Chapter 1
Notes:
*shows up 2+ yrs late to the fandom with a fic for the rarest of rarepairs* sup! i binge read svsss vols 1-3 and the deathgrip jiuyuan has on me is lethal. i know the audience for this pairing isn’t large, but hopefully someone out there enjoys this story!
in addition to the tags i am giving you a fair warning, that this fic will touch upon some dark subjects. while nothing will be portrayed in a positive light, if you think you’ll be upset regardless, please look after yourself and click away. i'll include specific tws in the A/Ns of the chapters that need them. also, due to the nature of sy’s profession, he’ll be written in scenes with male ocs – it goes without saying that they're unimportant bc sj/sy is the endgame, but do be aware of this.
with that said, this fic isn’t all doom and gloom. there will be fluffy moments, and a happy ending is guaranteed. i promise! we just have to get there :)
last thing: none of this is beta read, so please excuse any mistakes you find. im posting this at 3 in the morning lol
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Incense hangs in the air, thick and cloying.
Like a python made of smoke, it coils and curls, lending a hazy quality to the suite. One step over the threshold, past the pearl bead curtain and swathes of pale, diaphanous silk draped from high wooden beams, and one would struggle to differentiate reality from a dream.
Shen Yuan thinks the man braced over him must be in a very pleasant dream indeed.
The sweet melody of a pipa from the room next door is drowned out by his grunts of pleasure, the man’s hands gripping Shen Yuan’s waist tight enough to bruise as his hips lose their rhythm.
…Close, then, thank the gods.
Deciding to speed things along, Shen Yuan clenches down, affecting a breathy moan with a murmur of gege, right there, that has the man cursing and stuttering as he releases his seed. Let no one say Shen Yuan doesn’t earn his keep, with the self control he’s exercising to keep his face schooled into something vaguely sultry instead of reflecting the disgust he really feels when the man, sweaty and gross, collapses half on top of him.
They lay there in the aftermath.
Well, afterglow for his client, most likely. Shen Yuan’s mind, however, is on the logistics: namely, how he can get to the baths without moving an inch, and which one of his jiejies he can wheedle into changing the bedsheets while he’s gone.
His thoughts are interrupted, when, after a few minutes, the man lazily paws at Shen Yuan’s crotch – having the audacity to make a surprised noise in the back of his throat when he finds Shen Yuan as soft as can be. Shen Yuan politely slaps that hand away. His pleasure is always an afterthought to these men, and he swore to himself the day he realised his fate in Proud Immortal Demon Way was to be nothing more than a street rat turned glorified whore, that at the very least, he would never, ever grant anyone the gift of seeing him come. It’s not much, as far as lifelong resolutions go, but it’s kept him strong on some of his darkest nights, and that’s what matters.
Shen Yuan keeps a hawk eye on the burning point of the incense stick on the bedside table, watching as the ash falls to the holder below. As soon as he’s certain the incense has smouldered into nothing, Shen Yuan reaches for the leather rope hanging from one of the dark mahogany bed posts and gives it a firm tug. At the sound of the bell, Shen Yuan’s client only has a moment to make himself decent before two guards unceremoniously enter the room.
Their sudden presence breaks the illusion of the dream like a stick tearing through a dewy spider’s web; pearls clack loudly against each other as the fog of incense disperses, and Shen Yuan is no longer a sweet seductress of the night, but a man, tired and sore. However, when his client bends down to kiss Shen Yuan’s forehead, murmuring, “Gege will visit again, Xiao Yulan,” Shen Yuan still musters a demure smile – he’s a professional, after all.
The guards escort the man out and do not spare Shen Yuan a second glance, and for that he is grateful. Throwing a hand over his eyes, he’s only alone for a few more moments before the bead curtain click-clacks again, signalling another visitor. A soft, manicured hand tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, and Shen Yuan lets his arm drop back to the bed to blink up at – his gorgeously put together Baihe-jiejie.
“Come, A-Yulan.” Her voice is gentle, but brooks no room for argument. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Not that Shen Yuan would refuse. His ass is wet and sticky, and the sooner he can wash up, the better.
It’s not long before the beads announce another guest, and Shen Yuan glances up to see Meigui-jiejie standing in the doorway, carrying a basin that holds a variety of sponges, soaps and oils. She smiles and waits for Shen Yuan to push himself off the bed, uncaring of his naked form as he looks for his inner robes.
It’s funny how comfortable they are with each other now, Shen Yuan muses, when compared to their rocky start a few years back.
During his first couple months as the new Magnolia of the Warm Red Pavilion’s flower garden, Shen Yuan had spurned any help from the other flowers. There was just something about being the only man here that made the thought of accepting help feel… wrong. How would he be any different from the men who came as clients if he demanded his jiejie’s attention and labour? He wouldn’t – or so he believed. It was only one evening, when Shen Yuan could barely stand from the pain in his back but still tried to push Baihe-jiejie away, that the older woman dressed him and his concerns down – thoroughly. With a clear, unwavering voice, she had stated thus: at the end of the day, they were all spreading their legs for men who didn’t deserve them – in light of that, did something as trivial as gender really matter?
Smiling at the memory, Shen Yuan ties the sash of his robe around his waist. He’ll probably never know the true names of his jiejies, and they, his; accepting the position of a flower meant accepting a new identity — those who could not do so were not fit to be part of the garden. But, so what? That didn’t make their bonds any weaker, or their affection for one another less real.
Meigui-jiejie’s hair is still twisted in an updo, and by the looks of her robes – that is to say, artfully dishevelled – she’s probably just finished entertaining. And if that was the case, she would have had to pass the Emperor suite to get to this one, which means she probably… knows.
Shen Yuan whets his lips. “Jiejie,” he tentatively begins, “is he… I mean, are they–” Making a vague hand gesture, Shen Yuan trails off and looks at Meigui-jiejie imploringly.
Meigui-jiejie furrows her brows before huffing as she dutifully reports, “Lanhua-jiejie, Mudan-meimei and Yuanwei-meimei are still entertaining Shen Qingqiu in the Emperor suite; he intends to stay overnight, it seems.” At Shen Yuan’s frowning face, she sighs, exasperated. “Was he so terrible to you, A-Yulan? Won’t you tell this jiejie what happened?”
Shen Yuan purses his lips, offering his rote answer of: “Nothing happened, Meigui-jiejie… I don’t even know him personally.” At her silent, searching look, he hesitates, before elaborating. “This one just… isn’t very fond of cultivators, is all.”
And why would he be? Everything important, they took from him.
Meigui-jiejie clearly doesn’t believe him, but what can she do? Shen Yuan’s answer is the same every time. Shaking her head; the decorated pins in her hair tinkle with the movement. “Whatever you say, A-Yulan.”
She leaves the doorway, and the pearl bead curtain clacks loudly in her absence. At Baihe-jiejie’s encouraging push, Shen Yuan follows suit, walking in the opposite direction of the Emperor suite and down the long corridor to the baths at the end. Baihe-jiejie falls in step with him, and is silent for the most part. They reach the landing of a set of stairs before she speaks.
“I must confess to being curious too. Did Shen Qingqiu really do something so shameless that A-Yulan can’t even bear to utter the words? Surely the strategic genius of Cang Qiong wouldn’t risk losing face over something as trivial as assaulting a whore.” Her tone is light, almost amused, like she’s sharing an outlandish piece of gossip with Shen Yuan but clearly doesn’t believe what she’s saying. And yet, there’s an unmistakable thread of steel underpinning her words – a promise, that if the Peak Lord of Qing Jing really had acted as stupidly as she was suggesting, that she would do something about it. What exactly she would do, Shen Yuan can only guess – but he does know that she would try, and warmth blooms in his chest.
Ah, really… Baihe-jiejie is barely in her early 30s, but she takes the mantle of being the eldest with such fierce resolve. Shen Yuan has never had an older sister before, but if he did, he wonders if she’d act similarly. He can’t help but smile at the idea.
Still, Baihe-jiejie has misunderstood the situation… to a disconcerting degree. When Shen Yuan opens his mouth to correct her, Baihe-jiejie catches sight of his resolute expression and smiles wryly before pressing one delicate finger to his lips. “If you’re just going to say ‘nothing happened, jiejie’ – save it.”
She pitches her voice low to imitate Shen Yuan – but he does not sound like that! – so he has no qualms licking the pad of her finger in retaliation. Likewise, Baihe-jiejie doesn’t hesitate to flick Shen Yuan squarely in the forehead, and he curses because ow, fuck, that actually hurt?
She continues their conversation as if nothing happened. “You will let jiejie know if that changes, though, won’t you?”
Sniffing, Shen Yuan tilts his chin upwards and looks the other way. Only at the threat of another flick does he relent, waving his arms placatingly as he says, “Yes, yes, of course.”
Baihe-jiejie snorts in a rather unlady-like way at his childish behaviour, but accepts the answer and descends the stairs to her suite. Watching her go, Shen Yuan can’t help but sigh quietly as he continues on his path to the baths. It's just… frustrating, because no matter how much he’s disbelieved, Shen Yuan really is telling the truth: he’s never met the 28 year old Peak Lord of Qing Jing before in his life. Shen Qingqiu is a veritable stranger to him!
…
But.
The 13 year old gege who would complain about Shen Yuan’s bony arms while sharing his ratty blanket on winter nights, who would hiss and spit before begrudgingly splitting his tanghulu on the rare occasions they got their hands on the treat…
No, Shen Yuan knows nothing of Shen Qingqiu.
But, Shen Jiu? Well, that’s a different story.
Eighteen Years Ago
It’s almost scary how peaceful dying is; how easily his body simply… ceased to be.
One minute Shen Yuan was half asleep in the hospital bed, the silence of his room only broken by the murmur of the TV and the steady beep of his heart rate monitor.
(The pauses between the beeps were getting longer and longer – and longer still, and–)
The next, Shen Yuan is subsumed in an inky blackness. Whether his eyes are open or shut, he knows in his gut that it wouldn’t have made a difference. The darkness that surrounds him is absolute, as if he’s being held in stasis at the bottom of the deep sea, a place utterly devoid of light.
Shen Yuan doesn’t know how long he floats there, only that, much like his death, one moment he is the sole point of consciousness in a vast void, and the next his eyes are wrenching themselves open as water, cold, cold, so cold, splashes over him.
Shen Yuan gasps, disoriented and – afraid, when he notices two boys standing over him, watching him with irritation and curiosity, respectively.
The irritated boy is holding a bucket. Once filled with water – presumably the water that is now soaking Shen Yuan to the bone. When he stops to think about it, irritation of Shen Yuan’s own replaces his fear as he hugs his arms to his chest and glares at the boy as heatedly as he can manage. What right does this boy have to be annoyed?! He’s not the one freezing his ass off! Point in case, Shen Yuan’s teeth start to chatter, sending his attempt at intimidation down the drain.
Great.
The curious boy’s expression shifts to something more concerned, and he sends a reproachful look at the irritated boy.
“Xiao Jiu, did you really have to wake the child up like that?”
Xiao Jiu clearly doesn’t take kindly to the reprimand, because he glowers at the concerned boy and huffs, “Whatever. Qi-ge, you were the one who wanted to check if he was alive or not!”
The sigh Qi-ge lets out is one that holds far too much weight for a boy who can’t be much older than 13. “Yes, but Xiao Jiu, you can’t just–”
Confusion begins to compound itself in Shen Yuan’s mind as the two boys start some kind of argument in front of him. Eyes darting between them, his frown deepens.
‘Child’ – is he talking about me? Who are these people?? What the hell is going on???
As if in response to his questions, a strange buzzing fills the air. The two boys don’t falter in their conversation, so it doesn’t seem as if they can hear the sound… which is crazy because it’s so loud that Shen Yuan almost has to cover his ears. Then, as if in response to that thought, the buzzing stops and is replaced with a mechanical voice that reverberates inside his head.
[Welcome, Host, to Proud Immortal Demon Way. This is the System speaking.]
Shen Yuan’s eyes widen.
[We must first apologise. Unfortunately, an unexpected error occurred during Host’s transmigration. The situation before the Host was not the one intended for him. Host’s missions have been adjusted to reflect this.]
Wait. Wait, wait, wait – transmigrated? Into the shitty D-Tier novel that hack Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky wrote? Shen Yuan wants to laugh. There’s… there’s totally no way, right? This has to be a dream.
[This is no dream, Host. We recommend adjusting to reality quickly to ensure the highest possible chance of success. Please listen closely to the following announcement: Host’s initial missions were to ensure the Protagonist’s happiness, and see to the downfall of the Scum Villain, however, they are now as follows: befriend the Scum Villain before you, and when the time comes, mourn his demise.]
If possible, Shen Yuan’s eyes widen even further. Seriously though, what was up with that complete 180?! Could he… Could he just not complete these missions? They don’t seem that important…
But as soon as the thought flits through his mind, the System cuts in, clinical as it informs him: [In the event of mission failure, Host’s account will be terminated.]
That has Shen Yuan stilling. Terminated? He thinks, What the hell does that mean?
[Account termination results in Host’s current body desisting, whereafter Host’s soul will return to his original world.]
Desisting? Isn’t that just a fancy way of saying this body will die? It’s not like being returned to his original world is doing him any favours either, considering he’s pretty sure he’s dead there too… Isn’t this just a lose/lose situation no matter what?!
[We are glad Host understands.]
The only thing Shen Yuan understands is how much of a bastard this ‘System’ is.
Though chagrined to admit, Shen Yuan had spent… no small amount of money on PIDW, but it’s because of all those VIP bonuses and extra chapters that he knows just how huge this world really is; that Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky only ever utilised it for egregious papapa scenes doesn’t diminish the fact. Which leaves Shen Yuan in a bind, because how exactly does this System expect him to find the Scum Villain when Shen Yuan doesn’t know where he himself is – or even, for that matter, who he is?
Then, Shen Yuan freezes, and his mind hastily backtracks. Wait. Hold up, hold on. The Scum Villain… before him? But that – that means…
Looking up, Shen Yuan flinches when he meets the gaze of the irritated boy – Xiao Jiu. Apparently the two had finished their argument and or discussion, and were now waiting for Shen Yuan… to… he’s not exactly sure. Speak? Though actually, that might be it. He hasn’t uttered a single word since he woke up, after all.
Intending to open his mouth and rectify that, Shen Yuan’s mouth instead drops open in shock when a blue information box pops up and flickers right next to Xiao Jiu’s face. Just what the hell is this? Final Fantasy in real life?!
To Shen Yuan’s horror and fascination, as if his very own eyes are a mouse cursor, categories within the information box expand when his gaze lingers over them for more than a few seconds. It’s clear the System wants Shen Yuan to interact with the information in some way, and since he has no idea how to close the boxes…
Focusing on the ‘Name’ category, Shen Yuan scans over the list as it reveals itself: Shen Jiu is written at the top, neatly followed by Xiao Jiu, and A-Jiu. His name and nicknames are quickly forgotten, however, when Shen Yuan reads the very last name on the list. ‘Shen Qingqiu’, although greyed out with a small padlock symbol next to it, is there, and its presence cements the System’s words as the truth.
This is the boy that grows up to be the Scum Villain of PIDW? It’s a very difficult thought to reconcile when comparing the image of this current dirty pre-teen with the elegance and poise that the adult Shen Qingqiu had been written to have. Even more unfathomable is the idea that Shen Jiu would end up as the perpetrator of such terrible abuse; granted, he hasn’t been the pinnacle of friendship and kindness since Shen Yuan opened his eyes, but, wasn’t the leap from throwing water over someone to whipping and starving and purposefully stunting their cultivation a little too big? There has to be some backstory missing from PIDW that Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky hadn’t deigned to include in the final cut – as if Shen Yuan needed any more reason to curse the man.
Other than ‘Name’, there are only two other categories left for him to skim over, and the information they provide is so unhelpful it makes Shen Yuan wonder why the System bothered in the first place. After finding out that Shen Jiu is male (duh) and approximately 10 years old (Shen Yuan would have guessed a bit older, but it’s not like the System knew for certain either) Shen Yuan looks over at Qi-ge.
His glance triggers a similar information box to appear next to his face – the face of ‘Yue Qi’, Shen Yuan quickly finds out. His sole nickname is listed as ‘Qi-ge’, though there’s an asterisk next to it, and Shen Yuan isn’t sure why. That’s not what has Shen Yuan’s breath hitching, though. ‘Yue Qingyuan’, like Shen Qingqiu, is greyed out and padlocked, but there too : the courtesy name of the future Cang Qiong Peak Sect Master – who is standing before him; who is apparently close enough for the Scum Villain to see him as his gege; the same Scum Villain who will eventually be responsible for his gruesome death.
What the fuck.
Shen Yuan blinks as the feeling of unreality washes over him, disconnecting him from his body. Despite the System’s prior warning to adapt, nothing about this situation makes sense. Whatever world he’s in now, it’s not the PIDW he’d read about. He’s a child, completely alone in an unfamiliar setting, and the only advantage he might have had has been wrested from his grasp by lazy writing.
Shen Yuan continues to look at Yue Qi, unaware of how disconcerting his silent, dead-eyed stare is. As if sensing the spiral Shen Yuan’s thoughts have begun to take, Shen Jiu scowls and throws the bucket he’d been holding to the floor. It lands in a puddle and splashes Shen Yuan with muddy water.
“Qi-ge, let's just go,” he mutters, turning to Yue Qi with a frown. Pointing at Shen Yuan, he says, “He’s probably touched in the head.”
…Would it kill this Scum Villain to have some compassion?! Shen Yuan is going through an existential crisis right now! His emotions are scattered every which way and he can’t even figure out what he’s supposed to be feeling.
The way Shen Jiu stares at Shen Yuan is downright insulting, though, as if he were some animal in a zoo; it’s enough for the indignation he’d felt earlier to re-settle in his gut, and he slaps away the accusing finger directed at him as he rebukes, “Am not!”
Oh my.
While that hadn’t come out as… eloquent as Shen Yuan had hoped, he’s more concerned with how high his voice just sounded. Shen Yuan knows he’s a child, but he figured he’d at least be the same age as the other two. However, with just how soft his voice was when he spoke, Shen Yuan doubts that the body he’s in has even reached double digits.
“I’m–” Shen Yuan tries again, “I-I…”
Oh no. Unbidden, heat and pressure push behind his eyes, and Shen Yuan bites his lip as he tries to resist the urge to cry. Despite his best efforts, his vision still mists over. Ducking his head, humiliation prickles over Shen Yuan’s skin as he swallows down a sob. He isn’t actually a kid, so why does he want to cry like one?! But this… this whole situation is just… so…
As it turns out, crying is probably the best thing he could have done. The choked noise snaps Yue Qi out of his stupor, and he takes on the role of a caring gege as he kneels next to Shen Yuan and lays a hand on his shoulder.
“Hush, it’s okay.” Shen Yuan looks up, and through a watery film sees the warmth of Yue Qi’s smile directed at him; the older boy’s whole demeanour radiates comfort and stability. He asks, gently, “Are you lost? It’s not safe to be around here, you know.”
Shen Yuan shakes his head before Yue Qi is finished speaking. Lost? Yeah, but not in any way he can convey to the other boy. Sensing the tears about to spill before they actually do, Shen Yuan buries his head in his hands, trying to save what little face he has left.
Shen Yuan senses another presence next to him, and then Shen Jiu is scoffing as he says, “Think, Qi-ge. No kid ends up here alone without a reason. Either his parents abandoned him, or they’re dead.”
Shen Yuan takes issue with that. He was never too close with his parents, but the fault for that lies with him alone. When he realised his sickness was getting worse – lengthier hospitalisations, less time at home – he had thought it best to distance himself from not just them, but his whole family. He figured it would make it hurt less, when he… when he inevitably…
But even so, his parents never stopped paying for his treatments, and would call him at least once a week, if he allowed it. To insinuate that they would choose to abandon him is so far from the truth it isn’t even funny.
Ruddy faced and snot nosed, Shen Yuan looks up to glare at Shen Jiu in defiance, but the other boy just quirks his brow as if to say: Well? Prove me wrong.
And Shen Yuan can’t.
The parents who did all that for him – they aren’t from this world. For all he knows, his parents here really leave him to rot in an alleyway. The realisation is galling, and that he can only bite his lip and avert his glare to the brick wall behind Shen Jiu, equally so.
At his unspoken surrender, Shen Jiu… doesn’t soften, exactly, but the air about him becomes less antagonistic. It seems he is at least kind enough not to rub salt in Shen Yuan’s wounds – for the time being, anyway.
Shen Jiu allows Shen Yuan a few moments to compose himself before he stands up and looks at Yue Qi. “We gotta go, Qi-ge.”
Fingers freezing where they had been rubbing the moisture from his eyes, Shen Yuan feels, for the first time since he regained consciousness, genuine fear. They’re going to leave him like this? No. No, that can’t happen. Forget dying if he doesn’t follow the stupid System’s missions, he’ll end up dead much sooner than that if Shen Yuan allows them to disappear from his sight right now.
So when Shen Jiu begins to walk away, Shen Yuan pushes himself to his feet, and with legs like a newborn foal’s, stumbles after the older boy. He doesn’t get very far before falling back on his ass, but he’s at least close enough to grab the hem of Shen Jiu’s robes as he pleads, “Let me come with you.”
Shen Jiu looks supremely unimpressed, and doesn’t hesitate to plant his foot in the middle of Shen Yuan’s chest and push. Shen Yuan simply changes tack, though, releasing his robes to hug Shen Jiu’s leg instead. He might be clinging to the Scum Villain’s thighs a bit too literally right now, but needs must, and all that.
“Gege, please,” Shen Yuan begs, “A-Yuan doesn’t want to be alone anymore.”
The speed at which Shen Jiu cycles through totally conflicting emotions is almost hilarious; annoyance morphing into disgust morphing into surprise morphing into shock.
His countenance is an amalgamation of them all as he fumbles over his words when he exclaims, “Wh-Who’s your gege?!”
Shen Jiu renews his efforts to throw Shen Yuan off, rubbing the sole of his foot over Shen Yuan’s chest again and again like he’s some sort of doormat. Lamenting the state of his robes, Shen Yuan can only weep inside as he continues to channel the energy of a very sticky rice cake and clings on even harder. But really, how else was he supposed to refer to Shen Jiu? Scum Villain, you haven’t introduced yourself!
“Now, now,” Yue Qi intervenes, all placating smiles as he pats Shen Jiu’s shoulder. “We can at least take A-Yuan somewhere safer, can’t we? Maybe show him the ropes for a couple days, too?”
It seems that Yue Qi holds no small amount of sway over Shen Jiu, because Shen Yuan can almost see in real time the way the boy’s hackles lower.
Shen Jiu crosses his arms and harrumphs. “You’re way too kind, Qi-ge. Will you take responsibility for every half-dead brat you come across? And when they all come to you, begging for help because they can’t survive on their own, what then?”
This appears to be a conversation rehashed, because Shen Jiu’s words are spoken with an ease that implies practice. Yue Qi’s shoulders deflate as he bears the weight of them, and when he doesn’t offer any rebuttal, Shen Jiu gets visibly irritated. The air is heavy with something uncomfortable now, and Shen Yuan fidgets.
Pushing himself to stand once more, Shen Yuan balls his fists. His chest is covered in all the gunk that had been stuck to the bottom of Shen Jiu’s left shoe, but he valiantly ignores the mess in favour of looking the boy in the eyes.
“I won’t beg for help.” Shen Yuan’s voice, though quiet, doesn’t waver. “If gege tells me what to do, I can work.”
“Oh?” Ire at Yue Qi’s lack of response momentarily forgotten, Shen Jiu turns his attention to Shen Yuan and smirks scathingly. “Steal our panhandling spots, you mean?”
Ah, this pig-headed Scum Villain!
Puffing out his cheeks, Shen Yuan shakes his head emphatically. “No. I’ll work for gege, as long as I can stay with him.”
Shen Jiu seems at a loss for how to respond to that, and it isn’t long before suspicion turns his gaze icy. “Why do you want to stick with me so badly? I threw dirty water over you. I kicked you.”
As if Shen Yuan could forget! But that was beside the point. Right now, he’s super young! He’s… wait, how old is he?
[The exact age of Host’s body is unknown, but We would guess it to be around 7 or 8 years of age.]
…He’s 7 or 8 years of age! Does Shen Jiu really think Shen Yuan can survive on the streets without someone looking out for him? But something tells Shen Yuan that, yes, Shen Jiu does… perhaps because he had done so himself. The thought has Shen Yuan pursing his lips.
Well… too bad, baby Scum Villain, that Shen Yuan can’t be as brave as you.
“Protection,” Shen Yuan replies. “Gege gets whatever I earn, and in return A-Yuan sleeps safe at night. It’s not a bad deal, right?”
“Hm.” Shen Jiu presses his tongue into the inside of his cheek as he eyes Shen Yuan in a new light. Then he approaches with brusque steps, hands extended, and Shen Yuan flinches in surprise. Even Yue Qi seems to think Shen Jiu is about to strike Shen Yuan, because he grasps Shen Jiu’s arm in protest, but the boy just rolls his eyes and shakes the elder off.
Shen Jiu grabs Shen Yuan’s face in both hands, and Shen Yuan squeezes his eyes shut as he braces himself… for… Shen Jiu to… scrub at the dirt there? Uncaring of Shen Yuan’s now bewildered expression, Shen Jiu continues rubbing his sleeves against both of his cheeks, and it isn’t long before the coarse fabric starts to irritate Shen Yuan’s skin.
“Gege,” With Shen Yuan’s mouth squished within Shen Jiu’s iron grip, his voice comes out distorted. Unsurprisingly, he is stoutly ignored, and Shen Yuan puts up with Shen Jiu’s odd attentions for a minute longer before he tries again. “It hurts, gege. Stop it.”
“Don’t whine.” Shen Jiu snarks, but his words lack their usual bite, distracted as he is with his task. When he decides Shen Yuan’s face is as clean as it’ll get, Shen Jiu holds his chin and tilts his head this way and that. “Hm. He’s not ugly.”
That last part is directed at Yue Qi, who looks as baffled as Shen Yuan feels.
The words startle him, and after glancing at Shen Yuan’s face, he reaffirms them. Somewhat. “Uh. Yeah.”
…Thank you for that unrivalled vote of confidence, Yue Qi.
Shen Jiu seems just as displeased with the response, because he turns back to Shen Yuan and crosses his arms, gaze thoughtful. “He isn’t,” he repeats, though it seems as if he’s talking to himself now. “Aunties are weak to faces like his…” Deliberating something, Shen Yuan shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he tries to withstand Shen Jiu’s scrutiny. The older boy comes to a decision after a minute, and his next words are directed at Shen Yuan this time. “Food, jewellery, coins – bring everything you get to me. You have one week, and I’ll decide whether you’ve done enough to stick around.”
Shen Yuan’s eyes widen, and his eyes dart to Yue Qi’s to make sure he’s hearing right. The older boy is looking at Shen Jiu in surprise, and then he smiles fondly like he’s proud, and that more than anything makes this moment sink in. Shen Yuan feels a smile split his face as the success of chipping away at some of this icy villain’s exterior fills him with giddiness. He didn’t think he’d actually get this far!
“This one is Shen Yuan!” He grasps Shen Jiu’s sleeve as he introduces himself, and though the other boy tries to shake him off, he isn’t as vehement about it. Progress!
Looking between Shen Jiu and Yue Qi, Shen Yuan tilts his head and asks, “Geges are…?”
Like a switch being flipped, Shen Jiu’s demeanour immediately turns prickly. His eyes narrow to slits and he hisses out, “He’s not your gege!” at the same time that Yue Qi offers, “Yue Qi.”
Well, that’s awkward. As the two older boys regard each other, Shen Yuan takes a moment to catalogue the reaction. If Shen Jiu and Yue Qi were this close in childhood, enough that Shen Jiu was possessive over Yue Qi’s affections… how the hell did their relationship get to the state it did in PIDW?! Agh, there’s something missing in his knowledge, he just knows it!
For now, Shen Yuan decides to play the cute, innocent kid card and ignores Shen Jiu’s barbs in favour of tugging on his sleeve.
He changes his question slightly, and asks. “Then… this gege is?”
Shen Jiu is looking at Shen Yuan in confusion, and the fact that it’s displayed so openly on his face can only be a testament to the depth of the feeling.
“You,” Shen Jiu gripes, poking Shen Yuan’s forehead hard, “Just why are you acting so familiar?”
Shen Yuan does agree with Shen Jiu’s complaints to an extent. To be weirded out when a strange child acts so clingy towards you out of nowhere is understandable. But! Scum Villain! Do you know what else is understandable?! Listening to the things the robotic voice in your head tells you to do so you don’t die!
Shen Yuan weeps inside; if only he could say as much without sounding like a certified lunatic. Instead, he opts for a smile, and considers it a win when Shen Jiu only clicks his tongue in response.
The three leave the alleyway shortly afterwards. Shen Jiu keeps a brisk pace as he navigates the bustling main street, weaving in and out of the crowd with an expert ease. Shen Yuan very nearly loses him more than once, but before he could panic at being alone, a hand would appear out of nowhere and grasp his wrist, guiding him through the flow of people.
Though Shen Yuan should have expected it, Shen Jiu puts him to work straight away – his logic being that the worse off Shen Yuan looks, the more sympathy he’ll garner. Shen Yuan really hopes Shen Jiu doesn’t expect him to soak himself in water and roll around in the dirt before begging every day, because otherwise he might have to rethink this arrangement… And when Shen Jiu pinches Shen Yuan’s cheeks so hard he can’t help but bawl, before sending him off to a street corner with a tattered cloth in hand, Shen Yuan knows he definitely has to! Fool him once for doubting this boy could ever grow up to become the Scum Villain, because Shen Yuan won’t be making that mistake again!
It doesn’t help that Shen Jiu’s methods prove effective, either. Shen Jiu had stationed Shen Yuan next to a beauty parlour, and though there are some women who turn their noses up at the unsightly picture he must paint, many look over him with a sympathetic gaze. It’s not long before his tear-streaked face nets him a small haul of coins and a few pawnable trinkets, and one older lady even buys him a couple freshly steamed baozi as she tuts something about skin and bones. The smell of the buns triggered a hunger pang so painful that Shen Yuan doesn’t know how he’d been ignoring it until now. However, something tells him that Shen Jiu wouldn’t take too kindly to Shen Yuan scarfing his share down – even if he did leave enough for the rest. Chewing on a hangnail, Shen Yuan wraps the least dirty part of the cloth around the baozi in an attempt to keep them warm and makes the extremely reluctant decision to wait. The pain now etched on his face even manages to net him a few more coins before the sun begins its descent below the horizon.
When the older boys finish their own rounds of panhandling and come to pick Shen Yuan up, Shen Yuan thrusts the baozi forward, because if they don’t divvy up the portions right now, he refuses to be held responsible for what he’ll do next. With a strange look, Shen Jiu pries the food from Shen Yuan’s grip – had he been clutching them that desperately? Whoops – and Shen Yuan watches as he silently hands over one whole baozi to Yue Qi. The boy in question blinks at the offering, words of refusal apparent on his tongue, but a poisonous look from Shen Jiu that brooks no room for argument has him accepting the food with quiet gratitude instead. It’s only after Yue Qi starts to eat that Shen Jiu tears the remaining bun in two, keeping (the slightly larger, if Shen Yuan wants to nitpick) half for himself before giving the other to Shen Yuan.
Shen Yuan still hasn’t forgiven Shen Jiu for his rough handling from earlier, and his cheeks throb when he opens his mouth to bite into the meaty filling. However, upon seeing that he didn’t automatically give Shen Yuan the smallest possible scrap, he feels his annoyance simmer down just a touch. Perhaps the Scum Villain does have a heart after all.
The taste of well seasoned ground beef does wonders for banishing the remainder of Shen Yuan’s bad mood, and he almost feels content as he swallows the mouthful of food. The quality of the company notwithstanding, Shen Yuan doesn’t remember when the last time he’d shared a meal with others was. Perhaps with the nurses… but Shen Yuan had eventually shunned them too, when he started to get really ill.
He doesn’t dwell on the thought.
It’s only later into the night that Shen Jiu begins to sort through the haul Shen Yuan brought back. Shen Yuan thinks there might be a glint of approval in Shen Jiu’s eyes as he runs his fingers over one of the trinkets – a thin jade bracelet – but in such low light he can’t be sure. Still, Shen Yuan can’t help but feel a little proud of himself. It’s stupid, because he knows he’s hardly going to benefit from the fruits of his labour, but it is what it is. Part of Shen Yuan is just relieved that there are any fruits at all, because he’s never begged before today and he wouldn’t have known how to face Shen Jiu after his bold claim of ‘not a bad deal, right?’ had he returned with nothing. Somehow, he doesn’t think Shen Jiu would have stopped at painful pinches for the crime of wasting his time.
Shen Yuan cups his face with a shiver.
Their resting place for the night honestly isn’t much better than the alley Shen Yuan woke up in. It’s damp, smells awful, and Shen Yuan knows he saw the silhouette of some rats scuttling past just now, but for the sake of his sanity, he’s pretending otherwise. When Shen Jiu pulls out a well-worn bamboo mat from its hiding place, wedged behind some loose bricks, it becomes clear to Shen Yuan this place isn’t just any old alleyway. Shen Jiu must have slept here before, so the fact that he’s returned means it’s probably safe… Relatively speaking.
With that being the case, Shen Yuan decides to swallow his complaints and watches as Shen Jiu squirrels the jewellery and coins away into the folds of his robes before carefully unrolling the mat. He sits down when he’s done, closing his eyes with a sigh as he rests his head against the wall. Shen Yuan waits a moment before he cautiously approaches, and it’s clear what Shen Jiu thinks of that when he opens a narrowed eye to watch him. But!! He says nothing to dissuade Shen Yuan, which for Shen Jiu, is probably the equivalent of an arms-wide-open invitation. So, before Shen Jiu changes his mind, Shen Yuan hurriedly settles on the other side of the mat, leaving as much space between them as he physically can.
Being a malnourished eight year old certainly helps in that regard, and Shen Yuan is almost in awe of how little space he takes up when he curls in on himself. Hiking his legs up to his chest, Shen Yuan rests his head on his knees, and after a while, allows his eyes to slowly slip closed. He doesn’t trust Shen Jiu at all, but he does think the boy will at least keep up his end of the bargain… If only because he’s pretty sure Shen Jiu is aware that Yue Qi would be disappointed if he allowed Shen Yuan to die overnight. The eldest boy had gone off somewhere shortly after sundown, but Shen Yuan doesn’t doubt that he’ll show up again soon. The two seem to come as a pair, for better or for worse.
On the cusp of sleep as he is, the fact that Shen Jiu has spoken doesn’t register immediately with Shen Yuan. It’s only when Shen Jiu hisses quietly, that Shen Yuan begrudgingly fights his way back to consciousness again to focus on:
“Shen Jiu.”
Shen Yuan blinks once, and it’s a laborious task; the exhaustion of the day has soundly caught up with him, and his eyelids may as well be cement blocks. Processing the words is also an endeavour his sluggish brain struggles with, and when he does, in his sleepiness, almost blurts out past lax lips, ‘I know…?’
Then Shen Yuan realises Shen Jiu is finally introducing himself, and his eye twitches involuntarily. Really, Scum Villain? It took you this long? Or is it that a no-name NPC like Shen Yuan has to prove himself first, before he’s allowed to know your name?
…Ah, whatever! He’s too tired for this.
Shen Yuan sighs internally, but outwardly hums in acknowledgement. “Gege is Jiu-ge, then.”
Hoping the nickname grates on Shen Jiu’s nerves, Shen Yuan is surprised when no rebuttal follows his words. Sneaking a glance at the older boy, Shen Yuan squints when he finds him breathing softly – either asleep, or feigning it very well. The lack of a reaction is disappointing, but as Shen Yuan allows himself to drift off too, decides he’ll just have to work extra hard to annoy Shen Jiu in the morning.
Present Day
Jiu-ge…
Shen Yuan holds back a sigh as he unties his robe and hands it over to Xu Shan. Officially, the boy was a servant for all the Warm Red Pavilion courtesans, but it was no secret that he preferred working under Shen Yuan the most. What Shen Yuan had done to sway his bias like this, he does not know. Perhaps he’s less of a hassle to serve than his jiejies? Or perhaps it’s that he doesn’t force the younger boy to play dress up when he’s bored… His jiejies can be a little… scary about that.
Nevertheless, when he entered the baths and found them already running, air thick with steam and scented oils, he wasn't surprised to see Xu Shan as the smiling culprit.
Dipping a toe into the water, Shen Yuan hisses as it scalds his skin, but he doesn’t stop until he’s seated in the liquid fire, groaning in relief as the heat eases the bone-deep ache in his body nigh instantly.
“Xiansheng, should I start washing your hair?” The wooden basin that Meigui-jiejie had been carrying is now in Xu Shan’s hands, and he pulls out a small vial from the collection of bottles, shaking it slightly. “I can’t read the label, but Lady Baihe says this is xiansheng’s favourite ylang-ylang oil.”
If this had been a normal bath, Shen Yuan would have taken him up on the offer. The Madame of the Warm Red Pavilion holds all her girls to stringent hygiene standards, and when Shen Yuan had joined their numbers, he was no exception. Unfortunately, the thought of hands other than his own running through his hair right now – even Xu Shan’s gentle, little ones – makes his skin crawl.
Shen Yuan has had over a decade to get used to it, but he’s still always like this… after.
“Just leave the basin there,” Shen Yuan indicates a small stool next to the bath. “Instead, Xiao Shan, could you change the sheets in my suite? Take the jade hairpin on my desk as payment.”
