shoulder and shake him until he understood that he wasn’t supposed to do that, it made him want to rip out his own hair and bruise his knuckles on tree bark, it made him want to lash out—
Liu Qingge readied his sword without giving it a second thought, flash stepping forward and plunging until he met resistance.
The feel of his sword digging into the dip between Shen Qingqiu’s collarbones made bile rise up in his throat.
Still. He kept pushing.
The spirits were behaving oddly.
Normally, they were easy opponents, destroyed by a single strike, but these ones.
They weren’t dissipating, not really.
They vanished somewhat when attacked, almost looking like they’d been vanquished, but the essence of their soul never went away. Instead, it seemed to scatter, scuttling behind the herd of ghosts to join them once more after they’d reformed.
That wouldn’t happen normally, unless-
Shit.
Shen Qingqiu nearly cursed out loud. The spirits were anchored to the realm of the living.
He’d despaired at first that there might be an endless supply of them, perhaps a rift in the well that made them appear in the multitudes he’d witnessed, but no, they were fucking anchored.
That was, technically, easier to deal with than a rift, the anchor points simply needed to be destroyed; a simpler task than closing a dimensional tear. It wouldn’t even be hard to figure out where they could be, it would make the most sense for them to be on the stones that made up the perimeter of the well, but pinpointing what they could be wasn’t the same as discovering which ones were the actual anchors.
He could destroy the entire well, that was true, but this was one of the few water supplies the village possessed, the entire reason behind the urgency in the mission, so that wasn’t a good plan. Plus, he was already running low on spiritual energy, he would need to conserve it for the fight afterward.
His only choice was to analyze the well for the telltale signs of an anchor point, slowly destroying them until he dismantled their hold over the spirits.
If Shen Qingqiu had just gotten an hour of sleep, an hour, he would’ve been able to find the anchor points quickly.
But he hadn’t gotten any sleep and he would have to pay the price for it.
It didn’t sit right with him that he was letting his soulmate fight the brunt of the spirits while he merely defended against them, but he had to focus his attention on finding the anchor points, it was the only way they would survive.
The points naturally had great camouflage—especially in daytime—as they were caused by a type of lichen that was able to blend in with any surface it grew on, a byproduct of its transparency.
They grew slowly and were finicky with their environmental needs, which was why they weren’t as much of a problem as they theoretically could be. It wasn’t entirely known how they linked the world of the living to the one of the dead but several threads of preliminary research had separately come to the conclusion that they merely trapped spirits that had recently died near them rather than steal them from the underworld itself, but that was neither here nor there.
While the lichen was hard to spot at first glance, it glowed slightly. It was hard to spot in daylight but the forest cover provided the bare amount of shade needed to identify it, so it wasn’t impossible.
It was faint, very faint, but it was visible and Shen Qingqiu had to set about destroying them, one by one.
(Usually, locating the heart of the lichen—the primary point of contact with which it accessed the source of the ambient spiritual energy it needed to survive—and destroying it would be enough to make it all crumble but he didn’t have enough time to focus on finding it.)
The lichen securing the presence of the spirits in the mortal realm crumbled after his fifth attack, his spiritual energy finally destroying the heart through sheer, dumb luck.
It was a relatively easy fight after that, now that the spirits could actually be banished.
It dragged on though, there truly was a concerning amount of them around here, the villagers were lucky that the spirits were bound to the area around the well, a limitation of the lichen’s hold, but the fight itself was monotonous.
Until one of the spirits had snuck up on his soulmate.
Shen Qingqiu had relaxed, slightly, when he saw one of the last spirits dissipate, turning around to see if there were still any rogue ghosts around for him to slay when he’d seen it.
It was one of the more powerful spirits, bigger in size and denser in presence—they were probably a cultivator in their previous life—and it was right behind his soulmate, poised to attack within the second.
Liu Qingge wouldn’t be able to see it in time, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself in time, not when there wasn’t enough of it for Shen Qingqiu to even yell out in warning, and because of that, he would get hurt.
He could die.
That thought made a chill run down Shen Qingqiu’s spine.
It was pure instinct, the way he reacted, his sword arching before him, sending a burst of spiritual energy to shred the adversary before him into pieces.
If he’d been just a bit more awake, just a bit more prepared, just a bit less reactionary, he could’ve made it so the attack wouldn’t harm a single hair on his soulmate’s body. He’d just needed to aim a little bit to the left, a feat he had the ability to achieve.
His precision was something he’d always been proud of but it was something that took time, time and energy, and he had neither so the excess amount of spiritual energy that had overflowed from his attack hit his soulmate.
He was lucky the battle was basically over, that kind of wound would have resulted in serious consequences had they still been in the thick of the fight. Of course, the spirit’s attack would’ve been worse, would’ve been fatal, but his own residual power could’ve been nearly fatal.
The very thought of his soulmate dying because of his mistake, his soulmate, the one who would love him and the one he loved, dying because of him, made his hand quiver.
He couldn’t quite mask the panic, he didn’t know anyone who could at the thought of their soulmate dying, and he couldn’t help but freeze as the severity of the situation hit him once more.
His soulmate had almost died, he’d gotten hurt—Shen Qingqiu had hurt him.
He’d saved him but he’d hurt him.
Time seemed to freeze as Liu Qingge turned around, his eyes widening with something distressingly close to betrayal.
(No, oh gods above, please, no.)
For a moment, Shen Qingqiu was aware of everything, from the way the leaves were rustling in the wind to the way his soulmate wasn’t breathing, staying perfectly still until the moment shattered.
Shen Qingqiu couldn’t make sense of anything after, it was all a blur; the colors blended into one another and the world seemed to flip as the tip of something sharp pressed into his soulmark.
The pain he felt then was different from the one the brand had given him; it was deeper, tugging at something in his core and ripping it out, destroying it in its entirety.
It smashed that something into pieces, the something that had just started to heal.
Shen Qingqiu would’ve howled from the sheer anguish if not for the fact that he could barely breathe, forced into immobility by the very thing that connected him to his soulmate.
It was like poison was spreading through his blood and taking control of his sinew, making him feel the greatest of agony while being able to do nothing about it, not even scream.
The sword, Cheng Luan, his soulmate’s sword, pushed deeper into his chest, intensifying the pain exponentially as it descended towards his heart. Still, Shen Qingqiu could do nothing but watch as it happened—could do nothing but wonder if his soulmate would actually kill him.
His answer would’ve been a resounding no before, even when his soulmate didn’t know who he was, they were soulmates—
(“Because I killed my soulmate with my own two hands and I never even got to know their fucking name.”)
But now-
Now that he could see the hatred in his soulmate’s eyes, the disgust, the sheer revulsion in the way his face contorted into something almost animalistic, his bloodshot eyes and snarling lips looking like a beast going in for the kill, he couldn’t say no for sure.
That thought, the mere thought that he couldn’t be sure that his soulmate wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t kill him—that was more painful than anything he’d ever been through.
But he didn’t understand where it had all gone so wrong.
He’d done his best, he’d tried to help, Liu Qingge would’ve died if he hadn’t killed that spirit. He’d-he’d hurt him in the process, Shen Qingqiu knew that, he would apologize for that, he didn’t mean to do that, but he’d done his best to do right by his soulmate, and he didn’t understand why—
Why his soulmate seemed to hate him so much.
Why, despite the gifts and the concessions and the obvious clues, he couldn’t seem to look at Shen Qingqiu and see anything more than vermin, why he couldn’t seem to see his soulmate.
He’d done his best to be patient and be kind and be a good soulmate with the limitations he was given—he’d done his best.
(Maybe.
Maybe he shouldn’t have forgotten that doing his best didn’t mean he’d done well, maybe he shouldn’t have forgotten that the world wasn’t his shizun’s bamboo house where he could get by with subpar work if he’d just done his best, maybe—
Maybe he shouldn’t have forgotten that Shen Qingqiu was rarely good enough for anything, anyone, even when he’d done his best.)
But his soulmate hated him anyway.
There was a strangled sound that finally, finally, escaped his throat as the sharp sword nearly breached his breast bone, stopping the descent of the blade.
There was a rustle of leaves behind him, the sound of someone hastily standing up and patting at their robes startlingly loud in the quiet that had descended upon them.
“Liu-shidi,” said Shang Qinghua in that oddly subservient way of his. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t see him but he could imagine the deferential smile he wore on his face, the one that fooled most people into thinking he was a docile little fool. “Let’s-let’s not be hasty, now,” he continued, laughing nervously.
He didn't speak further.
He didn’t try to clear up the misunderstanding.
Shen Qingqiu could help but analyze that, he hated himself for it, this wasn’t the time for analyzing, not when his soulmate was-was doing what he was doing, but he couldn’t help it.
Shang Qinghua had been behind Shen Qingqiu, he would’ve seen him defeat the spirit. He should’ve at least tried to clear up the misunderstanding, for the sake of future harmony if for nothing else, but he hadn’t.
Maybe Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t have let him if this was anyone else, his pride wounded by the fact that he’d tried to help and had been admonished anyway. He might’ve stopped him for literally anyone but his soulmate, but Shang Qinghua had no reason to believe that, he didn’t know him. Logically, he should’ve spoken up.
But he didn’t.
Shang Qinghua was smart, despite his best attempts to seem otherwise, he had to have done that on purpose then.
But to what end?
What did he achieve from sowing discord between two of his martial siblings?
It wouldn’t help his peak in any way, it might even harm it if their fights increased due to this incident, it would certainly put a dent in Cang Qiong’s strength—it emerged from cohesiveness after all—he had no benefit from doing this.
Unless.
Unless the sect, unless his peak and everyone in it weren’t his priority.
Unless he didn’t care about Cang Qiong.
Unless his goal was to harm Cang Qiong.
Unless that mission hadn’t just been bad luck, unless Shang Qinghua hadn’t just survived through a fluke, unless Shen Qingqiu’s suspicions had been correct.
He’d been right.
He had to tell someone, this-this was a danger to his sect, he had to tell someone—
No one would believe him, his only partial ally was that traitor and he’d already shot Shen Qingqiu down for being too suspicious. He had no other friends, he’d told his shizun and his Zhao-laoshifu, but they hadn’t been able to find enough proof and no one would—
No one would believe him. Not his sect, not his martial siblings, and—
And not his soulmate.
That was the problem wasn’t it, that Shen Qingqiu was untrustworthy, that he needed proof to prove to his own soulmate that he was worthy of the barest amounts of his affection, that he needed proof for his concerns to be heard let alone be acknowledged, he needed-he needed proof.
He needed proof to make his soulmate understand that it was a misunderstanding, it had to be, but he needed proof he wouldn’t get.
Because Shang Qinghua wouldn’t give it to him and he had no credibility on his own.
He needed proof, proof that he’d gotten to his position through his efforts alone, proof that he wasn’t just sabotaging his martial siblings on purpose and that his concerns had reasons, proof that—
That he was worthy of his soulmate’s love.
He wouldn’t get the proof, the trust, the time, the care, he would get nothing because—
Because his soulmate, the one person who was supposed to love him unconditionally, who was fated to care for him, was staring at him like he’d like nothing more than to drive his sword down to Shen Qingqiu’s heart.
Liu Qingge’s disgust hadn’t faded, his revulsion, his disregard, his utter hatred, nothing had faded. Shen Qingqiu could see that now. He wanted to kick himself for ever thinking otherwise.
Liu Qingge hated him and he wanted to kill him.
His soulmate wanted to kill him.
Shen Qingqiu didn’t know if he would stop him. He couldn’t, he was still frozen, but he didn’t know if he would even try.
(He had a feeling he wouldn’t.
He hoped he would but he had a feeling he wouldn’t.)
Liu Qingge growled, irritation flaring in his eyes as he backed away, tearing his sword away from Shen Qingqiu’s chest and throwing it on the ground with blood still dripping from its tip. He hopped on without another word and sped off, quickly becoming a speck in the sky.
Shen Qingqiu stayed motionless, his gaze never straying from the diminishing figure of the one person who was supposed to love him.
He didn’t move as Shang Qinghua approached him timidly, his hands enclosing each other as he presented himself to be almost apologetic, bowing to him with great aplomb. It was all a facade for certain, Shen Qingqiu had seen the calculating gleam behind those cowardly eyes. “This-this shidi would like to apologize for not being able to speak up for Shen-shixiong, this stupid shidi was just so stunned—”
Shen Qingqiu walked away without another word.
It wasn’t often that Shang Qinghua felt guilt.
The emotion itself was utterly useless, only serving to drag him down, but it was one he couldn’t help but feel occasionally, usually when he was with his shizun.
So he didn’t expect to feel it for Shen Qingqiu, especially since that bastard was the only one of their generation that seemed to be onto his little charade, the proverbial fly in the ointment that was his elaborate scheme to satisfy both the demon that held him under bonds of servitude and his shizun who shackled him with ropes of filial piety.
Shang Qinghua didn’t like him, and rightfully so.
Shen Qingqiu was his biggest enemy, he was actively, or at least attentively, trying to uncover his misdeeds, something that could ruin him utterly.
He was a threat; it was only natural for him to try and bring him down.
Of course, he’d tried before, he’d looked into his past and tried to figure out if there was any substance to the rumors floating around about him, had then subsequently tried to inflame the rumor mill into destroying his reputation utterly, to the point where there would be no feasible way in which he could be the next Qing Jing Peak Lord.
It hadn’t worked, not to the extent he needed to secure his survival.
If he’d had more slander to work with, something that didn’t just seem like jealousy—something that wasn’t the Qing Jing disciples ranting about how Shen Qingqiu was so unfit to be the succeeding disciple while trying their best to achieve his mastery in the same breath—then maybe he could’ve made it work.
But he didn’t.
His situation wasn’t dire of course, Shen Qingqiu’s personality had helped him where his own efforts had failed.
The Qing Jing disciple wasn’t well-liked even if there was a certain level of veneration given to him due to his sheer prowess with the arts—he seemed to take weeks to show improvement that others would have taken months or even years to accomplish—but that was all.
He wasn’t especially close with anyone, not even Yue Qingyuan who seemed to be particularly engrossed with him, another factor that greatly helped Shang Qinghua.
(He was still reeling from the fact that his attempts at making up a broken romance between the two had worked despite Shen Qingqiu striving to get as far away from the future sect leader as possible, but that was neither here nor there.)
The rest that actually mattered were all mostly indifferent.
Which was good but Shang Qinghua needed them to feel hatred.
Their indifference kept his precarious position in equilibrium but that was all it was, a shaky balance that could topple at any given moment. It would just take a single future peak lord to make him fall from grace, just one that struck up a friendship with Shen Qingqiu, enough that they began to trust each other.
The most likely one was Liu Qingge.
They’d been on countless missions together, Shen Qingqiu himself seemed to view Liu Qingge in a different light, and their possible relationship was helped along by the peak lords themselves, so it was just a matter of time before they began to get along.
(Shang Qinghua almost made the mistake of wondering why Shen Qingqiu seemed to be so drawn to Liu Qingge.
Almost.
To break apart soulmates—that was a sin that had never been committed before, that shouldn’t have been committed, not on purpose.
And if Shang Qinghua didn’t think about it, if he didn’t follow his train of thought down the path it wanted to take, then it remained that way.)
That couldn’t happen.
He’d been lucky, so extremely lucky. He’d been trying to subtly wedge them apart for months now, but the perfect opportunity had seemingly fallen straight into his lap from the heavens themselves.
It was so, so easy to let the misunderstanding fester—hopefully, it would continue to fester until Liu Qingge reported Shen Qingqiu and the Qing Jing succeeding disciple would be forced to leave—but the aftermath.
Shang Qinghua had felt guilt.
The devastation on Shen Qingqiu’s face—
(Don’t think about it.)
It was a momentary lapse in his self-control, he’d only done what was necessary for him to succeed, his intervention hadn’t been for any personal slight, really, he was just trying to survive.
Shen Qingqiu would understand.
Shang Qinghua knew nothing about his past, he hadn’t found anything (which was suspicious in and of itself but nothing wasn’t valuable information), but he’d seen those eyes. Shen Qingqiu was a survivor too. He would understand even if he didn’t like it, even if he didn’t like him.
Shang Qinghua didn’t need anyone to like him anyway.
So. The guilt was unnecessary.
Now if it would just understand that and fuck off, that would be great.
Because Shang Qinghua would really like to stop thinking about it.
Shen Qingqiu flew.
He didn’t know how, he didn’t even know why, his soul felt raw in a way that was too dreadful to describe even within the confines of his own mind, but he flew.
He flew to Cang Qiong, to Qing Jing Peak, to the only home he’d ever known. He flew to his shizun and his Zhao-laoshifu.
He flew and he choked back a sob.
One person, just one, he had one person who was supposed to love him, and he didn’t.
Shen Qingqiu had tried.
But Liu Qingge still hated him.
He hated him, and he’d tried to kill him when he was supposed to love him forever and ever with no take-backs—
(“There’s no such thing as soulmates, Jiu’er, not for people like us. Not for scum.”)
There was a sickening feeling in his gut as he got closer to his home, his breath speeding up as the bamboo hut became more visible.
He’d—the sect—his shizun—
Would he be allowed to go back? Would he still be welcome?
Liu Qingge had sped off before him, did he already tell the sect that Shen Qingqiu had tried to what—attack him? Hurt him? Had tried to kill him like he had?
(Would they believe him?
....
They would, wouldn’t they.
After all, Liu Qingge had never needed proof.)
Would there be a trial at least? Or would he just be booted off the peak?
Would there be a worse punishment?
Was he about to be stripped of his cultivation and tossed to the wolves? Was his fall from the grace he’d gotten through clawed hands imminent? Was his end near?
Was his soulmate going to destroy him after he’d tried to kill him?
(That-that would be the worst punishment of them all.)
Shen Qingqiu’s sword trembled, wobbling in midair a good seven feet off the ground. He tried to stay steady until he could get off safely but there was a hitch in his breath and suddenly, he was falling.
The world twisted and turned, his sight blurred by green foliage until he fell on his side, his ankle twisting under his weight as he smacked into the ground, his body almost bouncing before it slumped.
Pain radiated from his side like fire from coals, the cold ground leeching his body of any warmth. Tears finally dripped from his eyes, trailing down his nose and cheeks and falling into the spongy moss in front of him.
(He almost wanted to just stay there on the ground until the earth reclaimed him, the way it should’ve when he’d been a child.
It would’ve saved him a lot of misery.)
There was a buzz in his brain, masking most of his thoughts until it felt like he was walking through sludge. Bits and pieces of rambling phrases floated around his consciousness, none of them joining together to make a coherent sentence. The sensations he was feeling took a while to come through, as if they’d had to fight through a dense fog to be perceived.
His being felt bruised in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries, his lungs taking in breaths that felt like glass shards against his nerves, his eyes dripping acid that seared trail marks into his cheeks.
It was like his body had finally had enough, giving up its pretense of existence as it lashed out at everything that made it stay alive for even a minute longer.
Every pulse from his heart, every breath taken by his nose, every exhale given leave by his mouth seemed to only exist to prolong his suffering.
He couldn’t have been on the ground for long, a minute maximum, but it felt like an eternity, an eternity of a lulling hell that seemed to tear his skin off inch by inch until the festering creature inside Shen Qingqiu was laid bare to the world.
There was an echo of an insistence circling his mind, something about decorum and his personal image, but it was much too faint for him to give it any acknowledgment.
Everything seemed to snap back into clarity when gentle hands scooped him up, the smell of bamboo, ink, leather, and smoke enclosing around him as he was cradled against a firm chest.
The colors and feelings and emotions were in sharp focus now but Shen Qingqiu felt like a man drowning in a sea of misery, desperately trying to gasp for a second of relief before he was pulled back under.
There were questions being asked of him, panicked, concerned voices gently speaking into his ear with an undercurrent of urgency, but Shen Qingqiu couldn’t make his mouth work.
A hand brushed away his hair and the touch was so warm, so much like the kindness he could only feel in his dreams, the kindness he’d made up in his mind as he imagined the embrace of a parent to distract himself when pangs of hunger wracked his body, that he couldn’t help but sob once more.
He tried to stop, it was so pathetic of him to cry, but he couldn’t help it.
His chest heaved as tears flowed from his eyes like they were a spring, his throat aching as his cries seemed to be ripped from his chest without his permission, his face scrunching up until he must’ve looked absolutely appalling.
It was-it was unbecoming of him and he’d thrown away any sense of decorum he’d had but he couldn’t make himself stop. He tried to calm himself, holding his breath and forcing himself to just stop crying, but his attempts just seemed to further aggravate the problem, making him heave and cry and wail until black spots danced in his vision.
There were still voices trying to calm him down, gentle whispers in his ears, and comforting fingers running through his hair. Arms were holding him tightly, embracing him and shielding him from the outside world but none of it could stop him from collapsing.
Shen Qingqiu only hoped that when he woke up, it would all be a dream.
Shen Anwei patiently cleaned the wound on their son’s chest like a sinner hoping for the barest hints of forgiveness.
He blinked away his tears, focusing on making sure the laceration didn’t have any dirt in it as he dipped a new piece of cotton cloth into the bowl of warm water near him.
He made a final swipe across their son’s chest, his hand shaking as his fingers trailed across the brand, separated only by a thin piece of cloth.
His husband finished mixing up the herbal mixture that would be placed on the wound, his face pinched in a way that made him seem like he was desperately trying not to yell. Or cry.
His little one remained unconscious through it all, his face tinged with the evidence of the tears that seemed to ring in Shen Anwei’s mind, haunting him with more efficacy than any ghost ever had.
His husband’s hand trembled as he gently placed the herbal mixture, a Qian Cao cure that ensured that there wouldn’t be any pain or scars, onto the wound, flinching as he was once again faced with the horrendous brand.
The brand that proclaimed his son to be the property of the Qiu family, like he was chattel, like he could be owned.
They’d guessed at his background, had investigated too, they had theories that started and ended with a destitute family that didn’t deserve their son, but the brand—
Their child had been a slave to the Qiu family.
Shen Anwei had always abhorred slavery, had refused to have anything to do with it, but he’d done nothing to stop it. He’d thought it to be too ingrained in their way of life for him to be able to make a difference but now, he wished—
He wished he’d done more, done something.
He could’ve freed some of them obscurely. The laws of the land profited from slavery so he could never have legal help, but Shen Anwei was a cultivator, the second most powerful cultivator in their world, he could’ve done something— somthing to help.
It wouldn’t have been enough, he knew it, but at least it would’ve been something.
And maybe, maybe then he could’ve saved his little one sooner, maybe he would’ve stumbled upon him sooner, maybe their child could’ve been spared a lot of pain if he’d just done something sooner.
But the only thing Shen Anwei had done was come along with good intentions and wretched names, giving their son something just as permanent as the brand on his chest.
“We can fix this,” said his husband, quietly, snapping Shen Anwei out of his reverie. “We-we can fix this.”
Right, right they still had time, they could-they could fix it.
They could try and fix it.
“Would you like a different name, little one?”
They’d seen his slave brand, they’d seen his soulmark, they’d seen his chest.
They’d seen his wounds and they’d stitched him up, had bandaged his lesions and given him medication for the pain, and they’d stayed by his bedside to stand vigil.
And they were being kind.
Kind and gentle and utterly miserable.
He could hear the despair in his shizun’s voice, the guilt, and he hated himself for causing it.
It wasn’t their fault that he’d been a slave, it wasn’t their fault that the Qiu Family had tried to ruin his connection with his soulmate, it wasn’t their fault that their good intentions had been wasted on Shen Qingqiu.
None of this was their fault.
And yet.
And yet!
They felt guilt, they felt despair, they felt distressed and they were trying to fix it, were trying to fix something that-that wasn’t even a problem anymore.
Shen Qingqiu hated the Qiu Family, he really did, the very name made him feel repulsed, but he cared more for his shizun.
He cared more for the fact that his shizun had so painstakingly picked out a name for him, had patiently taught him all that he needed to know to live up to what the name represented, had treated him with utter kindness—all that mattered more to him than any name he could possess.
His shizun had given him that name, and he’d said that Shen Qingqiu had earned it, that he deserved it and he hadn’t meant it to be cruel.
The name wasn’t causing him pain.
But he couldn’t put all that into words, couldn’t muster up the energy he didn’t have to make them understand that they’d done nothing wrong, that all they’d been was kind, that they had cared for him when no one else would, that he would wear the name with pride because it came from them.
“No,” said Shen Qingqiu, hoping his sheer conviction had come through with that singular syllable. “This disciple—” he started, hoping to try despite the fire in his lungs increasing with every word he spoke, “—no.”
His breath hitched as he struggled, heavy gasps escaping his mouth as he tried to steamroll past the discomfort, his face twisting as he began to sweat.