Xu Shan places the basin where he’s told, but looks torn as he reluctantly says, “Yulan-xiansheng, you don’t have to pay me to do something like that…”
It’s sweet that the boy tries to refuse out of some misguided sense of propriety, but Shen Yuan has heard him mention more than one sibling in past conversations, and it doesn’t seem like parents are in the picture; a tale as old as time for kids in this area. The Madame pays better than most, but he knows there’s no way her coin alone could support multiple children.
So Shen Yuan says, honestly, “I want to.”
Xu Shan’s eyes turn glossy. He hesitates only a moment longer before dipping into a low bow. Rushing to the door, he stops as if remembering something, and asks over his shoulder, “Xiansheng, did you have a preference for colour?”
Tilting his head back, Shen Yuan ponders the question, then decides, “Green would be nice.”
The boy chirps, “Of course!” And then he’s gone.
Relaxing into the water, Shen Yuan allows himself to sink until only his head from his nose up is visible, hair floating around his shoulders like spilled ink. His skin entertains a prickly sort of numbness, which Shen Yuan knows means the water is far too hot – but he’s always preferred it this way. If he closes his eyes, it’s almost as if he’s dead, back in that inky void, with nothing but his own mind to keep him company.
Shen Yuan keeps his eyes open.
…He wonders what Shen Qingqiu is doing with his jiejies, but Shen Yuan never asks, and they never tell. From the state he’s spied them leaving the Emperor suite in the past, Shen Yuan doesn’t think anything particularly licentious occurs… but if he’s wrong, it’s not like it matters. This is that sort of establishment, after all.
Over five months have passed since Shen Qingqiu first patronised the Warm Red Pavilion, and his visits are never regular. It’s not unusual for him to disappear for a month, only to rent out the Emperor suite for a week upon his return. Shen Yuan wishes he would – well, stop coming, first and foremost – but if not that, then at least come on a schedule! Jiu-ge, think of the poor people trying to avoid you! Don’t you feel sorry when you make them panic?
Ah, Shen Yuan is being ridiculous.
Shaking his head as if to physically clear it, Shen Yuan leans over the edge of the bath and drags the stool closer to him. Rifling through the contents of the basin, the glass containers clink loudly when Shen Yuan’s fingers jostle them about. Pulling out a bar of olive soap and the ylang-ylang oil Xu Shan had shown him earlier, Shen Yuan replaces the basin atop the stool.
The process of getting clean is one Shen Yuan appreciates. It’s nice to be able to turn off his mind while tending to his body. Lathering the soap over the marks on his skin, it’s all too easy to pretend they don’t exist beneath the layer of suds and bubbles. Shen Yuan tries not to indulge that fantasy too often, though, because it just makes reality all the more disappointing when he eventually has to rinse himself off.
His hair is next, but Shen Yuan doesn’t think he can bother with the twelve step routine typically expected of him. In a move of complete and utter blasphemy, Shen Yuan pours only a coin-sized drop of the clear golden oil into his palm, rubbing his hands together quickly before running them roughly through the length of his hair. He focuses less on his scalp, since some clients enjoy kissing the tips of his hair in a way Shen Yuan can only assume they believe is romantic. In another unforgivable act, Shen Yuan only allows the oil to soak into his hair for around one incense time, instead of the shichen the Madame tries to enforce. If she ever finds out about the shortcuts he takes sometimes, then… well, better to ask for forgiveness, than permission.
After ensuring his hair is mostly oil-free, Shen Yuan rises from the water; droplets racing down jade skin are hidden away as he folds himself into his robes. Shen Yuan walks to his suite in quiet contemplation, his mood melancholic, though he pretends otherwise. Pushing past the bead curtain, he can’t help the quirk of his lips when he sees that Xu Shan, may the gods bless that little boy’s soul, has not only changed the sheets, but swapped out the sweet incense Shen Yuan uses while entertaining for the one he enjoys burning before sleep.
The new incense stick is already halfway burned, and the smell of earthy musk permeates the air. It’s grounding, comforting, and he relaxes despite himself as he goes about his nightly routine. Tossing his robe over the length of the divan, Shen Yuan channels a small amount of qi into his palms to dry his hair before he sits at his dresser. A large mirror is set in the centre, but Shen Yuan avoids looking at it for as long as he can – focusing instead on arranging his perfumes in order of preference, then deciding to reorder them based on the amount left in each bottle instead. He makes sure his lipstick stains are neatly squared away, though there’s not much more he can do beyond that because they’re all the same shade of red.
When Shen Yuan eventually glances up, his reflection stares back at him.
The man in the mirror is tired, but his beauty is undeniable. The purple smudges under his eyes would make anyone else look haggard, but on this man, only serve to accentuate their large, peach-blossom shape. His lips could rival rubies, and pout when he talks. The man’s skin is as pale as the purest jade, with a smoothness that matches – except, Shen Yuan thinks, as he touches his cheek, and watches the man in the mirror do the same, for right here.
The scar lies behind a layer of makeup, and thin as it is, requires nothing more to keep its existence hidden. If one were to touch the left side of Shen Yuan’s face, however, they would feel raised skin beneath their fingertips; a fine line, spanning across the length of his cheekbone.
“Oh, Yuan-er, forgive me. I made a mistake. You’ll forgive me, won’t you? You’re such a sweet boy… It won’t scar, make sure to tell——it won’t scar, okay? Your——did such a good job, what sweet boys…”
Shen Yuan closes his eyes, brows pinched in pain. Unfolding a cotton face cloth, he dips it into a clear solution and cleanses the makeup from his skin with clinical efficiency.
He does not look into the mirror again.
The mint-coloured sheets are silky against his bare skin when Shen Yuan slides beneath them. With the smell of freshly laundered linens surrounding him, and his hair softly tickling his back, Shen Yuan feels – clean, almost. He embraces the feeling, and imagines wrapping it around himself like it were some physical thing. Briefly, he contemplates meditating for a while before sleeping, but dismisses the idea as quickly as it had come. With Jiu-ge… with Shen Qingqiu being entertained by his jiejies in the Emperor suite, singing and laughing and playing music long into the night, Shen Yuan doubts he would be able to concentrate properly anyway.
So he closes his eyes, and when sleep approaches, Shen Yuan greets it like an old friend; that night, he dreams in shades of green.
Notes:
Yulan - Magnolia; perseverance, dignity
Baihe - Lily; devotion, purity
Meigui - Rose; passion, love
Yuanwei- Iris; hope, wisdom
Lanhua - Orchid; beauty, refinement
Mudan - Peony; romance, compassionif you've read to the end, thank you so much! present day sqq/sj shows up next chapter, and i can't wait to write it. i'd also love to hear what you think of the story so far. since i don't have a twitter it would be lovely to hear from other jiuyuan shippers here<3
my tentative update schedule for this fic is biweekly, and i'm hopeful i’ll be able to stick with it. i make no promises though! see you next time :)
Chapter 2
Notes:
hi! i’m a day late, but this chapter is just over 15.1k, so it's basically two updates in one… please take this behemoth as thanks for the frankly ridiculous reception the first chapter received. you guys blew me away!!! i didnt respond to any comments bc i never know what to say to them and i was also worried i’d accidentally spoil future plot points lol... but! i need you all to know that each and every one was so, so precious to me and i re-read them all whenever i needed to motivate myself. thank you <3
warnings for this chapter: grooming (biggie), references to past csa, a panic attack and dubcon. please, please look after yourself! unfortunately it will probably get worse (im sorry) before it gets better (i promise!). once again not beta read and this chapter was long as hell so sorry for the inevitable mistakes :thumbsup:
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sixteen Years Ago
The human ability to adapt is as scary as it is amazing.
Over two years have passed since Shen Yuan first opened his eyes in the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way, and while the first couple months were admittedly tough… with Shen Jiu’s, ah, strict and thorough tutelage, at nearly 10 years old Shen Yuan could beg and thieve with the best of them. The vague sense of propriety that still remains from his old life tells him that he shouldn’t be too proud of those skills, but Shen Yuan refuses to feel ashamed for surviving.
Gone are the days spent idled away in hospital beds, leaving scathing reviews on the trashy webnovels he’d binge read. Instead, Shen Yuan now spends most of his time either shadowing Shen Jiu or playing with the other street kids when the older boy is busy. Though, calling it ‘playing’ might be a bit of a stretch; the kids don’t – or rather can’t – hate him, since he has their dear Qi-ge’s seal of approval, but his close association with Shen Jiu does him no favours. It was made very apparent to Shen Yuan why that was, the day Shen Jiu had told him to, and he quotes, ‘ stay with these idiots while I’m gone’, within painfully obvious hearing distance of the group. Shen Yuan remembers wincing as soon as the words left Shen Jiu’s mouth, but the older boy looked entirely unapologetic as he waved Shen Yuan off when he left.
Jiu-ge, Shen Yuan laments, that day was really awkward for me, you know? If you’re going to make enemies of everyone, don’t drag me down with you!
Then, as if to remind Shen Yuan that he has more important things to worry about than an embarrassing memory, his throat tickles, and that’s the only warning he gets before he devolves into a fit of chest-rattling coughs.
Unfortunately, transmigrating hadn’t been the clean slate Shen Yuan thought it would be. He’s not sure whether this body had a weak constitution to begin with, or whether his own decided to transcend flesh and blood and follow his soul to this new world to curse him; perhaps it’s a combination of the two. Regardless, what this means for Shen Yuan is nothing new; he’s had two decades to come to terms with being sick, after all. At the very least, it seems his penchant for illness in this life is limited to catching the xianxia equivalent of a cold with the turn of the seasons. Considering his position – a homeless kid, with barely any money to his name – Shen Yuan shudders to imagine how he would have ended up were it any worse than that. Though it’s not as if his situation right now is particularly good; the air is damp, and with the winds carrying a sharpness that promises an unforgivingly cold winter, even catching something as simple as a cold could end up dangerous…
A hand enters Shen Yuan’s field of vision and breaks his line of thought.
Cool fingers brush back his sweat-dampened fringe, and, with the mild fever that has begun to simmer beneath Shen Yuan’s skin, he tries to lean into the touch. The hand pulls away as soon as he does, though, and Shen Yuan is scowling before he even opens his eyes. After all, who else would be so cruel as to deny him such simple comfort in his time of need but his Scum Villain-gege? If Shen Jiu is aware of the annoyance Shen Yuan is sure he’s radiating, the older boy doesn’t show it. Pushing Shen Yuan into a more upright position, he actually looks more pissy than Shen Yuan feels… but Shen Yuan knows by now that that just means his gege is upset and trying to hide the fact.
When Shen Yuan doesn’t immediately curl back into himself without Shen Jiu’s support, the older boy sits back on his heels and pulls out a suspiciously clean looking cloth from his sleeve – within which, a few verdant green sprigs of some kind of herb are wrapped.
“Gege…” Shen Yuan means to sound reproachful, but after so much coughing, his voice comes out barely louder than a croak.
“Hush,” Shen Jiu murmurs, and offers a sprig to the younger boy.
When Shen Yuan’s lips remain sealed shut, Shen Jiu gives him a Look, and Shen Yuan can only resist the unspoken command for a few moments longer before sullenly opening his mouth. Wasting no time, Shen Jiu pushes the herb past Shen Yuan’s lax lips, and only when the younger boy starts reluctantly chewing does he reach into his inner robes and reveal the small gourd that had been hidden within.
“Gege–” Shen Yuan tries again, then cuts himself off when he bites down on the stem of a leaf and releases its bitter juices all over his palate. Gross.
At Shen Yuan’s puckered face, Shen Jiu snorts and unstoppers the gourd, pressing the opening to his lips. “Drink first, talk later.”
Then, he tips the gourd up – not high enough for Shen Yuan to choke on the liquid, but so that if Shen Yuan doesn’t do as he’s told it’ll end up spilling all over his front.
Shen Jiu, are you my gege or my mother?!
Disgruntled, Shen Yuan pushes Shen Jiu’s hands away and holds the gourd himself. He’s sick, not dying – and he’s already died once, so he actually knows what he’s talking about!
Swallowing a mouthful, Shen Yuan’s eyebrows pitch upwards in surprise as sweetness washes over his tongue. The concoction tastes good – great, even; not only is it notably sugary, but when Shen Yuan smacks his lips, he thinks he tastes honey!
It would have cost… far, far too much.
Shen Yuan moves to set the gourd aside, but Shen Jiu doesn’t let him, nudging it back up to his lips so he takes another sip.
“Jiu-ge!” Shen Yuan’s patience snaps when Shen Jiu tries to coax a third sip out of him, and he slams the gourd down pointedly (albeit very gently, lest he spill anything) before exclaiming, “That tasted expensive. The herbs and the honey, how did you afford them both?”
“Does your throat still hurt?” Shen Jiu asks instead.
He tries to pry open Shen Yuan’s mouth to peer inside – as if he would even know what to look for, Shen Yuan thinks with an internal scoff – but Shen Yuan resists, placing both hands on Shen Jiu’s shoulders and pushing down. He doesn’t actually have the strength to force the older boy to sit, but thankfully Shen Jiu decides to cooperate for once in his stubborn life, and, after making sure the gourd is restoppered, crosses his legs next to Shen Yuan.
“Jiu-ge,” Shen Yuan starts, when the older boy is settled. “You know… we can’t afford to-”
“I’m in charge of the money,” is the mulish interruption, “it’s up to me what we can and can’t spend it on.”
…Swallowing back the urge to spit blood, Shen Yuan rubs his forehead. “Ge, it’s almost winter. We need money for food and warmer robes. You know I’m right!”
Shen Jiu crosses his arms and remains frustratingly unconvinced. “And what good will either do when you’re dying?”
“Wh, dy–” Shen Yuan can’t help the splutter, disbelief clear in his voice. “Who’s dying?!”
Refusing to meet his eyes, Shen Jiu glares at the dank brick wall opposite them; his knuckles have turned white with the strength they’re gripping his own elbows.
…Ah.
The fight bleeds out of Shen Yuan at the sight, and in its place, guilt makes itself at home. Silently, Shen Yuan rests his head on Shen Jiu’s shoulder. The older boy is tense, muscles drawn and tight – but, when it becomes clear Shen Yuan isn’t planning on moving, slowly relaxes. Though he still won’t look at Shen Yuan, the furrow between his brows eventually smoothes over.
It’s been a year since the incident that was Shen Yuan’s first illness, and it seems that Shen Jiu hasn’t quite moved past it. Personally – though Shen Yuan wouldn’t dare say this out loud – he thinks his gege is overreacting. It’s touching that he’s now one of two people to be treated to Shen Jiu’s special brand of overprotective loyalty, but really… he’s not super sick now, and he doesn’t think he was that sick back then, either! Though, ah, admittedly, it could be argued that Shen Yuan has a rather… unique perspective on what it means to be ill.
In his past life, if he wasn’t in hospital, then in his eyes, he had a clean bill of health. Hindsight is 20/20, as it always is, and Shen Yuan realises now what a ridiculous thought process that is to have, but… old habits are hard to break.
It’s the reason why, when he woke up that fateful morning, he paid no mind to the fact that his head was stuffy and a little hard to hold up. It probably wasn’t a big deal that his vision clouded over when he turned around too fast, either – that was just the fog, see? It was a chilly winter morning, after all. Shen Yuan could tell that Shen Jiu was getting annoyed with how long it was taking him to respond to his questions, but gege – Shen Yuan was pretty tired, okay? Please be nice.
When Shen Jiu had taken Shen Yuan to his panhandling spot, weirdly enough, he seemed almost… reluctant to leave. Instead of setting off immediately as he was wont to do, Shen Jiu had instead stayed and watched with an unreadable expression as Shen Yuan slowly settled himself down on the street corner, and continued watching as he laid out his tattered beggars cloth with shaky hands. It was only when Shen Yuan had turned to the older boy and asked, with a confused head tilt, ‘are we working together today?’ that Shen Jiu seemed to snap himself out of whatever stupor he had been in.
He had left not soon after, but had glanced over his shoulder at Shen Yuan not once, or twice… but three whole times! Very strange indeed.
Shen Yuan remembers the way he had begged for the next couple hours; pathetic attempts that barely turned a head. It was when he realised that he needed to focus his energy more on staying awake than calling out for coin, that it had hit Shen Yuan that he might be sick. But! His body was young. He figured that moving into a sunny spot would solve his problems; once he warmed up a little, he could get back to work for real!
Shen Yuan remembers pushing himself to stand… and remembers how fast the cobbled road had rushed to greet him. Remembers struggling to roll onto his back and staring up at the sun, remembers thinking that he should have known better.
Unsurprisingly, Shen Yuan’s memories after that are but fragments of colour and sound.
When he awoke next, he was in a bed, sheets tucked around him up to his chin, with a damp cloth laid across his forehead. The comfort was so starkly different to the life Shen Yuan had gotten accustomed to living for the past year that, for one terrifying moment, Shen Yuan had thought that he died again, and somehow transmigrated back into the 21st century. There was an undeniably large gap in that logic, but could you blame him? He hadn’t been in a proper bed for ages!
(Shen Yuan would later learn, from Yue Qi, that it was Shen Jiu who had found him – Shen Jiu who had gone back to check on him after something in his gut told him to, who had chased off the group of men hovering near Shen Yuan’s prone body with dark, unconscionable gazes. Carrying him to the brothel he frequently hung around, it was Shen Jiu who managed to convince the prostitutes to allow Shen Yuan to rest for as long as he needed.
Was this really the same Scum Villain he had read about in PIDW? Shen Yuan was finding that harder and harder to believe.)
Shen Yuan’s panicked fantasies were laid to rest a moment later, when Shen Jiu entered the room. Shen Yuan thinks they must have looked like a pair of deer caught in some headlights, the way they both froze upon seeing each other. Shen Jiu had looked tense – angry, almost – and even though Shen Yuan hadn’t known the extent of it at the time, was at the very least aware that he’d caused trouble for Shen Jiu in some way.
And when Shen Yuan had looked out of the window and saw only darkness, he couldn’t even fault the older boy for being mad; an entire day of panhandling wasted, just like that!
Resolved to apologise, Shen Yuan remembers the way Shen Jiu had jumped into action when he’d tried to push himself out of bed. The basin of water he had been carrying was quickly forgotten as he half dropped it in his carelessness, a quarter of its contents sloshing over the rim as a result.
“Idiot,” Shen Jiu had hissed as he pushed Shen Yuan back down. His voice, even to Shen Yuan’s cotton-addled mind, sounded strained. “What the hell were you thinking?! If you were ill, you… you should have–” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Shen Jiu had taken a moment to collect himself before saying, “Shen Yuan. Never do that again.”
To say Shen Yuan was bewildered would be putting it lightly. At that point in time, he could count on one hand how often Shen Jiu had referred to him by his actual name; it was always only ever ‘you’ or ‘brat’. The shock of the situation had him hurrying to blurt out, “Sorry, gege.”
“Do you even know what you’re apologising for?” Shen Jiu countered instantly – then, in the same breath, shook his head and sighed long sufferingly. Shen Yuan felt like a doll in Shen Jiu’s hands, pliant as he allowed the older boy to tuck and re-tuck him into the sheets until he was satisfied. All the while, Shen Jiu spoke: “Listen to me: the next time you’re sick, you’re going to tell me straight away. Don’t you dare think about hiding it like you did today. I won’t forgive you if you do.”
Shen Yuan remembers nodding along, agreeing to something he didn’t fully understand. He couldn’t have hidden an illness he didn’t know he had, so why was Shen Jiu accusing him of such? And perhaps more perplexing – why did he sound upset about it? Surely the older boy hadn’t come to be so reliant on Shen Yuan’s panhandling contributions that he couldn’t go a day without him. There was a misunderstanding there, but Shen Yuan’s sluggish mind couldn’t parse it out, and somehow, he knew that asking Shen Jiu to elaborate wouldn’t be a good idea.
Looking back on it now, it’s shameful for Shen Yuan to admit that he had once been so obtuse. The thing is, though: despite following the System’s first mission to befriend the Scum Villain, Shen Yuan had failed to realise what that would mean in practical terms. In some ways, he still viewed the world around him through the lens of a book; the people he saw in his day-to-day life were two dimensional NPCs, living irrelevant, forgettable lives – and naturally, he was part of their number. In Proud Immortal Demon Way, Shen Qingqiu had never once made mention of any childhood friends – ah, except for Yue Qingyuan, perhaps… though whether the Scum Villain had thought of him as a ‘friend’ at that point was debatable – so Shen Yuan had simply assumed that his role in Shen Jiu’s life would be inconsequential.
Shen Yuan was not prepared to be proven otherwise.
It’s not as if Shen Jiu had tended to Shen Yuan the entire time he was sick, especially since what Shen Yuan seemed to need the most was restful sleep. But, the older boy always made sure to visit at night – helping him to sit up to take his meals, with deft fingers braiding his hair for bed when he was done. It had taken the Scum Villain acting so out of character, in a way that could only be described as human, for Shen Yuan to become cognizant of a shockingly simple truth:-
Shen Jiu cared about him.
Despite the worldview shattering nature of the revelation, Shen Yuan acted no differently because of it, so nothing changed about their relationship. However, Shen Yuan was forced to view Shen Jiu in a new light, wherein he was a person rather than a character; in that sense, no greater paradigm shift could have occurred.
In the brusque manner that Shen Jiu treats Shen Yuan are hidden acts of kindness that Shen Yuan can now see for what they are. Who would have thought that the Scum Villain was a bit of a tsundere? Not that Shen Yuan would dream of reducing Shen Jiu to an overused character trope, but it doesn’t help that his gege’s angry (because he cares) voice and irritated (because he’s angry) voice are so similar, you know? The evidence is there.
Gege would kill me if he knew I was thinking this about him, wouldn’t he? Hiding a grin in the older boy’s shoulder, the movement causes Shen Jiu to finally glance down, quirking a brow in silent question at Shen Yuan’s behaviour.
“It’s nothing,” comes Shen Yuan’s angelic reply.
He likes to think he has the innocent didi act down to a science by now – disappointingly, though, is the fact that Shen Jiu can almost always tell when he’s being honest and when he’s bullshitting.
As expected, the expression Shen Jiu gives Shen Yuan is unimpressed, but he says nothing and chooses instead to press the gourd back into Shen Yuan’s hands. Accepting the small container, Shen Yuan takes a long pull of the drink, and despite his grumbling earlier, can’t deny that he feels much better for it. The honey does wonders for soothing his raw throat on the way down, and after a couple more sips, he doesn’t even feel like he’s spent the last two hours gargling gravel anymore!
Passing the gourd back to Shen Jiu, the smile on Shen Yuan’s face dims. He still feels a tad guilty about earlier, but also doesn’t think he was entirely at fault for acting the way he did. Imposing on his family and friends because of his illness has always been something he’s hated, you know? But that aside, Shen Yuan realises that what he feels the most strongly right now is gratitude.
So he decides to save the apology, and simply says, honestly, “Thanks for the medicine, Jiu-ge.”
Shen Jiu eyes him with a touch of suspicion.
“Hmph.” Pushing himself off the ground, Shen Jiu dusts off his robes and looks down at Shen Yuan. His hands are on his hips as he says, imperiously, “Brat. Next time, be like that from the start.”
The insult is perfunctory at this point, having long since lost its disparaging edge. It honestly may as well be Shen Jiu’s own brand of affectionate nickname for Shen Yuan, though Shen Yuan chooses not to draw attention to that fact lest it backfire. Instead he nods in acquiescence, and finds the corner of his mouth twitching at the now self-satisfied gleam in Shen Jiu’s eyes.
“Xiao Jiu, A-Yuan!”
The call sounds from the mouth of the alleyway, and their heads turn simultaneously to see Yue Qi standing there, hand raised in greeting.
Only when he lowers it do the thin, red lines across his knuckles become visible. Shen Yuan feels a budding sense of dread build up in his chest when the eldest among them approaches – the bamboo cane marks are already purpling.
“Qi-ge–”
“What happened?!” The words tear themselves from Shen Jiu’s throat in a snarl, and in his panic he is careless when he pulls Yue Qi’s sleeves up.
The muffled sound of pain Yue Qi tries to swallow down has Shen Jiu locking up, and Shen Yuan watches as his fingers twitch helplessly over Yue Qi’s bruised forearms.
“How…?” Shen Jiu asks again, quieter this time, though only a fool would assume his anger had abated.
Surprisingly, Yue Qi doesn’t immediately begin placating Shen Jiu with empty words that he’s fine. He’s smiling, but Shen Yuan has realised that he always is – it is Yue Qi’s armour to survive in this world, much like Shen Jiu’s barbed tongue is his. He says nothing, and then strangely, his gaze flickers over to Shen Yuan. They make eye contact for only a moment before Yue Qi looks to Shen Jiu again – but not before he glances down at the gourd by Shen Yuan’s side.
The minutiae of Yue Qi’s gaze does not go unmissed by Shen Jiu, who looks perplexed for all of two seconds before his face drains of colour.
“They found out.”
Shen Yuan thinks it’s supposed to be a question, but Shen Jiu’s voice is devoid of any inflection when he speaks that it comes out a certainty.
He takes Yue Qi’s lack of response as confirmation and the rage bubbles back to the surface as Shen Jiu growls, “How?! I was so careful, they couldn’t have known!”
Yue Qi looks uncomfortable. It’s clear he wants to say something, but it seems as if he’s thinking better of it. Shen Jiu clearly has no qualms about saving Yue Qi’s face though, because, although he doesn’t touch the older boy, the venomous glower he sends him probably hurts just as much.
“Speak, Qi-ge.”
Called out as he is, Yue Qi can only gingerly pull his sleeves down and sigh.
“You’re right.” He admits reluctantly, though continues, cowed as he is by Shen Jiu’s glare, “But, Xiao Jiu, one of the other kids saw you, and they…” Shen Yuan is staring intently at Yue Qi when he trails off, and he can tell it startles the older boy when he makes eye contact again, to find Shen Yuan already looking. Yue Qi hesitates, then murmurs, “…We’ll talk later, okay?”
At the mention of the other slave kids, Shen Jiu goes from angry to incensed, and looks ready to argue against the delay with whole chest before Yue Qi’s furtive glance at their youngest audience member has him catching himself. Exhaling slowly and measuredly, Shen Jiu gives a begrudging nod, but Shen Yuan can see how his nails are digging into the meat of his palm.
That his geges are trying to shield Shen Yuan from something is painfully obvious, but they are still far too young to be able to hide the truth in plain view the way Shen Qingqiu or Yue Qingyuan would have been capable of. Also – Shen Yuan isn’t stupid. Yue Qi shows up with the kisses of a whip blooming on his skin right after Shen Jiu feeds Shen Yuan suspiciously high quality medicine – he’d have to be an idiot to not put two and two together.
It’s in moments like these that Shen Yuan is made excruciatingly aware of his position in this universe; the limitations of his existence as vast and wide as the sea is deep. Not for the first time, he wonders where he would be if his transmigration hadn’t been botched from the start. Could he have been an adult? Rich? Powerful? Could he have had the strength to do anything about this situation before him?
…Such wishful thoughts are best kept inside his head. Plus, Shen Yuan takes the time to remind himself, I probably wouldn’t have met Shen Jiu or Yue Qi if I transmigrated into someone else.
Nevertheless, guilt gnaws at Shen Yuan again, and it’s an uphill battle to fight the urge to apologise; Shen Jiu wouldn’t accept or appreciate it, and it would just add insult to Yue Qi’s very literal injuries – the oldest boy bearing the marks of a punishment that should have rightfully been doled out to another.
So, as frustrating as it is, the best thing Shen Yuan can do is remain silent, and smile blandly when Yue Qi and Shen Jiu tell him they’re just going to go somewhere for a shichen or so, and not to worry.
Shen Yuan doesn’t bother getting up from the bamboo mat to see them off; he knows it would be a pointless gesture that would serve only to irritate Shen Jiu all over again. Instead he pulls the blanket tighter around his legs and watches their backs as they slip into the bustling crowd.
When Shen Yuan is certain they won’t return, he twists around and scrabbles at the wall behind him, crumbling red dust getting under his nails as he jiggles out the loose brick behind which his meagre savings are hidden. Pulling out the worn leather pouch, Shen Yuan cleans it off on his robes before he begins counting out the coins in his lap. Half a year ago, Shen Yuan had begun to skim a little bit off the top of whatever he earned when panhandling. He wasn’t brave enough to take more than a couple coins each time, and only ever did it once a week lest the slave owners clock on and catch him – the result of that is a pathetic handful of silver and bronze, barely enough to pay for the sugar glazing of the tanghulu he’d been tentatively saving up for, to treat Shen Jiu to one day.
Ah, really, it’s not even funny. Not only is Shen Yuan broke, he’s a hypocrite too – to berate his gege for getting something as important as medicine, when he had been half-entertaining fanciful dreams of expensive desserts. Determination and desolation vie for dominance in his chest as he carefully slips the coins back into the pouch, but by the time Shen Yuan pushes the brick into place, he’s just… tired.
Shen Yuan needs to grow up, and fast – but… that’s just another desire that does nothing to solve any of the problems in his immediate future. Instead, Shen Yuan resolves to look for work when he’s recovered from this sickness. It’s entirely possible that he’s retained some level of reading and writing capability from his past life, though he hasn’t had the chance to test that theory out. If he could find an apprenticeship somewhere, and foster skills that make him useful for more than just collecting scraps of goodwill on the streets…
Hey, System, are you there?
[Connecting…]
[Connection established.]
[What is it that Host requires of us?]
Shen Yuan massages his temples, trying to get used to the weird itchy-brain feeling that comes whenever the system talks to him. It’s one of the reasons why Shen Yuan doesn’t try contacting it often, aside from the fact that it’s rarely ever helpful.
What are my stats? There’s no way they’re still hidden, right? I’ve definitely been in this world long enough to unlock them.
The first time Shen Yuan had asked the System to open up an information panel about himself like the ones he’d seen by Shen Jiu and Yue Qi the first time he met them was a week after his transmigration. Imagine his surprise when he was informed that due to his ‘underdeveloped’ state as an NPC, there was no information available to share! He’d pestered the System daily after that, and then weekly, and then monthly – and after three months of absolutely no change, had cussed the System to high heaven before giving up.
But he’ll try again – and again and again if he has to. If today has served any purpose at all, it was to teach Shen Yuan that while he may not have anything to lose himself… the people around him are a different story.
It takes a while for the System to formulate a response – so long that Shen Yuan thinks it’s going to ghost him again. But then:
[To answer Host: skills accrued over the last two years are now available for viewing. We would like to remind Host that he may not enhance or detract from anything shown – all edits must be done externally.]
That just means there are no shortcuts Shen Yuan can take, right? No magical transmigrator halo to speak of? …As if he wasn’t already woefully aware of that! Really, Shen Yuan has long since set his expectations of the System in hell, but it still irks him to be reminded of just how useless it really is.
Whatever. Anything is better than nothing at this point!
In response to the thought, the air in front of him flickers and pixelates, and then at long last, his own information box finally appears. As with the first time, his gaze triggers the expansion of the different categories there, and Shen Yuan watches as the padlock symbol next to the ‘Statistics’ category blinks twice before disappearing completely. Immediately, Shen Yuan zeroes in on it, and in response it unscrolls and reveals to him the fruits of his two years of life.
[Name: Shen Yuan, Gender: Male, Age: 10 (approx.)]
[Health: 50/100]
[Intelligence: 73/100]
[Likeability: 87/100]
[Cunning: 62/100]
[Beauty: ???/???]
The list is pitifully short, and a little confusing besides. He hadn’t thought his physical appearance would be counted as a skill, but when Shen Yuan ponders on the idea, he acquiesces that cultivators in xianxia settings are almost always unnaturally good looking. Perhaps there was a trick to it? Though, considering Shen Yuan can’t remember doing anything to make himself look nicer, he has to wonder whether the System fucked up – and isn’t the fact that the score is glitched proof that it’s not even supposed to be there?
Ah, really, Shen Yuan must be the only person to have transmigrated with a broken system. What kind of F-tier luck was that?!
Tilting his head back, Shen Yuan closes his eyes and valiantly focuses on the bright side. So there wasn’t much information available – okay, he’d expected as much. At least now he has a rough idea of what he was working with. And! Loathe as he is to rely on anything the System has said – it would make sense that not every skill he could possibly acquire was listed; he’d have to make an effort towards them first before they appeared.
And they will appear, Shen Yuan thinks, determination steeling him from the inside out. Waving a hand in front of him, the information box dissipates into nothingness and leaves the grimy alley wall in its wake. He clenches his fist. They have to!
Present Day
Like the yolk of an egg spun in spider silk, the winter sun hangs muted in the sky, its rays watery and weak. Shen Yuan is dressed in heavy silk robes, lounging on the divan with a book in hand; a bowl of candied walnuts are set within easy snacking distance, and he reaches over to pop one into his mouth.
He chews and returns his attention to the book – so mind-numbingly bad, it makes Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky look like a Pulitzer prize winner in comparison. It’s yellow in nature, as is all the literature The Warm Red Pavilion keeps – something about getting even the most scholarly of clients in the mood… whatever that means. Licking his index finger, Shen Yuan turns the page. The sex scenes are plentiful but uninspired, with the plot Frankensteinian in nature, existing only to haphazardly connect one orgasm to the next. Shen Yuan manages to soldier on through to the halfway mark before he decides that that is quite enough, and allows the book to slip unceremoniously from his fingers and fall to the rug below.
Gods help him, Shen Yuan is bored.
Contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t spend every waking hour bedded by men. In actuality, the flowers of the Warm Red Pavilion’s garden probably have less sex than one would expect; being at the ‘top of the food chain’, so to speak, meant that only the richest were allowed the luxury of seeing them bloom. It’s why no small number of lower level prostitutes took none too kindly to Shen Yuan usurping the previous Yulan’s position, seemingly out of nowhere. It’s been seven years since his 18th birthday, so most of the discontent has fizzled out by now – if there are any still unhappy about it, they are smart enough not to let the Madame hear of their grievances.
And frankly, they can suck it, Shen Yuan thinks blithely. If they knew about the training he went through for the position, he wonders if they would still covet it as they do; the Magnolia's delicate scent could never hope to cover up the stench of rot, after all.
Rolling onto his stomach, Shen Yuan pillows his head in his arms and stares at the slice of the outside world his balcony provides. Anything he could want from out there can be found within the four walls of his suite – within reason, of course, because no matter how high class, a whore is still a whore – but it does make for a rather opulent cage, so long as Shen Yuan ignores the fact that he pays for these luxuries with his freedom.
Although he isn’t technically forbidden from leaving the brothel grounds, the fanfare is such that sometimes, it’s just not worth the hassle. The most annoying stipulation is that Shen Yuan isn’t allowed out alone – a minimum of two guards are required to accompany him. On the surface, it’s for his protection – and perhaps on some level the Madame does feel the need to make sure he returns unscathed – but more likely is the fact that she can’t risk him trying to escape. Admittedly, Shen Yuan has entertained the thought once or twice, but daydreaming is ever as far as it gets; the invisible shackles that bind him are far more effective than any guard could ever hope to be.
Despite the fact that his jiejies are less restricted than he, they rarely ever step foot outside the brothel if they can help it; the mere idea of running away, unthinkable. Shen Yuan had struggled to understand why that was, until he realised that unless they for certain had somewhere to run to… well, beautiful, young women like them would almost definitely have to do the same work they do at the Warm Red Pavilion to make ends meet – and with none of its benefits. In the face of such an unchanging fate, who could criticise them for choosing to live it out in comfort? If there were any in a place to do so, it was certainly not Shen Yuan.
Though… truth be told, it does make things a little more difficult for him, when trying to find guards to escort him out. Since he’s the only one who ever requests the service, they always conveniently make themselves scarce on the days he decides to visit the security hut – as if they have some preternatural sense for whenever the Magnolia of the garden wishes to exercise a sliver of his limited freedoms. Shen Yuan’s standing in the pavilion is such that they can’t outright refuse him, but rather than just accepting that fact and committing to one afternoon of actual work – instead of playing cards and smoking til the brothel’s doors open at sundown – they appear to have unanimously decided on the route of plausible deniability; they can’t be accused of refusing Shen Yuan if he never gets the chance to ask for their help.
Just thinking about it is enough to get his blood pressure spiking, but Shen Yuan tamps down his anger before it distracts him. He’s heard tell of a new guard joining today, and with the sun already halfway across the sky, it’s more than likely that the man’s already arrived. If that’s the case then Shen Yuan has to hurry, lest the other guards poison his mind with evil, terrible untruths about how much of a hassle escorting duty is… Shen Yuan refuses to let this chance pass him by!
In a burst of sudden, childish excitement, Shen Yuan skips to his closet. He catches himself after the fact and feels a tinge of embarrassment, but since no one is around to chastise him for it, decides he doesn’t care. Sucking in his lower lip, Shen Yuan runs a hand over his collection of hanfu and considers his choices. After a moment of deliberation, Shen Yuan settles on the one with the simplest design – soft robes dyed in gradients of blue, with the outlines of a pair of songbirds embroidered on the inside of each sleeve. This hanfu isn’t his warmest, nor his most comfortable, but growing up on the streets, Shen Yuan knows that wearing anything more lavish would just be asking to be robbed – broad daylight or no. For his hair, Shen Yuan figures he’ll circumvent the bed hair by wearing it up, and picks a nondescript silver ribbon with which to tie his ponytail.
He’s just tucked his money pouch into his sash when the bead curtain rustles, and a small head pokes through the pearls.
“Oh, Yulan-xiansheng! You’re awake.” Xu Shan looks a bit surprised, but greets Shen Yuan with a smile nonetheless. “Should I leave the supplies outside?”
He’s referring to the bundle of potions and poultices in his arms – the xianxia equivalent of a first aid kit, Shen Yuan supposes. Every girl with her own room at the Warm Red Pavilion has one in the event that a client is rougher than they should be, and the Madame takes care to have them replenished each week. Not out of the kindness of her own heart, mind you. While she does have moments of fairness, the brothel is the Madame’s business first and foremost, and it’s much more cost efficient to splurge on medicinal herbs than it is to call out a doctor anytime someone gets hurt – which, in this line of work, is more often than not.
Pushing those grim thoughts away, Shen Yuan instead shakes his head no, and answers, “No need. I’ve barely used any since your last delivery.”
Xu Shan lets out a little breath, and sounds genuinely relieved when he says, “That’s good to hear, xiansheng.” Bobbing his head in a bow, Xu Shan continues, “Then, please excuse me.”
“Ah, hold on.” Shen Yuan waves the boy inside, and Xu Shan steps past the threshold, politely confused. “I won’t keep you long, don’t worry. I just want to know – have you seen the new guard today?”
Index finger tucked under his lip, Xu Shan tilts his head and considers the question. “There was a face I didn’t recognise at the security hut…” Xu Shan frowns, then, looking at Shen Yuan like a puppy who’s aware he’s about to disappoint his owner, “but I was working so I couldn’t approach him. Sorry, Yulan-xiansheng.”
Ack, what sad eyes! Shen Yuan wants to pinch Xu Shan’s cheeks and tell him it’s okay to relax a little, but that strict work ethic is probably a very good trait for him to have, and it wouldn’t do if Shen Yuan inadvertently dissuaded it. He settles on petting Xu Shan’s head and hiding his smile behind his sleeve, lest the boy think his sincerity is being laughed at.
“That’s quite alright, Xiao Shan. It’s enough to know he’s here.” With one last ruffle of his hair, Shen Yuan withdraws his hand. “Don’t let me keep you if you’re busy.”
“Understood, xiansheng.” With another, more proper bow, Xu Shan slips out of the room, and Shen Yuan waits for his footsteps to recede before exiting the room himself.
Truthfully, Shen Yuan had wanted to ask the younger boy if there were any shops he’d recommend visiting – which vendors peddled genuine goods and which ones were well decorated scams. It’s been a few months since the last time he left the brothel, and he’d thought it would be nice to save some of his limited exploring time if possible. However, if Shen Yuan did ask, then Xu Shan would be aware of what he was planning… and in the event that the Madame took that as Xu Shan being complicit in, or even encouraging Shen Yuan’s rule breaking, well… It wouldn’t do to risk the boy’s employment for only a minor convenience on Shen Yuan’s part.
Making his way downstairs, Shen Yuan basks in the quiet of a place so usually buzzing with life. The main hall is like a liminal space when he passes through it, which is a touch unnerving, but all this silence makes sense when considering that for most of the Warm Red Pavilion’s inhabitants, midday is midnight.
Pushing through a set of red ornate double doors, Shen Yuan inhales deeply as the crisp, fresh air of the courtyard hits his face.
Separate from the main building, the security hut is a small outhouse situated near the public entrance to the brothel. The sound of sudden, loud bantering has Shen Yuan ducking to hide behind a pillar – peeking around the edge after a couple moments. From here, he’s able to see a handful of men idling in the courtyard, and even after only a cursory glance, Shen Yuan can tell immediately who the fresh blood is – if the guard’s iron pressed uniform didn’t give him away, then his wide eyed stare as he takes in his surroundings certainly does.
The head of security seems to be briefing him on something, and though Shen Yuan can’t hear what they’re saying from this distance, can tell from the man’s lackadaisical gestures as he points to areas of import that he’s half-assing the induction. The silver lining of such abysmal job integrity is that Shen Yuan doesn’t have to wait long before the new guard is left to his devices. The head of security claps him on the shoulder before he heads towards the shack, and after a minute, the remaining guards do the same.
The new guard looks a little lost at this development, but the fact that he doesn’t immediately follow suit bodes well for Shen Yuan’s endeavour. Instead, he straightens his spine and sets his face into something firm, arms by his sides as he stands watch over the empty courtyard.
He’s young…ish. Older than Shen Yuan, but markedly younger than the majority of the guards in the brothel’s employ – around thirty or so, if Shen Yuan had to guess. His face isn’t anything to write home about – thick set brows and eyes that slope gently downwards – but he isn’t ugly, which definitely makes Shen Yuan’s task of convincing the man to escort him much more bearable, should he have to utilise his more persuasive arguments.
Shen Yuan manages to wait around half an incense time before he gets impatient and cold. Stepping out into the open, he can only hope that the other guards have begun indulging in their vices and will remain sufficiently distracted for the time being. Shen Yuan tucks his hands into his sleeves and leans against the pillar in a way he hopes is natural. Credit where credit is due, though – the new guy seems to be taking his newly appointed role of sentinel rather seriously, because it takes almost another half incense time before the man’s gaze strays from where he had been staring straight ahead, standing to attention.
Shen Yuan rewards the guard’s lapse in concentration with his sweetest smile; thick eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise, and seem ready to leap clean off the man’s face when Shen Yuan beckons him over with one elegant curl of his hand.
But the guard doesn’t come trotting over like Shen Yuan had expected. Instead, as if in some dumb cartoon skit, the man checks over both his shoulders – twice – making sure there isn’t anyone else behind him that Shen Yuan could be gesturing to, before looking back and dubiously pointing to himself.
Is this guy for real?
Shen Yuan’s eye twitches, but he makes sure not to otherwise betray the irritation he feels inside as he nods and makes another come hither movement. When the guard still hesitates, Shen Yuan’s smile grows thin.
Ah, seriously, can this dude get a fucking clue?! Shen Yuan’s running on borrowed time here! One of the other guards could poke their head out of the hut at any moment, and what then? Day! Trip! Ruined! That's what! Shen Yuan won’t allow it.
Despite the confirmation, the guard still has the gall to dither, and Shen Yuan decides there and then that it’s time to bring out the big guns. Turning away from the guard, Shen Yuan looks over his shoulder and tilts his head in a way that cannot be construed for anything other than ‘follow me’. His smile lilts upwards, and he is every bit the enigmatic beauty of a flower as he flashes the swanlike line of his neck for a split second before allowing the length of his ponytail to cover it again. Shen Yuan can see the exact moment the guard’s resolve crumbles, because his gaze turns shifty as he makes sure no one is there to witness him leaving his post before he hastens towards the pillar.
Though victory is in sight, Shen Yuan can’t help but weep inside. Using seduction techniques just to convince a guard to talk to him was like throwing pearls before swine; really, he better get his trip to town, or his pride won’t survive the ignominy of it all.
The sound of a throat being cleared behind him has Shen Yuan turning around, and his expression freezes as he’s met with a maiden-like blush on the face of the guard as he looks everywhere but Shen Yuan.
“X-Xiaojie, what can I do for you?”
He’s stuttering. Stuttering! Shen Yuan’s jaw doesn’t drop, but it’s a near thing. What the hell is this white lotus act from a 30 year old man?! Gods above, he’s not going to last a day here!
And that aside – xiaojie?! Ah, Shen Yuan can feel a headache coming on. It’s not entirely the guard’s fault, because Shen Yuan is aware that his looks can err on adrogynous in the right light – but?! Usually he has a full face of makeup on before people start mistaking his gender, and considering he hadn’t even glanced at his cosmetics before leaving his suite, what’s this guard’s excuse? Though, hmm… with the way the man seems resolved to burn a hole into the floor, Shen Yuan has to wonder if the guard has seen his face at all. He decides to find it in himself to forgive the blunder, if only because if Shen Yuan’s plans go accordingly, he’s about to get this guy in trouble on his first day on the job. Laying it on a little sweet won’t kill him.
Pressing a hand to his chest, Shen Yuan’s lips curl upwards in a smirk when he sees the guard glance up to track the movement.
“Xiansheng hurts my feelings,” he demurs, in a low and undeniably masculine voice. “Does Yulan really look like a woman to you?”
At the hint of a tease, the guard locks up; almost mechanically, he lifts his head up in increments until he’s meeting Shen Yuan’s gaze properly. That virgin flush still graces his cheeks, but his embarrassment now feels less like it’s because he just met a pretty woman and more due to his faux pas.
“…Yulan-xiansheng,” the guard is bashful as he corrects himself. “This– I apologise. I was unaware there were any male… entertainers… at this… establishment.”
His words leave his mouth like pulling teeth, so slow and hesitant that Shen Yuan has to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Is this man aware he’ll have to escort clients from the rooms of postcoital prostitutes … without having a heart attack? Read the job description next time! Shen Yuan’s annoyance manifests in the slight purse of his lips, before he affects a playful demeanour as he leans into the guard’s space. He’s already sick of this guy, honestly, but since he needs him… well, Shen Yuan is nothing if not resourceful.
“Hm,” he hums. “Apology not accepted.”
Whether it’s their proximity or the waft of Shen Yuan’s sweet perfume that dazes the guard, Shen Yuan isn’t sure.
Either way, he intelligently offers, after a slight delay, “Huh?”
“I said,” Shen Yuan repeats, stepping a pace back and allowing the guard’s faculties to return to him, “Apology not accepted… but, if you do A-Yulan a small, tiny favour, he’ll forgive you.”
The guard blinks. “And what – what would that be, A-Yulan…?” the sentence seemingly ends there, until the guard catches himself and hastily tacks on, “Xiansheng!”
Nice save, Shen Yuan thinks dryly, but it’s hard to stay sarcastic when tentative anticipation begins to bubble in his stomach.
Outwardly, Shen Yuan is calm and collected as he inclines his head. “I want to go shopping, and you’re the first guard I’ve seen today. Accompany me.”
The delivery is perfect – just blasé enough to make it seem like Shen Yuan wouldn’t care too much if the guard refused, but with just enough of a command that it would be awkward for the both of them if he did.
A pregnant pause.
Shen Yuan holds his breath and waits for the guard’s response, feeling a seed of doubt begin to take root the longer he goes without an answer because honestly, he hasn’t actually thought about what he’ll do if the guy says no.
Then, rather anticlimactically, the guard gives a simple nod. “Ah, of course. If–If Yulan-xiansheng could wait here for a moment while I go inform the–”
Nope!
Hooking his arm around the guard’s elbow, Shen Yuan pulls him forward, ignoring his undignified splutter as he explains, “The late morning market will end if we dally. Don’t worry, this is part of a guard’s duties.”
For the first time since their conversation began, wariness flickers across the guard’s face; unfortunately for him, Shen Yuan’s grip is ironclad, and he’s already dragged him halfway through the pavilion besides.
Finally, Shen Yuan thinks, eyes bright as he gently encourages the guard to fish out his keys faster. Finally!
The gate is iron wrought and its hinges are in clear need of maintenance if the loud creak they make when it swings open is any indication – but none of that matters right now. Shen Yuan makes it one step onto the main street before he’s pulled into the flow of the pedestrian traffic, and he goes willingly, belatedly remembering to make sure the guard is following before he’s swept up into the crowd.
Honestly, Shen Yuan had just been bullshitting when he mentioned a morning market – as if he had any way of knowing if one existed! – but his shot in the dark has managed to hit the mark. Women and men of all ages call out their wares and prices from behind their stalls, hoping to entice the custom of anyone with spare coin.
And enticed Shen Yuan is. He spends the better part of half a shichen flitting from one place to the next, purse lightening all the while. If the guard had held any expectations of something more… intimate about this escort duty, then he has been thoroughly disillusioned; an increasingly deepening grimace on his face as Shen Yuan hands him pouch after bag after box of purchased goods. Despite the hint of frost in the air, the weather is pleasant and has Shen Yuan feeling light on his feet. He does acknowledge, after handing over three gold coins for a sapphire broach that he knows would complement Baihe-jiejie’s complexion, that it would probably reflect poorly on his self control were he to spend all his money at once. So it is with great reluctance that Shen Yuan ties closed the strings of his purse and tucks it back into his sash.
Still, he isn’t ready to return just yet.
The red light district isn’t the nicest place for a stroll, but as Shen Yuan slips his hands into his sleeves, he decides he’s going to do exactly that.
“Hey, guard-xiansheng,” Shen Yuan addresses the man stumbling behind him. “I’m going to wander around for a while, but I’ll be back in an incense time. You can come with me, if you like, or…” Shen Yuan gives a pointed look to the teashop across the way and raises his eyebrows.
The guard doesn’t even hesitate before slumping into one of the open seats, relieving his arms of the load that was Shen Yuan’s purchases onto the table. “I’ll,” he huffs, and stretches his wrist out in a circle, “I’ll wait here.”
“Of course,” Shen Yuan tries to keep his voice even as he ever so magnanimously slides across a few coins to treat the guard to a pot of tea.
The guard looks pleasantly surprised at the gesture, but his gratitude is wasted on Shen Yuan, because if anything, he should be the one thanking the guard. What are a couple coins in exchange for the taste of real freedom? The comparison isn’t even worth making – not that Shen Yuan is in any hurry to alert the guard to the, hmm… inequity of their deal, of course.
Giving the guard a courtesy bow, Shen Yuan clasps his hands behind his back and continues on down the main road. The vendors vie for his attention for a while, but when it becomes clear he has no intention of spending any further, they are quick to switch targets.
Shen Yuan is grateful for their averted attention; it gives him the chance to indulge a spot of people watching. It was a habit he’d picked up out of necessity when panhandling – trying to figure out whether the frowning man dressed in fine brocade would meet his pestering with violence or sympathy – and he just never grew out of it. Admittedly, he had the tendency to allow it to devolve a little… but it was surprisingly fun crafting up stories for the strangers he’d pass by.
The grumpy old man who just bought the last of the dragon’s beard candy that a young girl had been eyeing, for example had done so for the sake of his own daughter, sickly and unable to enjoy the morning market herself. The two women walking together, close enough for their sleeves to brush, are childhood sweethearts, trading shy glances when they think the other isn’t looking. The two boys dressed in rags, huddled next to an open stove for warmth are – are… Shen Yuan cuts the thought off there. Any scenario he imagines up for them would probably come a little too close to the truth.
Shaking out his sleeves, Shen Yuan carries on his walk. Despite his leisurely pace, it’s not long before he reaches the quieter part of town – vendor stalls dwindle in number, and narrow, winding alleyways abound. It would be nice to explore them, but… even Shen Yuan knows that would be pushing it. Plus – he’s not a street urchin anymore… and even if he were, these alleys are not where he grew up; he doesn’t belong here.
Sighing, Shen Yuan resigns himself to heading back when a flash of red catches his eyes. A wizened old woman is hunched over a large grey pan, crooked fingers twisting a skewer of hawthorn fruit through the bubbling syrup within. A stand displays the desserts she has already made, ready to be purchased. The liquid sugar coats the speared fruit like fine glass, reflecting the light and making it glint.
It’s… tanghulu.
Shen Yuan’s feet have a mind of their own as they bring him closer to the stall, close enough for the lady to take notice and wipe her hands on her apron after setting down her latest creation on a tray to cool.
“Is gongzi hungry?” Her voice is throaty, a result of days whiled away with a pipe in hand, no doubt. She grins with a mouth of yellowing teeth. “This auntie doesn’t mind giving a discount to someone as handsome as you.”
Briefly, Shen Yuan considers it. Though he enjoys sweet things, he doesn’t really crave them the way others do; the way his Jiu-ge did. Tanghulu was always shared between the two of them. For Shen Jiu, it had been a matter of saving face – pretending that he stole the treat for Shen Yuan’s sake, and would certainly not, under any circumstances, devour the whole skewer alone if he could. For Shen Yuan, well… the food was nice, but mostly he just enjoyed seeing Shen Jiu smile – for real. As close as they had eventually gotten in their adolescence, genuine smiles on his gege’s face were still few and far between, and only tanghulu seemed to draw forth the childish joy within him; the small grin that his lips would curve into before his first bite of the fruit, involuntary.
Shen Yuan eyes the jewel-like desserts before him and wonders if they bring Shen Qingqiu that same joy.
“…Thank you, auntie,” Shen Yuan eventually murmurs, “but I’ll pass.”
The old woman doesn’t seem put off and, using a dirty skewer, points behind Shen Yuan. “What about for your friend, then?”
Shen Yuan tilts his head. Friend? Ah, did he dawdle for so long that the guard had to take to the streets to find him? Oops. Sheepish apology at the tip of his tongue, Shen Yuan turns on his heel, and–
–feels the colour drain from his face.
Disappointment and resignation languish in his heart – he had been having such a nice day, too… Uncharacteristically nice, even. He supposes it had to come to an end at some point.
The man, older than Shen Yuan by a decade and a half, has his hands clasped in front of him, in a deceitfully genial pose. His hair, raven black sans one streak of silver, is twisted in a topknot – the crown of gold and rubies denoting the man’s high status. His eyes form crescents when he smiles, and as he takes a step forward, it’s only years of practice that allow Shen Yuan to remain perfectly, outwardly unaffected when all he wants to do is run away.
Holding his breath, Shen Yuan turns stone-statue still when the man places a broad palm low on the small of his back.
The man looks from Shen Yuan to the tanghulu and says, tone curious, “Don’t you want any, A-Yulan?”
“No, Lord Hou.” Shen Yuan’s voice is measured, barely any inflection in his words.
“Hmm,” The noise rumbles in Hou Xianrong’s chest, deep like a panther’s growl, and the gaze that drags over the fruit is equally predatory. “Well, I believe I do.”
Logically, Shen Yuan knows that it’s just food, but he finds his hand darting out to grasp Hou Xianrong’s wrist anyway, when the man reaches to pick a skewer. He gets a raised brow for his efforts, but Shen Yuan only tightens his grip – the much larger, irrational part of him recoiling vehemently at the thought of one of the last bastions of innocent childhood days crushed between the older man’s teeth; he has glutted himself on so much of Shen Yuan already – much more, and there won’t be anything left.
“If… my Lord is hungry,” Shen Yuan wets his lips, already regretting what he’s about to say, but allowing the words to leave his lips nonetheless, “shall we have a meal together instead?”
If looks could kill, the old lady would have had Shen Yuan dead three times over, but he pays her no mind. Instead, he keeps his gaze on Hou Xianrong, who is staring right back, face carefully blank. For a split second, Shen Yuan thinks he can see a sliver of suspicion in the older man’s eyes, but his expression shutters into something pleasant before he can be sure.
“Well, I won’t say no to that.” A wide smile curls around Hou Xianrong’s lips, flashing a hint of teeth when he speaks. “But tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure of Yulan’s company?”
Freeing his wrist from Shen Yuan’s grip, he catches Shen Yuan’s hand and sharply tugs him forward; the movement is unexpected and Shen Yuan finds himself unbalanced, managing to right himself at the last second before he does something stupid like fall into the older man’s chest.
Shen Yuan’s eyes narrow into a glare at the treatment, but Hou Xianrong bends down and he’s suddenly right there, and Shen Yuan’s heart skips a beat as lips brush the corner of his mouth and trail over his jaw, before pressing against his ear. Hou Xianrong’s breath is hot, and his lips tickle in a way that has goosebumps raising along the length of Shen Yuan’s arms, nausea roiling in his gut.
“Could it be,” The murmur is discomfitingly damp, “that Yulan is trying to get on my good side, because he knows he did something wrong?”
Ah… Well, it was a foolish hope to think Hou Xianrong would ignore the fact that Shen Yuan had been unaccompanied, but he can’t help the way he deflates anyway. Still, he’s not just going to roll over and beg for forgiveness – that particular tact had stopped working when he turned seventeen.
Angling his head upwards, Shen Yuan uses his free hand to shield his mouth with his sleeve – aware of their audience of one as he snips back, faux-coquettish, “Is this one not always on your good side, Lord Hou?”
Hou Xianrong pulls away at the nearly-there retort and scans Shen Yuan's face. “More than you have the right to be, I think.” And then he barks out a laugh that is jarring in its loudness.
Shen Yuan swallows against a dry mouth but is otherwise relieved; his people reading skills never quite managed to extend to the older man, of whom unpredictability is the only thing to reliably expect. Hou Xianrong releases Shen Yuan’s hand to pull out his own coin purse, and Shen Yuan takes the brief respite for what it is; stepping back, he watches as Hou Xianrong abruptly flicks a silver piece towards the old woman.
Its trajectory would have had it arcing neatly into the pan of syrup, had it not been caught in her frantic double-handed grasp. If the money was meant to appease her for her wasted time, Shen Yuan thinks it rather had the opposite effect – the woman looks like she’s barely resisting the urge to spit where they had just been standing as they walk away.
Hou Xianrong silently hooks his elbow out, and Shen Yuan wrinkles his nose – he knows an unspoken command when he sees one, but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about following it. Taking the older man’s arm with more strength than strictly necessary, Shen Yuan smiles inside at the way the unflappable and dignified Lord Hou is jostled as a result.
Then – because Shen Yuan is not allowed even the pettiest of victories against this man – with his other hand, Hou Xianrong takes hold of Shen Yuan’s wrist in a mirror of the action Shen Yuan had taken earlier and squeezes, tightly. To an onlooker, it would perhaps appear that the older man was warming the hand of his delicate companion, out of a concern borne from the chill in the air – but only Shen Yuan can feel the constricting pressure, cutting off the flow of blood to his fingers and making them tingle; only Shen Yuan can feel the blunt edge of five nails digging half-moons into his skin.
Though Hou Xianrong releases him after a beat – a long, long beat – Shen Yuan already knows that he will wear the man’s bruises like a brand.
“Really… you were much more obedient as a child.” The lament is tutted out with no small amount of despondency, and Shen Yuan bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes the sharp tang of blood on the back of his tongue. Better that than blurting out something Hou Xianrong will make him regret, he supposes.
But the implication that Shen Yuan’s good behaviour as a terrified fourteen year old was anything other than the result of that accursed contract is vexing. The thought that he could have ever wanted, willingly, any – any of that –
Even though Shen Yuan is aware to an almost clinical degree that he’s on the verge of a panic attack, he still struggles to rationalise past the way his throat feels like it’s narrowing in real time, the way his breath threatens to leave him in staccato rhythm. Keeping his back ramrod straight, Shen Yuan feels a cold sweat bead along the nape of his neck. He wants nothing more than to flee, pause and calm himself down in the quiet of an alleyway like he used to when he was a child, but that opens up the possibility of Hou Xianrong trying to comfort him, and–
Forcibly exhaling through his nose, Shen Yuan concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other. He can’t show vulnerability here because no one would help him if he did; a distressed beauty in the arms of an older man is hardly a rare occurrence in this part of town. Tilting his chin up, Shen Yuan clears his expression of anything other than an untouchable coolness that borders on bitchiness – because Shen Jiu was his gege and Shen Yuan learned from the best.
Fully expecting to be led to a restaurant or sweets parlour – really, anywhere with private booths – Shen Yuan feels surprise momentarily override his panic because, actually, he recognises his surroundings? But when they approach a familiar teashop, Shen Yuan quickly understands why.
It should probably be somewhat concerning that Hou Xianrong seemed to know exactly where to find Shen Yuan’s guard, but such behaviour is par for the course with the older man. Money can buy anything, not least of all the eyes and ears of impoverished residents from the red light district.
Shen Yuan has nothing to say to the frazzled guard – who lurches to his feet as soon as the man spots him – because he doesn’t trust his ability to speak out loud just yet. He notes, however, that the man chose to remain with Shen Yuan’s purchases instead of leaving them to search for their master… meaning he has severely misjudged what the bigger loss would be, were either to go missing. The guard will be gone within a week, no doubt – or less, perhaps, with the way Hou Xianrong is assessing him.
Remaining silent, the guard is left to take the brunt of the older man’s scrutiny unaided, and his unease is palpable. Eventually, Hou Xianrong says: “Deliver these things to Yulan’s suite,” and it is an order, absolute – even an idiot would know not to defy it.
“What?” Unfortunately, it appears this guard’s social ineptitude will be the death of him. His confusion is tinged with indignation at the abrupt command from someone he perceives to be a stranger, despite the fact that said stranger clearly outranks him in every way. “W-Who are you?”
“Someone who does not repeat himself twice.” Hou Xianrong smiles – the amusement is dark and does not reach his eyes. They remain shadowed when he says, “Go.”
The guard’s lips are cracked and dry but he attempts to wet them anyway, the gravity of the situation belatedly dawning on him. He sends a furtive look to Shen Yuan, who averts his gaze to a point behind the guard’s head. Perhaps it’s the drastic change in Shen Yuan’s demeanour, but the guard seems to come to an understanding within himself, and without another word, begins the task of carefully piling pouch after bag after box into his arms.
Shen Yuan watches the endeavour with an absent sort of interest – the guard could join the circus, with the balancing act he’s pulling off right now – until, that is, Hou Xianrong strokes the back of his hand, and he is forced to turn his attention elsewhere.
The older man’s eyes have always unnerved Shen Yuan. They’re already pretty dark from afar, but seeing them up close like this, it’s as if they’re incapable of even reflecting light. Void. ‘Soul-sucking’ isn’t a word in Shen Yuan’s regular vocabulary, but the term feels pretty apt here.
“So,” he purrs, “what does A-Yulan feel like eating?”
An innocent question, had anyone else asked it; coming from Hou Xianrong, though, Shen Yuan knows he has to tread carefully.
He hedges, “I expect I’ll be busy this evening, so I’d prefer something light.”
It’s 99% the truth, cut with 1% of a lie. Shen Yuan doesn’t know for sure that he’ll have a client tonight, but since he always has to ensure his availability in case one the Madame approves of turns up, then technically, isn’t he always working? Shen Yuan hopes that dangling the promise of money earned will be enough for Hou Xianrong to retract his claws; the older man has always placed silver and gold above all else, sometimes even him.
“Of course, I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable,” Hou Xianrong amicably allows, and for a moment Shen Yuan hopes – hope that is dashed with the words that next leave his mouth, “But you must at least have dessert. Since Yulan deemed tanghulu unacceptable, I’m interested in what he would recommend instead.”
As he says this, fingers creep in just below the hem of Shen Yuan’s sleeve to caress the soon-to-be bruises just out of sight; the gentle touch, a parody of reverence.
Through teeth gritted so hard they ache, Shen Yuan says, “If that is what Lord Hou wishes. Though I must admit, I don’t indulge in sweets very often. I doubt my advice would be of any assistance.”
“Forgive me for saying so, but I find that hard to believe.” Hou Xianrong sounds amused, and Shen Yuan realises with stunning clarity that the older man is enjoying himself.
But of course he is.
Bastard. Asshole. Demon! Shen Yuan spits vitriolically within the confines of his mind, Roll over and die, then rot in hell!
Shen Yuan is sure his anger is visible. How could it not be? They say eyes are windows to the soul, and Shen Yuan’s soul burns. But, that’s all it can do. The inferno will charr his insides before ever smouldering a hair on Hou Xianrong’s head, and the older man knows this. Shen Yuan may as well be a riled up kitten, all fluffed tails and fragile claws, with how much of a threat he poses – if he’s even any threat at all.
To think that Shen Yuan had believed growing up would absolve him of his helplessness; the memory of the thought embarrasses and pains him in equal measure.
“Well then–” Mortifyingly, Shen Yuan’s voice nearly cracks, and he suddenly desperately wishes he had worn his hair down today, so he could hide behind its curtain. The most he can do now is look at the cobbled floor and clear his throat. He can feel Hou Xianrong’s gaze on him keenly as he says, “Let’s go. I’d like to return before sundown, if possible.”
Though he cannot directly see the gesture because he refuses to face the man again, Shen Yuan can feel his hand being raised upwards before Hou Xianrong’s lips are grazing his knuckles. His vulture’s smile is hidden behind delicate ridges of bone.
“Whatever you say, A-Yulan.”
Hou Xianrong is a busy man, and lengthy lunches are not conducive to that end. Thus, it only takes a little over a shichen before Shen Yuan’s expertise on ‘desserts’ is no longer needed. The older man had offered to walk Shen Yuan back to the Warm Red Pavilion, but Shen Yuan refused because he’s had more than enough of being escorted for today. The mask he had donned the second they entered the parlour had taken quite the beating, and there are hairline cracks all over its veneer. Still, he keeps it firmly in place, and his head is held high as he retraces his steps back to the brothel at a slow and measured pace, lest his limp become pronounced and rob him of his dignity.
For a mercy, though the sun washes the sky in the pallid oranges of pre-sunset, most women have only just begun stirring in their rooms. The reminder of life is a distant comfort – Shen Yuan appreciates that other people are around, even though all he wants right now is to be alone.
On the way to his suite, Shen Yuan wanders into a servant boy engrossed in cleaning the floors; a cloth in both hands, he runs back and forth on all fours across the oak floorboards. When he stops to catch his breath, Shen Yuan approaches him. He’s not sure what expression his face has settled on, but apparently it’s scary enough that upon noticing him, the servant boy nearly slips and brains himself on the still wet floor. If he remembers to, Shen Yuan will apologise to the boy the next time he happens across him. Right now, though, Shen Yuan doesn’t care about the steel edge in his voice as he orders the servant to make sure that no one, and he means no one, bothers him for the rest of the night.
After a stuttered affirmative reply, Shen Yuan ascends the stairs to his room, gripping the bannister for support as he climbs. Pushing through the bead curtain and finding the stuff he bought laid out on his divan is something of a surprise – a part of Shen Yuan had honestly half expected the guard to get lost on the way back. That he hadn’t is unlikely to increase his chances of not getting fired after today, but at least this way, Shen Yuan gets to keep his things.
Untying the ribbon in his hair has it falling over his shoulders in a waterfall of black, and the slight ache in his scalp serves to remind Shen Yuan of why he doesn’t often wear it up. His hanfu is the next to go, and he disrobes where he stands, leaving the fine silk in a heap on the floor as he steps over it and into bed. He wants to clean himself up, but the other flowers will soon crowd the baths, and he doesn’t have the energy to face them all right now. It’s far too early to sleep, too, and though napping is a possibility, Shen Yuan doesn’t want to risk any unwanted dreams.
So, he does the next best thing: he meditates.
Stripped completely bare and in the comfort of a bed likely isn’t the most orthodox way of doing it, but Shen Yuan crosses his legs into the lotus style anyway, hands pressed gently over his stomach as he takes in a deep breath.
That’s it, Yuan-er, the whisper of a ghost echoes in his head; Shen Yuan can almost feel the phantom caress of hands overlapping his. Your life, your qi, it all comes from here. Focus. Can you feel it? Right here.
Shen Yuan listens to the memory and concentrates on the feeling of qi circulating within his body over, and over, and over again. Each and every meridian is flushed out – the old, expelled qi immediately replaced with fresh energy from the wellspring at his centre. Shen Yuan rarely has the time to indulge in involved meditation sessions like this, which really sucks, because nothing simultaneously soothes his body and mind quite like it.
Allowing himself to fall into a trance, Shen Yuan can’t say how much time passes as his soul cleanses itself – only that, when the click-clack of his bead curtain shatters his concentration, his neck is stiff and his fingers and toes are numb with the cold.
His mood has improved somewhat, though he still feels a twinge of irritation at the interruption. Shen Yuan supposes that this is what he gets for entrusting a task to anyone other than Xu Shan, but still – the amount of incompetence he’s had to deal with from the Warm Red Pavilion today is irksome.
“A-Yulan,” a quiet voice breaks the silence, “My apologies.”
Shen Yuan had considered keeping his eyes shut and feigning… upright sleep or something… but the voice has him blinking in surprise despite himself, because – it’s Yuanwei-jiejie. The intelligent and reserved Iris of the garden keeps to herself more often than not, so he knows she wouldn’t intrude on his space without good reason.
“Jiejie,” Shen Yuan greets, voice a little rough with disuse. “Is something the matter?”
Yuanwei-jiejie’s curt nod and grimace only confirms what he had been suspecting. “Yes. Lanhua-meimei has asked me to come to you for a favour.”
A favour? Shen Yuan isn’t opposed to helping his jiejie, but, uh, why isn’t she asking herself?
The confusion must be writ large on his face, because Yuanwei-jiejie elaborates, “She is unwell and bedridden.”
…That doesn’t sound good. After this afternoon, Shen Yuan can’t help but assume the worst and asks, “Bedridden? Will she be alright?”
“Quite alright.” Yuanwei-jiejie tosses her hair over her shoulder, thin lips pursed in a disapproving frown. “The silly girl just spent too much time on her balcony in her summer robes and is now suffering the consequences. Why Baihe-jiejie is fussing over her, I do not know.”
Not for the first time, Shen Yuan thinks that Yuanwei-jiejie would have suited ‘Meigui’ much more, with the prickly way her concern manifests itself.
Thankfully though, Shen Yuan has experience with this brand of affection, so he knows to smile placatingly at the older woman as he says, “It’s just in Baihe-jiejie’s nature.”
“Caring to a fault,” Yuanwei-jiejie agrees with a sniff. “Anyway, Lanhua-meimei wants you to fill in for her this evening. The client is rather fond of music, apparently, and would notice her absence.”
Smile dimming, Shen Yuan tries not to sigh too heavily. He knows that there were only so many favours she could have asked of him at this hour, but he really, seriously, doesn’t want to deal with a client tonight. Letting Lanhua-jiejie down isn’t ideal either, though… Damnnit. Well, if all he has to do is sit and pluck out a tune, then he might be able to manage.
Rubbing his forehead, Shen Yuan asks, “Who’s the client? Do I know them?”
Oddly, Yuanwei-jiejie looks hesitant as she answers. “You might.”
That has Shen Yuan pausing. “‘I might?’”
Crossing her arms, Yuanwei-jiejie’s reluctance gives way to resolve, in the manner of someone wanting to get something over and done with. She sighs as she admits, “It’s Shen Qingqiu.”
Shen Yuan freezes. Blinks. Tilts his head. Blinks again.
“Um,” he says, “No thank you?”
The older woman had obviously been expecting the answer, because she immediately launches into a speech. With her personality, Shen Yuan doesn’t doubt it’s something she had pre-prepared.
“Yulan, listen, Lanhua-meimei knows of your… complicated feelings towards the man – we all do – but the reason she asked anyway is because you are the only one who could adequately replace her. You must know this.”
Feeling scolded, Shen Yuan bites his lip and lowers his gaze to his bedsheets. He bores a hole into the threads because he knows, he does.
The position of a flower isn’t just awarded to whoever is the prettiest, or who knows the best techniques in bed – though that certainly helps. No, a requisite level of talent is needed, proof of one’s dedication to self-improvement that makes them worthy of the spot. For example: Yuanwei-jiejie’s calligraphy is second to none, and Baihe-jiejie paints like she was born with a brush in hand. Lanhua-jiejie can play the pipa, but her real strength lies in the cadence of her honey-sweet singing voice. Honestly, in polite company, the flower garden could even generously be referred to as a group of low-level courtesans.
Shen Yuan, like Lanhua-jiejie, is musically inclined; not just limited to the pipa, he can play the guqin and erhu remarkably well. Truth be told, as far as instruments go, he’s leagues better than her, and based on that alone, he should have been the one entertaining Shen Qingqiu from the start. It was only because Lanhua-jiejie had overheard Shen Yuan begging the Madame to reconsider, that she offered to take the role in his place. And when looking at it from that perspective, hasn’t she been doing him a favour this whole time?
…Ah, fuck.
“–and, A-Yulan, I’m sorry, but the Madame knows about your little excursion.” Yuanwei-jiejie gestures towards the not so subtle pile of stuff on the divan. “I realise your position is slightly different, but it would do you well to stay in her good graces regardless. You–”
“I know.” Shen Yuan doesn’t mean to interrupt her, but once Yuanwei-jiejie really gets going, it’s a herculean task to get her to stop. “I understand, okay? I’ll do it.”
As soon as the words leave his mouth, he wants to swallow them straight back, lock them down and throw away the key. When he doesn’t, Yuanwei-jiejie looks bewildered – she must have had quite a bit of speech left over.
A touch off kilter, Yuanwei-jiejie flattens down a nonexistent wrinkle in the collar of her robes. “I’ll pass your agreement on to Lanhua-meimei, but I imagine she’ll be very happy.” She recovers properly then, and offers Shen Yuan a small smile. “Thank you, A-Yulan. Do you need help getting ready? Shen Qingqiu will be here in two incense time, I think.”
…
“T-Two incense time?!” The squawk is undignified, especially in front of the refined beauty that is his Yuanwei-jiejie, but Shen Yuan could literally not care less, because he has to wash, and dress, and make up his face, all in two incense time!
Bouncing himself off the bed, Shen Yuan feels untethered as he scrambles for his robes and bath supplies; his hands are jittery, and he ends up dropping the vial of ylang-ylang oil twice. Shen Yuan should be glad the glass didn’t crack, because Baihe-jiejie had only recently gifted it, but he can’t focus on anything with the mantra of Shen Qingqiu Shen Jiu Jiu-ge repeating in his head.
It’s only when Shen Yuan puts his robes on inside out that Yuanwei-jiejie intervenes, bracing her hands firmly on his shoulders and turning him around.
With a methodical touch, Yuanwei-jiejie redresses Shen Yuan. “Go bathe and calm yourself,” leaning forward, she half hugs him as she loops the sash around his waist, “and if you’re still this unsettled afterwards, tell me. I can have a tonic prepared.”
With an absent nod, Shen Yuan bends down and retrieves the wayward ylang-ylang oil. Unsettled? he thinks as he tucks the vial into his sleeve, that’s not it. Compartmentalising comes second nature to Shen Yuan, but even if he did want to pick apart the twisted ball of emotions tucked under his ribs, at the very least he knows that fear is not among them. Come what may, he could never – never – be scared of his gege.
Shen Yuan’s trip to the baths is brief. Not bothering to draw a fresh one for himself, he slips into lukewarm water and scrubs his skin raw with a single minded focus. The ylang-ylang oil is almost wasted with how briefly he allows it to absorb into his hair; half an incense time is all it gets before he’s rinsing it out and hurrying back to his suite, leaving a trail of water droplets and wet footprints in his wake.