His mouth formed the words he couldn’t speak, his throat refusing to give them the air they needed to be heard and it frustrated him.
“This disciple—” he started once more, stopping when the soothing hand of his Zhao-laoshifu danced over his scalp.
There were murmurs in his ear, his body being hoisted up to rest against his shizun, a gentle hand massaging his head as they helped him calm down once more.
“Okay, little sprout, we know, it’s okay,” said his Zhao-laoshifu with a voice that felt like silk against his frayed nerves. “Everything will happen as you wish it to be, dear one, everything will be fine.”
The phrase had always been ludicrous to him, he’d never believed it, but somehow, it didn’t seem as outlandish when he was snuggled between the only two people—it should’ve been four— who cared for him in the entire world. There was a part of him, however small, that believed it instantly, something small and huddled in the center of his mind that could never seem to think his mentors to be capable of doing any wrong.
It was foolish of him, but he believed them.
Everything would be fine.
“Would you like to go into seclusion for a little while, dear one? Just to recuperate,” asked his shizun, his voice still so soft, so comforting.
The answer came quickly to him.
“Yes,” croaked Shen Qinqgiu, speaking his answer into his shizun’s collarbone.
The world was not his shizun’s bamboo house, he’d learned that lesson quite harshly, had learned the lesson well, and that wasn’t something he would be able to face anytime soon.
(He wouldn’t be able to face his soulmate anytime soon.)
“Then that is what we shall do, little one.”
Shen Anwei closed the door behind him, making sure to make no sound as he did so. He leaned back then, letting his exhaustion show as he looked to his husband to start the conversation that they desperately needed to have.
“He hurt him, Xiao Wei,” said his husband and there was something so utterly pained in his voice. “We can’t let that happen again.”
Shen Anwei stretched out his hand, silently asking for his husband to come closer. He spoke only when he could cup his love’s face in his hands, his voice a mere whisper. “It’ll hurt him more if we separate them, my heart. They’re soulmates.”
“Soulmates shouldn’t hurt each other. He shouldn’t have hurt our little one,” his soulmate replied instantly— vehemently. He didn’t move away though.
Neither of them was wrong.
It was beyond evil to separate soulmates but it was unthinkable to hurt your soulmate in the first place.
It went against fate, it shouldn’t have happened, none of it should’ve happened.
But-
Shen Anwei licked his lips, his soul tearing at the fact that he was going to defend the person who’d hurt their son.
He’d vowed to protect his little one and yet, here he was, advocating for the one who’d hurt him so. It was utterly disgusting of him, and yet—
And yet, the person who’d hurt his son was his soulmate and that complicated things beyond compare.
Because Liu Qingge had hurt their Shen Qingqiu but he was their little one’s soulmate, and he didn’t know that he was their son’s soulmate and-
And their child had a brand on his chest, sitting atop his mark of jasmine.
“A’Lan,” started Shen Anwei, hesitantly. “Do you think—the brand, it’s on his jasmine, do you think—”
His husband froze in his grasp, his face flickering between different emotions before it settled on a familiar, desperate sort of rage.
Shen Anwei continued after taking a deep breath. “Do you think it’s affecting their connection?”
“I want to kill them,” his husband replied promptly, his voice choked. “How vile can someone be— I want to kill the Qiu family painfully.”
Shen Anwei closed his eyes, resting his forehead against his soulmate’s.
“Me too,” he responded, his voice resolute.
“It’s soulmates, Xiao Wei,” whispered Zhao Yunlan. “How can soulmates hurt each other?”
Shen Anwei didn’t respond. Instead, he leaned in, kissing his soulmate deeply, trying to soothe the bond that had been shaken by the recent happenings.
Soulmates were meant to love each other.
Soulmates were destined to meet.
Soulmates were fate.
Even infants knew that, knew that soulmates weren’t meant to hurt each other.
But this wasn’t a normal situation, nothing about it was, hell, they didn’t know the entire situation, all they knew was that their Shen Qingqiu was Liu Qingge’s soulmate and tearing apart soulmates resulted only in catastrophe.
They couldn’t-they couldn’t do that to their child.
It was soulmates for heavens’ sakes.
All they could do was support their child through it all.
Shen Qingqiu settled in, ignoring the cold seeping into his skin as he sat on the ground, crossing his legs and closing his eyes as he let out a deep breath.
It stuttered in his chest, but Shen Qingqiu forced himself to breathe normally, ignoring the rawness in his throat.
He reached for his fractured cultivation, cycling it through his crooked meridians, going slowly this time so as to not aggravate their bruised state.
It twinged in his extremities, his fingers and toes feeling tingly as sparks of electricity ran down his body.
He breathed in once more, holding it for longer than the last time as he finished a single cycle of his spiritual energy. His exhale was still too shaky for his meditation to be entirely fruitful but he powered on, urged by the fact that it would get better over time.
Shen Qingqiu relaxed his shoulders, settling in for what he knew would be a long time spent in seclusion.
Liu Qingge stared at the two jars of candied fruit in his hands, trying to decide which one would be better for his soulmate.
It had been odd when he hadn’t received his usual package—the one from his soulmate that held everything from the oil for his sword to ointments he could use to staunch blood flow—after three months had passed, but it was not altogether worrisome.
Liu Qingge knew his soulmate was very skilled, so they were probably just busy with work. Plus, his soulmarks still had their color, so they couldn’t be dead. Everything was fine as long as they weren’t dead.
But three months had turned into a year and Liu Qingge had started to worry.
It was the longest period of time he’d gone without something from his soulmate, not even the sensation of a single touch, and it lit his nerves on fire, making him snappish and irritable. At least, more so than usual.
There was an urge within him to check up on them, to make sure they were okay, something in his soul told him that they weren’t okay, and that terrified him.
He’d had similar flashes of concern in his childhood as well. There’d been nights where he’d woken up in a cold sweat because he was sure that they were being hurt and he had a wooden sword now so he could stop them from being hurt, he could protect them now.
He’d always been summarily dismissed, sent off to bed with a tight hug and reassuring murmurs mumbled into his ear, but it had certainty never gone away, he’d just learned to ignore it.
And then a small, white flower had bloomed on his body and the feelings couldn’t be ignored any longer.
Which made it that much harder to dismiss himself to bed, knowing he could do nothing for his soulmate without knowing who they were.
His arms could ache for the presence of his soulmate till they rotted off, his chest could burn with the longing he felt until it suffocated him, his hands could tremble from the sheer want he felt to merely hold their hand, but that wouldn’t change the fact that Liu Qingge was utterly useless for his soulmate.
He could do nothing for them, absolutely nothing.
He’d gone back to the old, empty jars he’d gotten from his soulmate, the ones he’d kept in the ornate shelf near his bed, and had poured over them, looking for a single clue he could decipher.
He looked to the notes, the calligraphy, the poems, the phrases, and the verses as if he hadn’t already done so a million times, hoping that he would find something this time, something that could lead him to his soulmate.
He’d stalked out the training field where the gifts were usually left, hoping to find the silhouette of the person that left his gifts, knowing it would be futile but trying anyway. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done the same thing before and he’d never found them then.
(His soulmate, they knew his schedule, they knew where he would be and what his obligations were. It wasn’t merely a routine, they had knowledge of the inner workings of Bai Zhan, from the shifts of the night watch, to the meetings attended by Liu Qingge.
That was a clue, the oil, the herbs, the medicine, the calligraphy, the poems, everything was a clue.
But Liu Qingge couldn’t figure out what the clues lead to.
He couldn’t figure out why his soulmate wouldn’t just show him their mark of jasmine, he couldn’t understand why they were being secretive, he couldn’t understand why they hid behind such riddles, he couldn’t understand.
He was dumb, he was dumb, he’d been called that by every person under the sun for as long as he’d been alive—he’d heard them even when his family had told him to ignore them, he was the Young Master of the illustrious Liu Family who couldn’t even parse out the meaning of a simple poem—he was dumb and he couldn’t understand.
He was dumb so he didn’t know who his soulmate was, he was dumb and they were hurt and Liu Qingge wanted to help them—
But he didn’t understand.)
Nothing had worked, of course it wouldn’t, nothing had changed, nothing but the fact that his soulmate wasn’t giving him gifts— clues anymore.
Of course, Liu Qingge hadn’t given up, he couldn’t give up on his soulmate, not them, never them, but he’d....backtracked.
He couldn’t figure out their identity any time soon, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t reciprocate their care.
So he’d left them baskets in turn, filled to the brim with medicine, talismans, rare plants, and some money.
The only thing he’d been able to make was the medicine, a skill he’d learned to avoid going to Qian Cao, and it made him feel inadequate—his soulmate had made almost everything they’d given him—but Liu Qingge had carried on, vowing to learn and do better next time.
He’d placed the basket in the same training field, the same rock, the same everything, hoping his soulmate would see it and be able to collect it.
The basket had rotted after a month, everything in it spoiling as no one was there to make use of it.
Liu Qingge hadn’t deliberated on the why, he’d merely moved on to the next gift, making it better than the last.
The second one had rotted too.
So had the third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, and so on until three years had gone by without a single word from his soulmate.
(People had noticed.
People had talked.
People had stopped talking after Liu Qingge had beaten them into the ground for it, a result of him challenging them to a duel for disparaging his soulmate.
Ungrateful, they’d called him.
Liu Qingge took vicious glee in the fact that they could talk no longer afterward, not for a long time.)
Still, Liu Qingge carried on.
He’d wait for as long as it took for his soulmate to come to him, he would wait.
And in the meantime, he’d give them the gifts they deserved, the love they deserved.
So, Liu Qingge deliberated between the jars of candied fruit, weighing their health benefits as he went over a mental checklist, making sure he’d packed everything he’d wanted to pack into the basket.
The basket was gone, the basket was gone.
Liu Qingge couldn’t suppress his grin for the life of him, staring at the empty spot where his gift had been previously.
The basket was gone.
There was a flare of hope in his chest at the prospect of interacting with his soulmate once more, a desperate kind of relief that they hadn’t abandoned him completely, his heart palpating with the excitement at hopefully knowing his soulmate’s reaction.
He hoped they liked his gifts, he hoped they didn’t mind his simple letter, he hoped they—
He hoped that they would be able to meet him soon and hoped that whatever was causing them to shield their identity was resolved soon, and he hoped that he would be able to protect them soon, hold them soon, he hoped he could tell them he loved them to their face and even if he couldn’t, he hoped that they knew.
The basket was gone.
And Liu Qingge couldn’t help but hope.
Shen Qingqiu stared at the basket and didn’t know what he was supposed to do.
He’d come out of three years of seclusion to the cheery, yet anxious, faces of his shizun and his Zhao-laoshifu, his eyes immediately focusing on the way they held each other for support.
He hadn’t been able to see it for long, his Zhao-laoshifu had hugged him tightly as soon as he’d stepped out of closed-door cultivation, but the momentary glimpse of what soulmates were supposed to be like—that was enough to make him feel like his three years of seclusion had been entirely worthless.
There’d been such an acute ache in his chest that, for a moment, he’d felt like he was back in that forest clearing, looking into his soulmate’s eyes as he drove a sword down to Shen Qinqgiu’s heart.
The pain that came from seeing what he didn’t have was trumped only by his sheer desire to have it, have the love he was seeing constantly.
He wanted to be held by his soulmate, wanted to be enveloped by his arms, wanted him to be the one to comfort Shen Qingqiu after he’d had a bad day.
He wanted someone to share knowing glances with, wanted to wake up next to someone and be a part of their morning routine, drinking tea and eating breakfast together as they made light conversation, wanted to know that he had a person to return to, that he would never be alone anymore.
He wanted to have a hand to hold whenever he wanted to hold a hand, and he wanted to have a chest to lean into when he needed support.
He wanted what his mentors had. He wanted the serene nights, and he wanted the shared lives, and he wanted the home he could have with his soulmate.
He hadn’t been able to see many soulmates in his early life, but each and every single bond he had seen had been.... perfect.
Simply and utterly perfect.
He wanted his soulmate.
But he didn’t have him.
He hadn’t had the time to dwell on it then, he’d been whisked away to Mu Qingfang who had, once again, enquired about his soulmate only to urge him to be patient and kind and wait as if Shen Qingqiu hadn’t already done that, as if he hadn’t already tried and tried and tried.
He’d left Qian Cao with advice about being good to his soulmate ringing in his ears and a heavy feeling in his stomach, only to find that his soulmate-
Liu Qingge had been leaving him gifts.