His room is vacant when he returns, but Shen Yuan can see that Yuanwei-jiejie has laid out a hanfu on his bed – one of his finest, the red and white brocade is decorated with clusters of magnolia in varying stages of bloom. Trailing a hand over the expensive fabric, the reality of the situation starts to dawn on Shen Yuan. He’s not sure what hanfu he would have picked himself, but he doesn’t think it would have been as luxurious as this. And why is that? The man he’s about to meet is Shen Qingqiu, a Peak Lord of the renowned Cang Qiong cultivation sect. Anything less would have been an insult.
(Does Shen Jiu even exist anymore? The unbidden thought makes Shen Yuan feel vaguely ill.)
Taking a moment to dry his hair with qi, Shen Yuan begins to dress. The fabric slides smoothly over his skin and settles heavily on his body in a way that bespeaks its quality. Anything more intricate than a simple ribbon knot proves impossible as his fingers fumble with the sash around his waist. He nearly contemplates calling Yuanwei-jiejie back before the fabric finally cedes to his frustrated attentions; Shen Yuan wastes no time moving over to his dresser and sitting before the mirror.
Hiding his scar is of the utmost importance. It would be high on his priorities any other day, too, because physical imperfections aren’t exactly ideal in this line of work… but Shen Jiu had been there when Shen Yuan got the wound that led to this scar, and knew it intimately well. Unscrewing a pot of pale coloured paste, Shen Yuan spreads the substance over his fingers and starts dabbing at the length of his cheekbone. The key to his identity, hidden in plain sight.
But then nerves strike him, and he purses his lips. What if the makeup isn’t enough?
Shen Qingqiu is an accomplished cultivator, intelligent and observant besides. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume that Shen Yuan’s sudden presence would warrant a bit of scrutiny by the other man – and if he looked just a little too long, wasn’t it possible that he might, just maybe, notice the scar under the makeup?
The chance, no matter how low, isn’t zero, and it’s a risk Shen Yuan can’t take.
Making his way back to his closet, Shen Yuan kneels down and pulls open one of the drawers, blindly feeling around for – aha! His fingertips brush over pearls and silk chiffon, and Shen Yuan carefully retrieves the veil, smoothing it over his thighs. It’s not fully opaque, but with the intermittent pearls studded across its surface, it should obscure his face well enough. Hooking the ties around his ears, Shen Yuan lets out a long breath that ripples the delicate fabric as it falls over the lower half of his face – like this, only his eyes and forehead can be seen.
Returning to his dresser, Shen Yuan scrutinises his reflection in the mirror.
…Is this overkill? He doesn’t think so. It’s just – an extra precaution, because the worst thing that could happen tonight is Shen Qingqiu recognising him… and not at all that if he went bare-faced and was treated like a stranger by the boy he grew up with, his heart might break just a little.
…Shit. Get it together, Shen Yuan. He wants to slap his cheeks, but with the veil in the way, makes do with a hard pinch to his thigh; he can get into his feelings after the night is through.
Frowning in concentration, Shen Yuan pulls out a delicate brush and dips it into a bottle of pigment. The veil is a little finicky to keep in place, but at least this way, Shen Yuan doesn’t have to bother with lip stains – worrying only about his eye makeup. His hand is shaky – Is it anxiety? Is it anticipation? He doesn’t care to know – so Shen Yuan uses his other hand to hold it steady, breath bated as, from the corner of his eye, he paints a single stroke of red.
Shen Yuan glares at his reflection. The end result is… serviceable. His nerves can be seen in the slight wobbliness of the line, but it’s only really noticeable from up close and he doubts Shen Qingqiu will attempt to check. Switching hands, Shen Yuan carefully paints his other eye – setting the brush back into the bottle with a quiet clink when he’s done.
He decides to leave his hair down, but pins the long parts near the front of his face back with twin garnet clips. The gold and ruby pin would probably match his hanfu better, but he leaves it buried at the bottom of the ivory jewellery box. Even though it’s extremely unlikely that Shen Qingqiu would recognise it’s design, meeting the other man with a visible mark of Hou Xianrong’s ownership is just… out of the question.
Shen Yuan’s palms are sweaty, and he fumbles with the latch of the clips; he has to dry them on his legs three times before he successfully manages to click them into place. The moment the second clip is secured into his hair, Shen Yuan feels a weird juxtaposition of dizzy and calm; his whole body prickles all over, but his heart is thumping a steady beat in his chest. There’s nothing left to do now but wait for Yuanwei-jiejie to call for him. He knows he should use this time to relax, but he finds it’s all he can do to make his way to his bed and perch on the edge of the mattress.
He stares at a scroll on the wall, tracing the painted lines of the mountain scenery with eyes unseeing. Perhaps lighting a stick of incense would have served to soothe him a little, but Shen Yuan can hear the quiet pad of footsteps approaching his suite, and he knows it’s too late now.
Pushing himself to his feet, Shen Yuan tucks his hands into his sleeves, an aura of grim determination about him. Already, and perhaps despite himself, he falls into the role of the Magnolia; his gait is graceful and controlled as he greets Yuanwei-jiejie, who looks startled to see him already by the doorway.
“He’s here,” she informs him, and her voice is a murmur – as if she was worried that, had she spoken any louder, Shen Yuan would have bolted in fear.
Not that he can blame her… he hadn’t exactly been the epitome of calm and collected earlier. Shen Yuan’s throat clicks when he swallows, so he forgoes speech and simply nods – his veil shushing quietly with the movement. Their shoulders brush when Shen Yuan walks past her, turning right instead of his usual left to the baths. The hallway is lit with lanterns, and their amber glow lights his path to the Emperor suite he has so ardently avoided for almost half a year.
No longer after tonight, though.
…It's time.
Notes:
sorrryyyyyy for not including sqq in this chapter like i promised i would, but i did not anticipate it getting as long as it did and the update would have been significantly delayed had i tried. next time though, and i mean it!!
just a heads up though that ch3 might be late, because i got a new job (yay) but its mostly late nights and i know i'll be tired until my body gets used to the schedule. just rest assured that if that turns out to be the case, this fic has not been abandoned. it's way too much fun to write!
anyway, please do let me know your thoughts! have i kept the intrigue going? i really hope so!<3
Chapter 3
Notes:
so… turns out i overestimated how exhausting work would be! that, coupled with severe writers block and covid (round 2) meant i really couldn't write for a while. but i never stopped thinking about this fic once. thank you so much for your patience and support. the fact that we're already at 680+ kudos on only the second chapter of this lil ole rarepair fic is overwhelming and mindboggling in equal measure. i love you all <3
and!! exciting news!!! theres a russian tl of wither and bloom here, courtesy of ao3 user Bublick!! thank you for taking interest in my fic enough to put in all the effort that comes with translating. i really appreciate it :)
warnings for this chapter: a semi-explicit scene of dub-con that verges on non-con at the end. as always, please look after yourself, and i hope you enjoy the update.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first thing Shen Yuan thinks, as he steps into the Emperor suite, is that this place is even gaudier than he remembers.
That’s not to say the rest of the brothel’s interior design is particularly tasteful, but at least in Shen Yuan’s room, the furniture is a uniform, unassuming mahogany, and the swathes of cloth draped from beams on high can be folded away after the night is over. The Emperor suite is fit for hosting royalty in name only, however it is where the Warm Red Pavilion’s richest clients spend their visits, and as such, is an exercise in extravagance. From the gold marbled divan fit for five to the rows of white jade ceiling lanterns refracting pale rainbows of light, it is clear where the Madame has invested much of the brothel’s coin.
Right now, the flames in the lanterns are burning strongly, and leave nothing in the room to shadow. It’s so unlike the barely-there illumination Shen Yuan has come to expect when entertaining that he’s acutely grateful for the protection of the veil on his face – finding a purpose beyond just soothing his paranoia.
By the time he gets to the suite, Shen Yuan’s jiejies are already hurriedly flitting around. Mudan-jiejie shields a matchstick with one cupped hand as she carefully sets about lighting a ceramic holder full of incense, and Meigui-jiejie fusses over the arrangement of a platter of intricately crafted sweets. They barely spare a glance at his entrance before continuing on with their tasks, so Shen Yuan makes his way over to a low table set in the corner of the room, atop which a guqin rests.
Kneeling down, Shen Yuan ignores the answering twinge in his lower back and instead inspects the instrument. It’s a fine specimen; the wood is speckled with an amber hue, and the strings are strong and silken, and feel smooth when Shen Yuan strokes them with careful fingers. There’s a nail file tucked just beneath the body of the qin, and after a moment, Shen Yuan slides it out and begins to file his right hand. There’s no real need to, truth be told – being that his position in the flower garden was due to his musical talent, Shen Yuan looked after the health of his hands more stringently than most – but the repetitive back and forth motion is somewhat soothing, and focusing on it makes it a little easier to ignore the fact that any moment now, Shen Qingqiu is set to walk through those doors.
He doesn’t have to wait long.
Just as Shen Yuan decides to put the file away – because he might accidentally reduce his nails to stubs if he allows himself to space out too much – there is the quick patter of feet, and then two servant boys are bursting through the doors and holding them wide open. They keep their heads bowed respectfully, and –
The second thing Shen Yuan thinks, as Shen Qingqiu steps into the Emperor suite, is that Proud Immortal Demon Way did not do this Scum Villain justice.
Granted, the novel hadn’t exactly provided a detailed description of Shen Qingqiu’s appearance beyond a cursory overview, much preferring to focus on his misdeeds and cruelty… and Shen Yuan may have been influenced by that and had taken some liberties with the mental image he’d constructed in his head… but this level of disparity is almost irreconcilable.
Shen Qingqiu is elegance personified.
It is in the swanlike way he moves, the angle at which he inclines his head to dismiss the servants, the loose curl of long, pale fingers around the base of his fan. He’s gorgeous, too, though that is less surprising. Lanky though he may have been, puberty was kind to Shen Jiu, and his icy, boyish charm hadn’t seemed like something that would disappear with his teenage years – and truly, the figure Shen Qingqiu cuts in Qing Jing’s robes now is nothing less than graceful. It’s as if the clothes were made to be worn by him; the emerald and mint fabric existing only to complement the jade glint of Shen Qingqiu’s eyes, and the fair complexion of his skin.
As Shen Qingqiu’s gaze sweeps across the room, Shen Yuan feels something akin to electricity spark down the notches of his spine – tingling and sharp – when their eyes meet; it’s almost as if time slows down for the split second that they regard each other. Shen Qingqiu observes Shen Yuan with some curiosity, but guarded wariness overshadows it, and against his better judgement, Shen Yuan waits, and waits, and waits for the moment that recognition lights up in the older man’s eyes.
It doesn’t.
…And of course it doesn’t. Shen Yuan had done his utmost to make sure of that. The way his chest is constricting right now is stupid, and he vehemently tamps down the little seed of betrayal that has planted itself in his gut before it tries to bloom; Shen Yuan has no right to blame Shen Qingqiu for his reaction – or lack thereof… even… even if the way the older man ignores Shen Yuan to turn to his jiejies – a full body turn, that leaves Shen Yuan to stare after the shadow of his back – stings.
And despite how pathetic it feels, staring is all Shen Yuan can do.
He knows that he should probably stop before Shen Qingqiu notices and catches him, but he just can’t tear his gaze away – can’t even make himself blink. Shen Yuan can only drink in the sight of the man, trying, with a hint of desperation, to overlay the image of the jagged-edged youth that was his Jiu-ge with the sophistication of this stranger. Just… anything, a sign, anything, to prove that the boy he knew still existed beneath that veneer of poise.
“Mudan-xiaojie, Meigui-xiaojie.” Ignorant to Shen Yuan’s inner turmoil, Shen Qingqiu greets both of the women with a nod in turn, the silver and peridot crown he wears glittering under the lantern light. Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders seem to relax a fraction as he addresses the women, and though it’s not exactly a smile, the corner of his lips twitch up for a second as he continues, “It has been a while.”
“Oh, dispense with the formalities, Lord Shen!” Mudan-jiejie perches on the edge of the divan, and pats the space next to her enthusiastically. “What kept you away this time? Was it that gege of yours again?”
At his jiejie’s blatantly unrefined behaviour, a mix of shock and surprise breaks through the dark fog that had begun to cloud Shen Yuan’s mind. It’s just – even if sex isn’t involved, surely some level of seductive decorum should be maintained in front of one of the Warm Red Pavilion’s most esteemed clients? The Madame would have a conniption if she knew of this! Then again, though… Shen Yuan had made a point never to ask his jiejies about Shen Qingqiu’s visits – something he’s keenly regretting right now – but with that being the case, perhaps this is… normal for them?
Shen Yuan can only come to the conclusion that, yeah, it is, when, instead of reprimanding the woman for her blatant disrespect, Shen Qingqiu actually takes her suggestion and seats himself next to her.
Spreading his fan open in one smooth movement, the painted scenery of a majestic mountain range is revealed as Shen Qingqiu slowly begins to fan his face. His expression is set into a scowl as he corrects, pointedly, “Zhangmen-shixiong is ever a thorn in my side – but, no, he wasn’t the issue this time.”
Meigui-jiejie, silver platter in hand, offers Shen Qingqiu a yellow mung bean cake. Shen Qingqiu deliberates for a moment before accepting the confectionary, picking it up gingerly between his thumb and forefinger and taking a small bite. He hides his mouth behind his fan as he chews, and Meigui-jiejie takes the opportunity to sit on his other side, joining in Mudan-jiejie’s wheedling.
“Come on, Lord Shen. Spare us some gossip, would you? It gets terribly boring around here.” Brushing her sleeve against his in what could be considered a polite nudge, she continues in a teasing lilt, “…It was Lord Liu, wasn’t it?”
And – there. The first sign of Shen Jiu makes itself known in the way Shen Qingqiu clicks his tongue, nearly spitting out the demand: “I would appreciate not mentioning that brute around me – especially while I’m eating.”
The change in his demeanour is so sudden but achingly familiar that Shen Yuan feels himself lock up, mouth going dry. His jiejies response goes unheard as the rest of the conversation fades into the background, becoming nothing more than white noise as Shen Yuan is viscerally transported to the past after Yue Qi’s departure, where a furious Shen Jiu would bristle like a cat with raised hackles at the mere mention of the boy.
Shut it, A-Yuan! He’s not coming back, okay?! So don’t… don’t mention him around me again.
The memory, startling in its vividness, has Shen Yuan holding his breath – something he doesn’t realise he’s doing, until the sound of the voice he thought he’d only ever hear again in his dreams overlaps with the one ringing in his ears right now. Although Shen Qingqiu’s voice is deeper than it was back then – and considering it’s been over a decade, it would be weirder if it wasn’t – now that Shen Yuan is really paying attention, the similarities are undeniable; he would recognise it anywhere.
The exhale that Shen Yuan lets out at this realisation verges on a choked gasp, and his veil flutters visibly with the force of it. The sound he makes manages to draw the attention of the trio on the divan, who look to Shen Yuan for a reason behind the interruption. Shen Yuan has nothing to say, however, because he hadn’t meant to make any noise, and when he only blinks back, struggling to formulate an excuse, the silence stagnates and becomes awkward.
…That is, however, Mudan-jiejie swoops in and saves the day, with a sunny smile and a clap of her hands that almost physically dispels the moment.
“A-Yulan!” She enthuses, “This jiejie heard you’ve been composing something new. Won’t you play it for us now?”
The abrupt change of subject is painfully obvious.
When no one else says anything, Mudan-jiejie gives Meigui-jiejie a pointed look, which has the younger of the two hurrying to nod as she agrees, “A-Ah, yes, A-Yulan’s originals are quite delightful! I’m sure Lord Shen would enjoy them.”
And then the spotlight is back on Shen Yuan.
While he’s grateful for his jiejies fumbling but well meaning intervention, he can’t quite bring himself to spare them a glance, not when Shen Qingqiu’s attention falls upon him once more. The curiosity in the older man’s eyes is still there, albeit subdued – and actually, if anything, he seems kind of… annoyed? Upset? Shen Yuan isn’t sure how to describe the emotion he sees, but he can tell it isn’t positive… and knowing that, he thinks there must be something seriously wrong with him, that he’s awash with a convoluted sense of relief regardless, as he’s pinned under the weight of Shen Qingqiu’s scrutiny. Shen Yuan just can’t help it, though, because the intensity of the older man’s stare is almost exactly like the first day they met – needling and sharp and heavy with thinly veiled judgement. Shen Yuan hadn’t thought he’d ever say this but he’s missed the prickle of it against his skin.
Ah, but with that said… because it’s been so long since Shen Yuan has felt it, he almost squirms in discomfort when the stare goes on for longer than expected. Almost. But times have changed, and Shen Yuan is no longer a child awaiting a scolding; when Shen Qingqiu finally addresses him, the only outward reaction Shen Yuan shows is the straightening of his back as he sits up in his cushion.
“Yulan… xiansheng.” Shen Qingqiu tilts his head as he resumes his fanning; his voice is neutral, holding none of the warmth of familiarity that was there when he’d talked to Shen Yuan’s jiejies. It borders on clipped as he asks, “Lanhua-xiaojie – where is she?”
Shen Yuan isn’t sure what he has done to warrant this abrupt change in manner, but he masks his discomfort well and wets his lips before answering, “She is unwell and resting… This one is her replacement for tonight.”
“I see.” Shen Qingqiu – momentarily – frowns. His expression smoothes over in the same instant, but the tiny crease between his brows that betrayed his unhappiness was not missed by Shen Yuan. Closing his fan with a snap, Shen Qingqiu presses the tip to his chin. “Though it can't be helped, it is rather unfortunate. Had I wished to spend my evening with men, I wouldn't have left my Peak.”
Shen Yuan blinks – processing.
And.
It’s not the words themselves that make him recoil; considering their past, Shen Qingqiu’s aversion to men isn’t entirely unexpected. Rather, it’s the tone in which they were spoken – entirely without malice, as if it was a simple matter of fact, in the same way the sky is blue and grass is green, that Shen Qingqiu would not want to be around Shen Yuan.
The worst part of it all is that being treated like a stranger was within Shen Yuan’s calculations. Even before tonight, Shen Yuan had planned for this very scenario, because the Warm Red Pavilion is only so big, and it was possible that if Shen Qingqiu’s visits got any more frequent, they’d run into each other eventually. So Shen Yuan had planned for this, expected this, thought – foolishly – that he could handle this.
But now that the moment has come, all Shen Yuan can think about is how much it hurts. In his chest, his heart constricts, and gets smaller with every beat; Shen Yuan is left breathless, in a way no physical injury could ever replicate.
Not for the first time this evening, Shen Yuan is grateful for the veil covering his face, because it shields from view the sad, embarrassed flush that burns at his cheeks. His jiejies are silent too, which is rather telling – that even the happy-go-lucky moodmaker Mudan-jiejie has been left speechless means that Shen Qingqiu probably doesn’t act like this often. And doesn’t that make Shen Yuan special, to have elicited such a reaction? Ah, what an honour.
Shen Yuan allows his eyes to flutter shut for a moment. He’s… very upset, yes, but an emotional outburst right now would be… inappropriate, for a multitude of reasons. It’s a good thing he’s gotten pretty good at compartmentalising, because it’s a simple task for Shen Yuan to roll up that bubbling, acidic hurt into something nice and small and manageable. Adding it to the pile of other pesky emotions he’d locked away earlier that day, Shen Yuan can only hope they don’t fester too badly.
Shen Qingqiu’s gaze is still on Shen Yuan when the younger man finally opens his eyes, and he doesn’t flinch as he meets it evenly. In an impressively calm voice that betrays nothing at all, Shen Yuan speaks.
“If my company is so undesirable, Lord Shen is free to call Lanhua-jiejie from her sickbed. At your behest, I’m sure she would entertain for one more night.”
The words hang in the air, and Shen Yuan says nothing more as he allows Shen Qingqiu to pick them apart. And after he does, Shen Qingqiu seems to find offence in the suggestion – perhaps the implication that he would call upon a sick woman for selfish reasons doesn’t sit right with him? Shen Yuan doesn’t know, and he doubts the older man will elaborate.
Whatever the reason, it’s enough that this time, Shen Qingqiu doesn’t bother masking his frown at Shen Yuan as he rejects the idea. “That will not be necessary.”
A voice that sounds suspiciously like the Madame screeches in the back of his head to know your place! but something in Shen Yuan rebels, and instead of deferring his gaze like he probably should, Shen Yuan maintains eye contact and only inclines his head to acknowledge Shen Qingqiu’s decision. Shen Qingqiu is blank-faced as he regards Shen Yuan, and when he doesn’t speak, what follows next is a weirdly intense staring contest.
It seems that Meigui-jiejie doesn’t have the stomach to handle the rising tension, so, wielding her silver platter like a weapon, she tries valiantly to disperse the moment with her arsenal of bean cakes. Unfortunately for her, Shen Qingqiu only makes a dismissive noise in the back of his throat at the offer, but otherwise doesn’t take his eyes off of Shen Yuan.
On some level, Shen Yuan realises his behaviour is childish, but he just doesn’t want to give Shen Qingqiu the pleasure of looking away first. The result of this stubbornness is a silence that probably only lasts a couple minutes, but feels like it stretches on for an eternity.
Ever the mature one of the two, Shen Qingqiu eventually glances down to spread his fan open once more, and Shen Yuan wonders if the action means the older man has conceded defeat in this one sided competition. The victory – if it could even be called that – feels hollow.
“I assume you can play as well as her?”
Shen Qingqiu picks up the conversation where it had left off, evidently electing to ignore that little… ‘blip’, as he directs the question to Shen Yuan. The unabashed change of subject to Lanhua-jiejie is even less subtle than Mudan-jiejie’s attempt, and almost has Shen Yuan raising his eyebrows in surprise. He’s not so emotionally compromised as to do something that blatantly rude, though.
“Naturally,” Shen Yuan agrees instead. “Anything less would be an insult to Lord Shen.”
“I was under the impression that I had met all the flowers.” Tapping out a rhythm against one of the ribs of his fan, Shen Qingqiu scrutinises Shen Yuan. “Where do your talents lie?”
Shen Yuan struggles to keep his expression schooled to neutrality at the question – what is this, a job interview?? But Shen Yuan supposes that this conversation technically counts as entertaining… so answers, “Music, my Lord.”
It seems Shen Qingqiu wasn’t exactly expecting that, because he appraises Shen Yuan with barely concealed suspicion as he quips, “Oh? Strange, then, that you haven't entertained me before.”
This time, Shen Yuan can’t help the way his eye twitches. As a child, Shen Jiu’s blanket mistrust of any and everyone had proved a boon in their lives as street kids, where the few who trusted easily often ended up as cautionary tales to others on why that was a bad idea. It seems that even after becoming an immortal cultivator, with all the strength and security that comes with such a position, Shen Qingqiu hadn’t quite managed to shake the habit. The Scum Villain’s paranoia was the linchpin of the early days of PIDW’s plot – Luo Binghe needed a reason to be tormented after all, no matter how senseless – and although Shen Yuan knows now that the paranoia isn’t as baseless as the novel had led him to believe, that doesn’t make dealing with this situation any easier.
Plus, Binghe as a disciple, despite his white lotus aura, was the demon protagonist of the novel! It could be argued that Shen Qingqiu’s apprehension of him was warranted… albeit a decade too early. Shen Yuan on the other hand, at 25 years old, has a cultivation level so superficial Shen Qingqiu would have to physically touch him to even know it existed. What is there to be wary of here?!
With this in mind, Shen Yuan’s voice comes out a little snarkier than he’d originally intended as he bites out, “Well, considering Lord Shen’s preferences, was that not for the best?”
Meigui-jiejie makes an aborted strangled noise at the retort – though she masks it as a cough pretty well – but Shen Qingqiu doesn’t bother hiding the way he raises both of his eyebrows, pointedly.
Shen Yuan doesn’t crumple immediately, because his spine is made of sterner stuff, but… feeling chastised, he clears his throat and explains, “My position at the Warm Red Pavilion is arguably… unique. To put it bluntly: I am a man. Unless my presence is requested explicitly, I don’t typically entertain.”
Shen Yuan considers elaborating further, and possibly snarking a bit more too while he’s at it – but he cuts himself off before he can. It’s not that Shen Yuan cares if his attitude tonight gets him in trouble, because any punishment from the Madame would be minimal at best, considering his position. But, since he’s here on behalf of Lanhua-jiejie… Ah, damnit.
Biting the inside of his cheek, Shen Yuan swallows down his pride and does the opposite of what he wants to do: he bows.
It’s not a particularly deep bow, considering the table and the guqin are in the way, but he thinks it’s the gesture that counts – and, actually, it seems that it does count, because Shen Yuan catches the flash of genuine surprise that flits across Shen Qingqiu’s face before he’s forced to look down to keep his head lowered.
Speaking to the grains in the wood of the table, Shen Yuan says, “It seems Lanhua-jiejie was mistaken in thinking I would be a suitable substitute for tonight. This one hopes Lord Shen will be able to forgive her and I for this miscalculation.”
Shen Qingqiu does not respond for a very, very long moment, and Shen Yuan is left to wonder if even this has managed to irritate the other man. Shen Yuan is debating the pros and cons of apologising verbally – pros: hopefully, Shen Qingqiu will be appeased enough to chill for the rest of the night, cons: Shen Yuan hasn’t actually done anything.
Before he can commit to a course of action, though, Shen Qingqiu lets out a quiet breath and asks, “What is your repertoire?”
And, well – those weren’t quite the words of acknowledgement Shen Yuan had been expecting. When he looks up, it’s with confusion writ large across his face as he says, dumbly, “Huh?”
Folding his fan, Shen Qingqiu taps it against his open palm as he explains, patiently, “Songs, Yulan-xiansheng. What can you play?”
“No, I–I know what,” what a repertoire is, Shen Yuan finishes mentally, before deciding, you know what? whatever, and going with the flow. Formulating a more coherent answer, Shen Yuan responds, “I know the classics, of course, and I compose my own music too. But ah… despite certain assertions,” a glance to Meigui-jiejie who seems to have been watching their exchange silently, smiles sheepishly when she catches Shen Yuan’s gaze, “they may not be to Lord Shen’s taste.”
And that’s certainly one way of putting it.
So, it may just so happen that Shen Yuan occasionally transcribes the openings and endings of the anime he can still remember. A little embarrassing, perhaps, but it’s not like anyone here would ever be able to call him out on his rendition of the Angel Beats! OP. Plus, it made for good motivation, way back when Shen Yuan realised he’d have to learn how to play musical instruments whether he wanted to or not. The hobby had earned him the title of an eccentric composer, because while some songs translated to the guqin’s emotional twang better than others, they were all still a little strange by this world’s musical standards.
Shen Qingqiu ponders the answer, and as he thinks, rubs his thumb over the guard of his fan. Shen Yuan has noticed that the older man fiddles with it a lot, though whether he’s aware of this habit or not is anyone’s guess.
“If it’s all the same to you, something simple and soothing will do.” Shen Qingqiu sighs after he says this – a proper sigh – and it’s the first sign of open emotion the older man has shown all night. “I’ve had a headache of a day.”
And then there’s movement. Standing up, Shen Qingqiu shucks off his outermost robes; Meigui-jiejie is quick to grab them, making sure they don’t touch the floor as she folds them neatly. Turning back to the divan, Shen Qingqiu glances at Mudan-jiejie, and for the briefest of moments, Shen Yuan is filled with a sharp flood of panic that he’s going to be made to play the xianxia equivalent twinkle twinkle little star while his gege gets it on with one of his jiejies. The relief Shen Yuan feels when the moment passes as quickly as it had come is almost painful – Mudan-jiejie only moves to give Shen Qingqiu more room as he sits back on the divan once more, this time crossing his legs as he assumes the lotus pose.
At the look his jiejies send him, it seems that that is his cue to start playing, so Shen Yuan turns his attention to the guqin. Idly plucking a few strings, he runs through a list of songs in his head, trying to settle on the most appropriate one. Although Shen Yuan had been half-joking earlier, a lullaby of some sort might not actually be a bad idea, considering Shen Qingqiu seems like he just wants to relax – for now, at least.
The song Xu Shan had taught him recently comes to mind – a soft tune that supposedly settled even the rowdiest of his younger siblings for bedtime. Though this scenario is remarkably different, it couldn’t hurt to start from there. Shen Yuan only gets a few chords into the song when Shen Qingqiu begins to meditate, and the sudden presence of his qi has Shen Yuan’s fingers slipping over the strings. The result is an echoing twang that resonates throughout the suite, and has Shen Qingqiu opening one eye to look at Shen Yuan. Shen Qingqiu communicates nothing verbally, but he doesn’t need to – that one glance is more than enough.
Shen Yuan briefly wonders if this is how Shen Qingqiu’s disciples feel, as heat floods his face again – but he’s no child to be taught, which makes the disappointment in the older man’s gaze all the more smarting. Staring down determinedly at the guqin, Shen Yuan blocks everything else out, focusing entirely on the movement of his fingers, and the vibrations of the qin. It’s a little difficult at first, because Shen Qingqiu’s aura really is no joke, but once Shen Yuan gets into the rhythm of playing, it’s not long before his concentration sharpens, and he finds himself losing track of time as he plucks out one song after another.
One of his jiejies must have turned down the lantern lights at some point, because when Shen Yuan looks up next, the suite is shadowy in a way that is much more familiar for this time of night.
Well, except for the partial glow around Shen Qingqiu, however.
Shen Yuan tries not to allow himself to get too distracted, because his pride wouldn’t be able to take another slip up. Even so, he can’t help but steal furtive glances at Shen Qingqiu’s meditating form every now and then. While Shen Jiu had been able to harness his qi somewhat by the time they were teens, that feat had clearly only been an indicator of the wealth of spiritual energy the boy contained. The qi that permeates the space around Shen Qingqiu now is clearly only a fraction of his power, and even Shen Yuan can tell that the energy is different to when they were kids – stronger and purer in both shape and form. Foolishly, Shen Yuan is overcome with the desire to see Shen Qingqiu with Xiu Ya in hand. Foolish, because clients are required to leave any weapons outside of suites – so unless Shen Yuan manages to piss off Shen Qingqiu to the point of inviting his own murder, that dream will have to remain as simply that.
The next shichen has Shen Yuan cycling through slow, melancholy classics, and sweet, soft lullabies. At some point, Mudan-jiejie quietly slips out of the room, returning a little while later with a comb and a vial of oil. It’s a testament to the extent of Shen Qingqiu’s comfort around the woman that he doesn’t react when she approaches him, nor when the divan dips under her weight; when Mudan-jiejie carefully undoes Shen Qingqiu’s hairdo so she can massage the oil into the strands, the older man only tilts his head back to make it easier for her to reach.
The easy contact makes Shen Yuan’s teeth ache; he ducks his head down, keeping his gaze on the qin and the way his fingers dance across its strings.
After Shen Qingqiu’s hair is adequately perfumed, the night continues on without much fanfare. After a shichen or so, it becomes clear to Shen Yuan that it really doesn’t seem like Shen Qingqiu is interested in doing anything other than quietly meditating tonight. Relieving on one hand, perhaps, but Shen Yuan had kind of been banking on him playing cards, or Go, or engaging in literally any other activity that would allow Shen Yuan to take a small reprieve. While he’s a competent musician, hours of continuous playing has pushed even his limits; the repeated pressing of silken strings has made itself known through the barrier of Shen Yuan’s calluses by way of a sharp, throbbing pain.
Even so, Shen Yuan is hesitant to just… stop. Despite the way sounds from the main hall and other suites can be heard, that ambience only barely filters in through the Emperor suite’s walls, and Shen Yuan is certain his sudden cessation of playing would be jarring – not to mention unprofessional. But, ah… his fingers really, really hurt…
A shadow falls over the guqin.
Upon realising there was a person suddenly right in front of him, Shen Yuan yelps, high pitched and undignified, before his hands clap over his mouth in embarrassment. Either he was much more focused on his dilemma than he realised, or Shen Qingqiu had a knack for stealth, but either way, the man is standing before him now. Looking up with wide eyes, Shen Yuan is marginally gratified to see the unflappable Shen Qingqiu a little startled himself, though unfortunately his expression smoothes over a moment later.
“Yulan-xiansheng…” Shen Qingqiu begins, slowly. “What are you doing?”
Shen Yuan laments internally. That’s what I want to ask, though?!
Having to crane his neck up to look at Shen Qingqiu isn’t helping Shen Yuan’s quest to recover some face, but he tries to look dignified all the same as he replies, “I don’t understand… What is Lord Shen referring to?”
Quirking an eyebrow, Shen Qingqiu says nothing and walks around the table, and Shen Yuan just barely manages to keep his jaw from dropping open when the older man gracefully folds to his knees. There’s a respectable distance between them, of course, with no chance of even their sleeves brushing, but Shen Qingqiu is sitting – has chosen to sit – next to Shen Yuan.
And he.
Well, considering Shen Yuan had been under the impression that Shen Qingqiu was firmly in the ‘I hate men’ camp, he doesn’t really know how to react to this development.
After flicking his sleeves out so they settle correctly, Shen Qingqiu, without preamble, drags over the guqin so that it’s angled towards him. The action pulls Shen Yuan out from whatever stupor he had been in, and confused indignance bubbles forth.
“Lord Shen!” Shen Yuan protests.
Because now it’s starting to make sense. For Shen Qingqiu to come over despite his dislike of men, to take over Shen Yuan’s only duty – isn’t that just a silent dismissal? Shen Yuan almost instinctively reaches out to grasp Shen Qingqiu’s wrist, but thinks better of it at the last second and places it atop the guqin instead; he already knows such casual contact would be unwelcome.
“Why–” Shen Yuan starts, then bites his lip and changes tack. “Has this one’s playing been lacking in some way?”
“I wouldn’t have listened to it for half as long if it had,” Shen Qingqiu answers dryly. He continues to pull the guqin towards himself, though, leaving Shen Yuan’s hand to fall uselessly to the table below.
“Then why?” Shen Yuan questions, baffled now. “I’m not tired. All Lord Shen has to do is relax, and I’ll–”
“–play until your fingers bleed?” Shen Qingqiu strums the strings, acquainting himself with the instrument. “I do not know what misconceptions you have of me, Yulan-xiansheng, but I have no desire to see something like that.”
Oh.
“…They wouldn’t have bled,” Shen Yuan feels the need to defend himself, though the words lilt towards unseemly petulance when they leave his lips.
“Is that so.” It should be a question, but doesn’t come out as one.
Tucking his hands into his sleeves as if to hide the evidence of the truth in Shen Qingqiu’s words, Shen Yuan gingerly presses his aching fingertips to the insides of his wrists and winces when pain zings through his hands. Well, maybe Shen Qingqiu had a point – not that Shen Yuan is in a hurry to inform him.
Keeping his hands hidden behind silk sleeves, Shen Yuan watches in interest as Shen Qingqiu straightens his back and takes up a proper playing form. The fact that Shen Yuan is about to hear the older man play the guqin is something he belatedly realises he’s quite excited for; the Qing Jing Peak Lord wouldn’t have been lauded as a person gifted in the arts for no reason, after all.
As Shen Qingqiu starts the beginning of a song, Shen Yuan can’t help but cast his mind back to Shen Jiu’s first, clumsy guqin performance. Their shared time at the Qiu household had seen Qiu Haitang coaching Shen Jiu a little in the art of the qin, with the same enthusiasm and amusement one would teach a particularly smart dog a complex trick. Those simple, repetitive chord progressions are relics of the past – nothing compared to the mastery Shen Qingqiu holds over the instrument now.
Based on technical skill alone, Shen Yuan thinks he could argue that they’re roughly around the same level. However, there’s something more to Shen Qingqiu’s playing that makes it captivating to listen to – passion, perhaps? Shen Yuan had never really wanted to be good at music, and beyond the pat on the back he’d given himself for actually being able to learn the guqin and erhu, never felt the drive to get better for the sake of improvement alone. As it stands, loathe though Shen Yuan is to do anything for the old man’s satisfaction – as long as Hou Xianrong has no complaints, then that’s enough for him.
Just thinking the bastard’s name nearly sours Shen Yuan’s mood completely, so he closes his eyes and focuses on the music, allowing himself to be swept away. The song Shen Qingqiu is playing isn’t one Shen Yuan recognises, but it’s relaxing and sweet, and reminds him of swaying long grass in a gentle summer breeze. Shen Yuan thinks he might have been able to doze off listening to it, had Shen Qingqiu not slowly transitioned to a different song – one that is much more familiar.
The drastic oscillation of his emotions is enough to give Shen Yuan whiplash – but as the warmth he’d been feeling freezes into an ice that prickles over his skin, and his stomach bottoms out, heart pounding an erratic, deafening beat in his ears – Shen Yuan finds that he doesn’t care.
As the half-broken tune he used to hum when he was a child is played for him now; as Shen Yuan listens to the weaker parts of the song be filled with harmonies that could have only been composed by Shen Qingqiu; as he listens to the proof of his existence being immortalised in the guqin’s solemn twang – all Shen Yuan can think is:
Oh, Jiu-ge.
A part of Shen Yuan had been anxious – terrified, actually. Though he’d cite Shen Qingqiu’s safety as the reason he never sought him out – as the reason he avoided the man like the plague once he heard tell of his visits – if Shen Yuan was being brutally honest, perhaps he’d be able to admit that one of the bigger reasons he’s stayed away for so long was fear.
Fear that the man he would meet would be stripped clean of anything familiar; a stranger wearing the skin of his gege.
It’s not exactly an irrational fear, either – because there never was a character called ‘Shen Yuan’ in the novel. It was a fact Shen Yuan thought he’d come to terms with a long time ago… but that was before he and Shen Jiu had been separated, before he had become Yulan, and Shen Jiu, Shen Qingqiu.