Or at least, he’d been leaving his soulmate gifts.
He’d been doing it for two years.
He’d followed Shen Qingqiu’s schedule too.
He’d left him gifts.
He’d left him a basket with rare plants, including a Cherry-Belled Apple Blossom that Shen Qingqiu had been trying to find for ages. He’d also given him medicine, fucking candied fruit, and—
And a note. A letter, to be more accurate.
Shen Qinqgiu’s hands trembled as he slowly opened the letter, hearing the rush of his blood in his ears and feeling his heartbeat in the tips of his fingers.
My love, it read and Shen Qingqiu inhaled sharply.
I hope you’ve been well.
I haven’t, Shen Qingqiu wanted to yell, I really, really haven’t . Instead, his fingers just tightened their hold over the fragile letter. He blinked quickly to stave off his tears, unwilling to shed a single one until he’d finished the letter.
I hope you’ll enjoy your gift and I hope you’ll find it in yourself to forgive me if you do not. I promise to do better once I meet you.
This isn’t to say that I’m unwilling to wait. Take as long as you need, my love, I’ll be here.
I’m not good with words, my cousin-sister is still helping me with these letters, but I just want you to know that I love you. I hope you know that.
I hope to meet you soon—
Shen Qingqiu had to stop reading, closing his eyes and holding the letter to his chest as his body trembled. He did what he’d been doing for years to calm down, holding his breath and letting it go slowly, knowing that it wouldn’t help much at all.
Still, he did it anyway, the phantom sensation of gentle voices guiding him ringing in his ears as he forcefully steadied himself.
His composure was held together by hope alone, about to snap at any moment, but Shen Qingqiu had persisted on far less before so he persevered.
The rest of the letter was just as sweet, as hopeful, full of loving promises and hesitant questions, the tone nervous but excited.
Shen Qingqiu ran a finger over the calligraphy, tracing the letters and the way they were formed. It wasn’t particularly artistic but the characters were pleasant to look at, entirely appropriate for a man of Liu Qingge’s status. There was a forcefulness with which they were crafted, a sort of straightforwardness that came through the calligraphy due to its simplistic nature.
Shen Qingqiu had seen the work of masters before, veritable giants in the field of calligraphy, and yet, his soulmate’s writing seemed more appealing to him than all their works combined.
Maybe it was the love that was so clearly expressed in the phrases, in the way Liu Qingge referred to Shen Qingqiu, the way he called him ‘my love’ and seemed to mean it.
Shen Qingqiu let himself have a single moment more of being pathetic, a single moment of weakness, a single tear.
It traveled down his cheek irritatingly, as if it was deliberately reminding him of its existence, dripping off his chin and onto the letter he held in his hands.
The ache came back with a frightening vengeance, as if it was punishing Shen Qingqiu for ignoring its existence.
His soulmate hated him, hated Shen Qingqiu, but Liu Qingge loved his soulmate.
And the bond between soulmates was beautiful, unbroken, and perfect.
And the bond between soulmates needed constant effort, and Shen Qingqiu just needed to be good, be better, and try.
His soulmate hated him but Liu Qingge loved his soulmate and—
He couldn’t give up, not when there was still hope.
Shen Qingqiu had crawled out of far greater hells with far less hope. He could still have this, the love Liu Qingge so clearly felt for his soulmate, the one he expressed in words and the one he could see thrive on his skin, the stems and leaves of his soulmarks holding a healthy, vibrant green hue.
So how could he give up now?
Shen Qingqiu drafted a letter of his own, his hand hesitating as he debated the last sentence he’d written.
His own gift for Liu Qingge had been packed up, all that was left was the letter he’d written.
The contents had taken him longer than the thirty-page report he’d done on the medical properties of the Glimmering-Horned Hummingbird’s feathers, but he’d needed to make sure it was perfect.
He’d weaved in more clues, simplified them, and hoped for the best, but he’d also put in a request.
He’d asked for the previous letters Liu Qingge had written.
It might be pitiful for him to do so, but—
The letters were loving when his soulmate was anything but and he—
He wanted them. He needed them.
Plus, Liu Qingge had said he could ask for anything, so he’d asked for the letters.
He didn’t know how it would look, he didn’t know if Liu Qingge would judge him for it, he didn’t know if he should risk it, but he really, really wanted the letters.
Shen Qingqiu made up his mind, slipping in the letter and closing the basket decisively, refusing to doubt it for another second.
He stretched out his hands, cracking his knuckles and his neck in the way his shizun always winced at, before he stood up, walking out the door to deliver his gift for his soulmate.
Liu Qingge grinned brightly, sitting on his bed and rereading the letter he’d received from his soulmate.
He’d found his old letters and put them in his soulmate’s gift basket, endeavoring to give it to them early this time.
He fell on his back as he gazed over the perfect, elegant calligraphy, a tight, warm feeling in his chest as he brought the letter closer to his face, inhaling the jasmine scent as he pressed a reverent kiss to the fragile paper.
He lay there in bliss for a solid minute, savoring the way his joy couldn’t seem to be contained, when the pitter-patter of feet interrupted him.
“Liu-shixiong!” yelled one of his shidis. “Shen Qingqiu is asking for a rematch! Again!”
Liu Qingge’s smile dropped.
A broken arm and a busted lip were the results of their first rematch since the mission with the well.
It’d been a quick fight on Liu Qingge’s part, he’d dispatched Shen Qingqiu with the ruthlessness he usually reserved for the monsters he hunted, but it had left him feeling sick, like his insides were revolting against existing.
Liu Qingge hadn’t been able to help the rage, the betrayal he’d felt at seeing that bastard’s face, and his body had moved before his mind had been able to catch up. Shen Qingqiu had ended up sprawled out on the ground before he’d known it, his breath knocked out of his lungs as his hair was spread out around him, his arm twisting in the wrong direction as he sported a busted lip.
The tip of Liu Qingge’s sword had rested on his breastbone, near the bottom of where his soulmark should be, and a violent wave of nausea had risen up in his throat to the point where continuing the spar had been near impossible. Not even the scent of jasmine that always encompassed his senses when he used his blade could comfort him then.
So he’d retreated and Shen Qingqiu had returned to Qing Jing to nurse his wounds.
He’d come back a week later, asking for a spar once more.
He had to give it to the snake, he didn’t back down even after the countless defeats he’d suffered. His sheer willpower was almost commendable.
Liu Qingge didn’t even try to think about his motivations. Musing about everything being a plot to kill him left him feeling lightheaded, like he’d been bleeding from a wound to his heart, but he’d never been able to find a cause for such irrational feelings.
Nevertheless, his confusion didn’t stop his blows from gentling as time went on.
It might be the begrudging respect—Shen Qingqiu wasn’t good but he was still better than most of Liu Qingge’s competition, and it was fun to fight him, he made it interesting.
It might also be the weird look in his eyes when he thought no one was paying attention to him. Liu Qingge always was, he couldn’t help that any more than he could help the volcano of bitter feelings that erupted in him when he saw the bastard, but he didn’t understand why Shen Qingqiu seemed so sad all the time, so pained.
It was easier to see now, he didn’t know why, perhaps it was the sheer exposure, but Liu Qingge could see the slight pursing of Shen Qingqiu’s lips and read the frustration behind it, knew that the crinkle at the corner of his left eye meant fatigue, the clench of his fingers over his fan screamed anger, and he knew that it was sadness lurking in those green, green eyes.
(He wondered what happiness was on Shen Qingqiu, what peace looked like, how joy colored his features.
It bothered him that he didn’t know.)
He looked sadder when Liu Qingge’s blows landed with more force and left more bruises than was entirely necessary. It wasn’t just a desire to not be hurt, it was true sadness, a flash of a feeling that seemed to emanate from his core, something entirely hurt and desperate.
As such, his blows had softened of their own accord and his attacks had lost their ferociousness and Shen Qingqiu had lightened.
It was so gradual, he wouldn’t have noticed it before. Shen Qingqiu seemed almost hesitant, but he’d lightened.
The sadness in his eyes had retreated, just a little.
(It never went away, Liu Qingge realized.
Not really. It just faded to the background, replaced by an emotion that was more strongly felt in the moment, but it never went away.
There was always that depth to his eyes, always, layers that Liu Qingge could see in orbs that had just been cold gems to him a few years ago, and sadness was an ever-constant one.
That bothered him too.)
The spars became almost pleasant as that happened, with Liu Qingge even beginning to enjoy himself, going as far as to look forward to them. An ember would light up in his brain, spreading to his chest, tingling across his body, and for a moment, everything would feel rosy and warm and right.
And then it would crash.
Because he would remember then who Shen Qingqiu was, would remember that he was a cowardly, treacherous scholar, would remember that he’d tried to kill Liu Qingge and the bitterness would come back like it had never left in the first place.
There was an edge of cruelty to his hits when that happened, one he couldn’t pull back despite his best efforts. A bone or two would break, a bruise would bloom, and the eyes would go back to sad, sad, sad and—
Liu Qingge would feel sick to his stomach.
It was like a vicious cycle, bringing him relief and pain in equal amounts but he could do nothing to stop it.
His only saving grace was his soulmate. They seemed to know when he’d had a bad day, their baskets showing up in their habitual spot with frightening accuracy. Liu Qingge wondered if they could feel his emotions somehow, or were just close enough to glean it from his face. He hoped it was the latter, at least then there was a chance that he would find them soon.
But it had been a bad day that day, and Shen Qingqiu had fought him anyway even though he knew, he knew when Liu Qingge was having a bad day, and the end result had been at least three broken ribs and a dislocated knee.
(Sad, sad, sad, and green, green, green.)
It took great effort on his part to not vomit and it was all almost ruined anyway by the familiarity with which Shen Qingqiu popped his knee back into its socket, not even flinching at the motion when Liu Qingge had seen better men cry for their mothers at the same injury.
It made him feel worse, the casualness with which the injury was treated, especially since his brain chose that moment to replay to him the most grievous injuries Shen Qingqiu had received, courtesy of Liu Qingge.
(Bruises and breaks and burns and cuts and—
His sword, sinking into Shen Qingqiu’s breastbone, almost, almost breaking through.)
It was as if he could pinpoint every bruise, every cut, every break, like it had been inflicted on his own skin and branded onto his bones. Liu Qingge didn’t have the best memory but he had a feeling these recollections were all accurate and that—
Liu Qingge couldn’t handle that.
So he’d fled. Again.
Or rather, he’d retreated quickly, not sticking around to see how Shen Qingqiu would get back to his own peak.
He didn’t want to handle that either.
Shen Qingqiu had tried to heal his wounds on the way back to his peak, his spine as straight as it could be considering the circumstances.
He’d gotten used to the pain by now, it was barely even mentionable, really the sting of rejection he felt when Liu Qingge always walked away like Shen Qingqiu was nothing more than a minor inconvenience was far more hurtful, but his shizun and Zhao-laoshifu....they worried.
He never let them see the full extent of his injuries, he suspected that he’d be entirely forbidden from sparring with Liu Qingge were that to happen, but it wasn’t always in his control.
Sometimes his injuries would just need more time to heal and sometimes his shitty cultivation got in the way. When that happened, there wasn’t much that he could do to stop them from seeing, to stop them from worrying.
It was worse when they were together, they fed off of each other’s anxiousness until he could see the concern drip from their every action, but even separately, their care was a force to be reckoned with.
He’d been lucky, only his Zhao-laoshifu had seen him this time, but it still wasn’t ideal.
His dislocated knee wasn’t as swollen and his broken ribs were better by a significant margin, but it was still a more serious set of injuries than he usually possessed, which meant that his Zhao-laoshifu would freak out.
And when he freaked out, he tried to convince Shen Qingqiu to give it all up, to give up on his soulmate.
“Three broken ribs,” started his Zhao-laoshifu, right on schedule. Shen Qingqiu felt a twinge of guilt at the soft, almost despairing tone. “And a dislocated knee.”
Shen Qingqiu remained quiet, refusing to meet his mentor’s eyes.
His Zhao-laoshifu sighed then, finishing tying up the brace for his knee as he sent cooling streams of spiritual energy into the injury to promote healing.
“You can’t keep doing this, little sprout,” he began once more. “Who will patch you up once we’re gone?”
Shen Qingqiu froze.
It wasn’t exactly a forbidden topic, the impending ascension of his guardians, but they’d noticed that Shen Qingqiu didn’t like to talk about it, so they’d always skirted the topic entirely. He’d appreciated them for it, the thought of his shizun and his Zhao-laoshifu leaving, well, it didn’t exactly fill him with joy.