So it was entirely possible – plausible, even – that Shen Qingqiu would cast off the mantle of his past as a street rat and everything that came with it, the day he became a Peak Lord. And… if that was the path he’d chosen, it’s not like Shen Yuan would have had any right to berate him for it.
The music slows to a stop, and the sudden silence cuts through Shen Yuan’s thoughts like a knife as a strange sense of grief overwhelms him. He wants to drop all decorum and urge the older man to keep playing whether he wants to or not – only, Shen Qingqiu is staring at him with a strange, almost concerned expression – and that’s all Shen Yuan really notices, before realising that, oh, he actually can’t see very well.
Blinking rapidly, Shen Yuan’s blurry vision clears somewhat as the tears fall from his eyes, and at the realisation that he’s crying, mortification slams into him, full force. Making a split second decision, Shen Yuan quickly hides his face behind his sleeves – though he is not a child or a woman, the thought of Shen Qingqiu seeing him like this overrides anything his foolish pride would have said in contention. Pressing the fabric to his eyes, Shen Yuan pushes hard, until all he sees is static pixelating behind his eyelids. He keeps his hands there for a long, long moment, keenly aware of the weight of Shen Qingqiu’s sharp gaze.
“I–” Shen Yuan starts, then cringes at how thick his voice sounds. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he tries again, “This one apologises, for showing Lord Shen something so unsightly.”
When Shen Qingqiu remains silent, Shen Yuan takes the calculated risk of lowering his sleeves to peek around them and see what the older man is doing. It appears that he’s pulling something out of his own sleeve – a small square of fabric, pale green in a way that matches his robes. Shen Yuan realises, perhaps a little late, that it’s a handkerchief, and that it’s being offered… to him?
Staring at the proffered cloth mutely, Shen Yuan glances at Shen Qingqiu, who only meets his gaze unwaveringly. Slowly reaching out for it, Shen Yuan takes his time in doing so, half-expecting Shen Qingqiu to snatch the handkerchief away the second it’s in reach. He doesn’t – instead acting uncharacteristically patient as he waits until Shen Yuan has the cloth in his grasp before retracting his hand. The green fabric is a stark contrast to the yellow and red brocade he wears, and with slightly shaking hands, Shen Yuan rubs a thumb back and forth over the smooth fabric, feeling the bumps of the Qing Jing’s insignia beneath the pad of his finger.
He feels… lost. Off kilter. Like all the furniture in the Emperor suite had been moved 5cm to the left right before he entered, and he’s only just realising now. The request to cover for Lanhua-jiejie had been on such short notice that Shen Yuan had barely had time to get ready, let alone overthink the imminent reunion he was about to have. It seems, though, that Shen Yuan had subconsciously been hoping for a different outcome than the one that had played out. And really, could anyone blame him? To see his gege for the first time in ten years, only to be disparaged by him, as if he were a stranger… How could he not be heartbroken? How could he not wish for more? But now, to be offered a modicum of comfort after an intervention that prevented Shen Yuan from playing himself to injury – does Shen Qingqiu dislike him or not?
Shen Yuan doesn’t know. It shouldn’t matter either, since after tonight, Shen Yuan won’t ever see him again… But it does matter, and there’s no point trying to lie to himself about it. It matters to Shen Yuan, that Shen Qingqiu doesn’t hate ‘Yulan-xiansheng’ very, very much.
Blinking back to reality, Shen Yuan realises that he’s just been sitting there, stroking the cloth of the handkerchief for a while… which is more than a little weird. Dutifully bringing it up to his eyes, Shen Yuan dabs at the corners until most of the wetness there has been absorbed. There’s a moment where he hesitates, looking at the soiled handkerchief in hand before stealing a glance at Shen Qingqiu from beneath his lashes. He knows etiquette would have him return it, but… giving back a dirtied handkerchief seems pretty impolite, too?
Nearly scrunching up the fabric in his dithering, Shen Yuan blinks as Shen Qingqiu waves a dismissive hand – his sense for Shen Yuan’s internal conflicts bordering on preternatural.
“Keep it,” Shen Qingqiu tells him, “It’s the least I could do, for the first person to have been moved to tears by a performance of mine.”
It’s so wry and upfront that Shen Yuan doesn’t think he could stop the disbelieving snort of amusement that escapes him if he tried. “Lord Shen must be joking, surely – you play so beautifully.”
Giving Shen Yuan a flat look, Shen Qingqiu says, deadpan, “Flattery will get you absolutely nowhere with me.”
Unbidden, memories of Shen Jiu slowly thawing under Shen Yuan’s relentless affections has Shen Yuan doubting the veracity of that statement, but – perhaps Shen Qingqiu is different. It’s true that Shen Jiu was never the most open person, but it’s sad to imagine that one small ember of warmth being locked away now – shielded so thoroughly to protect what remains that one has to wonder if it still even burns.
The thought makes Shen Yuan’s smile dim, and he counters, “I was being genuine, though.” A raised eyebrow is all he gets for his effort, so Shen Yuan holds back a sigh and says, “But noted, Lord Shen.”
When Shen Qingqiu doesn’t go back to playing the qin, a silence settles around the pair. It’s not companionable, exactly, but it’s not uncomfortable either, which Shen Yuan can only count as a win considering that he just cried in front of the other man. It’s not long before Shen Yuan begins feeling a little antsy, though – perhaps it’s the late hour, or that the constant oscillation of his emotions has finally exhausted him, but it seems he can’t handle sitting quietly, despite that seeming to be what Shen Qingqiu wants to do.
Shifting on his knees, Shen Yuan turns his attention to the handkerchief in his hands. For lack of anything better to do, Shen Yuan sets about folding and refolding it – smoothing the cloth over his thighs when he’s gotten it as small as he can, only to start all over again.
“Yulan-xiansheng.”
The call of his name breaks Shen Yuan’s concentration, and he looks to Shen Qingqiu with raised eyebrows.
“Lord Shen?”
Though Shen Qingqiu isn’t meditating like earlier, his eyes are closed once more; in the flickering lantern light, Shen Qingqiu’s features are cast in shadow – the pale moonlight, filtering through the half-open window, silhouettes him in luminosity. It’s distracting, and Shen Yuan finds that he misses what Shen Qingqiu says – only knowing that he spoke because he watched the older man’s lips form words that went unheard.
Whoops.
“Could, uh,” Shen Yuan coughs, before muttering, “Could Lord Shen repeat that?”
Shen Qingqiu lets out an exhale through his nose and opens his eyes. He looks at Shen Yuan with a half-lidded gaze. “I said that you may rest, if you wish.”
Rest? Even though daybreak is still so far away?
…Shen Qingqiu is probably giving Shen Yuan an out, now that he thinks about it – and the offer is tempting, truth be told. He’s physically and emotionally exhausted at this point, and the thought of slipping into his bed has him biting down on the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t groan out loud. But, despite all that…
“Lord Shen is kind, but I am not yet tired.” Shen Yuan rejects the offer. He’ll deal with the aftermath tomorrow, whatever that may be – Shen Yuan will see tonight to its end; he’s endured far worse for much less. “I can keep going.”
Shen Qingqiu hums, a low, considering noise. “Just to sit with me in silence?”
He sounds doubtful – the question no doubt meant to be rhetoric.
Still, Shen Yuan answers, “If that is what Lord Shen wants.”
Shen Qingqiu gives Shen Yuan a long look at that. A beat passes before he asks, in turn, “And what does Yulan-xiansheng want?”
…What do I want?
The question would have made Shen Yuan laugh, if most of him wasn’t surprised by it. He can’t remember the last time he was asked something so funny; as if such novel things as his opinions or his desires matter, here. His embittered thoughts must be visible even through the shadows and his opaque veil, because Shen Qingqiu’s eyes are almost inscrutably dark, barely reflecting the half-light in the room – but there’s a flicker of understanding in those depths, something that makes Shen Yuan’s stomach turn.
For the first time ever, Shen Yuan is gifted these words: “You can say no to me, Yulan-xiansheng.”
The statement lies there, unwavering in the space between them. Shen Yuan wonders if Shen Qingqiu is at all aware of the full weight of the words he has just spoken – how something said so easily by one can mean so much to another. But as soon as Shen Yuan has the thought, he wants to smack himself over the head. The man before him was once a slave to the Qiu household, at the beck and call of the young master and mistress both – it’s precisely because he understands that he offers them with sincerity.
“Well.” Shen Yuan eventually says, “If it’s all the same to you, Lord Shen, I would like to remain here.”
If Shen Qingqiu is surprised by that answer, he masks it well. The moment between them dissipates, like ashes in the wind, and the older man allows his eyes to fall shut again.
“As you wish.”
This time, though, Shen Yuan doesn’t feel awkward, or tense, like a frightened child waiting for the other shoe to drop. Instead, the silence is comforting, the slow breathing of Shen Qingqiu, and the quiet murmurs of his jiejies in their sleep acting as a lullaby of sorts. Shen Yuan finds a coil tightly wound in his chest finally releasing, and he allows himself to close his eyes too, to indulge in the strange peace of it all. If this is how all of Shen Qingqiu’s visits go, Shen Yuan can understand why he’s so popular with his jiejies.
Dangerously, his semi-lucid state has him thinking that he really wouldn’t mind covering for his jiejie again.
Shen Yuan doesn’t know when he fell asleep – only that, when he next opens his eyes, it's to the sight of the Emperor suite awash in the weak rays of dawn. There’s a killer crick in Shen Yuan’s neck, and it pops loudly when he straightens up from where he’d been slumped over the table. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Shen Yuan blearily takes in his surroundings – noting immediately that he’s alone.
Shen Qingqiu not being here isn’t all that surprising, though. Shen Yuan’s endeavours in avoiding the man made him intimately aware of just how erratic his visits were… but that his jiejies hadn’t woken him up is a little odd. Though, considering he thinks he can hear the quiet murmur of their voices from in the hallway, he supposes he can just go and ask them about it.
First focusing on psyching himself up for the task of standing up – which he knows is going to hurt like a bitch – Shen Yuan grunts as his joints crack like glow sticks. He wobbles on half-numb legs, using the table to stabilise him until he feels ready to make his way over to the door. Knowing there’s little to do to salvage his likely ruffled appearance, Shen Yuan settles for trying to flatten any flyaway strands of hair before grasping the door handles with both hands and pulling.
A little ways up ahead, Shen Yuan spies his jiejies leaning against an open doorway, looking much more put together than him despite the early hour as they talk quietly between themselves. Meigui-jiejie notices his approach first, and she wiggles her fingers at him in a little wave over the top of her crossed arms.
“Sleep well?” She asks, in lieu of a greeting.
Shen Yuan makes a ‘so-so’ gesture with one hand, the other going up to cover his mouth as he yawns. Teary eyed, Shen Yuan scrubs his face roughly, pliant as he allows Mudan-jiejie to face him away from her so she can begin finger combing his hair.
“I shouldn’t have slept at all.” Shen Yuan says to the wall, biting back a curse when Mudan-jiejie tugs on a stubborn snag. “What happened?”
“Oh, nothing much…” Mudan-jiejie answers from behind his back, though she sounds distracted, clearly more focused on the task at hand. When Shen Yuan clears his throat, and she realises he wants more than a three word answer, she elaborates, “Lord Shen had to leave early for… some reason or another,” the air behind Shen Yuan moves, and he can tell she’s shrugging, “he didn’t tell us so we didn’t pry, but if you ask me, I think it has something to do with that ‘zhangmen-shixiong’ gege of his… what??”
That last part comes out in a defensive yelp, and Shen Yuan glances over his shoulder just in time to see Meigui-jiejie’s pinching fingers retreating back into her sleeves.
“Whether it does or doesn’t is not our place to speculate,” Meigui-jiejie looks at Mudan-jiejie as she says this, then turns her attention to Shen Yuan and smiles, “but he did seem to have business to take care of. We were going to wake you, but Lord Shen told us not to bother.”
“I see,” Shen Yuan says simply, and nothing more, despite Meigui-jiejie’s searching stare. When Mudan-jiejie asks the younger of the two if she has a tie for Shen Yuan’s braid, Meigui-jiejie looks away, but Shen Yuan knows she’ll want to ask about… well, everything that happened last night, at some point. He tries not to grimace – that isn’t a conversation he’s looking forward to.
He can’t help but wonder, though, of how much a fool he would be to consider Shen Qingqiu’s decision to allow him to sleep a gesture of kindness, and not one borne of the desire to get away without having to interact with Shen Yuan any further. Despite his instant self-beration to temper his expectations, Shen Yuan can’t help but feel like some kind of understanding had formed between them, by the end at least. Perhaps it is foolish, but… Shen Yuan doesn’t think he was imagining that look in Shen Qingqiu’s eyes.
Mudan-jiejie’s self satisfied huff breaks Shen Yuan’s line of thought, and he takes that as a sign that she’s finished with his hair; pulling the braid over his shoulder, he runs his fingers over its ridges.
“Off with you, now,” she says, ushering him down the hallway. “Go rest a little more. I say this with only affection in my heart, but you look awful, A-Yulan.”
Snorting, Shen Yuan allows himself to be shooed off, tucking his hands into his sleeves as he pads back to his suite.
His head aches: heavy with the cottony tiredness of a bad sleep, but also buzzing with a thousand and one thoughts just waiting to be picked at. As Shen Yuan pushes past the bead curtain leading to his room, he knows his first port of call after waking up will be damage control… whether it be bribing the servant boys who led Shen Qingqiu to the Emperor suite or pleading with his jiejies to keep mum, Shen Yuan will have to do it all.
Because if Hou Xianrong caught wind that Shen Yuan had entertained Shen Qingqiu last night… Shen Yuan closes his eyes, feeling a bout of dizziness that nearly brings him to his knees.
No, that won’t happen – Shen Yuan will make sure of it.
The week following ‘That Night’, as Shen Yuan has begun to dub it in his head, is surprisingly routine. He isn’t a paranoid person by any means, but life has taught him that erring on the side of caution will only ever do him good, so Shen Yuan thinks a little wariness at how smoothly things seem to be going is justifiable. It’s easy to forget that for everyone else involved, though, that one evening entertaining Shen Qingqiu wasn’t the earth shatteringly important event it had been for Shen Yuan. It’s with that in mind – coupled with the fact that neither Shen Qingqiu nor Hou Xianrong have shown up at the Warm Red Pavilion – that Shen Yuan allows himself to lower his guard.
A false sense of security that preludes the fallout.
Three weeks pass, and Shen Yuan is sat cross legged on his bed, a spread of books before him with one already open in hand. He’s reading shitty porn again, but not for fun; the Madame had informed him a few days ago that he would be entertaining tonight. The client is an older man, bordering on elderly, who suffers from, aha, a dysfunction of his nether regions. Why he still chooses to frequent brothels irrespective of his condition is anyone’s guess, but considering the man only ever asks to be fed sweets and read erotic novels, he’s ultimately a harmless client that Shen Yuan doesn’t mind servicing.
Shen Yuan has just shortlisted five books he’ll pick out passages from, when he hears the click-clack of his bead curtain, signalling a visitor. Looking up, Shen Yuan sees Xu Shan poking his head through the doorway, clearly waiting to be invited in. It seems no matter how many times Shen Yuan told the boy he could relax around him, he’d never break the habit of formality.
Making sure all the books are shut, because their contents are absolutely not child friendly – and yes, Shen Yuan is aware that saying that while having Xu Shan work for him is a case of pot meet kettle, but still – Shen Yuan inclines his head and beckons the boy in with a smile.
Pushing through the beads, Xu Shan doesn’t immediately scamper over to Shen Yuan’s bedside like normal. Instead, he stays hovering by the entrance to the suite, playing with the end of his ponytail as he tries to meet Shen Yuan’s gaze, but ends up looking somewhere over his shoulder.
Xu Shan has never been good at hiding his emotions – something that endeared him to Shen Yuan, because a life of having to second guess everyone’s intentions made any interactions with the boy a breath of fresh air. It’s why the smile slips off his face when he takes in Xu Shan’s demeanour, because anyone with eyes would be able to tell something is wrong.
Brows creased, Shen Yuan asks, straight to the point, “What happened?”
“Huh??” Xu Shan nearly jumps out of his skin, like he hadn’t expected to be addressed, which is just weird, because he’d come to Shen Yuan’s room of his own volition, right?
“Xu Shan,” Shen Yuan tries again, “what’s going on?”
“Nothing, xiansheng! Just, just–” Fidgeting with his fingers, Xu Shan finally meets Shen Yuan’s gaze reluctantly, and Shen Yuan is hit with a distinct sense of foreboding. “You have a guest, xiansheng, and he’s waiting outside.”
Shen Yuan’s eyes flit to the bead curtain, but if there’s a silhouette beyond that doorway, he can’t make it out.
Not that he thinks he needs to.
It’s far too early for Wang-xiansheng to be here, because the old man is a creature of habit and always takes his evening meal before coming to the pavilion; a glance outside the window tells Shen Yuan that, though close, it’s still not even dusk. Moreover, the Madame would have informed him if he were expected to entertain another client in the meantime.
There’s only one person his guest could be; Shen Yuan still hopes he’s wrong.
Tentatively calling out, “Wang-xiansheng?” Shen Yuan braces himself for the response.
And there isn’t one – at least not immediately.
Then:
“Expecting another man? My, I think you’ve hurt my feelings.”
The voice of Shen Yuan’s nightmares sounds playful, as if his words were a simple tease and veiled no threats. Hou Xianrong steps through the bead curtain, and Xu Shan scurries back so that the older man doesn’t bump into him – but Hou Xianrong pays him no mind. His eyes are on Shen Yuan alone, and his ever genial smile curls at his lips.
“Lord Hou,” Shen Yuan greets instinctually, but inside feels that burgeoning dread from before increase tenfold; Hou Xianrong is a busy, busy man and he would never show up at the Warm Red Pavilion without warning which means there is a reason for this visit.
The sun has begun its descent below the horizon, and the last of its rays bathe Shen Yuan’s room in a tarnished bronze glow. Cast in that dying light, Hou Xianrong’s deep ruby robes appear as a cloak of blood, moving fluidly with his gait as he stalks towards Shen Yuan’s bed.
It’s only when the man stands before Shen Yuan, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear with all the gentleness of a lover, that he realises he’s still in his sleeping robes. Hou Xianrong’s fingers trace the shell of Shen Yuan’s ear and follow the line of his jaw down to his chin, and Shen Yuan tries, subtly, to tug his robes tighter around his chest when the older man tilts his face up.
“My sweet Yulan,” he murmurs, soulless eyes searching Shen Yuan’s own, “How ever will you make it up to me?”
And Shen Yuan’s stomach sinks as the dread fades to a defeated certainty under the pressure of Hou Xianrong’s grip.
He knows.
Since his head is locked in this position, Shen Yuan can only glance at Xu Shan from the corner of his eyes; the boy is, surprisingly, still in the room, despite clearly being a hair trigger away from bolting.
“Xu Shan,” Shen Yuan calls out. His voice comes out a little strange since he can’t really use his jaw, and Shen Yuan tries to ignore how humiliating that is when he orders, “Leave, and tell the Madame I’ll be occupied for the next few shichen.”
“The rest of the evening,” Hou Xianrong corrects, smoothly.
Fuck.
Exhaling a slow, controlled breath through his nose, Shen Yuan amends, reluctantly, “…For the rest of the evening.”
The boy looks hesitant to leave, and glances nervously between Shen Yuan and Hou Xianrong. The gesture stems from Xu Shan’s sweet, childish kindness, and it’s that, more than anything, that makes Shen Yuan harden his voice as he repeats, “Now, Xu Shan,” because, just because Hou Xianrong hasn’t paid him any attention yet, doesn’t mean that he won’t.
Shen Yuan doesn’t know whether it’s Hou Xianrong’s imposing figure, or the fact that Shen Yuan has never raised his voice to Xu Shan before now, but the boy spooks – doesn’t even acknowledge Shen Yuan’s order as he darts out of the room, the bead curtain’s arrhythmic clacking being the only indicator the boy was ever there.
The feeling of fingers stroking down the length of his throat has Shen Yuan wrenching his gaze back to glare at the perpetrator, but faced with Shen Yuan’s impotent ire, Hou Xianrong only grins with teeth.
“If–” Shen Yuan’s voice comes out stilted again, and really, he’s had enough of this. Pushing at the hand still gripping his chin, Shen Yuan enjoys a modicum of relief when the older man allows himself to be dislodged… until that same hand slips beneath the collar of his robes. Trying not to grimace, Shen Yuan continues, “If Lord Hou was planning on visiting, he should have informed me beforehand.”
“Oh, but you used to love surprises when you were younger. Don’t tell me you’ve grown out of them.”
Shen Yuan’s lip curls up in disgust. The man is more than reprehensible enough through deeds alone, but Shen Yuan can’t help but feel uncomfortable every time he makes a throwaway comment, riddled with longing for Shen Yuan’s youth. Despite bidding Shen Yuan to learn qi control to keep from physically ageing, it seems Hou Xianrong won’t ever be wholly satisfied with him again – unless the man finds a way to turn back time, that is. And isn’t that just a horrifying thought?
Shaking his head minutely, Shen Yuan raises an eyebrow. “Then, will Lord Hou tell me what brought him here today?”
Hou Xianrong raises an eyebrow back. He looks amused. “Why else would a man come to visit the Magnolia of the garden?” Leaning down, he speaks directly into Shen Yuan’s ear, in a way that sets off goosebumps down Shen Yuan’s spine. “Entertain me, Yulan-xiansheng.”
Shen Yuan’s lips are slick with come when Hou Xianrong finally allows him to pull off his cock. Even during moments like this, the older man manages to stay composed, depriving Shen Yuan of even the pathetic satisfaction of seeing him look like a fucking idiot for a few seconds. Scowling, Shen Yuan leans over the edge of the bed and spits out Hou Xianrong’s release onto the carpet below, feeling a twinge of sympathy for whoever has to clean his room next, because he sure as hell isn’t touching that mess.
A slide of fingers through his hair has Shen Yuan’s attention forcibly brought back to the older man, and when he glances up, Hou Xianrong is looking at him contemplatively.
“Skilled as ever, A-Yulan,” Hou Xianrong compliments offhandedly, stroking Shen Yuan’s hair like the pet he probably sees him as.
Shen Yuan doesn’t know how to respond to that, because if the older man is looking for words of thanks, he can take a long walk off a short pier. Remaining silent, Shen Yuan wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, though some stickiness remains tacky on his cheeks. He’s itching for a bath, and can only hope that Hou Xianrong tires out sooner rather than later, so Shen Yuan can wash himself clean before the night is through.
“I wonder,” Hou Xianrong continues, never deviating from that conversational tone, “if Shen Jiu enjoyed this as much as I did.”
Shen Yuan’s face shutters.
“Ah, though I suppose he goes by Shen Qingqiu now…”
Shen Yuan had been wondering when the older man would breach the subject. This ‘meeting’ had gone on long enough that Shen Yuan had begun, stupidly, to hope that perhaps he wouldn’t bring it up at all; hindsight is 20/20 as it always is, and Shen Yuan realises that the fun of crushing that small bud of false hope is what Hou Xianrong wanted from the start.
Trying to steady his voice is an admirable effort that ends in futility. The nerves in Shen Yuan’s words are obvious, even to him, when he says in a facade of confidence, “If my Lord already knows so much, surely he is aware of what did and did not happen that night.”
Hou Xianrong lets out a hum of consideration. “Be that as it may, the fact that I am disappointed in you does not change, Yulan.”
Shen Yuan doesn’t even have a chance to think of a response to that before he feels the fingers that had carefully been brushing through his hair knot into the strands and yank him upwards. The force is so sudden that Shen Yuan can’t fight it – a startled yelp leaving his lips as Hou Xianrong drags him so that he lays flush against the older man’s chest.
Continuing like nothing abnormal had happened, as if his hand isn’t still fisted tight and pulling Shen Yuan’s hair nearly clean from his scalp, Hou Xianrong croons, “Be honest, Yulan – if I didn’t have my ways, would you have told me about this little… tryst?”
That last word is growled, and Shen Yuan knows – this is dangerous. There’s a glint of madness in Hou Xianrong’s eyes – the only light in his eyes – and his expression is starting to twist, faux-kindness now demented. It seems his jealousy over Shen Jiu had withstood the test of time.
“This one didn’t think it was necessary, since it was not my choice to go.” Self preservation has Shen Yuan reverting to polite speech, and he carefully turns the next sentence over in his head. With the way Hou Xianrong is looking at him, Shen Yuan knows that one misspoken word is all it would take to set the man off. “I was only present to replace a sick jiejie… I played the qin for most of the night, and when we talked, it was only an exchange of a few words. He didn’t even…” Shen Yuan trails off, hesitating – which was clearly the wrong move to make, because his scalp burns a second later, and the pain has Shen Yuan gasping out in pain and fear, “He didn’t recognise me!”
Hou Xianrong’s expression is inscrutable as he scans Shen Yuan’s face with a deadly focus – looking for any sign that the younger man had lied. The next few moments are laden with a tension so thick Shen Yuan could choke on it, and his head is throbbing from where the older man still hasn’t released his hair. Distantly, he thinks that at least if he ends up going bald, he’ll know who to blame.
Hou Xianrong exhales, and his breath washes over Shen Yuan’s face, hot and damp and disgusting. Finally laxing his grip, Hou Xianrong gently cards his fingers through Shen Yuan’s hair, as he presses what Shen Yuan can only assume is an apologetic kiss to his hairline.
“He didn’t recognise you. Of course, of course…” Hou Xianrong murmurs, seeming to talk to himself more than anything; Shen Yuan lies perfectly still on his chest, focusing on how the older man sounds placated – he’s in the clear for now, it seems. Shen Yuan can only hope it’ll stay that way.
Lips brushing Shen Yuan’s forehead, Hou Xianrong asks softly, after a moment, “Did it hurt, Yulan?”
Risking a glance up from beneath his lashes, Shen Yuan meets the older man’s eyes. Duh, he thinks, snidely, how couldn’t it have? But Shen Yuan realises that he’s misunderstood Hou Xianrong’s question, that he’s not talking about the way he’d yanked on Shen Yuan’s hair, when the man elaborates, in that same, gentle tone:
“Seeing your dear gege,” a smile, “and knowing he thinks you’re dead.”
Shen Yuan’s breath catches in his throat and his hands grip Hou Xianrong’s shoulders; if the man hadn’t been wearing his robes, there would be ten purpling crescent marks decorating the space under his collarbones.
“You–” Shen Yuan chokes through the pain that tears through his chest, then chokes again on Hou Xianrong’s tongue, as the older man kisses him square on the lips.
“It must have,” Hou Xianrong interrupts with a hum, and he sounds far too gleeful at the prospect. Shen Yuan wants him dead. Running a thumb over the delicate skin under Shen Yuan’s left eye, right above his scar, Hou Xianrong pushes down, just hard enough to turn half of Shen Yuan’s vision to static. “Did you cry over him? I wish I could have seen… You’re so beautiful when you’re upset.”
When Hou Xianrong kisses him again, Shen Yuan fights back in the only way he can – kissing with teeth, biting and tearing until the older man pulls away with bloodied lips and Shen Yuan swallows down the metallic taste of copper.
“Dear me,” Hou Xianrong tuts, lifting his fingers to his mouth and wiping off the blood smeared there. “Acting out like this – do I have to retrain you, A-Yulan?
This bastard is insane, Shen Yuan thinks, nausea roiling in his gut when Hou Xianrong looks excited – exhilarated – at the prospect. A complete lunatic.
“No,” Shen Yuan replies, but it’s far too quick and he sounds far too afraid, and he curses at himself over it. It seems that somewhere along the line, without him even realising, Shen Yuan had lost his composure – his only line of defence. Now there’s blood in the water, and a ravenous shark is about.
“I find I disagree with that assessment,” Hou Xianrong purrs, as he cups his prey’s cheeks with both hands. “Don’t worry. Come morning, you’ll know how to be on your best behaviour again.”
Shen Yuan’s eyes close involuntarily, as if his eyelids are being dragged shut by some unknown force. He can’t see when Hou Xianrong leans down to kiss him again, but when he feels the blood slicked press of the older man’s lips once more, Shen Yuan yields without a fight. He can only pray that the bitterness of his despair taints Hou Xianrong’s tongue for weeks to come; a poison with no cure.
Notes:
...hehe. a lot to unpack there, huh? kudos to all the commenters in the last chapter who actually questioned whether sqq would recognise sy, you guys were on the money! though we all know how smart and observant sqq is, considering he thought sy has been dead for a decade, i think he gets a pass this time. that said, the actual, not clickbait jiuyuan reunion will be coming very soon. promise!
as for the next update: to be completely transparent, ive got mandatory overtime in dec for xmas, so realistically ch4 won't be out til jan some time. im done with work after that though, so i should be able to update much faster after then.
important note re: hongmo – (i tried finding the comment again, but i think the user deleted it :[ ) thank you so much to a reader for pointing out that i accidentally used the chinese word for iris (of the eye) and not iris (the flower). it was totally not intentional and an oopsie on my part lol. 'hongmo' will be changed to ‘yuanwei’ going forward (and i'll edit the old chaps), in case anyone gets confused and thinks she’s a new character.
lastly: while i was fighting writers block, i managed to draft out almost all of the rest of this fic. i don’t want to promise a chapter length or wordcount, but since there will be two arcs to this story, i don’t think 100k+ is an unreasonable estimate... tldr: we're in for the long haul. i hope that's exciting news to you, because it is to me :D i cant wait to share the rest of this story with you guys.
i think that’s all the admin for now… see you next time!
Chapter 4
Notes:
i actually updated in january lets fucking goooo!! with this chapter, WAB becomes both my longest and my most popular fic, ever. i cannot BELIEVE this story has over 1k kudos already, are you kidding me?! thank you guys so much!
this chapter also signifies the midway point for the first arc of this fic, and suffice to say, a lot goes down. hehe
warnings for this chapter: apart from HXR being his usual self, there's nothing really of note.
enjoy reading!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Fifteen Years Ago
While the colder months don’t agree with Shen Yuan’s embarrassingly weak constitution, in his opinion, summer is so much worse. He’s more or less gotten used to the lack of air conditioning in the world of PIDW – or, more accurately, for the sake of his sanity, has had to pretend it never existed – but the absence of insect repellant is something Shen Yuan thinks he’ll lament for the rest of his days. He doesn’t doubt that there’s some sort of qi technique that achieves the same results, but does that even matter when he’ll never be a cultivator? Airplane, you bastard, do normal civilians not deserve to live comfortably during the hotter months?!
Even just a damn mosquito net would do, Shen Yuan thinks mournfully, as he squashes a gnat that had been buzzing around his face; another one takes its place a moment later, and he sighs in complete and utter resignation when it lands on his cheek. As he half-heartedly swats it away, he supposes this insect irritation is an acceptable sacrifice to pay for the sake of being close to the river and its cool relief.
Usually, at this time of day, Shen Yuan would be busy panhandling – all the street kids would. However, with the way the midday sun has been baking the town’s cobblestone paths all morning, sitting on those blistering streets clad in threadbare robes as they were would just be asking to get burns – which, in this heat, could very easily get infected. It would be less of a loss to refrain from begging for the day than it would be to risk injury and potentially have to shell out for medicine… is the conclusion Shen Yuan thinks the slave traders came to, when they looked the other way as one after the other, the street kids vacated their positions around town and scurried off to its outskirts, making for the only place they’d be able to cool off.
A bead of sweat drips down the length of Shen Yuan’s neck, and he groans, tossing his hair over his shoulder and praying that the barely-there breeze that has been rustling through the long, sun-bleached grass makes its way over to the hilltop they’re resting at – ‘they’, being Shen Jiu and himself, of course. The river would be the most obvious place to go and wash off his sweat, but… everyone else has clearly thought the same, because it’s packed with kids in varying states of undress. Shen Yuan isn’t really into the idea of getting caught in the crossfire of all the splashing going on, since, knowing his shitty luck, he’d find a way to catch a cold despite the heat, just because he sat around in wet clothes for a couple shichen.
Thankfully, the canopy of the large tree he’s sitting under is lush enough that no sunlight breaches its foliage, and its thick, gnarled roots offer convenient, if not very comfortable, places to perch upon where they break through the dusty ground. Unfortunately, the tree can’t help much with the humidity that has stickied Shen Yuan’s skin, but… well, he can’t have it all, he supposes.
Another droplet of sweat races down the side of Shen Yuan’s temple.
Shen Yuan purses his lips.
He knows it’s the heat that’s making him irrationally irritated, but it really doesn’t help that Shen Jiu looks so unaffected by it. Sure, Shen Yuan can spy a delicate sheen of sweat on the older boy’s forehead, but that’s the only thing that gives away that he’s feeling hot at all – with his back against the trunk of the tree, eyes closed and head tilted upwards – Shen Yuan could be fooled into thinking he was enjoying himself!
“Ge.”
Shen Jiu either ignores Shen Yuan, or doesn’t hear him over the ruckus the kids down in the river are making; either way, Shen Yuan frowns, and in a moment of childish immaturity, leans over to bonk his head against Shen Jiu’s shoulder, wiping his sweat on the older boy’s clothes.
“Jiu-ge.”
Huffing as he opens his eyes, Shen Jiu pushes Shen Yuan’s face away with the flat of his palm as he asks, bluntly, “What, A-Yuan?”
Shen Yuan’s voice is muffled by his gege’s hand, but he still manages to get out, “Will you braid my hair? This heat is killing me, ge.”
“You’re such a baby,” Shen Jiu mutters, unamused by the dramatics. Eventually, though, he acquiesces with a sigh and a twirl of his pointer finger, gesturing that Shen Yuan turn around.
Pleased, Shen Yuan shuffles on his butt, facing away from the older boy as he eagerly awaits the feeling of nimble fingers working through his sweat-dampened hair. Without having a hair tie, a braid is the next best thing for dealing with the heat – aside from, well, cutting all his hair off… but that suggestion had only resulted in a bewildered look from Shen Jiu, who had asked if he wanted to look like a criminal as well as a beggar, before walking off and leaving Shen Yuan to wilt in the sun.
Shen Jiu falls into a silent concentration as he works, so Shen Yuan is left to observe the antics of the kids in the river. From his vantage point, he can see that they’ve all split into smaller groups along the length of the water. They’re not playing as rambunctiously as they had been earlier, but Yue Qi still stands in the shallows and observes them, acting like a lifeguard of sorts.
He really was meant to be a leader, huh, Shen Yuan thinks, when the eldest boy only pats the head of the young child who had splashed him with water, screeching and laughing as they tried, fruitlessly, to drag him into the deeper end.
“Honestly,” the tut comes from over Shen Yuan’s shoulder, and he turns his head just in time to catch Shen Jiu’s glower as he says, “animals would make less noise.”
Any argument Shen Yuan might have made against the complaint is rendered moot when, from the corner of his eye, he sees a boy belly flop into the river, causing his friends to cackle at the resultant waves. Ah, well.
Instead, Shen Yuan offers a, “They’re having fun, gege” and laughs out loud when he hears Shen Jiu click his tongue, as if the very thought affronts him.
“Qi-ge is wasting his time,” the older boy comments, jutting his chin out at where Yue Qi slaps the back of a boy who seems to have had the misfortune of inhaling some water. “Let them die. No one would miss them and we’d have more panhandling spots.”
“Gege…” Shen Yuan admonishes, somewhat half-heartedly because Shen Jiu is, well… not entirely joking, but probably not all that serious either… Hopefully.
“What?” Shen Jiu scoffs, but pats Shen Yuan’s shoulder to let him know he’s done; Shen Yuan reaches back with curious fingers to feel along the neat ridges of the braid. “I’m right. You’re way too soft, A-Yuan.”
“I don’t think not wanting someone to die is being soft, Jiu-ge,” Shen Yuan says, but decides not to fight too much against Shen Jiu’s morally dubious opinions today – not with how much cooler he already feels, courtesy of his new hairdo.
Shen Jiu doesn’t deign to respond to that, crossing his arms as he leans back against the tree trunk once more. Shen Yuan attempts to relax like the older boy, but he’s still uncomfortably hot, albeit a little less sweaty. At least he’s not panhandling right now. He’s got to appreciate the silver linings when he finds them.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a similar, stifling haze, most of which is spent nibbling on stale bread in between intermittent naps. Shen Yuan can only thank the gods when the sun finally begins to creep towards the horizon – the Earth, and all those who dwell upon it, granted temporary reprieve from its searing rays. He feels exhausted, despite having barely moved an inch, and Shen Yuan wonders if it’s possible that he managed to catch sunstroke even though he was in the shade all day. Most of the kids have left the river’s cool embrace by now, though some still linger in the shallows, not quite ready to face the reality of another restless night, followed by a day of full work once the sun rises once more; there’s no way the slave traders would be kind enough to overlook a second day of skiving, after all. With the crowds sufficiently thinned, Shen Yuan figures now would be as good a time as any to take a dip. It would be a waste not to cool off in the river even once today – though since he doesn’t want to strip in front of the stragglers still in the water, perhaps he’ll just wet his feet a little…
One of the few remaining groups appears ready to head out of the water, so Shen Yuan decides to wait for them to leave before making his move. Only – one of the boys makes a beeline for the hill, picking his way through the long grass as he climbs up its sloping incline. Shen Yuan blinks in surprise when the boy draws nearer, because he thinks he recognises him – thinks, being the operative word here, but – he appears to be one of the boys who panhandles a few corners over from Shen Yuan’s usual spot. They’ve crossed paths on occasion, but never interacted much beyond an acknowledging nod of the head… Mostly because this boy – ah, Lingyun? Well, he hates Shen Jiu. Shen Yuan doesn’t know what went down between the pair, but apparently the feeling is absolutely mutual. Considering how often Shen Yuan is with Shen Jiu, it makes sense that he would never be able to form any kind of friendship with Lingyun… which just makes it all the more perplexing that he’s approaching Shen Yuan, and by that token, Shen Jiu too.