But this-this was blunt and to the point. And it wasn’t a point he wanted to hear.
Shen Qingqiu stayed quiet for a long while after, his face expressionless before he lifted his head and met his mentor’s eyes for the first time that evening. “Zhao-laoshifu, who will I have when you’re gone if I don’t do this?”
They were ascending, they were ascending, they were ascending, they were ascending—
They were gone.
Shen Qingqiu was alone now.
He was dressed in the finest robes he possessed, the absolute best An Ding could offer him for the ascension ceremony, looking like the peak lord he’d worked hard to be, but they were gone.
The most important moment of his life and they weren’t even here because their ascension was the very cause of his succession.
They’d ascended, successfully ascended, and he was so, so relieved. He didn’t doubt them—it wasn’t likely for them to fail, but his worries had never been founded entirely on logic—but the fact that they’d succeeded had made him relax anyway.
But they weren’t here anymore.
This was supposed to be the happiest moment of his life, he’d become a peak lord, he’d become Qing Jing’s peak lord, he was everything he’d always wanted to be—powerful, graceful, venerated—he’d achieved exactly what he’d wanted to achieve.
And no one was here.
He was in his bamboo house, alone, having refused the aid of his new disciples when they tried to help him dress, and there was not a single soul near him to share in his success.
They were gone, his shizun and his Zhao-laoshifu—the closest thing he’d ever had to actual parents—and they’d left him behind.
And he was all alone.
He was powerful, he was the Qing Jing Peak Lord, he was the Xiu Ya sword, he was a highly sought after artist whose paintings hung in imperial palaces, his compositions could make entire courts weep, his research was always sought after, he—
He was all alone.
His Qi-he had betrayed him, his soulmate hated him, and his parents had left him.
He had no one.
He was all alone.
Shen Qingqiu walked woodenly to the door of his bamboo house, unwilling to indulge in his weakness, in his tears, when something green caught his attention from the corner of his eye.
It was a pendant, about the size of his palm, placed on his corner of the table they used to drink tea. He walked towards it, picking it with curiosity burning in his veins, masking the desolation he’d felt moments prior.
The carvings on the pendant were beautiful, shifting from scenes of grassy hills to ones of a flock of birds, the species changing from high-flying Raptor-Eagles to small birds of prey, like the Shrill-Songed Sparrows.
The birds flocked to his fingers, the branches and trees shifting until it seemed like the carvings were using them like a perch, while the breezes would blow in the mountainous scenes to make it seem like the flower blossoms were flowing towards his hand.
Shen Qingqiu probed it with a thin thread of his spiritual energy, quietly gasping at the reaction, his eyes widening with wonder.
It felt like his entire body was being held in the tightest of grips, the sensation becoming comforting instead of constricting as threads of his parents’ spiritual energies weaved through the array that must’ve been carved onto the jade, making it seem like they were there with him and were embracing him with pride.
There were emotions sent at him through the enchantment, the feeling of love being the most prominent of them all, the kind he’d first felt in the bony embrace of his Qi-ge as his brother protected him from the dangers that lurked around them.
The thought didn’t even manage to bring up the bitterness it usually would, the magical sensation of the utter comfort he was feeling soothing away everything until it all felt pleasant.
Shen Qingqiu didn’t even try to stop himself from smiling.
(Liu Qingge—dressing on his own peak with the help of his new disciples in robes far too intricate for his own taste—felt his lips twitch up like they were being pulled by a string.
The sensation sent a burst of actual mirth through his body, making his involuntary smile turn into a genuine one.
His soulmate was smiling.)
The spiritual energy surrounding him seemed to perk up at his reaction, flittering around him quickly, seemingly asking for his attention.
Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes, basking in the feelings surrounding him with a lopsided grin on his face, a flash of his pearly white teeth visible from behind his peachy lips.
He tilted his head up, still giddy from the utter peace he felt, straining his ears to hear the message that had been embedded into the pendant.
“You will always have us, dear one.”
Liu Qingge took another sip of his wine, the finest of Zui Xian Peak, surveying the feast that was happening in full swing with a distant look in his eyes.
It was traditional of course, the feasts and the banquets and the fireworks, but it was a more solemn affair for the newly minted Peak Lords, a melancholy time for them to realize the weight of the fact that they were in charge now.
There would be a grace period, more so just precedent than actual tradition, but it was still the first time they would be without the guidance of their shizuns, without the help of the guiding hand that had always been there before.
It was a humbling thought and a humbling time.
There was still joy in the air—every single peak lord of the previous generation and their soulmates had ascended without a problem, and they’d been trained for this exact position—but it was a tempered one, not the vibrant kind expressed by his other sect-mates.
As such, the new peak lords had banded together, loosely forming a circle as they viewed the merrymaking with genuine happiness and nervousness alike. They were the only ones who understood what everyone was feeling after all.
There were small, hushed conversations happening between the peak lords, congratulations being given to the Qiong Ding-Qian Cao couple for their betrothal and their upcoming nuptials, inquiries into each other’s specialties and their personal lives, almost as if it was an unofficial get together.
(They’d all been sent on various missions and had had to get to know each other before, but this was the first time it was entirely of their own prerogative, so it felt more special somehow, as if this was the actual start of their relationship.)
Liu Qingge hadn’t participated extensively but he’d paid attention and answered when asked a question, even posing some of his own when something caught his interest, but he’d mostly just observed.
Which put him in the perfect position to hear their Zhangmen-shixiong ask Shen Qingqiu about his soulmate.
It was almost as if the atmosphere itself had become heavier, everyone’s conversations becoming quieter as they pretended to not pay any attention to the seemingly innocent inquiry.
Liu Qingge couldn’t even fault them for it, considering that he was doing much the same.
He didn’t think there was anyone in the sect who could fault them for it, not when their relationship had been so weird.
There were still rumors running around about them, rumors his cousin sister believed to be false, but their relationship had always been peculiar and regardless of the fact that it probably wasn’t romantic, there was certainly something there.
Even Mu Qingfang had seen it, he’d even confided in Qi Qingqi for his fears.
He had mellowed out recently though, his anxiousness fading as he almost became fond of the Qing Jing discipl—Peak Lord.
That didn’t change the fact that there was a weird tension between the two, something heavy in their interactions that made people stop and stare as they tried to figure it out.
Today was only slightly different. Shen Qingqiu had still become almost rigid at the question, his spine straightening imperceptibly, but his eyes hadn’t gone cold, his mouth hadn’t done that thing it did when he was displeased, his jaw didn’t clench for the single moment that was customary of his distraughtness, and, most importantly, he’d answered.
Liu Qingge gave up all pretenses of disinterest at that.
“A’Fang told me that Qingqiu-shidi is also courting his soulmate,” Zhangmen-shixiong had said, his voice gentle, not knowing that he’d shaken Liu Qingge’s worldview entirely.
“Mmn,” Shen Qingqiu had replied, surprising Liu Qingge further. “This shidi is.”
Yue Qingyuan had looked delighted at the admittance, his face lighting up at the warmer reception he was receiving, but Liu Qingge hadn’t been able to match his happiness.
Shen Qingqiu? Courting his soulmate? He knew who his soulmate was? Shen Qingqiu?
Shen Qingqiu was courting someone?
Shen Qingqiu’s soulmate?
It wasn’t a topic Liu Qingge had thought about before, but now that the idea had appeared in his mind, he found that it was impossible for him to let it go.
The existence of an entity such as Shen Qingqiu’s soulmate made him feel shaky, as if he was hanging from a rope over the Endless Abyss itself.
The idea of an unknown figure standing at Shen Qingqiu’s side, sleeping next to him on their bed, having the right to hold his hand and run their fingers through his hair, having the chance to see how his face looked when he was utterly happy, it made him feel sick.
It shouldn’t have affected him so, shouldn’t have made him have the urge to yell and scream and rage, shouldn’t have made it seem like there was something utterly and deeply wrong about the current situation but it did, it did and he had no idea why.
(The idea of someone calling Shen Qingqiu theirs, someone who wasn’t-
Who wasn’t-
Who wasn’t who?)
He hated how it felt, the uncertainty, the fear, and he tried to hold the back words, he really did, even as he said it he knew it wasn’t the right thing to say, he was being cruel but—
“I pity the person who’s your soulmate, Shen Qingqiu,” slipped out before he could stop it, “they must've done something truly terrible in their previous life to deserve you.”
It was almost funny how quickly everyone stopped talking.
It wasn’t funny how Shen Qingqiu’s head had snapped to him, his eyes widening before every trace of mirth, of serenity, drained from his green, green eyes.
(Sad, sad, sad, sad, sad—)
‘I didn’t mean it,’ he instantly wanted to say, ‘I don’t mean it.’
But Shen Qingqiu had walked away before he could even try, his pace hurried and abrupt, nothing like the graceful stroll he usually adopted.
(Liu Qingge wanted to follow, wanted to stop Shen Qingqiu from walking away from him, the image of his back becoming a speck in the night sky was making his heart feel like it was about to explode, but he couldn’t make his legs work, he couldn’t make his mouth yell the ‘stop’ that was stuck in his throat.)
No one spoke afterward, polite smiles froze on their face as they fidgeted in place, hanging around until they could find an excuse to leave.
The only one that stayed was his cousin sister who walked to him with calculating eyes, no doubt trying to figure out what had caused him to act so-
So cruelly. There was no way around it, he’d been cruel.
“Why?” she asked, simply. He liked that about her, the straightforwardness with which she approached him. She would be his staunchest supporter if he had an actual reason and the first person to oppose him with a smack to his head if he was doing something wrong.
But Liu Qingge had no reason to give her.
He tried again to vocalize the pit of snarling emotions in his chest, the amalgamation of all of his memories and feelings relating to Shen Qingqiu, how every interaction, every negative interaction made him feel off-balance, like he was teetering on the precipice of certain doom, but that was a lost cause. There were no words for him to grasp that could explain his feelings, no sentences, no phrases that could describe what he felt for Shen Qingqiu, at least, none that he knew.
(It was the same thing that had happened when he’d tried to report the attempt on his life to his shizun, the same suffocating feeling until he’d just given up entirely, unwilling to try for a moment more, too afraid of the way his body had seemingly tried to tear itself apart at the endeavor.)
It was even harder to explain to her the causes behind his feelings, how Shen Qingqiu had been a cowardly scholar in their first fight and how he’d tried to kill him in their last mission. The idea of admitting to someone that Shen Qingqiu had tried to kill him made him feel utterly worthless.
So, he stayed quiet.
Qi Qingqi didn’t give up though. “Why do you pity them then?”
He didn’t.
But that didn’t explain why he’d felt such unease at their existence, why he’d felt such horror.
It could be because Shen Qingqiu was a traitorous, cowardly, pathetic scholar, and no one deserved someone like that as their soulmate, that was an explanation.
He knew it wasn’t the correct one though.
He just....didn’t have one. For anything.
“You don’t know why, do you,” said Qi Qingqi, making it clear that it wasn’t a question.
“I don’t,” responded Liu Qingge, his voice barely loud enough to be heard. “I really, really don’t.”
That wasn’t good enough, Qi Qingqi realized as she watched her baby cousin walk away forlornly, his eyes confused. The answer wasn’t good enough.
But it was the only one he could give, Qi Qingqi knew that.
So, she made it her mission then, to keep an eye on the Qing Jing Peak Lord.
Their relationship had always been tumultuous, Qi Qingqi had just chalked it up to strong personalities clashing, she’d been sure that they would work it out sooner or later.
But they hadn’t.
And she didn’t know why.
Granted, she didn’t know much about Shen Qingqiu, he was much more of a recluse than some of her other martial siblings, but she’d always thought that they almost suited each other.
It was the resolve she could see in both of their eyes, the straightness with which they held their spine. She’d thought it would only be a matter of time before they became at least amicable, if not close.
But something had happened, something had kept happening, and they never seemed to work it out.
She hadn’t intervened before, Liu Qingge needed to learn how to resolve his own social problems, but now—
There was pain in his eyes.
And she couldn’t just stand by and watch when her baby cousin was hurting.
There would be hell to pay if Shen Qingqiu had hurt her baby cousin brother, she would make sure of it.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Years and months and weeks and nothing.
Qi Qingqi hadn’t found anything.
She’d started with his disciple days—his background meant nothing to her, even if he turned out to be the seventeenth son of the emperor or something—and worked chronologically from there, pullings together all her contacts to figure out the enigma that was Shen Qingqiu.