“Hey!” Lingyun calls out, and Shen Yuan tilts his head.
Is he talking to me? Shen Yuan thinks, then realises how silly the thought is the instant it crosses his mind, because there’s no way he’s talking to Shen Jiu… right? And since the older boy is the only other person on this hill, Shen Yuan comes to the confused conclusion that, yeah, I guess he is. Shen Yuan can feel rather than see the way Shen Jiu stiffens behind him as Lingyun stops a couple feet away, hands on his hips with a trail of water darkened soil behind him.
“Shen Yuan,” Lingyun says again, and he’s got a smile on his face.
“…Yes?”
Brightening at the acknowledgement, Lingyun asks, entirely left field, “Do you want to swim with me?”
Huh. Well, Shen Yuan can’t say he expected that. Did he… miss the memo where sporadically greeting one another made the two of them best friends? Or actually, even acquaintances?!
When Shen Yuan doesn’t immediately answer, Lingyun takes that as his cue to continue. “C’mon! You’ve been under that tree all day,” his gaze slides to the right of Shen Yuan’s head, eyes glinting with trouble; though he speaks to Shen Yuan, he stares at Shen Jiu as he says, “Aren’t you bored sick up here?”
Oh boy, Shen Yuan thinks. His tentative suspicions are confirmed when Shen Jiu moves to sit next to Shen Yuan, thigh to thigh despite the heat; a hand already grips Shen Yuan’s forearm to prevent him from moving, though he hasn’t shown even the slightest inclination of getting up. So that’s what this is about.
Opening his mouth, Shen Yuan is about to refuse – praying it stalls conflict that’s clearly brewing because he’s really not in the mood to be used as fuel for another argument – when the words are stolen from him.
Or, more accurately, spoken for him.
“No.”
The blanket rejection is spat out by Shen Jiu, who glares daggers at Lingyun. Shen Yuan can tell the moment Lingyun realises his bait has landed hook, line and sinker, because he looks elated for a second before his smile slides into a self-satisfied smirk.
Cocking his hip, the boy replies, “I wasn’t asking you, Shen Jiu.”
“I don’t care,” Shen Jiu dismisses, “A-Yuan isn’t going anywhere, especially with someone like you.”
Lingyun’s eyebrow twitches briefly at the insult. “Oh yeah?”
Observing the interaction in silence, Shen Yuan bites his lower lip. He’ll never breathe a word of this out loud, because he thinks Shen Jiu would truly, genuinely kill him for it – but Shen Yuan has a running theory that Lingyun actually likes Shen Jiu, but has his own twisted way of showing it. The insults, the fights… It's all textbook ‘pulling the pigtails of the girl you like’ behaviour. Well, either that or they actually straight up hate each other – it’s not like Shen Yuan was ever an expert in interpersonal relationships before, and since coming to this world, well… Considering he hasn’t made an effort in forming friendships beyond Shen Jiu, he doesn’t think his authority on the subject has changed much. Still, it’s food for thought.
Caught up in his musings as he is, Shen Yuan doesn’t realise he’s being stared at by both boys until Shen Jiu squeezes his arm, reminding him of his presence. Shen Jiu gives Shen Yuan a stern look, but there’s a hint of – is that insecurity, in his gaze? Ah, really… After three years of living together, of clinging to his gege to the point that a not insignificant amount of people know him as ‘Shen Jiu’s shadow’ rather than his real name – isn’t it a little insulting that Shen Jiu still thinks he might choose to leave? For a near stranger, of all people? Oh well… it can’t be helped; if he has to reassure Shen Jiu, that’s what he’ll do.
Turning his gaze back to Lingyun, Shen Yuan gives the boy a thin-lipped smile – polite, but empty. “No thanks.”
“What?” Lingyun asks, and looks put out – which is insane, actually, because what on earth gave him the confidence to think Shen Yuan would have automatically agreed?? Lingyun furrows his brow, deep in thought, before he seems to have an aha! moment, and says, “Oh! I get it. You can’t swim, can you?”
“Um,” Shen Yuan stalls, before thinking, sure, okay, let's go with that. “No.”
“I knew it!” Lingyun cheers. “That’s fine, this gege will teach you, okay?”
The split second of silence that follows that statement is just enough time for Shen Yuan to think, emphatically, Oh No, before Shen Jiu’s face hardens into marble. In one fluid movement, the boy gets to his feet, showing no sign of the dead legs Shen Yuan knows he would have suffered from, had he been sitting on his knees for hours.
“What did you just say?” Shen Jiu asks, though it’s clearly a rhetorical question. Voice vitriolic, his words come out rapidfire and acid laden, “Gege? Whose? Shen Yuan’s?”
Like a child expecting a scolding, Shen Yuan’s spine straightens at the sound of his full name – Shen Jiu only ever uses it when he’s mad, after all – and even knowing he hasn’t done anything wrong, Shen Yuan still peers up at Shen Jiu with a healthy dose of caution. The older boy’s attention is all zeroed in on Lingyun, however, and when he takes a step forward, warning bells belatedly go off in Shen Yuan’s head. Oh fuck, wait. Nope! Abort! Time for backup!
Moving on instinct alone, Shen Yuan grabs a hold of the leg closest to him and hugs it tight to his chest. Shen Jiu is supremely unimpressed, if the hiss he lets out through his teeth is anything to go by – he grabs the back of Shen Yuan’s collar, and the younger boy yelps, feeling very much like a kitten being held by the scruff of its neck as he fights his gege’s attempts to pull him off.
“Q-Qi-ge!” Shen Yuan yells, dying inside when his voice cracks for all to hear, but pushing on nonetheless, “Qi-ge! Help!”
Thankfully, the embarrassing cry of his name alerts the eldest of the group to the commotion, and Yue Qi’s eyes widen when he takes stock of the situation: a dishevelled Shen Yuan, attempting to be dislodged by a feral Shen Jiu, who tries to advance upon an ever more apprehensive looking Lingyun.
Truly a sight for sore eyes.
Saying something to the scant few children still in the river, Yue Qi makes his way back onto dry land. He doesn’t bother putting on his sandals before he begins the laborious task of running uphill, and Shen Jiu is unhappy with this development.
“Stay out of this, Qi-ge!” Shen Jiu snarls, when Yue Qi draws near. His gaze flickers over to the eldest when he says this, before quickly returning it to Lingyun and continuing to bore holes into his face. He mutters, quieter, so that Shen Yuan is pretty sure he’s the only one who can hear, “This bastard needs to know his place.”
Though these words go unheard by Lingyun, Shen Jiu’s expression says it all: and oh boy, if looks could kill. Despite Lingyun’s attempted façade of bravado, Shen Yuan can see the way he shuffles backwards in subtle increments; his cocksure attitude has undoubtedly taken a hit, and disbelief tinges his voice when he says, “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”
He lets out a nervous laugh, albeit a short lived one, when Shen Jiu takes another step forward. Yue Qi had only hesitated for a split second when Shen Jiu had shouted at him, but that’s delayed him enough to where Shen Yuan can already tell that if Shen Jiu were to lunge at Lingyun right now, the eldest wouldn’t make it in time to stop him. Parking his ass on the ground, Shen Yuan tries to lower his centre of gravity as he koala-hugs Shen Jiu’s leg with as much strength as his eleven year old body will allow.
Lingyun, for all that he’s aware Shen Jiu is about to snap, is just standing there, and Shen Yuan shoots him a frustrated glare before yelling, “Are you waiting for permission?!” His efforts are rewarded with a confused, blank look, and god, Shen Yuan should just let Jiu-ge beat some sense into this boy because really?! Realising he needs to spell it out for the imbecile, Shen Yuan bites out, once more, “Go!”
Lingyun, for a mercy, does not need to be told twice.
Careening past Yue Qi, the latter of whom has just crested the hill with a heaving breath, Lingyun makes it to about halfway down the slope before turning around – far enough away that he can have the last word without immediately facing the consequences.
“Shen Yuan!” He calls out, huffing with his hands on his hips.
Shen Jiu’s grip on Shen Yuan’s collar tightens, and Shen Yuan exhales loudly as he comes to the conclusion that Lingyun might be one of the stupidest people he’s ever met. That, or he has a death wish – it’s honestly a coin toss.
“Once you’re tired of being treated like a pet,” Lingyun cries, pointing an accusing finger at Shen Jiu, “You know where to find us!”
Shen Jiu makes an aborted move to chase after Lingyun, but Yue Qi’s reflexes are faster, and he darts forward to grab Shen Jiu’s shoulders – getting in his line of sight and cutting off the view of Lingyun finally turning tail and running the rest of the way down.
Seeing as Yue Qi has things in hand now – quite literally – Shen Yuan releases Shen Jiu’s leg, and slaps at his gege’s hand til his collar is released in turn. It’s far too hot for that kind of rough housing, no matter how brief, and Shen Yuan grimaces as he starfishes onto the ground, trying to will away the sweat that threatens to bead with the power of his mind alone.
“Let go, Qi-ge, I need to – I’m A-Yuan’s gege!” Shen Jiu shouts this at Yue Qi, the eldest having become the misplaced target of his anger now that Lingyun is gone.
Possessiveness and protectiveness are two sides of the same coin, but Shen Yuan can’t help but think that Shen Jiu is unequivocally on the side of the former, with the way the unspoken, ‘and no one else’ , tacked onto the end of Shen Jiu’s statement is all but loud and clear. Shen Yuan knows he should be put off by Shen Jiu’s undeniable need to monopolise him… and he probably would be, had he not understood where the older boy was coming from.
Shen Jiu doesn’t talk about his childhood. At all. The one time Shen Yuan had asked, he’d been given the cold shoulder for the rest of the day. But logically, it’s not that hard to piece together what it might have been like, given the circumstances. The slave traders only buy and sell children, and Shen Jiu had been ten years old when Shen Yuan had first met him. He’d obviously been in the lifestyle for a while, given how savvy he was… which all just meant that although Shen Jiu wasn’t born a slave, he’d been living as one from such a young age that it wouldn’t have made any difference if he had; his family, either through death, poverty, or greed, had abandoned their child to this life. In Shen Yuan’s opinion, Yue Qi – although to a far lesser degree – is guilty of the same crime. It’s clear that the eldest had taken Shen Jiu under his wing at some point, and probably very early on, considering how attached Shen Jiu is to him. The problem is that he’s an older brother figure to a fault, and just can’t seem to help tending to others when he can… even if he does come back to Shen Jiu in the end.
Shen Yuan understands now why it had taken Shen Jiu so long to accept him – his constant, freely given attention must have been overwhelmingly unfamiliar at first. It’s also why Shen Yuan understands why he’s so, ah… dedicated to making sure he never loses it. Shen Yuan only feels a tiny bit guilty that the whole reason he’d initially been so enthusiastically clingy was because of the whole, well, threat of death at the System’s hands. That obligatory friendliness would only have tied him over for a little while, though, because his conscience would have eaten him alive had he tried to play fake nice for years. It’s why Shen Yuan had been so relieved to realise that he actually liked Shen Jiu, once he'd shed himself of the prejudice he'd held towards the other boy, courtesy of PIDW.
“I know, Xiao Jiu,” Yue Qi’s placating voice brings Shen Yuan back to the present. The eldest boy’s hands are still braced against Shen Jiu’s shoulders, but it doesn’t look like he’s using any force, which is good. He smiles, and it's kind – it always is, when dealing with Shen Jiu, no matter how unreasonable the younger of the two gets. “And I’m sure Lingyun knows, too.”
Ah, right. Shen Yuan had almost forgotten what they were talking about.
Lazily poking Shen Jiu’s ankle, Shen Yuan waits until he has the boy’s attention before offering his two cents. “He was just saying that to make you mad, Jiu-ge.” Meeting Shen Jiu’s eyes, he raises both eyebrows, the, ‘and it worked’, going without saying.
“Shut it, A-Yuan,” Shen Jiu mutters, ruthlessly digging his toes into Shen Yuan’s side. The sudden tickling sensation has Shen Yuan violently shying away with a yell, hurrying to protect his ribs from any further assault.
“Ge!”
“It’s what you deserve!” Shen Jiu snarks back, crossing his arms. “Since when were you friends with Lingyun?”
Shen Yuan splutters and pushes himself up onto his elbows. “Since never!”
Does he have to defend his honour now??
“Hmmm,” Shen Jiu hums, utterly unconvinced.
Really, what a troublesome gege Shen Yuan has; resisting the urge to rub his forehead, he attempts to appeal to Shen Jiu’s logic.
“When would we have even had time to get close? I’m always with you, Jiu-ge!”
“Not always,” Shen Jiu says, just to be contrary, because why not.
Shen Yuan sends a pleading look to Yue Qi, who had been watching their back-and-forth like a particularly interesting tennis match. When he notices Shen Yuan’s eyes on him, though, he takes a step back, hands up in the universal, ‘none of my business’ gesture. Useless.
Shen Jiu continues to scrutinise Shen Yuan, pointer finger tapping out a rhythm against his elbow; Shen Yuan knows he’s won when the older boy’s shoulders lower from where they’d been hiked up defensively, and, after a moment, holds a hand out for Shen Yuan to take.
Trying to pull Shen Jiu down into the dirt with him in retribution is a task destined to fail from the start, but that doesn’t stop Shen Yuan from trying. It ends with disappointment, as expected, and all he gets for his efforts is a reprimanding pinch to his cheek.
“Ah,” Shen Yuan whines, rubbing his face when Shen Jiu only snickers. “It’s too hot for this!”
“Then stop complaining and follow me,” Shen Jiu says, starting his way down the hill. “The jiejies said we could sleep in the cold storage tonight, if we get there before sundown.”
By jiejies, he must mean the women from the brothel, but… the brothel is on the other edge of town.
Glancing towards the horizon, Shen Yuan shares a look with Yue Qi, before the eldest boy says, tentatively, “Xiao Jiu… the sun is setting now.”
“And is that my fault?” Shen Jiu asks sharply. “That just means we have to hurry.”
Holding back a groan, Shen Yuan scampers after the other boy – the allure of a comfortable night’s sleep much stronger than the desire to waste breath whining.
Still, Jiu-ge, why are you like this?!
The day Shen Yuan’s life changes forever starts out like any other.
He’s watching a street fight, and this in and of itself isn’t that unusual. Considering the way they live, resolving rising tensions with fists over words is a pretty common occurrence – it’s not as if there are any responsible adults around to tell them otherwise. Truth be told, though, Shen Yuan would rather not be here. Fights aren’t anything like Hollywood led him to believe… far fewer eloquent, dramatic monologues, much more grunting and cursing… Blood, too, he thinks, feeling queasy as he watches Lingyun try to stem the flow of red that is currently dripping down his face. Shen Yuan holds no affection for the other boy, but he can’t help the twinge of sympathy he feels because his nose is a fucking tap, god damn.
Well… perhaps Shen Yuan should feel a little irked at Lingyun, misplaced though that irritation may be. It’s because of him that Shen Yuan is stuck here, after all. Shen Jiu is one petty bastard, and the second he’d caught wind that Lingyun was involved in the fight – and getting his ass soundly handed to him, at that – the older boy had rushed to find the closest wooden crate to stand on top of, just so he had the best view.
Shen Jiu hadn’t been the only one drawn to the commotion, either. What started out as a few bystanders here and there had quickly evolved into the small crowd that encircles the fighting pair now, ooh’ing and aah’ing every time a battered body comes tumbling their way. Shen Yuan feels a headache pulse behind his temples when he hears Shen Jiu let out a vindictive cheer as Lingyun fails to block an uppercut to his gut. The fact that they haven’t yet gotten into trouble for blocking off part of the main street is a miracle that Shen Yuan knows can only be attested to the fact that it’s still very, very early. Shen Yuan still can’t help but be extremely on edge, though, because this isn’t the 21st century anymore. In the world of PIDW, child abuse laws are considerably lax – nonexistent, one might even say! Shen Yuan doesn’t want to end up whipped for being an unwilling participant in this mess, not if he can help it.
It’s the threat of undeserved punishment hanging over his head like a guillotine that has Shen Yuan taking up the position of a lookout of sorts, doing an admirable impression of a meerkat as he stands on his tiptoes and cranes his head to and fro. Yue Qi seems to be of the same mind, standing by Shen Jiu with a frown on his face as he observes the goings on. He appears to be keeping an eye on the fighting more than anything else, though, which… isn’t that surprising, actually. There’s a reason so many kids call him ‘Qi-ge’, after all – ah, but only ever when out of ear shot of Shen Jiu, though. Shen Yuan himself has half a mind to tug on the older boy’s sleeves with puppy dog-eyes and ask him to end the fight – a technique that should have lost its effectiveness after he turned ten, but still manages to work on Yue Qi because the boy is an unfortunate pushover for Shen Jiu, and by extension, Shen Yuan. That said, though… Shen Yuan would kind of feel bad for making Yue Qi feel responsible for these idiots, and he’s sure that no one would thank him for ending their ‘fun’ early – except maybe Lingyun. Probably only Lingyun.
It’s as Shen Yuan sighs, resigning himself to his self-appointed guard duty, that he hears it: over the sound of the raucous crowd, a faint clacking, like flint being struck against steel – off in the distance, but getting progressively, rapidly louder. Shen Yuan blames the early hour for not realising what it is, until it’s too late.
That, plus the fact that he hasn’t been around horses in real life before, either.
With slowly widening eyes, Shen Yuan watches as three giant steeds round the corner, the smack of their iron horseshoes against cobbled stone echoing loudly in the otherwise lifeless street. They’re in a ‘V’ formation, with two horses in the back on either side of the one at the fore, and although Shen Yuan can’t tell much of the riders from his position, he can hear twin shouts of surprise before the horses at the rear slow down. He assumes that they spotted the mass of bodies soon to be blocking their way, but the same cannot be said for the rider in front who either does not see or does not care about the fact that he’s about to trample no less than five people if he doesn’t stop very, very soon.
The sudden explosion of noise catches the attention of the street kids, who scatter like cockroaches exposed to light. A panic takes hold of them, and they forget their excitement in favour of blindly pushing one another out of the way so they can escape to the sides of the street to avoid the trampling that would, if not grievously injure – kill them.
Were horses always this fucking big?! Shen Yuan thinks in alarm, watching the horse – animal – beast?? – charge forward; the strength of its muscles, rippling beneath its midnight black coat, plain for all to see.
Most of the boys have managed to scamper clear of the warpath by now, but it’s with a sinking stomach that Shen Yuan realises that there’s still someone very much in the way. Lingyun, dazed from being beaten, is still sluggishly trying to push himself off the floor. He slips on his own blood and falls back onto his hands. He seems confused, at first – why has everyone run away? What’s going on? and it’s only when Lingyun raises his head and sees the giant horse about five paces away that his face pales as clarity dawns on him.
A terrified cry leaves Lingyun’s mouth, and although Shen Yuan will later realise that time had passed as naturally ever: right now, it feels like it has ground to a halt.
The first thing that happens is that Yue Qi dashes forward, pulling Lingyun up with an iron grip on the other boy’s forearm. If Shen Yuan had felt dread at what he was witnessing before before, its leaden weight is tenfold – a physical thing in his gut – because if Yue Qi doesn’t move right the fuck now, he’s going to get killed.
Shen Yuan is going to watch him die.
(Four paces).
Shen Yuan shouts Yue Qi’s name in helpless desperation because that’s all he can do, hands hovering near his face, ready to cover his eyes, because god, he doesn’t want to see this.
(Three paces).
The next thing that happens is a sudden and unusual burst of wind whipping past Shen Yuan, rustling his robes as a result. Only, wait, it’s not wind, it’s a shadow – only, it’s not a shadow, it’s Shen Jiu. The older boy’s jaw is set, lips pursed, and the fiery determination within his eyes has turned their jade hue molten. There’s something in Shen Jiu’s white-knuckled grip, and the only reason Shen Yuan even notices this otherwise insignificant detail is because, whatever it is, it’s… glowing?
(Two paces).
Yue Qi makes a noise of distress as Shen Jiu positions himself between their eldest and the oncoming horse and Shen Yuan really thinks he might be sick. Is Shen Jiu going to die for his gege? Is that really how much Yue Qi means to him? System! Shen Yuan shrieks internally, where’s the Scum Villain’s halo of protection?! Isn’t he supposed to stay alive until Binghe kills him? Hey! System!
The horse is one pace away.
What’s odd, though, is that Shen Jiu doesn’t look scared. Not as scared as the situation calls for, anyway. Shen Jiu doesn’t look like he’s about to die… rather, he looks like he has a plan. How that could possibly be, Shen Yuan doesn’t know, and can’t even begin to fathom because the horse is nearly atop the trio and his breath freezes in his lungs.
Before that solid, metric ton of muscle rams into Shen Jiu and obliterates him, the boy’s hand darts forward. The shiny object that had been in his grasp flies from his fingertips, and for the brief moment Shen Yuan is able to see it soar through the air, he is captivated by how unnaturally bright it is – like a sliver of glass containing the sun. His stupor is broken, however, when it strikes the horse, square in its chest; the reaction is instantaneous. Letting out a distressed whinny, the creature rears violently, and the abrupt halt and redirection of movement dislodges its rider, who is flung from its back, falling into a graceless heap on the ground.
One of the horse’s massive forelegs strikes Shen Jiu’s torso as it kicks out, and he’s immediately knocked backwards into Yue Qi, and Lingyun thereafter. Shen Yuan watches the animal as a dark liquid seeps from the area it had been hit, and he realises with shock, when that liquid drips to the pale, grey floor, that it’s blood. Now untethered and deathly afraid, the horse doesn’t wait before galloping down the street, and with the speed it's going at, it’s not long before it’s out of view. The other two riders catching up to the scene appear completely unconcerned about that, pulling their own steeds to a halt as they dismount with dual cries of, ‘Young Master!’
The band of tension snaps, and Shen Yuan’s senses return to him – no longer hypnotised by fear, he pushes himself through the row of bodies that have backed up close to the wall, uncaring of hissed out complaints as he runs towards Shen Jiu and Yue Qi.
“Jiu-ge!” Shen Yuan gasps out, falling to his knees beside the older boy. His face is contorted in pain and his breaths come out wheezing, but what matters the most is that he’s even breathing at all. That, and the fact that he doesn’t seem on the verge of spewing out blood from internal injuries settles some of the worry in Shen Yuan’s chest. Apart from some killer bruises, Shen Jiu will probably be fine.
“Xiao Jiu.” It’s only two words, but the emotion behind them weighs heavy, and the tremor in Yue Qi’s voice is unmistakable; he looks like he’s about to cry.
“Shut up,” Shen Jiu groans. Who he’s talking to is unclear, but when he struggles to sit up, Yue Qi is there in an instant, supporting his back and shoulders with his chest. Shen Yuan grabs ahold of Shen Jiu’s hands and inspecting them for any scrapes or cuts after handling that… incredibly polished knife? Somehow, Shen Yuan doesn’t think it’s quite that simple. He’ll have to ask about it, but perhaps not right this second – not when the rider who had fallen off has gotten to his feet and is marching their way with retribution in his eyes.
The rider is younger than Shen Yuan expected – older than Yue Qi, yes, but with enough baby fat still left in his cheeks to belie his teenage youth. He’s of below average looks, but well-groomed enough for that to not matter. He actually looks… pretty important, now that Shen Yuan is paying attention – his robes, though muddied and dirty, are elaborately embroidered; his crown, albeit sitting askew on his head, is embedded with vibrant, glittering jewels.
The rider’s face is flushed red with anger as he comes to a stop before them.
“Who was it?!” He demands, and no one needs to ask what he’s referring to.
Shen Yuan’s mouth feels dry as his worst fear is made manifest. Being doled out a few lashings by some pissed off shop owner now looks like a luxury he can only dream of in the face of whatever this noble ‘Young Master’ will deem an appropriate punishment for not only injuring his horse, but himself, too.
Oh, they are so fucked.
Keeping his gaze averted, Shen Yuan involuntarily squeezes Shen Jiu’s hand, and only derives minor comfort when Shen Jiu squeezes back. He prays that the older boy doesn’t run his mouth off at being talked down to like this, but by the solemn expression on Shen Jiu’s face, it seems Shen Yuan needn’t have worried. Though he’s scowling, Shen Jiu aims his gaze at the floor, and his lips remain pressed into a thin line.
Shen Yuan’s relief is short lived, however; the Young Master clearly doesn’t appreciate the silence nearly as much as he does, and turns an interesting shade of puce the longer he goes without an answer.
“Guards!” The sharp bark summons to the Young Master’s side his two riding companions. Older than him by decades, they’re dressed less nicely, but still have an air of class to them as they stand to attention in their all-black attire. Hands hovering over the hilts of their swords, they scan the crowd of trembling children, before their gazes land with a finality on the four at their feet.
One guard flexes his hand, and his leather glove creaks with the movement.
A moment of bated breath, and then:
“I-It was him.”
All eyes turn to the owner of that feeble voice, shaky with fear and pain after being beaten within an inch of his life.
Lingyun.
Shen Yuan feels his heart stutter to a stop when he sees the other boy is pointing at him… but no, that’s not quite right – his finger is trembling, and after a second, it settles to the right of Shen Yuan, on Shen Jiu.
“He did it.”
Shen Jiu isn’t able to get a word in edgewise before the front of his robes are being fisted and he’s hauled upwards in a sharp jerk.
“You did this?” The Young Master’s voice is soft, almost soothing as he asks the question. He doesn’t need to raise his voice to threaten Shen Jiu, not when the consequences are evident.
Shen Jiu’s fingers twitch where his arms hang limp at his sides. In all the years Shen Yuan has known him, he’s been privy to a multitude of sides of the boy. He’s seen Shen Jiu angry, annoyed, smug, concerned – even genuinely happy, on more than one occasion. Shen Yuan has never seen Shen Jiu scared before, though… Not like this.
Shen Yuan thinks it’s probably instinct that moves him to do what he does next.
Getting to his feet, Shen Yuan hesitates before he puts both his hands over the fist that holds Shen Jiu off the ground – praying that the act alone doesn’t get him skewered. And it’s clear the guards don’t take too kindly to a street rat touching their Young Master, because they look poised to unsheathe their swords – until the boy halts them with a silent, raised hand. It’s only then that they relax their stances, but Shen Yuan can feel their unrelenting gazes piercing him, and is made keenly aware of just how thin the ice he’s treading on is.
Does Shen Jiu really mean this much to me?
But, ah, what a silly question to ask, when he already knows the answer.
“I… told him to do it, Young Master.”
“What?!” Shen Jiu’s exclamation comes out a lot more muted than he’d probably like, a laboured wheeze tapering off the end of his words.
“What?” The anger in the Young Master’s voice is there, but he doesn’t sound completely convinced, either. Shen Yuan can’t really blame him for being suspicious, because who would willingly admit to committing a wrongdoing with consequences such as this one?
Haha – me, apparently.
The Young Master scrutinises Shen Yuan for a moment, before dropping Shen Jiu unceremoniously to the ground. Yue Qi gathers him in his arms, but Shen Jiu struggles to push him off, watching as the Young Master turns to fully face Shen Yuan instead. Lifting his right hand, the Young Master carefully loosens the glove he wears – a dark leather, with golden print accents. Shen Yuan is able to admire the glove for all of two seconds, before the Young Master reels his hand back and strikes Shen Yuan across the cheek.
The slap doesn’t register with Shen Yuan at first. He just knows that one moment he’s looking at the Young Master, and the next, he’s looking down the alleyway over his shoulder. The ringing in his ear comes next, subtle for a moment, and deafening the next. The shout of Shen Yuan’s name over that white noise arrives last, hand in hand with the lick of fire that soon spreads over half his face.
Shen Yuan wobbles on his feet, the shock leaving him unable to speak, even if he wanted to. He finds stability in Shen Jiu’s arms – when did he get up? – his gege holding him upright as he stares the Young Master down with a mix of terror and venom.
“Why did you just believe him?!” Shen Jiu shouts in a rasp, fingers digging painfully into Shen Yuan’s ribs. “It was me, you bastard!”
Any satisfaction the Young Master may have derived from that slap dissipates in an instant. It would almost be funny how quickly the Young Master’s face darkens, had Shen Yuan not been the one about to experience just what consequences that will entail.
Then the Young Master’s anger is gone, and a look of contemplation graces his face. Ignoring Shen Jiu, he turns to one of his guards and asks, “How much coin did we bring today?”
The guard seems just as confused at the non sequitur, and casts a brief, wary eye over the street children standing not too far off, as if them finding out that information will induce a pickpocketing frenzy.
However, at the Young Master’s impatient finger click, the guard replies dutifully, “Ten gold coins and a sack of silvers.”
“More than enough for a pair of rats!” The Young Master announces gleefully. To the other guard, he orders, “Tie them up.”
“W-Wait – what are you doing?” Shen Yuan can tell Shen Jiu is holding onto a semblance of a bravado with all his might, but the fear is back in his voice, and rightfully so.
We’re being bought?!?
Shen Yuan reigns in his outward panic, but his mind is racing with a million and one thoughts. This was never in the novel! Granted, none of Shen Qingqiu’s backstory was, but Shen Yuan had just assumed that after a childhood of panhandling, Shen Jiu and Yue Qi would manage to escape and become disciples of Cang Qiong, somehow, at some point. A Deus ex machina courtesy of that shitty Airplane. It wouldn’t be the first time! The guard isn’t especially gentle when looping the hempen rope around Shen Yuan’s wrists, but he’s not needlessly harsh either, and when he’s done, Shen Yuan stares down at the knot that teeters on the edge of cutting off his blood flow in a confused daze. Shen Jiu is uncharacteristically quiet, and his expression gives nothing away when the guard turns to him with rope in hand.
Satisfied that his new purchases won’t be going anywhere, the Young Master walks towards one of the two remaining horses and mounts it. The guard whose steed has just been stolen lets out a very well disguised sigh, before taking hold of the ropes Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu are attached to with the resignation of a man who knows he has to walk back the way he came.
“Xiao Jiu!”
If Shen Yuan had to describe how Yue Qi looks now, standing all alone in the middle of the street, he’d have to say – lost, completely and utterly lost. At the sound of the desperate cry of his name, Shen Jiu flinches imperceptibly; Shen Yuan is only aware he does because the way they’re tied together forces them to walk side by side.
“…It’s fine, Qi-ge.”
But it’s not fine; there’s no way it could be.
As they walk, Shen Yuan can’t ignore the niggling feeling in the back of his mind that something is wrong – something simple he’s overlooked. Is this really the way Shen Jiu and Yue Qi separate? Really? There was no hatred, no anger – rather, Shen Jiu is in this position right now because of how much he cares for the eldest. And, on that topic, Shen Jiu becomes a slave, just like that?? No matter how many times Shen Yuan tries to wrap his head around the idea, it just doesn’t make sense! Unless that woman at Jinlan City was lying about absolutely everything, isn’t Shen Jiu supposed to be taken in by the Qius before he leaves for Cang Qiong? When does that plot point happen? He can’t do that if he’s busy being a slave for… for the…
Wait.
“Xiansheng!” Shen Yuan’s sudden loud shout shatters the silence that had settled around the travelling trio, and he isn’t sure who he startles harder, but he’s too gripped by urgency to care. “Xiansheng, who are we working for? The Young Master, what’s his name??”
“Pipe down, kid, you almost gave me a heart attack!” The guard scolds Shen Yuan with a deep set frown as he dabs at the sweat on his brow with an old kerchief; though the sun has only begun to rise, the temperature has already spiked to a noticeable degree. “Now, what’s all this about Young Master Qiu?”
“Qiu?” Shen Yuan repeats in a squeak, and even Shen Jiu in his brooding gives Shen Yuan a concerned look.
It seems the guard misunderstands Shen Yuan’s unease – or the cause of it, at least – because he sends Shen Yuan a pitying grimace as he says, “Don’t worry, he’ll beat you for a few days, maybe, but if you leave that Tang-er alone, you’ll be alright after that.”
“Tang-er?” This time it’s Shen Jiu who repeats the guard’s words.
“Ah,” the guard slows to a stop, scratching his cheek sheepishly. “Young Mistress Qiu asks us to call her that… Best not to do it in front of the Young Master, though.”
“I see…” Shen Jiu makes a noise of consideration, forefinger pressed under his lower lip as he thinks.
There’s absolutely no way Shen Jiu could have already come to terms with his new life as a purchased slave, but he doesn’t shy away from reality, and Shen Yuan can’t help but admire him for it. That ruthless pragmatism is what will build his reputation as Cang Qiong’s strategic genius. Right now, though, that future seems like a pipe dream.
Qiu Haitang… There's no way this ‘Tang-er’ is anyone else.
While Shen Yuan knows Shen Jiu isn’t the nicest person, he’s not a mass murderer… if… if he really does end up killing everyone in the Qiu household, there has to be some reason for it. If he even kills anyone at all! Shen Yuan isn’t sure he can trust his knowledge of events from the novel anymore, not when Qiu Haitang’s teary accusations had painted Shen Jiu as a son taken in and cared for – but what ‘son’ is brought in, bound and bruised like this?!
So let’s say Qiu Haitang was telling the truth. What the hell happens to Jiu-ge at the Qiu manor, to push him to do what he does?
A very real seed of fear plants itself in Shen Yuan’s stomach as the guard continues his march onwards; Shen Yuan has a feeling that he’s going to find out… whether he wants to or not.
Present Day
Nestled amidst destitution and poverty, the Hou estate is a beacon of unattainable wealth to those inhabitants who survive in the slums of its shadow. Shen Yuan hates it just as much as they do, though probably for very different reasons. Pulling his outer robes tighter against his body, Shen Yuan gazes up at the grandeur that looms over him. Let it be known that he would never normally willingly return to this place, however today is… a special occasion.
Shen Yuan has come to ask Hou Xianrong for a favour.
He had mulled over the pros and cons of what was essentially tantamount to a suicide mission for many sleepless nights, before eventually coming to the conclusion that if Hou Xianrong agreed, it will have been well worth the risk.
Shen Yuan wants to be allowed to see Shen Qingqiu again.
After successfully avoiding the man for the last half a year, it’s more than a little humiliating to think that all it took for Shen Yuan’s resolve to crumble like ash in the wind was one decidedly less than stellar meeting. Shen Yuan had tried his damndest to forget that night as best he could, too, and although errant thoughts were easily ignored while he was awake, Shen Yuan was defenceless in his sleep. Memories of his childhood with Shen Jiu surfaced night after night – little moments of simple happiness that Shen Yuan had all but forgotten, re-emerged. Such cruel dreams… such kind nightmares. Upon his return to consciousness, an inconsolable grief would twist in Shen Yuan’s chest, somewhere close to his heart. Feeling bereft of something so important and knowing it was within reach, yet being unable to extend a hand towards it…
Shen Yuan shakes his head. Regardless of the outcome today, he has to at least try.
Tucking his hands into his sleeves to hide his sweaty palms, Shen Yuan straightens his back and strides towards the intimidating iron-wrought gate with his head held high. The guards stationed there stand to attention once they notice someone is approaching, but when they realise who it is, their expressions morph to ones of shock. They clearly hadn’t expected to see him ever again, and Shen Yuan can’t say he blames them; after all, what sheep would choose to wander back into the lion’s den? Nevertheless, since they don’t bar his path when he makes to pass through, he bears the indignity of their presumptuously pitying gazes in silence.
The interior of the Hou manor has changed little since Shen Yuan left all those years ago, and loathe though he is to speak highly of Hou Xianrong in any capacity – it looks nice. Compared to the Warm Red Pavilion, it’s almost minimalist in design, but that’s exactly what had drawn Shen Yuan in when he’d first seen it. If he closed one eye and used his imagination a little – alright, a lot – he could almost pretend that these white walls and black decor were from his original world.
Sliding his shoes off in the arching entryway, Shen Yuan looks around. There aren’t any staff to greet him, though that doesn’t bother him much because he doesn’t need their help. Hou Xianrong’s office is on the second floor, past the landing and two doors to the right. The air within is permeated with the scent of old tomes, ink and sheafs of parchment, a testament to the old man’s profession as a lawyer. The open bay window provides a nice view of the courtyard, but its unusually high ledge is painful to be pressed against. The rug that sprawls over most of the floor is lush and thick, but not even that can save Shen Yuan’s knees from bruising after hours of kneeling.
Shen Yuan blinks. Catches himself. The past dissipates and he quietly begins his ascent up the stairs.
The door to Hou Xianrong’s office is identical to all the others in the hallway, innocuously so, despite the fact that the devil resides within. Shen Yuan’s heartbeat spikes and he wills it to slow, pressing a hand over his chest as if the pressure of his palm could calm it by force. Rapping his knuckles against the wood three times, Shen Yuan waits. He had toyed with the idea of just waltzing in, but he can’t risk pushing his luck. After a few beats, a noise of acknowledgement can be heard from the other side, muffled by the wood.
Exhaling softly through his nose, Shen Yuan sets his chin and carefully pushes the door open.
Hou Xianrong doesn’t look up from whatever documents he’s perusing, likely assuming Shen Yuan to be a servant with tea. It’s only when Shen Yuan clears his throat that he’s rewarded with a minute raising of the eyebrows, before the older man looks up, slimey smile already in place.
Setting down his quill, Hou Xianrong leans back in his chair and laces his fingers over his stomach. “Well, what a pleasant surprise! To what do I owe the rare pleasure?”
Shen Yuan takes one last moment to ready himself, before looking Hou Xianrong in the eyes and stating: “I have some questions to ask, my Lord.”
“And a letter wouldn’t have sufficed?” Hou Xianrong’s asks, scepticism bleeding into his tone.
Brushing a nonexistent strand of hair out of his face, the movement of Shen Yuan’s hand draws the eye to the gold and ruby clip that adorns his hair. “No, it would not.”
And drawn Hou Xianrong’s eyes are. Something in the older man is pacified by the blatant mark of ownership, and his smile is almost genuine as he spreads his palms open invitingly and says, “In that case, I’m listening.”
“Are you pleased with me, my Lord?”
The question catches Hou Xianrong off guard, Shen Yuan is sure of it, but he doesn’t seem suspicious as he answers, “As I ever am, my sweet Yulan. Why? Have you done something I should be displeased by?”
“Of course not,” Shen Yuan says, and the smile on his face is bitter. “Had I stepped out of line, I’m sure my Lord would be the first to inform me.”
“I would indeed,” the older man agrees, amused. “Then why ask? Did you simply desire reassurance?”
Fuck. Mentally rallying himself, Shen Yuan thinks, Here goes nothing, and says:
“I desire a reward.”
If Hou Xianrong hadn’t been caught off guard before, he certainly is now. The humour in the man’s eyes dulls, and he straightens up in his chair.
“Oh? Interesting. What did you have in mind?”
Shen Yuan doesn’t trust the gentle curiosity in Hou Xianrong’s voice one bit. Nervous energy pulses through him with no outlet, and Shen Yuan has to swallow past a mouthful of jitters before he can manage to say, “Your permission, my Lord.”
And that gets Hou Xiarong’s attention. Leaning forward now, he rests his elbows on his desk and steeples his fingers together.
The older man regards Shen Yuan with a calculating look. “Permission for what, pray tell?”
Shen Yuan sets his jaw. Flexes his fingers within the safety of his robes. Looks Hou Xianrong in the eye.
Says, “To entertain Shen Qingqiu again.”
The words hang heavily in the ensuing silence that follows, and Shen Yuan feels a lump slowly form in his throat the longer Hou Xianrong stays silent. The lack of an immediate response is somehow worse than the rush of anger he’d been expecting, and Shen Yuan thinks that if the older man doesn’t say something soon, he just might be sick from the tension.
Then, the unexpected happens: Hou Xianrong laughs. It’s a full body sound, and Shen Yuan had been so unprepared for it that he startles painfully, joints locking together in his sudden alarm.
“Yulan,” Hou Xianrong chuckles, once he’s calmed down a touch, “My sweet Yulan. It’s because I love you that I’ll consider what you said a joke.”
Well, no one said it would be easy.
“That would…” Shen Yuan pauses, considering his choice of words. “trouble me, my Lord… Considering I’m being serious.”
Hou Xianrong’s amusement ceases, and ice takes its place, and how one man can be so mercurial is just something Shen Yuan will never understand.
“Well,” the older man murmurs, “that poses a problem, Yulan, because so am I.”
“Do I not deserve something for my years of faithful service?”
As if Shen Yuan had a choice in the matter. Still, he hopes this change of tact works, because it’s not like it isn’t true. Honestly looking back on it, Shen Yuan could have been a lot more difficult after he realised he’d been trapped in a contract from hell. Hou Xianrong should be grateful he picked up a child as non-rebellious as Shen Yuan was! Most of the time, anyway.
Hou Xianrong purses his lips before rising from his chair, and the action snaps Shen Yuan back to attention because oh, no, he doesn’t like this development very much. He’d been banking on the older man being inundated with work to not have time to hassle Shen Yuan overmuch, but clearly Hou Xianrong will always make time for one of his favourite hobbies.
“You do, Yulan. Of course you do.” Hou Xianrong closes the distance between them in seven slow strides, and Shen Yuan remains steady until the older man circles behind him, pressing his chest to Shen Yuan’s back. “What vexes me, my dear, is that the first time you ask anything of me, it’s for him.”
Shen Yuan can feel an arm encircling his waist, but he’s more concerned about the hand that delicately brushes away the hair around Shen Yuan’s neck, leaving him exposed. The older man clearly hasn’t shaved properly today, because his stubble scratches uncomfortably against the soft nape of Shen Yuan’s neck.
Shen Yuan closes his eyes and pretends he’s anywhere else. He answers, simply, “He’s my gege, Lord Hou. Things may be… different now, but that will never change.”
“Your loyalty is awe inspiring, truly. But to think you would still be in love with that little beast after a decade…” That last part comes out in a scoff, and Hou Xianrong presses a deliberate kiss against the junction of Shen Yuan’s neck and shoulder before muttering, “It’s enough to make me jealous.”
Shen Yuan is only vaguely aware of the older man’s tongue dragging against his skin, but his disgust at the action is overshadowed by the windows startup sound that is playing on repeat in his head.
In love? Me? With who?? …Jiu-ge?!
“My Lord!” Mortification and anger roil in his gut, and Shen Yuan manages to turn around in Hou Xianrong’s arm to face the man as he hisses, “Reject my request if you want, but there’s no need for such ridiculous…” Shen Yuan fumbles, trying to find the words for the bullshit Hou Xianrong has just spewed. He settles lamely on, “…false accusations!”
Hou Xianrong takes in Shen Yuan’s flustered countenance and tilts his head in a mimicry of innocence. “False… accusations? Yulan, don’t tell me you’re this obtuse about your own emotions?”
Who’s obtuse about what?! Shen Yuan grits his teeth, but forces himself to exhale calmly through his nose. He’s just trying to find an excuse to say no. A shitty one, but an excuse nonetheless.
Righting his hair, Shen Yuan purposefully wipes his neck with his sleeve as he says, curtly, “If my Lord has nothing more to say on the matter, I will take my leave.”
But then Hou Xianrong’s other arm, now free, comes to lock Shen Yuan in place – Shen Yuan’s hands, trapped between his body and the older man’s chest, are the only things stopping from them pressing flush together.
Shen Yuan briefly closes his eyes. Of course. What did I expect?
“Now, now, what’s the rush?” Hou Xianrong coos, swaying from side to side and forcing Shen Yuan to be party to this dreadful bastardisation of ballroom dancing. Brushing his cheek against Shen Yuan’s, he murmurs softly into his ear, “Perhaps you’re right. Too much stick and not enough carrot won’t yield the obedience I require. But tell me, Shen Yuan – can I trust you?”
Shen Yuan needs to see Hou Xianrong’s face right now, needs something to gauge what the older man is thinking because he hasn’t called Shen Yuan by his real name since the day he signed that contract. When Shen Yuan tries to lean back, though, Hou Xianrong merely hugs him closer, adjusting their positions so that Shen Yuan’s head is tucked under his chin – the older man stroking his hair gently, like a father comforting his child.
“You belong to me, Yuan, but how do I know you’ll remember that, if your emotions get the better of you?”
“Is trust even an issue?” Shen Yuan can’t help but blurt the question out before he can stop himself. “It’s as you say, Lord Hou, I belong to you.” And there’s nothing I can do about it. “What more do you need from me?”
Hou Xianrong hums, and the noise rumbles through Shen Yuan’s ear, where it’s pressed against his chest. “I owned you all those years ago, too, but…” The older man ceases all motion, suddenly, voice sounding distant though his grip keeps Shen Yuan firmly in place. “That didn’t stop you from trying to run away from me, now, did it?”
This was a bad idea – this whole trip, a mistake from the start. But Shen Yuan has a funny feeling that it's too late for regrets now.
Hou Xianrong continues, voice low, “So forgive me my pedantic nature, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to convince me.”
Rabbiting heart ready to leap out from his throat, Shen Yuan tries to swallow it back. The worst part is, he knows what Hou Xianrong wants from him; he knows the words that will sway the beast’s heart. And yet, the idea of those words leaving Shen Yuan’s mouth, of betraying Shen Jiu… it makes him feel dirtier than anything Hou Xianrong has ever forced him to do.
And yet–
“The Qing generation has only recently been established, and I’ve heard that Shen Qingqiu is rather particular about his image.”
–Shen Yuan never claimed he was a saint. He’s selfish, he's lonely, and… he misses his gege.
“It would be unfortunate if Qing Jing were to find out that their Shizun was an ex-slave, arsonist and murderer to boot.”
Hou Xianrong makes a considering noise. “Hmm, that would be a shame, wouldn’t it?” Pressing a kiss to Shen Yuan’s forehead, Shen Yuan shudders when he hears pride in the older man’s voice. “But as long as you keep your identity hidden, none of that will come to light. Do you understand, Yulan? That is my one condition.”
Shen Yuan’s mouth is dry, and his throat clicks when he tries to swallow. His answer comes out in a croak of breath.
“…Yes, my Lord.”
In an ironic twist of fate, despite the trouble Shen Yuan went to, to get Hou Xianrong’s permission, Shen Qingqiu doesn’t end up returning to the Warm Red Pavilion for nearly a month.
Hou Xianrong, on the other hand, begins visiting far more often than he ever has, and at the most random hours of the day. It’s as if the neurotic bastard is anxious to catch Shen Yuan doing something he shouldn’t be, just so he can call off the whole deal. The worst part is that they aren’t simple social calls either. Shen Yuan can’t remember the last time he was so sore down there, and when he’d nearly blacked out from the pain one evening, either Hou Xianrong suddenly gained a functioning set of morals or feared his toy would break permanently, because he hasn’t come back since.
Shen Yuan doesn’t want to feel grateful for the reprieve, considering it was the older man’s fault he ended up like this in the first place… but he’d clearly ordered the Madame to let Shen Yuan rest, too, because he hasn’t been bothered by his usual clients in nearly a five days… and for that, at least, he is relieved.
While he feels marginally better, his body definitely needs longer to recuperate – but Shen Yuan almost wishes he had someone to entertain if only to alleviate the mind numbing boredom that has been plaguing him. There’s never a time when Shen Yuan misses his old world more than when he’s sick. At least while at the hospital, he had his beloved smartphone, or the TV if the internet was down – here, it’s small talk with his jiejies, and when they’re busy, Xu Shan, whenever Shen Yuan manages to flag the servant boy down.
Right now, Shen Yuan is reclining face first on his divan, currently investigating whether or not he can suffocate to death like this. He’d been feeling particularly adventurous in the morning by deciding to leave his bed, but he can’t say it was especially worth it for the strain it triggered in his back and legs – but hey, at least the view is a little different from here. Shen Yuan spends most of the day in a fugue state, only aware the sun has set when the sound of multiple feet pattering outside his doorway catches his attention. The sound of voices talking over each other can be heard, too, and while Shen Yuan kind of wishes they would take their business elsewhere… his curiosity has officially been piqued.
Pushing himself up so he sits more on the side of his thigh than his ass, Shen Yuan blinks the drowsiness from his eyes. He takes a preparatory breath before getting to his feet, and although static overrides his vision for a brief moment, the pain is manageable. It’s dulled to a slow ache, rather than the sharp fire it had been before, and Shen Yuan finds as he hobbles over to his wardrobe that it’s perfectly ignorable if he puts his mind to it.
Pulling out a simple, light robe, Shen Yuan eases into it, gingerly tying the sash loose around his waist. When he looks mostly presentable, Shen Yuan pushes past the bead curtain and steps into the hallway, blinking in surprise at what he sees. His jiejies are standing in a loose semi-circle, in varying states of dress. Meigui-jiejie is made up and ready to entertain; Mudan-jeijie looks like she’s just rolled out of bed; Baihe-jiejie’s hair is wrapped up in a towel, the ends peeking out and dripping water onto the floorboards.
Shen Yuan is quiet when he approaches, but Baihe-jiejie catches sight of him anyway, and hurries over in a flurry of concern.
“What are you doing out of bed, you foolish man?”
“I’m fine, jiejie,” Shen Yuan comforts, and then, to redirect, asks, “What’s going on?”
It’s subtle, but Baihe-jiejie expression shutters. “Nothing important enough for you to be out here, A-Yulan.”
Mudan-jiejie, tilting her head, looks at the pair. “But jiejie,” she starts, “Shen Qi– oof–”
Mudan-jiejie doesn’t get to finish her sentence, thanks to a timely elbow to the gut by Meigui-jiejie – but she managed to get out just enough for Shen Yuan’s heart to flip flop in his chest.
Shen… Qingqiu? Shen Yuan thinks – then says, out loud, “He’s here?”
Baihe-jiejie clicks her tongue and looks off to the side, but not before giving Mudan-jiejie a withering look that the woman positively droops under. Meigui-jiejie looks vaguely uncomfortable, though whether that stems from Shen Yuan’s expectant stare, or Baihe-jiejie’s obvious displeasure, Shen Yuan can’t be sure.
Eventually, though, the woman speaks. “Lord Shen is, indeed, in the Emperor suite… though his arrival was unexpected. We were just discussing what to do while Baihe-jiejie prepares herself.”
“So you see?” Baihe-jiejie hurriedly picks up where she left off, trying to hook her arm into Shen Yuan’s elbow, “Nothing for you to be concerned about. Come, I’ll boil you some tea before I dress.”
Shen Yuan wiggles out of her grasp. “And leave him unattended for all that time?”
Seeing how Shen Yuan won’t allow himself to be whisked away, Baihe-jiejie crosses her arms and frowns. “He shouldn’t be attended to at all. What makes him so special, that he can walk in here and demand our attention?”
Shen Yuan blinks at her tone, because, uh… Where is this hostility coming from? Sure, she was always wary of Shen Qingqiu on behalf of Shen Yuan, considering his avoidance of the man and his reticence in talking about him, but this is a little much, isn’t it? Whatever the case may be, it’s a conversation for later. Shen Yuan isn’t about to sit and ponder it right now – not when Shen Qingqiu has finally returned. Shen Yuan can’t let this opportunity escape… even if it’s only for a little while, he wants to see his gege.
“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer, jiejie,” Shen Yuan says jokingly, “You know why.” Then, aiming for nonchalance, Shen Yuan continues, “The Madame won’t be happy if she finds out Lord Shen was made to wait alone. Why don’t I serve him his tea while you prepare yourself?”
“What? No. You need to be resting!”
Baihe-jiejie is quick to refuse the suggestion outright and Shen Yuan can’t help the way he frowns. He understands that he’s the youngest flower here, but being babied to this extent is borderline insulting, considering all that he’s been through… even though he knows his jiejie’s heart is in the right place.
It’s because of that fact alone that Shen Yuan attempts to curb the sharpness in his tone as he states, calmly, “While this one appreciates Baihe-jiejie’s concern, I am fine. I should think I know my body better than anyone else, at this point.”
“Yulan, you–”
“If I may – I think Yulan is right.” Meigui-jiejie is polite but firm with her interruption. Though she still looks discomfited to be speaking against someone older than her, she continues, “If he says he can pour tea for Lord Shen, then let him pour tea. Respectfully, jiejie, now is not the time to be having a disagreement. This is work.”
Work, Shen Yuan thinks, with a twinge of guilt and shame, right.
It’s best not to think about it. With a nod aimed at the three women and a, “It’s settled, then,” Shen Yuan is quick to turn on his heel and hurry back to his room, ignoring Baihe-jiejie’s affronted ‘hey!’ that carries after him.
Making his way back to his wardrobe, Shen Yuan carefully kneels down in front of it, pulling open its wooden doors and fishing out the veil he wore the night he first met Shen Qingqiu. The embedded jewels make it a tad too opulent to be paired with his current attire, but considering Shen Yuan is on a time crunch right now, it’ll have to do. Looping the ties around each ear, Shen Yuan stands in front of his mirror and adjusts it as best he can. He takes a moment to scrutinise his appearance… but avoids doing that for too long. ‘Decent’ is all he can aim for right now, and is all Shen Qingqiu should realistically expect, considering his unannounced arrival – and it’s not like he’s going to be the main host of the evening either.
The corridor is empty when Shen Yuan pushes past his pearl bead curtain for the second time… and that means it’s just the long stretch of hallway to the Emperor suite that stands between him and Shen Qingqiu. During the walk towards the suite, Shen Yuan can’t help but think this feels like a ‘take two’, a second chance to rectify his embarrassing behaviour from before. Arguably, the first night ended on a much better note than it could have, but…
The arched double doors of burnished bronze and gilded gold stand intimidatingly before Shen Yuan. It’s only when he grasps the handles with both hands that he realises how slick his palms have become, and after furtively drying them on the front of his robes, rolls his shoulders to loosen the muscles there before readjusting his grip.
…It’s time.
The first thing Shen Yuan thinks, when he steps into the Emperor suite, is that he doesn’t think he will ever get used to its gaudiness, no matter how many times he visits.
The second thing Shen Yuan thinks, when he sees Shen Qingqiu already knelt by the table, is that his poise from the first night was no fluke, but also how strange it is to see him so still and patient, when Shen Jiu was anything but. Shen Qingqiu appears to be meditating or lost in thought, so Shen Yuan takes a few moments to observe him in silence… before he realises how weird that is, and hastily announces himself before he can overthink it.
“Lord Shen,” he greets, and is rewarded with Shen Qingqiu slowly blinking that jade gaze in his direction.
Shen Yuan doesn’t know if he’s imagining things, but the older man looks a little tired… that glint in his eyes, somewhat dulled. Shen Yuan itches to ask, but stays his tongue because he knows he’s not close enough to Shen Qingqiu to do so. Despite the fact, Shen Yuan can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement, because at least now, he’s allowed to try and change that. Surprise flits across Shen Qingqiu’s face, and Shen Yuan smiles in response – before realising that the other man won’t have seen it thanks to the veil, and coughing a little awkwardly before approaching the table.
“This one hopes you weren’t waiting too long?”
Falling gracefully to his knees as he normally would nearly punches the breath clean out of Shen Yuan, but he manages the feat without any outward struggle and celebrates it for the small victory it is.
Shen Qingqiu waves him off. “I am not so unreasonable as to complain about the service of those who hadn’t expected my company.”
The quip comes out dry, and Shen Yuan huffs in amusement.
Good to know he’s self aware.
Turning his attention to the table, Shen Yuan inspects the tea set that has been laid out. That the Emperor suite had been available at such short notice doesn’t surprise Shen Yuan, since not many can afford to rent it out to begin with – it’s only in the hastily put together and obviously simple tea set that the Warm Red Pavilion betrays their unpreparedness for this visit.
The gaiwan and pair of tea cups are a matching pale blue; the gongdao, plain glass. Shen Yuan figures the tea should at least be of a relatively high quality, but just in case, he pulls over the bowl it's in to inspect the leaves, plucking one out and rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. Steam coils softly from the open mouth of the kettle set to the side, but if Shen Yuan wants the water to remain hot enough for multiple pours, he’d better get to work.
It’s as he’s pulling the utensils towards him that the tip of a fan presses gently atop his wrist, halting him in his tracks. Blinking up, Shen Yuan finds Shen Qingqiu already looking at him. Retracting his fan once he sees he has Shen Yuan’s attention, Shen Qingqiu begins languidly fanning himself as he explains, “Just so you know, I’m rather particular about my tea.”
Unbidden, Shen Yuan’s mind recalls the very first act of cruelty Shen Qingqiu had committed against Luo Binghe, and he winces involuntarily. There’s… no way Shen Yuan is going to experience that today, right?? No, no, what a stupid thought. For all the crimes Shen Qingqiu was accused of in the original novel, hurting the prostitutes he regularly visited was never among them.
Right… Shen Yuan reassures himself, He’s probably just implying that he won’t drink my tea if it’s shit.
But Shen Qingqiu will be in for a surprise! While Shen Yuan is no master of the art, he’d like to think that he’s at least decently adept at tea brewing. It certainly helps that he was rather finicky about the way the beverage was prepared in his old life, and the habit just… carried over, he supposes.
“That’s quite alright,” Shen Yuan replies aloud. His grip feels a bit too weak on the kettle to lift it with one hand, so he uses the other to hold the base, ignoring the way the heat burns into his skin. As he warms up the teacups and gongdao with a small measure of water, he continues, “In fact, I encourage critique. If I can learn to satisfy Lord Shen, I’ll be able to satisfy anyone.”
Emptying the used water into the waste pot, Shen Yuan notices a lack of movement in his peripherals, and sees that Shen Qingqiu has stopped his fanning. Instead, the older man holds the fan so it covers the lower half of his face; he peers at Shen Yuan over its tines with an inscrutable look.
“You certainly have a way with words, Yulan-xiansheng.”
“Ah…” What? What’s that supposed to mean? Inclining his head in acknowledgement, Shen Yuan replies, “Thank you?”
“It’s nothing. Anyway,” Shen Qingqiu whips the fan shut with a flick of his wrist and sets it on the edge of the table. “If that’s the case, I won’t hold back.”
Perhaps Shen Yuan should feel some kind of pressure to perform, as he transfers a handful of the tea into the gaiwan, but truthfully, he’s focusing more on not spilling loose leaves everywhere with his unsteady hands. Less embarrassing than bursting into tears, perhaps, but still not an enviable scenario. Shen Yuan is keenly aware of Shen Qingqiu’s eyes on him while he rinses the tea leaves off with another small measure of water, and while no small talk is made as the tea begins to brew, it’s a calm silence that Shen Yuan is grateful for. Everything nearly goes wrong when Shen Yuan pours the drink from the gaiwan to the gongdao cup, what with the gaiwan lid almost slipping off and leaving Shen Yuan very close to scalding his fingers. He manages to hold the lid in place, just about, and breathes an inward sigh of relief when he sets it back down.
“Yulan-xiansheng,” Shen Qingqiu breaks the silence, watching the way Shen Yuan transfers the tea into two teacups. Shen Yuan had thought the tremble in his fingers was nigh-imperceptible, but he forgot he was seated with a cultivator, and is reminded keenly of the fact when Shen Qingqiu continues, “Forgive me for saying so, but you look rather pale.”
Shen Yuan’s fingers twitch involuntarily before he carefully sets one of the cups down in front of Shen Qingqiu. You can’t even see my face! is his immediate thought, before acquiescing that his forehead and eyes are visible… but still!
“I–” am perfectly fine, Shen Yuan is about to announce – until Shen Qingqiu quirks an eyebrow as he brings the teacup to his lips, as if reading Shen Yuan’s mind and daring him to go through with the bald-faced lie. “–have been better, perhaps… but I’m perfectly capable of entertaining Lord Shen until Baihe-jiejie joins us.” Shen Yuan encircles his own teacup with both hands and fiddles with his thumbs before saying, a little nervously, “Unless… there is an issue with the quality of the company, in which case…”
Shen Qingqiu takes a delicate sip of tea, looking regal as he pulls out a kerchief from somewhere within his sleeve to dab at the corner of his mouth. He looks Shen Yuan in the eye and says, matter-of-factly, “Jumping to conclusions is a bad habit to have, Yulan-xiansheng. I advise you break it as soon as possible.” Then, before Shen Yuan can even react to those words, continues in a slightly softer tone, “If I disliked you, you would know. I’m already forced to spend too much of my time with intolerable fools – that I would choose to do the same in what little free time I have is laughable.”
Well… that tracks, Shen Yuan thinks, remembering how Shen Jiu had gotten along with less people than he could count on one hand. Half of Shen Yuan wants to mentally chastise the older man for continuing along this antisocial path into adulthood, but he’s far more focused on the fact that Shen Qingqiu just admitted he likes him! Well… perhaps not in as many words – perhaps he only said that he didn’t dislike him… but, when it comes to Shen Jiu, isn’t that essentially the same thing?
Lifting his veil the slightest bit, Shen Yuan takes a sip of his tea, though the action is made a little difficult with how he’s smiling into the ceramic. His hand trembles are more pronounced when he sets the cup back down, but thankfully there isn’t any liquid left to spill. It’s just because he’s nervous, anyway – the flush on his cheeks due to excitement! Shen Yuan isn’t sick, so this moment doesn’t have to end. Not yet.
Not yet.
“And the tea? May I know Lord Shen’s opinion on that?”
Folding his hands in his lap, Shen Yuan feels laughter bubble in his chest as Shen Qingqiu wrinkles his nose; he looks like a disgruntled bunny.
“I’ve had worse,” the older man begins, swirling around the remaining amber liquid in his teacup, “but it was steeped for too long. Lighter teas like this only need to be brewed for a few moments before serving.” Nodding to the damp tea leaves left soaked in the gaiwan, Shen Qingqiu instructs, “Try again.”
Shen Yuan can’t stop the laugh that leaves him this time, though he tries to muffle it as best he can.
“You must be a popular teacher, Lord Shen,” he explains, in response to Shen Qingqiu’s borderline look of affront.
The older man’s irate expression remains, though for a different reason now as he scoffs and empties the rest of his tea into the waste bowl. “I believe I told you my opinion on flattery, Yulan-xiansheng.”
Ah, Jiu-ge, learn to take a compliment, would you?
“Unfortunately, Lord Shen, I was being genuine this time too,” Shen Yuan quips, and feels smug when Shen Qingqiu reaches for the safety of his fan in response.
Instead of pushing his luck by teasing the man further, Shen Yuan reaches for the kettle, carefully placing the lid back on the gaiwan after he pours water over the tea leaves. While being mindful of the passing seconds, Shen Yuan closes his eyes and sends a brief prayer to whoever or whatever may be listening.
Please, just make this moment last a little longer. That’s all I ask.
Because the thing is, Shen Yuan doesn’t trust Hou Xianrong or his promises, at all. It would be very easy for him to deem this short meeting a sufficient reward for Shen Yuan’s work, and spend triple the time reminding him of his ownership because the old bastard is far too possessive at the best of times. Ah, but Shen Yuan really shouldn’t have thought about that now – letting Hou Xianrong ruin his mood while the man isn’t even present…
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Shen Yuan reaches for the gaiwan – but is stopped when he feels something dripping down his lips. Setting the piece of china back down, Shen Yuan reaches under his veil to feel at his mouth. When he pulls it out and looks at his hand, he fails to compute what he sees.
Why is there blood on my fingertips?
“Yulan-xiansheng,” Shen Yuan looks up to see Shen Qingqiu frowning at him, but concern is audible in the older man’s voice when he asks, “Is that blood?”
“What? No, it’s–” Shen Yuan feels another droplet of liquid – blood! – trickle past his lips and drip from his chin, creating an incriminating circle of red on the pale fabric of his robes.
Ah. Time’s up.
Returning his bloodied hand under his veil to try and staunch the blood flow from his nose, Shen Yuan’s voice comes out nasally and muffled when he mumbles, “My apologies for the inconvenience, Lord Shen. I’ll fetch Baihe-jiejie, if you just–just give me a moment–”
Trying to push himself to his feet one-handed was a feat set to fail from the start, but Shen Yuan is too busy fighting off dizziness to realise the fault in his plans. He manages to remain upright for the better part of a second, but when Shen Yuan blinks, he’s surprised to find the floor rushing up to greet him. Shoulders bunched up by his ears, Shen Yuan tries to brace himself as best he can for what is about to be an extremely painful experience–
–only it doesn’t come.
When the deafening rush of blood in his ears quietens down, Shen Yuan is aware of a cool hand wrapped around his wrist and another around his waist. Faster than he could blink – quite literally, at that – Shen Qingqiu had managed to catch him before he fell. Shen Yuan tries to get his mouth to cooperate with him and offer thanks, but then a peculiar sensation emanates from where Shen Qingqiu’s fingers are making contact with his skin.
Inhaling sharply, Shen Qingqiu asks in a hiss, “Yulan-xiansheng, would you care to explain why your meridians are a mess?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck–
Shen Yuan tries to shake Shen Qingqiu off, but he’s about as strong as a wet tissue right now, and he can’t fight it when Shen Qingqiu gets a more secure hold on him. His touch, while firm, isn’t painful at all, but Shen Yuan still wants to cry. Why does nothing ever work out for him? Why could he not have just had this? That strange feeling in his wrist returns, and Shen Yuan realises as an icy coolness travels through his arm that Shen Qingqiu is giving him his qi.
“Let me go,” Shen Yuan all but pleads, and then, in a move that he knows is lower than low, adds, “You told me I could say no to you, Lord Shen. I’m saying no now. Let go.”
Something flickers in Shen Qingqiu’s eyes, and he purses his lips. Then, Shen Yuan’s feet are no longer touching the floor because Shen Qingqiu is carrying him in his arms.
…?!?!?!?!?!
“You need to rest, Yulan-xiansheng,” Shen Qingqiu’s voice is clinical now as he takes steps to fix the problem before him. Making it to the bed in a few strides, the older man sets Shen Yuan down atop its covers, showing no strain as he does so. When Shen Yuan opens his mouth to speak, all that comes out is a garbled, wet choke, because lying supine like this means that the blood from his nosebleed is now draining down the back of his throat. Sitting up is an instinctual reaction, but a terrible one, because the second he tries, Shen Yuan’s vision pixelates like white noise – the next thing he knows, he’s falling onto his back with a gasp.
Shen Qingqiu stands by the side of the bed, looking as though he’s contemplating something. Shen Yuan wants to tell the older man that he can leave, that Baihe-jiejie will be here any moment (hopefully), but he really doesn’t want to risk hacking up his blood again so he stays silent and focuses on breathing. Whatever decision Shen Qingqiu had been debating on making, clearly one side has won out, because he returns to the table and picks up the kettle – rinsing out Shen Yuan’s old teacup before replacing the tea with plain, warm water. Or, well, it was plain, until Shen Qingqiu holds his palm over the mouth of the cup – the gentle white light he produces reflecting off of the water’s surface.
“Take off your veil,” Shen Qingqiu commands, returning with the teacup in hand.
“N-No.” Shen Yuan manages to utter the word out, even going as far as to shake his head, though it brings back the dizziness in full force. “Lord Shen needn’t trouble himself with this, I swear I’ll be fine.”
The furrow between Shen Qingqiu’s brow deepens, so much so that Shen Yuan briefly worries it will remain after he’s calmed down.
The older man says, sharply, “I don’t know what Yulan-xiansheng classifies as ‘fine’, but it certainly isn’t this. How your meridians got so warped is a question for later, but…” Shen Qingqiu sighs, long and low. Gesturing to the teacup in hand, he explains, “This is water infused with my qi. You need to take off your veil so you can drink it.”
My meridians aren’t even why I’m sick! Hell, Shen Yuan hadn’t even known there was anything wrong with them in the first place! It doesn’t surprise him, though, considering how… unconventional his method of cultivation was. However, Shen Yuan isn’t keen on telling Shen Qingqiu the real reason he’s unwell, either, because although Shen Yuan is pretty sure the older man would respect his wishes any other time, something tells him that that won’t be the case right now.
All that just leads to Shen Yuan pursing his lips, pushing away the proffered teacup with a stubborn, shaky hand as he insists, “I’m okay, but if Lord Shen insists, I will drink his… beverage later.”
And oh, if looks could kill. Shen Qingqiu’s face becomes rigid and austere, and Shen Yuan is reminded of Shen Jiu’s ire, all the times he waved off being ill as a child. The expression the older man wears now is startlingly similar. Then, surprisingly – suspiciously – his face goes blank. Setting the teacup down on the nearest empty surface – which happens to be the shelf which holds various incense sticks – Shen Qingqiu turns to look at Shen Yuan once more.
He doesn’t stand by the bed so much as he looms over it, and Shen Yuan is starting to feel a headache coming on when the older man simply says, “My apologies, Yulan-xiansheng.”
And that’s where Shen Qingqiu and Shen Jiu differ, because it seems, at least, the latter can take no for an answer – if only eventually. It’s in that moment that Shen Yuan lets his guard down, and it proves to be his biggest mistake of the night.
Cool fingers brush over the arch of his eyebrows, and Shen Yuan feels his breath catch in his throat because, while that feels nice on his slightly feverish skin, Shen Yuan doesn’t understand why Shen Qingqiu is doing this. It’s only when those fingers edge down the sides of his face, to his ears and just behind them, that Shen Yuan’s heart stops dead in his chest… but by the time he’s realised what Shen Qingqiu is up to, the veil is already fluttering away from his face.
In a final Hail Mary, Shen Yuan tries to cover his face with his hands, but it’s too late: Shen Qingqiu has seen him.
Panic and fear and resignation all vie for dominance in Shen Yuan’s chest, his heart thudding erratically against his ribcage. The shadow of Hou Xianrong presses down on Shen Yuan, because he broke the older man’s only rule – that it wasn’t of his own volition will matter little when the time for punishment comes. In the end, though, what wins against that deluge of despair is the tiny seed of hope that had planted itself in Shen Yuan’s heart, unbeknownst to the man himself, all those months ago – on the very same day news of Shen Qingqiu’s first trip to the brothel reached Shen Yuan’s ears.
Shen Yuan wonders how foolish it is for him to want to kindle that hope, knowing how quickly it will be extinguished the second he leaves his room. But if that makes him an idiot, then Shen Qingqiu must be one too, because:
With a wavering hand, Shen Qingqiu reaches out, and Shen Yuan closes his eyes because he already knows what the older man is about to do. Fingertips like butterfly wings brush over the raised skin under Shen Yuan’s eye, and Shen Yuan can feel more than hear the way the breath hitches in Shen Qingqiu’s chest. Another set of fingers gently frame Shen Yuan’s jaw, and when Shen Yuan blinks his eyes open at the barely there touch to see Shen Qingqiu staring down at him with so much unbridled grief, he feels a lump form in his throat.
There’s too much that Shen Yuan wants to say, and even more that he needs to. In the end, though, what comes out of his mouth isn’t an explanation – not even close.
With a scratchy voice, thick with unshed tears, Shen Yuan rasps out one, single word. “Jiu-ge.”
The noise that leaves Shen Qingqiu is wounded, but amidst the sorrow, Shen Yuan spies a hint of hope there, too, as if the older man is slowly coming to terms with the fact that this could actually be real.
And in that tremulous, hopeful voice, he whispers back, “A…Yuan?”
Notes:
forgive me, but i've always, always wanted to end a chapter of a fic of mine with a cliffhanger. i see why other authors do it now, i feel so evil in the best way. so hey, was anyone expecting that?? let me know in the comments! i'm pretty proud of this chapter, not gonna lie, and i know i sound like a broken record at this point but i really do love hearing what you guys think :)
as for the update schedule: im gonna be real with you and say WAB is looking like a once-a-month kinda thing. i have irl stuff going on too and considering how much i write per chapter, 2 weeks just doesn't seem realistic anymore... especially if i want to adhere to the standard of quality i set for myself.
thank you for understanding, and i'll see you in the next one <3
Chapter 5
Notes:
may i offer you 14k of jiuyuan in these trying times? (the trying times in question being me not updating for half a year. i have no excuse for that. i am so sorry)
warnings for this chapter: none, surprisingly! but don't let that fool you. there be tears
EDIT: now with AMAZING art!!! go check it out and give it some love!!!
EDIT 2.0: more AMAZING fanart, this time of the last scene of chapter 4!!!!!! thank you so much to Bublick and wizzrd_0 on twitter for the piece <3
enjoy!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Shen Yuan would be lying if he said he never dreamt about this very moment.
It was a paltry comfort he turned to on his worst days, a last ditch effort in his weakest moments, when the dream of Shen Jiu swooping in like a vengeful spirit and rescuing Shen Yuan from his personal hell was the difference between giving up and finding the strength to keep going.
Those fantasies were never supposed to leave his head, though.
Shen Yuan opens his mouth, acutely aware of the fingertips that remain gently pressed against the length of his jaw. He wants to say something further, but any thought that begins to form unravels the second he meets Shen Qingqiu’s eyes. The older man hasn’t stopped scanning his face, gaze lingering over the scar high on Shen Yuan’s cheek, as if he’s worried, the second he glances away, Shen Yuan will disappear from between his fingers. The scrutiny is intense, but Shen Yuan is no better as he drinks in the sight of Shen Qingqiu up close. He’ll probably never get the chance to do this again, after all.
Ah… he really has grown up handsomely.
It’s something Shen Yuan had known would be true, even when they were kids – a fact that had only been compounded when he’d first caught sight of Shen Qingqiu from afar. To think the Scum Villain would be this gorgeous… the Shen Yuan of his previous life would be coughing up blood, he’s sure. Shen Yuan doesn’t realise his lips have quirked up into the shadow of a smile until Shen Qingqiu brushes a thumb past the corner of his mouth.
“Shen Yuan.”
It’s his full name. Coming from Shen Qingqiu’s lips, Shen Yuan is suddenly nine years old again, about to be berated by his gege for doing something stupid. The feeling is so painfully nostalgic that his chest clenches, and he doesn't know whether he wants to laugh or cry. A silken sleeve dabs at Shen Yuan’s nose, and Shen Yuan subconsciously inhales the scent of bamboo and tea, holding it in his lungs as Shen Qingqiu cleans away the blood that had begun to dry on his upper lip.
When Shen Qingqiu is done, he lets his sleeve drop, uncaring of the rust coloured stain that mars its pale green surface.
Using his now free hand to cup the other half of Shen Yuan’s face, Shen Qingqiu says – commands, “Tell me, A-Yuan. Tell me everything.”
As if the tremble in his voice earlier was an illusion, Shen Qingqiu’s tone now is one that brooks no argument; Shen Yuan knows he’s not being given a choice in the matter. The desperate plea that lies just below those words is unmistakable, though.
Still, Shen Yuan can’t help but wilt at the enormity of the task before him. To summarise two decades apart – or even just the night they were separated… Where the hell do I even start?
Shen Yuan’s hesitation is obvious, and it makes Shen Qingqiu purses his lips, seemingly catching himself.
“Sorry,” he mutters, and the candid apology makes Shen Yuan blink. “Rest first. We can talk after.”
Unceremoniously, Shen Qingqiu releases him, and Shen Yuan’s head dips as he watches the older man turn around, walking with purposeful steps towards the dial on the wall that controls the overhead lanterns. The light dims to a warm, firelight hue, and Shen Yuan makes a confused noise when Shen Qingqiu returns to his side, pushing against Shen Yuan’s shoulders to press him into the bed.
Can we really return to how we were this easily? Shen Yuan wonders, bewildered as he allows himself to be manhandled. It’s hard to understand.