He was arrogant, but she couldn’t fault him for that. She would be too if she could draw like him, and really, they all already were.
It was a forgivable crime in her books, most of them were.
There was no real substance to any of the complaints around him, not even the rumors seemed to hold up under a passing review.
If he’d been a leecher or a sleaze, she would’ve eviscerated him then and there. It was her duty and her right as the Peak Lord of Xian Shu, and no one would fault her for it.
(Well. They would if they knew who it was for.
They would certainly admonish her if they knew that her motivation wasn’t to uphold the sanctity of the soulmate bond, no, it was always those poor girls sold off to the brothel.
The ones who weren’t fortunate enough to be born with the mark of love emblazoned on their skin, the ones that were used and abused for something they couldn’t control, the ones who were blamed when a soulmate ‘went astray,’ even when they had no such power over their clients.
Their objective purpose was to provide a way for people to not die of their various encounters with the aphrodisiacs that were absurdly abundant in their world without ‘betraying’ their soulmates.
Qi Qingqi had heard countless lectures from men about how they were necessary, how it was vital that these women be chained up for the good of society, how it was the only way they could ever be useful.
Because they were inhuman, like the demons who never had any soulmarks on their skin. How could they ever be able to contribute to humanity, if not with their bodies?
It wasn’t like Qi Qingqi’s best cloak had been embroidered by one such woman, it wasn’t like she knew a girl who had a better mind and sharper tongue than most disciples on Qing Jing, it wasn’t like the people there were real, actual people who had personalities, minds, and talents of their own.
It sickened her to her core how little she could do to help.
So, when she found a soulmate using the women without having a pressing need for it, when she found someone taking advantage of them, she would destroy them.
People praised her for it, saying she was protecting the sacred bond that was the one between soulmates.
She let them, never giving in to the desire in her chest to yell about how it was always for those girls, it was always for them.
She just wished she would stop getting praised for being a decent fucking human being.)
But he wasn’t!
There was no actual reason she could find behind her baby cousin’s scorn or his pain even when there had to be one.
And it had already been years and months and weeks.
Qi Qingqi let her head fall onto her desk, making it thump dramatically as she groaned.
The goddess that was the love of her life tutted at her from her seat next to the brazier, closing her book and walking to her gracefully. She stretched out her tanned arm, and placed her hand under Qi Qingqi’s chin, lifting her head and pressing a kiss to the point of impact before smoothly sliding in next to her on the chair.
Her taller body fit perfectly next to Qi Qingqi, even if they were slightly squished, and the silk-like feeling of her rich, tawny brown skin felt like heaven to the Xian Shu Peak Lady.
Qi Qingqi wrapped her arms around her love’s waist, pressing herself to her soulmate as kisses were peppered on her face, basking in the affection being showered upon her, and relaxing into the reprieve being enforced on her.
“You’re an idiot,” said her heart after a minute, utterly ruining the moment.
Qi Qingqi pouted.
And she kept pouting, even after her soulmate had laughed and tried to kiss it off her face.
(The kisses were the incentive to keep pouting.)
“I’m sorry, my love!” said her soulmate, her tone joyful. “It’s true!”
Qi Qingqi pouted harder.
(She wondered how her opponents would feel if they saw her like this.
The demon of their nightmares, ready to smite them all to oblivion with a hammer bigger than her trunk, pouting at her soulmate to get kisses.
They might die of just sheer bewilderment.)
“The easiest way to get to know someone is to actually interact with them,” started Qi Qingqi’s amazing, fantastic, brilliant soulmate, blowing her mind for the nth time that day alone. “So talk to him, go on a mission, throw your terrible novels at him and see what he does,” continued Jia Rui, stopping the descent of her soulmate’s pout into puppy dog eyes with ruthless efficacy.
It was such an obvious solution that Qi Qingqi wanted to kick herself for not thinking of it. In her defense though, interacting with men wasn’t generally on her list of solutions, usually, that was on her list of problems.
“Marry me,” she said instead, breathlessly.
Her wonderful soulmate rolled her eyes fondly. “So the last time was just a sham then?”
“Marry me again,” insisted Qi Qingqi, her eyes lighting up.
Jia Rui threw her head back and laughed, cupping her soulmate’s face in her calloused hands. “Yes,” she answered, taking the statement as a question, her eyes and tone softening as she leaned in for a proper, gentle kiss. “The answer will always be yes, my love.”
Qi Qingqi had tactfully ignored the surprise in Yue Qingyuan’s eyes as she asked for Shen Qingqiu’s aid on a mission of hers.
She couldn’t fault him for it, not many people asked for Shen Qingqiu’s help, not even the Peak Lords. As far as she could tell, there had never been an actual incident that was the cause, but people were wary of a person despised by Liu Qingge, especially when the rumors of Shen Qingqiu trying to break up a pair of soulmates were taken into account.
Everyone was respectful to a certain degree, he was much too talented, too powerful, for them to completely disregard him, but he was kept at a distance, as if his very presence meant unpleasant tidings.
Qi Qingqi herself didn’t buy into the rumors, she was a master of creating them when needed so she knew how little credibility they could hold, but she’d also never asked for Shen Qingqiu’s aid. She had her wife who was more than enough for her, so she’d never seen the need. Nevertheless, her current objective required her to ask him for help, so she’d done just that.
The mission itself was one of her routine checkups, just her patrolling various cities and towns to procure disciples for her peak or to protect the women there through striking the fear of herself into the hearts of the men who dared to perceive her. She hoped that the relatively simpler mission meant more time to analyze her target, and the extra helping hand wouldn’t hurt.
Shen Qingqiu had been quiet and respectful. She would’ve said he was almost nervous if his eyes hadn’t been that peculiar sort of unreadable that always set people on edge, the kind that made it seem like he was looking through you, analyzing every aspect to determine your worth.
Still, Qi Qingqi had been surprised at how utterly painless the mission had been.
Shen Qingqiu deferred to her immediately if he thought she had expertise in the subject matter at hand and would only question her if he had a valid concern, which wasn’t often. It wasn’t subservience, it was just a quiet acknowledgment that they had their own specialties and that there were times when Qi Qingqi just knew more, a refreshing quality in the male side of humanity.
She would’ve found the trip to be almost pleasant if not for the wriggling doubt in the back of her mind, a little nugget of distrust that was trying to understand what Shen Qingqiu had done to make her baby cousin brother hate him so.
So far, there was nothing that she could find, aside from a tendency to be a bit frigid.
Still, she kept an eye on him, trying to figure him out.
Of course, that was when it all went to shit.
There was a drunk man rampaging on the streets of the red-light district, making a fool of himself in broad daylight. He held a woman by her hair, his face red as he yelled in her face, even as she tried to turn away, shielding something in her arms.
The face of a crying child poked out from her arms, her eyes utterly terrified as her mouth formed the word ‘mama,’ prompting the drunkard to become even angrier, raising a hand to strike the child.
The rage that was always buried in Qi Qingqi seemed to rise from its rest, rearing its snarling head as a wave of sheer disgust rolled over her consciousness. There was a buzz in her brain, her sight focusing only on the disgusting brutality of the man that was about to hit a child, her spiritual energy flowing through her limbs, letting her dash towards that drunkard.
The fight wasn’t even a fight at all, the bastard was no match for her, and soon, he was groaning on the ground, reduced to a mass of beaten flesh and broken bones.
A sense of satisfaction had spread through her at the sight before the sound of frightened tears sobered her up, causing her to flinch as she recalled that she had an audience and that she might’ve just made a small child watch her gruesomely beat a man to near death.
She turned around with trepidation, expecting to see the worst, when she was met instead with the silhouette of Shen Qingqiu, standing in front of the mother and child, his arms up to form a foggy shield that prevented sound and light from entering through its barrier. It was just enough to keep an eye on the situation without exposing the frightened duo to any more trauma, a fact that made a thread of appreciation rise in her body.
Nevertheless, Shen Qingqiu was still a man, and both mother and child were quite shaken up, weeping their hearts out as her martial brother looked on with an unreadable face, staying a comfortable distance away as if to reassure them that he meant no harm.
Qi Qingqi relaxed her posture, making herself seem open as walked carefully towards the shivering duo, giving them the space they needed to feel secure as she deliberately gentled her tone, speaking slowly and deeply as she’d learned was most comforting to the victims she talked to. “We are not here to harm you,” she started, keeping her frame steady as the mother seemed to break down even more, curling up around her child while heaving with sobs.
Qi Qingqi risked a step further, placing a hand on the mother’s shoulder. She stayed firm when the mother-child duo barreled into her, holding them in a protective embrace as she let them relax in their own time.
“Qi-shimei,” started Shen Qingqiu, speaking softly so only a cultivator could hear him. “There’s a tea house nearby, we can discuss there.”
What they needed to discuss was apparent to them all.
Prostitutes weren’t supposed to have children, theirs was considered tainted blood, the supposed influence of demons made society refuse them the choice of procreation. It was the reason most of the men without soulmarks went to labor camps instead, if they weren’t just kept by their families outright. Only the most appealing ones were sent to brothels, and even then, they were separated to mitigate the chance of them creating a child.
The women were also expected to abort a child once its existence was known, so the fact that this woman had protected hers till about six years of age was utterly remarkable.
However, it couldn’t last. The incident today wouldn’t be a solitary instance of cruelty and the mother and child would be attacked for their mere existence until one of them died and Qi Qingqi couldn’t always be there to help them.
But there was another option.
The child had soulmarks, and more importantly, the child had active spirit veins.
(Qi Qingqi was surprised that Shen Qingqiu had been able to detect the trace amounts of spiritual energy despite his lackluster cultivation.
It was a peculiar detail, everything about him was in some way, shape, or form, but this one—
This one was stranger.
Did he just not care about his cultivation? He clearly had an affinity for it, did he just refuse to work on it? Was that why her cousin brother hated him?
It made some sense, but still, the vivid distaste Liu Qingge held for Shen Qingqiu seemed to be entirely disproportionate to his actual faults and she still couldn’t understand.)
They could offer her a place in Cang Qiong, giving her a chance at a brighter future.
The decision would be up to the mother, but it was one they would let her have.
Qi Qingqi hummed, keeping her posture relaxed and confident as she also spoke quietly, only loud enough for Shen Qingqiu to hear. “This shimei implores Shen-shixiong to find us a private booth then. We have much to discuss.”
It didn’t take long for the mother to decide to send her child to Cang Qiong.
It was the best option, all things considered, and Qi Qingqi made sure to tell her that she could still keep in touch through letters. The Iron Maiden of Xian Shu had given her word to personally deliver the correspondence whenever she could, a fact that tipped the mother’s decision in Cang Qiong’s favor.
It was a more complicated decision to figure out the peak, the child’s spirit veins suited Qing Jing but she would be more comfortable on Xian Shu. However, it was decided in the end that Ning Yingying would become Qing Jing’s newest disciple. Spiritual affinity was important and it wasn’t like the child would be harmed either way.
It was a more hopeful ending than she was generally used to, these kinds of encounters didn’t always end well for the people involved, but this one had, a fact that made the day seem a little brighter.
She didn’t regret a single action, it had been a fruitful day, but she just wished she could’ve gotten more closure on the topic of Shen Qingqiu.
He was respectful, smart, and uncaring of the fact that he was helping a prostitute.
Qi Qingqi could find no actual fault with him and if Liu Qingge hadn’t reacted the way he had, she would’ve even considered him to be one of her better martial siblings, someone she could find herself striking up a true friendship with.
Which just made it that much harder to reconcile the fact that Liu Qingge, the noblest person she knew, hated him. Honestly, she would’ve expected them to be the best of friends considering what she’d seen recently about Shen Qingqiu’s character.
The conflict, therefore, made no sense, which meant she couldn’t do anything to help and—
She hated helplessness, hated how it felt like sand slipping through her fingers, how it made it seem like nothing could be in her control, like nothing could ever change. She almost hated it more than she hated her baby cousin’s pain.
But she was helpless. She had no other avenue she could investigate, no leads, no threads she could pull to unravel the whole mystery—she had nothing. Shen Qinqgiu had apparently done nothing to earn the scorn of her younger cousin but he’d still earned it and it didn’t help that Liu Qingge wasn’t willing to talk.
But talk he must for Qi Qingqi wasn’t one to give up on her missions, especially when they related to her loved ones.
She didn’t want to dredge up his pain, it didn’t please her like his indignation did, there was no amusement to be found from this, but it had to be done.
“Why do you hate him, Qingge?”
She didn’t use the nicknames he hated, didn’t fall back on the teasing she often used to probe her younger cousin. She asked straightforwardly and she waited for a response she might not get.
“I—” he started, his face blown wide with panic. He played with the cup he was holding, looking at it as if he might glean his answer from its watery depths. She could see the conflict within him, the confusion, the desperation, and she saw the pain once more.
Liu Qingge gulped down the boiling tea, throwing his head back and not even bothering to swallow. It was a good thing he was a physical cultivator, otherwise, he might’ve burned his throat.
He set the teacup down forcefully, breaking it in the process. His fingers grasped the shards of porcelain, crushing them in his white-knuckled grip.
Qi Qingqi sighed, taking her cousin brother’s hand in hers as she made it release the tight hold it had on the shards, brushing the porcelain dust off the unblemished skin.
“I want to help you, Qingge,” she said, looking at her baby cousin’s bowed head. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”
It didn’t matter how much she wished she could, she’d tried that route already and it had led to nothing. The only way she could help was by knowing what had happened.
Liu Qingge looked up then, his eyes bloodshot, clenching his jaw as he swallowed harshly, looking almost nauseated as he tried again.
“I—” he started once more, frustration apparent in his voice as he took in a shuddering breath. He held it for a second, an old habit from when he’d been learning to control his emotions. It hadn’t worked completely, but the repetitive motion had never left him afterward. “—I can’t.”
Qi Qingqi closed her eyes, nodding with resignation spreading through her frame like a forest fire through dry wood.
Really, the reason didn’t even matter at this point.
Anyone who could make her baby brother act like this, like—like he was being forced to die slowly and quietly, like his soul was being wrenched out of his body, they could never be worth her defending them
But that meant that she couldn’t fix the problem, couldn’t make it all better for her baby cousin, couldn’t live up to her expectations as the older one, as the older sister, as the one that was supposed to help, as the one that was always supposed to fix it.
For a visceral moment, she wished Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t exist at all, wished the entirety of his self would disintegrate into the air, wished that every fiber of his being would separate and be woven into something inconsequential to their existence, like a dead leaf floating through the wind on borrowed time.
At least that would fix everything.
But no, he existed, and she would just have to deal with it.
“I want him as my shidi, Shizun!” said Shen Qingqiu’s youngest disciple and Liu Qinghe couldn’t help but scowl.
The child in question was one he’d picked out for his talent. He didn’t explicitly take disciples but it was pretty clear that the boy was suited to Bai Zhan’s cultivational style, he would just need to make it up the peak by himself and he’d be set
But now Shen Qingqiu’s youngest disciple—he couldn’t remember her name for the life of him—had butted in, and he’d looked like he was actually considering it.
It was an act of indulgence beyond reason, a blatant misuse of his power to please a child, an irresponsible action that would only harm the prospective disciple in question.
His cultivation wasn’t suited to Qing Jing, taking him in would ruin him.
“You can’t be actually considering it,” said Liu Qingge with a scowl. He was always scowling when he saw Shen Qingqiu these days. Consequently, there hadn’t been many good days either. “He isn’t suited to your cultivation.”
“He isn’t suited to Liu-shidi’s peak,” refuted Shen Qingqiu serenely, his face an expressionless pond that couldn’t fool Liu Qingge. He looked resigned and tired, an expression that made the Bai Zhan War God feel uneasy. He didn’t like that look on him. “Look at his arms.”
They bore no soulmarks, Liu Qingge knew that, he’d seen that, it honestly surprised him that Shen Qingqiu didn’t seem to mind that, but that didn’t mean his peak would be a bad fit for the child.
There was no peak that would be particularly welcoming, no difference between Bai Zhan and Qing Jing’s disciples. At least on Bai Zhan, the child would be taught to defend himself. Therefore, it was still his best choice.
“He is still suited for Bai Zhan’s cultivation, Shen Qingqiu.”
Shen Qingqiu looked away, his gaze focused on something in the distance. Liu Qingge hated when he did that, hated when he refused to look at him, hated when he didn’t give him the time of day.
(There was not a moment in time when Shen Qingqiu wasn’t willing to give Liu Qingge his attention.
He was just.
He was just so tired.)
“This shixiong doesn’t wish to fight with you on this matter, Liu-shidi,” said Shen Qingqiu, seemingly sincere. “The child will be dead within the month if he is to be left on your peak.”
“That is not true,” responded Liu Qingge, vehemently.
He might not spend as much time on his peak as Shen Qinqgiu but that didn’t mean that his disciples were worse people. They wouldn’t kill a child just because he had no soulmarks, he was sure of it.
Just because-just because Shen Qingqiu didn’t like Liu Qingge, it didn’t mean his entire peak was bad.
Plus, Shen Qingqiu had no right to dismiss his peak when Qing Jing itself was filled with the most elitist bastards Liu Qingge had ever seen in his life. The child would be ridiculed to death were he to be left there.
“Qing Jing isn’t any better and you know it, Shen Qingqiu.”
“At least on Qing Jing, this shixiong will be there to prevent any mishaps, Liu-shidi,” said Shen Qingqiu.
It might not have been a jab at Liu Qingge himself, the tone was much too soft, but it still felt like a reprimand, Shen Qingqiu seemingly pointing out his unwillingness to actually mentor the children that occupied his peak.
However, that wasn’t his fault.
He had missions to do and people to protect and monsters to slay. He had unique plants to collect and rare elixirs to brew and a soulmate to make gifts for.
(He’d waited for so long.
Would he ever find them? He would, right?
They were soulmates.
They-they exchanged medicines and potions and elixirs and letters. They exchanged confessions of love and admissions of excitement, and declarations of always being true to each other.
In between were their fears, their secret confessions of what they were most afraid of, the demons that haunted their footsteps brought to life through ink on paper, but that just made the rest seem that much sweeter in comparison, more real.
There was so much that was said in those letters, and so much that was unsaid, but the love was a constant fact, reassuring Liu Qingge every time doubt began to sink in.
But that reassurance could only last for so long and it was only a matter of time before the uncertainty sank into the crevices of his brain, grabbing a hold of him and never letting go.
‘Find me,’ a letter had said, the only thing it had said, and Liu Qingge had tried and failed and tried again and failed again and tried.
‘Find me soon, because I cannot come to you before you do,’ it had said and Liu Qingge had wanted to tear out his heart and use it as a beacon towards his soulmate, crushing it beneath his heel were it to not act like the guide he hoped it to be. At least then he wouldn’t feel such utter despair.
Because Liu Qingge could not find them.
He wasn’t good enough to find them.
They were giving him hints and clues and gifts and he still couldn’t find them.
It’d been years.
The gifts were the only things he had left now, the only connection, the only hope he had of finding his soulmate.
So he had to make sure they were perfect, had to make sure they were of the best quality, had to make sure that they were worthy of his soulmate.
He had nothing else to give them, after all.)
Not that Shen Qingqiu could understand that, what with him barely making any efforts to court the soulmate he knew the identity of.
(He knew, he knew, he’d told them he was courting them, he knew, and yet–
Shen Qingqiu had always been in Cang Qiong when Liu Qingge had returned, ready to challenge him for a spar, leaving with bruises on a good day and broken bones on a bad one—a type of routine that they’d established since the first time.
It was like he never left the damn sect, or at least, not for long.
There’d been other inquiries into the mysterious identity of Shen Qingqiu’s soulmate but all had left with disappointment as the answer never changed from ‘he was working on it.’
Liu Qingge had suggested once that he might actually get somewhere if he put in the slightest bit of effort, to show that he cared.
Shen Qingqiu had walked away without a word at that, his hand clutched around the pendant he always wore, and the tears in his eyes must’ve been a trick of the light because his form was just as confident as it always was, but Liu Qingge had still made sure to never bring it up again.
The list of things he never wanted to see from Shen Qingqiu was growing by the day and that—
That was in his top five.)
So no, he couldn’t just sit on his peak and teach kids how to not stab themselves with a wooden sword, that’s what his hallmasters were for.
Liu Qingge was going to argue his point further, he was in the right, but the resignation in Shen Qingqiu’s eyes and the fact that they were fighting over a child they barely knew—it made his mouth close of its own volition.
It was so quick, the way his limbs suddenly felt ten times heavier, the way his body seemed to be having a hard time just supporting himself, the way it felt like his heart might just stop beating at any moment, the fatigue making everything feel utterly pointless.
The constant fights, the constant conflict, the fact that he used to spar to fight but now he fought to hurt, the fact that he couldn’t seem to go five minutes without feeling like his world was being ripped from his hands, overwhelmed him to the point of numbness.
He knew this feeling was reflected in Shen Qingqiu’s eyes, he was the cause of them after all, but he also knew that the boy, the child, he wasn’t worth it, he wasn’t worth the pain.
Shen Qingqiu could have him if he wanted him so desperately.
Liu Qingge was so, so tired.
“Liu-shidi—” said Shen Qingqiu, moving to grasp Liu Qingge’s sleeve but he’d already flown away by then.
He didn’t see Shen Qingqiu just stand there after he’d left him, his hand still outstretched, the fingers that had held his robes softly resting on each other, as if to recall how the silk robes had felt against his skin.
Luo Binghe waited anxiously, keeping his head bowed down as he waited for the pretty immortal master to take a sip of the tea he’d made.
It probably wasn’t any good, he’d tried his best, but Ning-shijie, as she’d called herself, didn’t leave clear instructions and Ming-shixiong hadn’t been willing to help.
He’d done his best still, but he could just tell that he’d messed something up. Perhaps that had even been on purpose. Luo Binghe wasn’t naive enough to believe that no one could hold ill intentions towards him, not when people had been holding them for the entirety of his life.
Still, he waited for the pretty immortal master, determined to be good and only talk when spoken to. This was his last chance, his last shot at a better life, Cang Qiong was supposed to be extremely impartial, not even caring about the presence of soulmarks, so they were his only hope. He couldn’t mess it up now.
“What’s your name, child?” asked the pretty immortal master, his voice sounding deep and rich.
“This one’s name is Luo Binghe, Immortal Master!”
That might’ve been too much excitement, everyone on the peak had been quiet and graceful, perhaps he should’ve been more restrained.
But he really didn’t know how he could be when this was such an important moment for him.
“And why does Luo Binghe wish to be a cultivator?”
The correct answer would be to make his adopted mother proud.
He knew it would be the right answer, people liked stuff like that, it wasn’t even false, he did want to make her proud, he did.
But it wasn’t why he’d wanted to become a cultivator specifically.
Perhaps in a world where he hadn’t been exposed to the darker side of humanity since birth, perhaps in a world where he was still considered human even if he was treated as inferior, perhaps in that world that could’ve been his reason.
But in this world, the one where his bare arms made even the gentlest of people scorn him, one where some would kill him based on principle alone, one where he was treated like the demons humanity hated since birth, in this one there was only one reason to want the power of a cultivator.
“I want to be strong, Immortal Master,” said Luo Binghe, knowing it was a mistake, knowing people liked to hear the hopeful excuses but wishing his choice wouldn’t harm him too extensively anyway. “I want to be so strong that no one will dare to cross me.”
There was a moment of silence, maybe two, maybe an entire millennium between one heartbeat and the next before Luo Binghe heard the rustle of fabric, a quiet swallow, and the sound of porcelain being placed gently onto the wooden table.
“Welcome to Qing Jing Peak, Luo Binghe,” said the pretty immortal master, “you may address me as your Shizun.”
Life was hard, it was really hard.
No one was willing to be nice to him on Qing Jing, only his Ning-shijie, but life was also the best it had ever been.
He’d been warned, before he’d entered he’d been warned, people had told him that he wouldn’t be accepted, his shizun had told him that he wouldn’t be accepted, his entire life had told him that people would sooner choke on a fishbone than accept him, but he had a friend now, he had food now, he had warm clothes, and a bed to sleep in at night, and a shizun to teach him everything he’d ever wanted to learn.
He would always be the other, he had no soulmarks and he was pursuing a different type of cultivation, he would always be isolated, and he couldn’t find himself caring at all because he might not be accepted and he might always be the other, but at least he wasn’t alone.
Because his shizun and his Ning-shijie were there to support him along the way.
Which was why it was completely unacceptable for his shizun to go into seclusion. His place was here, with Ning-shijie and Luo Binghe and even Ming Fan when he forgot that he was supposed to hate his newest shidi. His place wasn’t in some cave.
“This disciple implores—” started Ming-shixiong, only to be cut off by their shizun, who was walking to the aforementioned caves.
“No.”
“Yingying really does think that shizun should reconsider—”
“No,” he said, never slowing his stride. He, in fact, sped up.
Ming Fan, Ning Yingying, and Luo Binghe had to jog to keep up with him.
“Shizun—”
“No.”
Luo Binghe ran ahead of his shizun, stopping him in his path as he widened his eyes, tilting his head so the sun rays fell in them to make them water. He made his lips pout slightly, just enough to seem natural. He let that image linger for a while before he bowed deeply. “This stupid disciple was wondering if Shizun would reconsider his seclusion?”
He knew his voice sounded like it was on the verge of tears, he knew he sounded pitiful, he knew it.
He just didn’t know if it would work.
Luo Binghe knew his shizun was staring at him with that singular raised eyebrow, the one that sent shivers down his spine. “No,” he said, ruthlessly, side-stepping Luo Binghe and walking away once more.
“Shizun—” whined the trio, their complaints falling on deaf ears as Shen Qingqiu made his way over to the Ling Xi Caves.
Why?
That was the only thing that ran through Shen Qingqiu’s mind as Liu Qingge burst into the cave he’d been using for his seclusion, snapping Shen Qingqiu out of his meditative state.
Liu Qingge had looked utterly inhuman, blood rushing to his face, coloring it a deep reddish-pink, as a wide snarl decorated his features, making him seem utterly demented, like he’d lost his mind.
(For a moment, Shen Qingqiu hadn’t been able to recognize his soulmate, he’d only seen Qiu Jianluo and Wu Yanzi in front of him, ready to inflict more pain upon him from beyond their graves.)
Shen Qingqiu hadn’t been able to move out of the way of the first punch, he hadn’t even tried.
(He’d never been fast enough before, why would it be different now?)
He hadn’t dodged the second one either, nor the third.
Each hit had landed with Liu Qingge’s full power, pulverizing the bone where the fist had met his flesh, and yet, all that had run through his mind was why?
There was no other train of thought running through his mind, no calculations being made about how best to resolve this conflict with the least amount of damage, no courses of actions being plotted out, nothing, except a simple why.
He’d never gotten an answer for that question.
He’d been around three when he’d asked it for the first time, his body had been curled up by his Qi-ge’s side and his fist had been clenching his threadbare robe and he’d asked why Xiao Jiu didn’t have any parents.
He’d noticed a family for the first time that day, actually noticed them. He’d seen a father lift up his daughter and place her on his shoulders as her mother handed her a little trinket, her older brother watching it all happen with fond eyes, and the amount of want that had flooded his system had been so overwhelming, he’d nearly collapsed.
He’d asked his Qi-ge then why they didn’t have a family, why they didn’t have parents who would lift them up and place them on their shoulders and buy them trinkets and love them like that family had loved each other.
He hadn’t gotten a response. His Qi-ge had gone quiet, his habitual cheerfulness fading until a gloom had overcome his features, tears flooding his eyes as he’d tightened his hug, bringing his Xiao Jiu closer to himself as he tried to not weep.
It had scared him then, his Qi-ge had always seemed so strong, seeing him weep had made it seem like the world itself was going to end.
So he’d never asked again.
In time, he hadn’t needed to. He’d figured out the answer by himself.
(How cruel his parents had been, to deem him unworthy of their care and not even have the decency to end his misery right then and there.
His Qi-ge had always hoped that his parents had wanted to keep him, had hoped that they’d just met with misfortune along the way.
But Xiao Jiu knew in his soul that while that might’ve been the case with his Qi-ge, it certainly wasn’t the case for him.
No, Xiao Jiu knew that he’d been unwanted since birth.)
The second time he’d asked, it’d been with his Qi-ge as well.
Except it hadn’t been his Qi-ge, it’d been Yue Qingyuan, the future sect leader of Cang Qiong, illustrious in his entirety and traitorous in his actions.
And Shen Jiu had asked why.
Yue Qingyuan hadn’t given an answer beyond his useless apologies.
He’d looked like he was breaking apart at his seams once more but Shen Jiu hadn’t felt fear then.
He’d felt rage.
He still felt that rage.
(Unwanted once more.)
And now, here he was, not even fighting back as his soulmate, his fucking soulmate, pummeled him into the ground.
And all he could do was scream the question in his mind.
He couldn’t even voice it.
(Why ask when there would be no answer forthcoming?
....
Why ask when the answer would never change?
Xiao Jiu had known that he wouldn’t be wanted by most people, had known that he would be unwanted until he’d met his soulmate.
Shen Qingqiu just hadn’t expected to be unwanted after that as well.)
How pathetic he must be for his own soulmate to reject him, how utterly wretched for the one person fated to love him to hate him to the point of destruction, hate him even when he’d promised to love him.
The letter that proclaimed Liu Qingge’s love for him, the soulmarks that proved it further with the intensity of the green that inked his skin, the fact that soulmates would always love each other—they’d all given him hope.
And now, his soulmate was crushing it beneath his fist the same way he was crushing Shen Qingqiu’s bones.
There was no way his soulmate recognized what he was doing, no trace of evidence that he was in possession of his mental faculties, and yet, the beating seemed personal, as if he’d wanted it to be Shen Qingqiu he was hitting.
“Please,” said Shen Qingqiu, his voice a shaky whisper. He himself was unsure of what he was begging for, whether his plea had been for relief or recognition or something else wasn’t something he could figure out. “Please.”
But Liu Qingge heard nothing, continuing his assault.
Shen Qingqiu had keeled over by the fifth punch, his body slumping onto the crystal ground gracelessly.
Still, Shen Qinqgiu did nothing.
Liu Qingge kicked his stomach, flipping Shen Qingqiu onto his back and transporting him into memories where the ground beneath him was dirt and rocks and twigs or wood and tiles instead of the stone of the caves he was in, where the person hitting him wasn’t his soulmate but his master.
Still, Shen Qingqiu did nothing.
He flopped bonelessly as Liu Qingge lifted him up by the lapels of his robes, meeting his eyes for the first time since the beat down had started.
There was no hatred to be found in his soulmate’s eyes.
No derision, no disgust, no contempt, no revulsion.
Instead, there was fear and panic and distress and—
And pain.
The snarl and the flushed face seemed angry, but his soulmate’s eyes—
They were pained.
The recognition wasn’t there, this pain, this fear, this terror, it wasn’t for him, it wasn’t for what his soulmate was doing to him, but he was feeling it for something, something big enough to cause him to have a qi-deviation.
Shen Qingqiu couldn’t fathom the cause, but he didn’t need to.
His soulmate was in pain.
He had to help.
It wasn’t even a question, it was never an uncertainty—he had to help.
Shen Qingqiu loved his soulmate, forever and ever with no takebacks.
It didn’t matter if he didn’t reciprocate, it wouldn’t matter if he would always remain unwanted, Shen Qingqiu had made a vow to his soulmate, he wouldn’t break it.
It was torture to try and lift up his shattered arm, he could feel the shards of scrape against each other, tearing into his sinew, but it didn’t matter to him.
Shen Qingqiu placed his palm on Liu Qingge’s bare chest—he hadn’t covered it since the first time his jasmine has sprouted—directly on top of his red hyacinth, and closed his eyes, transferring his spiritual energy into his soulmate’s chaotic meridians.
It was so easy to sink his spiritual energy into those meridians, they welcomed him with no resistance, the energy within them knowing that he could never harm his soulmate. It was harder to regulate the tumultuous flow but it wasn’t impossible.
Shen Qingqiu put up no resistance to the punches falling on his chest, his stomach, his arms, silently continuing the transfer of energy until—
There was a spark, a reduction in the deviation, enough to make a smidge of sense enter Liu Qingge’s brain.
He must’ve recognized what he was doing, must’ve realized the state Shen Qingqiu was in, the state he was putting him in, because Shen Qingqiu’s back slammed against the cave wall soon after.
Horror was prominent on Liu Qingge’s face, and he seemed almost concerned, lurching forward with a hand stretched out to Shen Qingqiu, the action not aggressive for once.
Then he stopped.
And the panic built up once more.
And all of Shen Qingqiu’s efforts went down the drain.
Liu Qingge always lashed out when was afraid, when he panicked, when he felt anything but sure of his place in life.
And Shen Qingqiu had never seen him be more afraid than now.
The haze was back over his eyes, as was the aggression.
Shen Qingqiu tried to get up—he needed to help his soulmate—except his destroyed leg wouldn’t hold his weight and he sank back down with a stifled cry.
Liu Qingge stalked towards him with heavy steps, except this time, he took out his sword.
No, oh gods above, please, no.
Not again.
Making a sword seal would leech away at his spiritual energy, he might not have enough to heal Liu Qingge by the end of it, but it was the only thing he could do.
Lifting his arm was nigh impossible, keeping it from shaking too much was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, and forming the seal itself nearly made him blackout from the pain.
But he did it and Xiu Ya’s bright blade clashed against Cheng Luan’s, a sharp clang reverberating through the air.
Liu Qingge seemed surprised, focusing on the sword in front of him instead of the person controlling it.
He attacked it quickly, his movements less masterful than usual, but it was still a challenge to keep up with him.
It should’ve been easier, Xiu Ya could move in ways he couldn’t, but there was less power behind his attacks when it was just his spiritual energy directing them, and there was a stalemate once more.
It wasn’t a stalemate he could ever win.
He still didn’t want to harm his soulmate and only sticking to maneuvers to knock him out made it basically impossible to win the fight, and he knew it was only a matter of time before Liu Qingge was able to get to him once more.
He just hadn’t expected his defeat to come so quickly.
(Why was he still surprised, he was never fast enough, strong enough, he was just never enough.)
Shen Qingqiu was losing energy much too quickly and Liu Qingge was gaining upon him and then—
He was there.
Standing in front of him with his sword poised to attack.
The tip of Cheng Luan pierced the skin below his soulmark, touching its very edge.
And it stopped there.
Shen Qingqiu could see how quickly Liu Qingge was spiraling, how his eyes had been blown wide as soon as he’d made contact with the soulmark, how there was still so much pain in him.
Everything felt numb all of a sudden, his mind becoming quiet as he managed to stand up, leaning against the wall for support and disregarding the fact that he was further damaging his leg—that he couldn’t do so for long before he inevitably fell back down again.
The sword followed him, rising as he did, but it never plunged deeper.
Until Shen Qingqiu walked into it.
It was ridiculously easy, his chest parted around the sword as if it was made of butter, the bottom half of his jasmine being split into two as he made himself walk closer to his soulmate.
Liu Qingge let out a strangled, desperate howl, ripping his sword out of Shen Qinqgiu’s chest and clutching his frame to himself, his grip much too tight for it to be entirely comfortable.
Cheng Luan fell to his side as Shen Qingqiu tipped over onto Liu Qingge, his chin placed on his left shoulder as their soulmarks connected for the first time.
Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes, using the spiritual energy he had left to heal Liu Qingge, not caring about the fact that he would certainly die were he to do so.
He did, however, spare a single thread of it for his own use, just enough for it to travel from his heart and down his arm to be released from his finger, sinking into the pendant that hung from his waist.
He continued to pour his spiritual energy into Liu Qingge as he felt his parents’ embraces surround him like they could shield him from what was to happen.
“You will always have us, dear one.”
Shen Qingqiu believed them.
He couldn’t smile this time, but he was calm, a quiet serenity descending upon him as he believed them wholeheartedly.
The blood was gushing out of his wound, dark red rivulets running down his chest and soaking green and gray robes alike, the smell of iron mixing with his jasmine scent to form something grotesque.
Liu Qingge trembled in place, his arms getting tighter by the minute, his howls of pain fading into whimpers tinged by confusion.
It would’ve broken something in Shen Qingqiu if there was still anything left to break in him, especially since he could offer no comfort.
It surprised him but there was a slight tingle on his arm, the one that held his favorite soulmark, the leaf that lay across the back of his palm like a blade.
Maybe this would’ve been it, maybe this would’ve been when he would get his red hyacinth, maybe, maybe, maybe.
But he didn’t have the time for that, he didn’t know how much longer he could last.
(He didn’t regret it.
He didn’t regret saving Liu Qingge’s life.
He refused to regret it, he refused to regret the fact that his soulmate was alive.)
Shen Qingqiu opened his mouth, blood streaming out of it as he choked, his reflexive cough only managing to intensify the pain. He took a breath, nonetheless, and tried to utter the three words he’d always wanted to hear from his soulmate. “I lov—”