Perching on the edge of the bed, Shen Qingqiu abandons the qi infused water for a more direct approach as he brings Shen Yuan’s right hand into his lap. He presses two fingers to the inside of his wrist, and it’s almost as if he were taking Shen Yuan’s pulse – but instead of measuring his heartbeat, the older man releases a stream of qi, cool and healing, that flows through Shen Yuan’s meridians.
It’s… a strange feeling. Shen Yuan has never received qi from someone before, so he doesn’t have a point of reference for it, but it’s sort of like… ice water is being poured into the very essence of his being. Refreshing at first, but turning into a discomfort that borders on pain after a while. Flexing his fingers in Shen Qingqiu’s grip, Shen Yuan tries to bear it; he’s experienced much worse before, and in comparison to those times, this pain is actually helping him. Being aware of the fact doesn’t change the way Shen Yuan’s body reacts, though, and he only manages a few minutes before he has to speak up – his veins feeling like they’ve begun to frost over.
“Ge, you can stop now,” Shen Yuan says, trying to wriggle his hand out of Shen Qingqiu's grip. “It hurts.”
That gives Shen Qingqiu pause, and Shen Yuan can feel the flow of qi in his meridians begin to trickle to a halt. The relief from that is short lived, however, once Shen Yuan catches sight of the steely glint in Shen Qingqiu’s eyes.
“It’s not supposed to hurt,” the older man says. “Yuan, what kind of backwater cultivation techniques have you been following to end up like this?”
Shen Yuan doesn’t know if it’s a rhetorical question or not, but he figures saying nothing would aggravate Shen Qingqiu less than admitting he has no idea what was done to him. But ‘Backwater cultivation techniques’, huh? That would explain a lot – the headaches whenever Hou Xianrong forced him to cultivate with that man, how his entire body would shut down with a fever the day after in an attempt to recover. Shen Yuan had always just assumed it was a result of his incompatibility with being a cultivator, and to push the matter meant he would suffer the consequences… but it makes more sense that the actual method of cultivation was the problem. Actually, the fact that Shen Yuan had assumed that Hou Xianrong would be honourable about anything was his own fault to begin with.
“Don’t be angry, gege,” Shen Yuan decides to say instead, because the older man losing his temper over something like this would be an exercise in futility. Pressing his index finger in the space between Shen Qingqiu’s brows, Shen Yuan tries to smooth the creases that have formed there, tacking on, in an attempt to be light hearted, “It could always be worse.”
It’s the wrong thing to say.
“…Don’t be angry?” Shen Qingqiu repeats softly.
The older man looks perfectly serene, and because of that, Shen Yuan knows immediately that he’s made a mistake. Shen Jiu was only ever this calm before he unleashed the storm, and something tells Shen Yuan that Shen Qingqiu is no different. He’s proven right almost instantly, when Shen Qingqiu lets out a bark of laughter with vitriol so tangible it feels like a slap to the face.
“Don’t be angry? It could be worse? A-Yuan, your meridians are in tatters. And your core–” Shen Qingqiu presses his fingers against Shen Yuan’s wrist again, and Shen Yuan jolts when he feels a thread of qi forcibly spreading through his body. Its aim is the space behind his bellybutton, and Shen Yuan can only writhe uncomfortably when he feels it prod at the stem of his cultivation. “Half formed, at best.” Shen Qingqiu spits the words like they’ve personally offended him. “If my guess is correct, whatever techniques you’ve been practising are far beyond your cultivation level – and do you know what happens to someone who cultivates beyond their abilities?”
Shen Qingqiu pins him with the full weight of his stare, and Shen Yuan feels his pulse quicken because, suddenly, it’s not his gege that sits beside him anymore, but the Peak Lord of Qing Jing.
When Shen Qingqiu speaks again, his tone is hard enough to cut glass.
“Their core, unable to provide the requisite spiritual energy, substitutes the deficit using the user’s own life force.”
The meaning of those words don’t register with Shen Yuan immediately. It’s only when Shen Qingqiu retracts his hand from Shen Yuan’s wrist, only to place it over his stomach, that Shen Yuan’s mouth drops into an ‘o’ as he thinks: Oh. Oh.
There is a tremor in Shen Qingqiu’s voice that he cannot suppress, and the hand on Shen Yuan’s stomach fists into the fabric of his brocade as the older man repeats once more, “Their life force, Yuan.”
Shen Yuan doesn’t know what to think.
Am I… dying, then? Again?
Perhaps it’s because of his past life, but the idea isn’t as scary to Shen Yuan as probably should be. In fact, had Shen Yuan known this before he reunited with Shen Qingqiu, he might even be happy about it – the faster to be free from Hou Xianrong, after all.
But now…
Exhaling slowly through his nose, Shen Yuan places his hand over Shen Qingqiu’s, tentatively lacing their fingers together. There are calluses Shen Yuan can feel against his skin, ones that he remembers from their days panhandling on the streets. In contrast, Shen Yuan’s hands are smooth and milky white, all evidence of the hardship of his childhood polished away with expensive creams and scented oils… A physical part of their history together, so easily erased.
“I’m sorry, Jiu-ge.”
He’s not sure what he’s apologising for.
“Idiot,” Shen Qingqiu mutters. “Apologies are worthless. Just tell me who’s responsible.”
Because the older man trusts Shen Yuan, and knows that he wouldn’t be reckless enough to put his life in danger over cultivation – at least not willingly.
“Hah,” Shen Yuan breathes out. When Shen Qingqiu raises his eyebrows, Shen Yuan explains, “It’s just… a very long story.”
“We have time.” Carefully untangling his fingers from Shen Yuan’s, the older man gets to his feet. He seems to come to a decision within himself, when he says, “It takes two shichen to travel back to Cang Qiong. Not long enough for the full story, perhaps, but it will be a start.”
…Huh?
“W-wait, Jiu-ge,” Shen Yuan hurries to sit up, ignoring the vertigo that assails him when he does it too fast. “What do you mean?”
Tugging out his fan from his sash, Shen Qingqiu presses the tip to his lips as he looks at Shen Yuan. “Did you really think I was leaving without you?”
…
All at once, the reality of this situation dawns on Shen Yuan. It feels as if he’s been doused in ice water, dark and sinister and nothing like Shen Qingqiu’s qi.
“As long as you keep your identity hidden, none of that will come to light. Do you understand, Yulan? That is my one condition.”
Shit, what the hell had he been thinking? Shen Yuan should have hid himself properly – or better yet, shouldn’t have volunteered to pour tea for Shen Qingqiu at all. He’s sure one of the other flowers or even a servant boy could have kept Shen Qingqiu hydrated in Shen Yuan’s place.
But you didn’t, Shen Yuan hisses at himself, and now you have to face the consequences. Briefly, he tries to imagine Hou Xianrong’s face after the man finds out Shen Yuan had run away with Shen Qingqiu in the middle of the night – with the person Hou Xianrong is convinced he has feelings for.
It’s not funny, not even a little bit. Actually, Shen Yuan thinks he might be sick.
“Gege,” Shen Yuan croaks, heart in his throat. “I… I can’t.”
There’s a loose thread in the blanket covering Shen Yuan’s legs, and he picks at it with a nail – a flimsy excuse to not meet Shen Qingqiu’s eyes.
“What do you mean, you can’t?” The older man sounds confused rather than upset, but Shen Yuan refuses to look up and check.
“Don’t ask why,” Shen Yuan says – tries to command, like Shen Qingqiu had earlier, but his voice comes out all wrong. “I just can’t.”
Shen Qingqiu doesn’t reply to that for a long while, but Shen Yuan keeps his gaze lowered because he can sense the older man’s presence, still standing right there. The shush of silk is the only warning Shen Yuan gets before his cheeks are being cupped again; Shen Qingqiu tilts his face upwards, and Shen Yuan can do nothing to hide from the older man’s deep emerald eyes, coloured in concern.
“What’s going on, Yuan? Tell me.”
“Nothing!” If the exclamation sounds entirely unconvincing to his own ears, he knows Shen Qingqiu won’t be convinced, but Shen Yuan still has to try. “Ge, just – I made a mistake, okay? This wasn’t supposed to happen!”
“Shen Yuan,” Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrow in the beginnings of frustration. “Spit it out.”
Ah, fine!
Grabbing onto Shen Qingqiu’s wrists, Shen Yuan squeezes them tightly as he yells, “You weren’t supposed to find out it was me today, gege! That was the mistake, okay?! So just – stop–!”
Shen Yuan expels a harsh breath through his nose, trying to reel in his emotions. When he glances up to gauge Shen Qingqiu’s reaction to his little outburst, Shen Yuan feels guilt constricting his lungs the moment he registers the hurt that shutters over Shen Qingqiu’s expression. For a moment, Shen Qingqiu’s eyes smoulder with the embers of anger – but that fire is put out before it can start, bitter resignation taking its place instead.
“I see. So you were hiding from me.” Shen Qingqiu surmises. His voice is so gentle, but Shen Yuan flinches as if he’d been struck.
The older man shakes off Shen Yuan’s grasp, tucking his hands into his sleeves as he takes a step back. An earthquake rumbles as a chasm forms in that small gap – or perhaps it’s just Shen Yuan’s heartbeat, thundering deafeningly loud in his ears.
“Jiu-ge, no. I–” Shen Yuan’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, and he can’t, for the life of him, speak.
Isn’t this what he wanted? This… misunderstanding… If Shen Qingqiu walks away thinking Shen Yuan wants nothing to do with him, Hou Xianrong might even be lenient with his punishment for the first time. But…
Why are you lying to yourself?! A voice inside him rages, kicking at the walls of his heart.
Shen Yuan bites the inside of his cheek, almost drawing blood. He knows that if he pushes Shen Qingqiu away right now, his gege will do one of two things. The first is that he’ll stop coming to the Warm Red Pavilion entirely. Cutting all ties with the place, he’ll paint the memory of Shen Yuan in the same shade of betrayal as everyone else. The second – if the older man is feeling stubborn – is that he’ll take Shen Yuan away by force. It wouldn’t be difficult to do, considering Shen Yuan wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight. What happens after that… Shen Yuan isn’t sure. But he knows that either way, Shen Qingqiu will come to hate him.
And that… makes sense. Logically, Shen Yuan is aware he can’t have it both ways He’s fine with hurting Shen Qingqiu if it means the older man will be protected, but he can’t stomach the idea of his gege hating him after the fact. To have to choose between keeping the older man safe from Hou Xianrong, or quelling his own loneliness… Shen Yuan isn’t sure whether it’s his own selfishness that disgusts him, or the fact that he pretended even for a second there was ever a choice to make.
When Shen Qingqiu takes another step back – another step away – urgency spurs Shen Yuan out of bed. Cursing when his legs get caught up in the blankets and his brocade both, Shen Yuan tears the layers off haphazardly and stumbles to his feet.
“Gege, wait–” is all Shen Yuan can get out, before vertigo hits him like a train. For Shen Yuan to fall flat on his face a second time in front of Shen Qingqiu – there really is no justice in this world, is there? But then – then, just like before, there is a hand on his shoulder and an arm around his waist, and Shen Yuan is looking up into the carefully blank face of Shen Qingqiu.
“Why are you always so stubborn when you’re ill?” Shen Qingqiu mutters, more to himself than anything. He seems ready to herd Shen Yuan back to the bed again, and Shen Yuan wants to pull his hair out in frustration but settles for digging his fingers into Shen Qingqiu’s biceps and shaking the older man as hard as he can.
“Shen Qingqiu, will you just listen to me?” It’s the first time Shen Yuan has called the older man by that name, and surprise manages to break through the mask of indifference Shen Qingqiu had been trying to wear. Using that momentum, Shen Yuan continues, “I was avoiding you, yes, but I didn’t want to. Do you understand, ge? I had no choice.”
The confession is out in the open now, and Shen Yuan feels more relieved by that than he thought he would. Shen Qingqiu regards him with wary confusion, but it’s better than the defeat the older man felt earlier, so Shen Yuan takes it as a win.
“Then tell me,” Shen Qingqiu repeats his request from earlier, “Everything. Don’t leave out a single detail.”
Exhaling, Shen Yuan nods. “Alright, gege.”
Extricating himself from Shen Qingqiu’s hold, Shen Yuan makes his way back to the table in the middle of the room – the place where this night began.
“Shall we have some tea?” Shen Yuan asks the older man, offering him a tired smile. “This will take a while.”
Shen Qingqiu considers the suggestion before nodding once, elegantly kneeling on the cushion opposite Shen Yuan.
The kettle they had been using before had been resting atop a heating stone the entire time, so the water inside, while not boiling, is still warm. Shen Yuan can’t find it in himself to bother with the proper tea ceremony motions, so he sends a quick mental apology to the Madame for this breach of propriety and simply reuses the already damp tea leaves, still in the gaiwan.
Pouring out the amber liquid into two cups, Shen Yuan slides Shen Qingqiu’s across the table before picking up his own and taking a sip. The tea doesn’t taste as good as it had before, but that doesn’t matter – all Shen Yuan really needs is something to moisten his lips. Shen Qingqiu ignores his drink in favour of pulling out his fan, tapping his index finger against the tines – considerate enough not to rush Shen Yuan, but impatient nonetheless.
When he gives Shen Yuan an expectant look, Shen Yuan figures he can only stall so much. Closing his eyes, he casts his mind back all those years ago, and, settling on a starting memory as good as any other, begins to speak.
Fourteen Years Ago
“He’s back again,” Shen Jiu announces, in lieu of a proper greeting.
Looking up, Shen Yuan watches the older boy step into the stall he had been tending to, hopping up onto the bale of fresh straw Shen Yuan was just about to start spreading out. He tries his best to be subtle about it, but the older boy’s movements are stiff. He ignores Shen Yuan’s concerned gaze in favour of glaring through the gaps in the stall door and scowling at the figure far beyond.
“I don’t like it,” Shen Jiu mutters, plucking an innocent strand of straw from beneath him and snapping it in half.
Realising he’s not going to get any work done, Shen Yuan stabs his pitchfork into the hard packed earth and leans his weight against it. Setting aside the subject of Shen Jiu’s ire for now, Shen Yuan focuses on his gege. He wonders how badly the young master beat him this time, though he knows the older boy won’t breathe a word about it if he asks. He doesn’t know if it’s Shen Jiu’s pride that’s stopping him, or if he thinks he’s protecting Shen Yuan somehow by staying silent. In the end, all Shen Yuan can do is offer Shen Jiu a small reprieve whenever the older boy sneaks out to visit him during the day, and quietly tend to his wounds in the servant’s quarters at night.
Sighing, Shen Yuan crosses his arms.
“I don’t get why you hate him so much, Jiu-ge,” he admits, glancing over at where an aristocratic looking older man is talking to a footman near the entrance of the manor.
The young master’s father’s friend – that’s all Shen Yuan knows him as. The man has never introduced himself to Shen Yuan before, but then again, why would he? Shen Yuan is just a servant, one of many at the Qiu estate. Even if Shen Yuan were to know his name, it’s not like he would ever dare call him anything other than ‘Sir’ or ‘my Lord.’
It is a little inconvenient that I don’t know his name, though, Shen Yuan muses, because the man makes sure to visit the stables at least once a week – talking with, or rather at Shen Yuan about the horses and their care. Genuinely interested in the animals as he seems to be, Shen Yuan just can’t fathom where Shen Jiu’s hostility comes from. Well, it definitely helps that he’s pretty nice to Shen Yuan too… which is more than can be said about any other adult in this world. The man usually compliments Shen Yuan’s hard work (which goes unnoticed otherwise), and sometimes even slips him a piece of candied ginger when they’re alone together – petting his head and telling him that it’ll be their little secret.
If Shen Yuan had to choose, he’d definitely say he liked the man – something he could never admit to Shen Jiu, though, knowing how his gege would react.
“He’s hiding something,” Shen Jiu insists, and Shen Yuan startles, feeling uncannily like his mind was just read.
“You’re just being paranoid, ge,” Shen Yuan waves him off. “Plus, you’ve never even talked to him – how would you know what he’s like?”
The man, seemingly finished with his business with the footman, gives him a nod – and then, as if aware of the twin gazes burning holes into his back, turns towards the stables. Shen Jiu’s expression darkens when the man gives Shen Yuan a smile and a wave, but Shen Yuan ignores his gege and offers a polite smile and bow back, watching as the man disappears into the manor.
An exasperated expression on Shen Yuan’s face, he turns his attention back to Shen Jiu, ready to say ‘See, I told you so!’ – before those words die on the tip of his tongue when he notices how serious Shen Jiu looks… all signs of childish irritation wiped clean from his face.
“Have you ever stopped to consider why he’s nice to you, A-Yuan?” Shen Jiu asks. “Why, when he ignores all the other servants, he pays attention to you?”
“T-That’s…” Shen Yuan’s mouth shuts with a click of teeth. He hates to admit it, but Shen Jiu might have a point. There really is nothing that sets Shen Yuan apart from the others, yet he seems to be the one the man gravitates to upon his visits to the Qiu estate. Shen Yuan had evidently never put much thought into it before, but now…
Sensing Shen Yuan’s internal conflict, Shen Jiu gets to his feet. Shen Yuan’s ponytail is a mess, and the older boy clicks his tongue as he brushes a few wayward strands of hair out of Shen Yuan’s face, tucking them behind an ear.
“Don’t get comfortable, A-Yuan,” Shen Jiu warns. “We can’t trust anyone here. Whatever you do, don’t forget that.”
The words make Shen Yuan purse his lips, because they cut a little too close… but Shen Jiu’s eyes are soft, and his hands are gentle, and Shen Yuan knows he isn’t saying it to be spiteful. That alone is enough to trigger a wave of guilt, nearly suffocating Shen Yuan as it bubbles up in his lungs. While he’s been living an innocuous servant’s life for the past year, for Shen Jiu, it’s been a year of hell. What gives Shen Yuan the right to disagree with the older boy any further? It would be too unfair, too cruel.
“…Alright, gege,” Shen Yuan nods. His answer is rewarded with a small but genuine smile, and for some reason that almost makes him feel worse.
But it also serves as a wake up call. Just why was Shen Yuan so insistently defending that man for, against his gege of all people? The one person he’s closest to in this world? If Shen Yuan had to come up with an excuse, he supposes that since it had been years since he was treated with any kind of courtesy, he was taken in by the man’s kind manners… However, if ignoring the man meant Shen Jiu would be even a little bit happier, if it would make him feel a little more at ease – wasn’t that the least Shen Yuan could do?
“You should get back to work.”
So says Shen Jiu, interrupting Shen Yuan’s internal monologue. He doesn’t leave immediately, though, instead taking it upon himself to attempt the herculean task that is fixing Shen Yuan’s hair.
The endeavour doesn’t last for long, though, because after finding a couple wood chip shavings in amongst the thick black strands, Shen Jiu plucks them out and wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Wash yourself before you return to the servant’s quarters. I’ll kick you out of the pallet if you don’t.”
He’s… probably joking. But only barely.
Working day in and day out at the stables has desensitised Shen Yuan’s nose to the smell of animal musk and manure, but Shen Jiu, who has the pleasure of staying indoors all day, and who also shares a sleeping space with Shen Yuan, definitely can’t say the same. Being favoured by the young mistress means Shen Jiu has to keep to a certain standard of hygiene, and funnily enough, Shen Yuan doesn’t envy him as much as he thought he might. What fun is there to be had in soaking in scented oils for a shichen a day, only to be paraded around like a prized puppy after? None at all.
The young mistress, Qiu Haitang…
Just the thought of her is enough to sour Shen Yuan’s mood, though he tries valiantly not to let it. Shen Yuan knows she’s mostly innocent in all this – though perhaps ‘ignorant’ would be a better word for it. Either way, the source of all of Shen Jiu’s troubles can be traced back to her attachment to him, and, whether she’s aware of it or not, Shen Yuan just can’t forgive her for that.
It’ll be a long time before he forgets the first day that he and Shen Jiu arrived at the manor; if Shen Yuan concentrates enough, he can still feel the phantom pain in his legs, where the back of his thighs were scored raw with bamboo whips. The guard who had escorted them there had been right for the most part – Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu had been beaten for a while, as punishment for ‘defying’ the young master. Shen Yuan’s beating had been administered by a faceless servant, but the young master had taken it upon himself to personally put Shen Jiu in his place. The look of excitement on his face as Shen Jiu bled is an image still seared into the back of Shen Yuan’s eyelids.
The young master. Qiu Jianluo.
Shen Yuan resists the urge to spit on the floor in disgust. It had been obvious from day one that the boy was fascinated with Shen Jiu in some sick and twisted way… but after that first week, Shen Yuan was sure he’d eventually lose interest. As the next Qiu heir, it would be improper to show such obsession towards a slave boy picked up off the streets on a whim. Right?
Well, Shen Yuan supposes he’ll never know the answer to that.
When the sweet and benevolent young mistress took a liking to Shen Jiu, her kind and caring older brother decided he would have to spend some time with Shen Jiu every so often, to help him keep on top of his manners, lest he act inappropriately around the sweetheart of the Qiu family. The first time the older boy had returned to the servant’s quarters battered and bruised, Shen Yuan had told his gege to cry and beg, to grovel and look as pathetic as possible, so as to lose the attention of Qiu Jianluo. Unfortunately for him, Shen Jiu had only looked at Shen Yuan like he’d lost his mind, and snapped at him that he was fine and to mind his own business.
As if I could ever do that.
“Ge,” Shen Yuan blurts out, grabbing Shen Jiu’s arm. The older boy looks at Shen Yuan questioningly, but Shen Yuan shakes his head. “Just be careful, okay?”
“Hmph.” Shen Jiu doesn’t sound impressed. “Worry about yourself first.”
“I can worry about more than one thing at a time, you know?”
“…Don’t talk back to your gege, brat.” Shen Jiu huffs, flicking Shen Yuan square on his forehead.
The sound of voices echoing down the yard is sudden and loud, and Shen Yuan jumps as he recognises one of them to belong to the head stable boy. The late teen isn’t a terrible person to work under, but to describe him as ‘strict’ would be an understatement, and Shen Yuan has been punished more than once for slacking on the job.
Making sure to avoid where (he thinks) the young master beat Shen Jiu, Shen Yuan ushers him out of the stables with a whisper-shout of, “See you later, Jiu-ge!”
“Mn.” The older boy waves a hand lazily. “Work hard.”
Shen Yuan sees him off for as long as he can, but when the voices get too close for comfort he has to hurry back to his stall. Pitchfork in hand, he smiles angelically when the head stable boy peers in over the door.
It’s been a few weeks since his conversation with Shen Jiu, and Shen Yuan hasn’t forgotten it. He likes to think he’s done a pretty good job at avoiding the young master’s father’s friend, but the reality is that it just wasn’t that hard. He’s almost always accompanied by a servant or two, and considering how well dressed he is, Shen Yuan has no trouble spotting the man well before the man can spot him.
Tossing in his pallet, Shen Yuan eyes the empty space next to him where Shen Jiu should be – thoughts of the man the farthest thing from his mind.
The hushed breathing and occasional gargled snore of the slumbering male servants lets Shen Yuan know that it’s late, but despite that, Shen Jiu still hasn’t returned from his duties accompanying the young mistress. The rational part of Shen Yuan tries to argue that, since there was a celebration in the Qiu manor today, of course Shen Jiu wouldn’t return at his normal time! But the more insistent part of him argues that it is now the dead of night – unless his gege is somehow, for some reason, sleeping in Qiu Haitang’s very own room – he should be back.
A tiny, fearful voice brings up the idea that Shen Jiu might have been waylaid by the young master; as soon as Shen Yuan thinks that, he shakes his head vigorously. There was a party today, and Shen Jiu is smart, especially when it comes to matters like these – he would have been extra careful not to do anything to earn Qiu Jianluo’s ire, especially publicly.
But… that boy is obsessed with gege. If he wanted to, he would find a reason to punish him, or make up one if there were none. Who would deny the heir of the house?
The thought makes Shen Yuan’s stomach churn.
Slapping his cheeks, the noise is jarringly loud in the relative silence of the servant’s quarters, but no one seems to stir, and Shen Yuan is too busy chiding himself to care.
Stop catastrophising! He commands. There's probably a good reason why Jiu-ge is so late! So just… go to sleep, and complain at him in the morning…
Turning over to deliberately face away from the door, Shen Yuan tries to get settled in.
…
Was the pallet always this uncomfortable? No matter what position Shen Yuan takes, it’s unrelentingly hard, and cold to boot.
…
…
…
With a grumble, Shen Yuan sits up and runs his fingers through his hair.
So maybe he’s finding it a tad difficult to sleep without Shen Jiu by his side… but can anyone blame him? Shen Yuan is a creature of habit! On the streets they’d slept near each other for safety’s sake, and in the Qiu manor, it was a matter of stinginess on behalf of their seniors – the adult servants claiming they were far too small to be given a single pallet each. Considering that, Shen Yuan thinks he should be given a pass! Despite the fact that he’s, well, already 12 years old…
Whatever!
Tugging the threadbare blanket so it’s draped over his shoulders, Shen Yuan crosses his legs and rests his chin in his hand. The sleep deprived Shen Yuan of tomorrow morning is going to kick the current Shen Yuan’s ass for doing this, especially if it ends up being nothing – but as far as he’s concerned, that’s none of his business right now. Plus, call it his instincts, or sixth sense or whatever, but there’s just something telling Shen Yuan that he needs to see Shen Jiu tonight.
To keep himself occupied, Shen Yuan parts a section of hair near his face, figuring he might as well brush up on his braiding skills while he waits. He can do a basic three strand plait, but anything more complicated than that, and he starts to mess up. For the next half a shichen or so, Shen Yuan braids and unbraids the same section of hair – only taking a break when his fingers get stiff, and the ends of his hair starts to curl on its own. He isn’t sure what time it is now, but the blackened wicks and barely-there flickering flames of the oil lanterns let him know that, at the very least, a lot of time has passed.
And yet, drowsiness evades Shen Yuan. Rather, he only feels more alert as the clock in his head ticks on and there is still no sign of Shen Jiu. An antsiness deep in his gut has Shen Yuan twitching, and it’s just as he resolves to sneak out and start looking for his gege that the door creaks open.
The hallway isn’t much brighter than the servant’s quarters, but the increased number of lanterns out there are able to shed just enough light on the figure stumbling into the room. The relieved exhale Shen Yuan releases once he realises it’s Shen Jiu is huge – until, that is, he notices how odd the older boy’s gait is. The very first thought Shen Yuan has upon seeing that, is that somehow, Shen Jiu is drunk. It’s not a far-fetched idea in the slightest either, considering how the young mistress dotes on him. It was very possible she managed to sneak Shen Jiu a cup or two of plum wine amidst the hustle and bustle of the party.
Shen Yuan knows he shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but annoyance begins to simmer as he watches Shen Jiu stumble towards their pallet, head ducked so his hair curtains his face. If Shen Yuan has been worried for nothing while the older boy was enjoying expensive alcohol and partying late into the night – he’s not going to let him hear the end of it!
“Shen Jiu!” Shen Yuan whispers, once the older boy is within earshot. “Where have you b–”
Shen Yuan freezes.
…Blood. That smell is… blood. Shen Yuan can smell blood.
The coppery, metal tang only gets stronger when Shen Jiu collapses onto the pallet, and Shen Yuan watches in shock as the older boy lets out a pained moan before going quiet. A few treacherously long moments pass, during which Shen Yuan’s brain tries to process everything he’s just seen. Then, as if coming up for air after being stuck underwater, Shen Yuan gasps and jumps into action.
There isn’t much light for Shen Yuan to work with, and he has to rely on the wash of pale moonlight filtering in from the large windows to guide his eyes. Shen Jiu’s robes are a pale brown – normally. Right now though, a dark patch stains his back, and Shen Yuan already knows with a growing amount of trepidation where the injury is. Hands hovering over Shen Jiu’s shoulders, Shen Yuan only barely touches the older boy before Shen Jiu is letting out a whimper, muffled by the pallet.
Fuck, Shen Yuan thinks eloquently, struggling to quell the growing panic in his chest. Deciding to leave Shen Jiu’s back be for a second, Shen Yuan quickly but carefully pulls his gege’s hair away from his face, twisting it to the side so it’s mostly out of the way.
Immediately, Shen Yuan can tell that Shen Jiu isn’t doing well.
His brows are furrowed and his eyes are screwed shut – teeth digging into his lower lip so hard Shen Yuan is almost worried he’ll bite clean through. The older boy’s skin is clammy when Shen Yuan goes to press the back of his hand to Shen Jiu’s forehead, but he’s also warm to the touch, which Shen Yuan worries might indicate an oncoming fever. Shen Jiu leans into Shen Yuan’s hand just the slightest bit, but is otherwise unresponsive to his presence.
“Jiu-ge?” Shen Yuan can’t stop his voice from trembling. “H-Hey, Jiu-ge. Look at me.”
It feels like an eternity before Shen Jiu finally reacts, though realistically Shen Yuan knows it can’t have taken more than a few seconds.
“A…Yuan.” Shen Jiu speaks on an exhale, so quietly that Shen Yuan has to strain his ears to hear him over the sound of the other sleeping servants. “Why… are you looking at me like that?”
A hysterical laugh almost bubbles over as Shen Yuan thinks, Is he being for real???
“I-I don’t know what to do,” Shen Yuan admits frantically. His hands hover over Shen Jiu’s body, but he’s too scared to touch the older boy again. “Ge, tell me how to help.”
Even in pain, Shen Jiu still manages to look unimpressed. “Calm down… idiot.”
“Gege!” Frustration makes Shen Yuan raise his voice, and he can hear the people closest to them beginning to wake up at the commotion.
A little more alert now thanks to Shen Yuan’s outburst, Shen Jiu gives him a weak glare. “Stop fussing… and let me rest. I’ll be fine… after I sleep.”
But Shen Yuan is already shaking his head vehemently in protest.
He remembers the day he died, unbidden. It’s not something he likes to think about often, if ever – but seeing Shen Jiu so weak now dredges the memory up to the forefront of his mind whether he wants it there or not. He remembers falling asleep… how easy it was to drift into unconsciousness, and then beyond – when Shen Jiu’s eyes begin to slip closed, a primal fear grips Shen Yuan, and before he knows it he’s shaking the older boy awake far rougher than he should be.
He’s rewarded for his efforts with a choked whimper – Shen Jiu’s eyes shooting open as pain tears through his body.
“What – are you doing?!” The hiss sounds more agonised than angry, but Shen Yuan tamps down on the guilt he feels ready to bubble up because he does have a good reason for keeping Shen Jiu awake, other than due to his own fears.
“I need to check your back, ge.”
And Shen Jiu, the stubborn bastard that he is, mutters, “Th-There’s no point.”
Unfortunately for the older boy, though, Shen Yuan won’t take no for an answer. He needs to assess the damage and see if he has to break out their stash of medical supplies – though admittedly, Shen Yuan has a feeling he already knows the answer to that.
The stash had been a precaution Shen Yuan realised would be necessary, way back when it became apparent that the beatings for Shen Jiu weren’t going to be a one time thing.
While Shen Yuan doesn’t have permission to leave the manor, that’s where Yue Qi comes in, and once a month, the eldest will visit with a small bundle of supplies – the tall iron fence that surrounds the manor being well kept for the most part, sans a spot around the back, where the bars have warped just enough for someone of a slim build to slip through.
The guilt the eldest carries from that fateful day one year ago still weighs heavily on his shoulders, and the passage of time has done nothing to ease its burden. When he found out about Shen Jiu’s treatment at the hands of the young master… Well, it wouldn’t surprise Shen Yuan if the eldest never forgave himself. Everything he does is an act of apology towards Shen Jiu, and the boy in question had gotten sick of it after a while. Devastated doesn’t begin to cover how Yue Qi looked, when Shen Yuan had to awkwardly tell him that Shen Jiu didn’t want to see him for the time being… but that, in turn, only seemed to make the eldest more determined to make amends. Shen Yuan can’t help but wonder when he’ll realise it, though – that what his Xiao Jiu wants from his Qi-ge isn’t a ‘sorry’, but a ‘thank you.’
Shen Yuan can only hope they work it out soon.
Slipping off the pallet, Shen Yuan gets on his hands and knees, fumbling around blindly for the pouch that is kept hidden beneath their sleeping space. When it’s in his grasp, Shen Yuan pops his head back up, noticing with surprise that Shen Jiu has managed to push himself into an extremely slouched, but still upright sitting position. He’s breathing heavily, as if that one simple movement has taken everything out of him.
Swallowing down his fear, Shen Yuan kneels behind the older boy and loosens his sash. All that remains now is to peel the robe off his back – a task that falls entirely to Shen Yuan, as he belatedly realises that Shen Jiu probably can’t move his arms without aggravating his back. Hesitantly reaching for the older boy’s collar, Shen Yuan slowly tugs the robe up and away from his body – only releasing the breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding when the garment bunches loosely around Shen Jiu’s waist.
This… is really bad.
The colour drains from Shen Yuan's face as he stares at the lacerations that decorate Shen Jiu’s back. In the low light, the older boy’s blood looks black, and Shen Yuan watches as a rivulet of obsidian trickles sluggishly from a large open wound smack bang in the middle of Shen Jiu’s shoulder blades.
Oh fuck, this is really, really bad.
Shen Yuan slowly begins to unlace the pouch in his hands – taking his time to delay the inevitable because he already knows whatever is in there isn’t going to be enough to treat this.
“Gege…” Shen Yuan trails off, lost on what to say.
Shen Jiu is already looking at him through a gap in his hair. “I told you, didn’t I?” The older boy smirks, but the pain transforms it into a grimace. “No point.”
Why? Shen Yuan thinks, mind blank. Why? Why? Why?
What crime did Shen Jiu commit that was so heinous in nature for Qiu Jianluo to treat him like this?! Even a misbehaving dog wouldn’t be beaten as badly, and yet here Shen Jiu is, back shredded and torn. Shen Yuan inhales shakily, rage boiling in his gut – the only thing stopping him from lashing out is the knowledge that Shen Jiu will kill the bastard one day. He doesn’t know what sets Shen Jiu off, what ends up being his breaking point – only that, when the day comes, Shen Yuan will be right by his gege’s side, a witness to his righteous retribution.
A wet warmth trails from Shen Yuan’s cheek down to his chin, and drips onto the back of his hand. When Shen Jiu reaches up to brush away those tears with unsteady fingers – still looking out for Shen Yuan, even though he’s the one who needs caring for – Shen Yuan bites back an angry sob.
“You’re overreacting, A-Yuan” Shen Jiu murmurs, exhaustion colouring his tone. “Just let me rest… I’ll be okay.”
“Where does that confidence come from?” Shen Yuan laughs wetly, voice thick in his throat. “At least let me look at the worst parts. You’re still bleeding, ge.”
Shen Jiu gives Shen Yuan a long look, then sighs, seeming to give up. “Do what you want.”
Slowly, and so very carefully, Shen Jiu returns to lie on his front – except this time, he angles himself so that his head rests in Shen Yuan’s lap. Feeling his lower lip wobble at the sight, Shen Yuan scrubs viciously at his eyes.
Pull yourself together.
When Shen Yuan finally upturns the contents of the pouch, he’s unsurprised by what he finds, though he can’t help but feel disappointed all the same. There are a few strips of clean cloth – enough to wipe off some blood, perhaps, but bandaging is out of the question – and a jar of paste that, over time, has begun to harden. Refusing to give in to hopelessness just yet, Shen Yuan takes some cloth and scrunches it into a ball, scraping off the crust of the paste to spread some of the softer stuff beneath it onto the fabric.
Shen Jiu’s skin is covered in welts. While Shen Yuan is grateful that most of them aren’t open wounds, the huge gouge between the older boy’s shoulders is extremely concerning. Shen Yuan doesn’t even know where to begin cleaning it, because he knows whatever he does, it’s going to hurt.
…Here goes nothing.
When Shen Yuan presses the cloth tentatively against torn flesh, he can feel Shen Jiu stiffen instantaneously. The older boy pants quietly, but otherwise doesn’t make much noise – until, however, Shen Yuan tries to stem the flow of blood from the centre of the wound. The agonised whimper Shen Jiu lets out at that has Shen Yuan pulling the cloth away like he’s been burned.
In the end, too scared of accidentally hurting Shen Jiu again – or, god forbid, somehow making the injury worse – Shen Yuan mostly sticks to wiping away the congealed blood around the area, and spreading the paste onto inflamed but closed skin.
When he’s done, Shen Jiu is sweating profusely, and Shen Yuan can only wipe away the moisture with the un-bloodied side of the cloth as he feels completely and utterly helpless.
Stop it, he thinks viciously to himself, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eyes so hard he sees stars. Now is not the time to feel sorry for yourself.
Shen Yuan can curse his uselessness later all he wants – but only once Shen Jiu is feeling better, and not a moment sooner. Scowling as if to forcibly rid himself of the heat behind his eyes, Shen Yuan runs his fingers through the older boy’s hair. It’s mostly to distract himself at first, something to do with his hands while he tries to calm down – but then Shen Jiu slowly loosens his deathgrip on the blanket, and his frown, which had been deep set and constant up until this point, becomes a little less pronounced. Feeling something ease in his chest at the sight of the older boy relaxing incrementally under his touch, Shen Yuan continues his ministrations.
“Haitang said… she wants to marry me.” The mumbled confession is so quiet, and so unexpected, that Shen Yuan almost thinks he imagined it – would have thought he imagined it, had Shen Jiu not added further, “Didn’t tell anyone… before she announced it at the dinner.”
“…What?” The question leaves Shen Yuan in an exhale.
He knew that the Qiu Haitang of the PIDW novel claimed that Shen Qingqiu was her fiance, but… after living this life with Shen Jiu at the Qiu manor, Shen Yuan had just assumed that it was a misunderstanding, or a lie. Does she really like him? The young mistress, who remains blind to the harm her brother inflicts – that young mistress has the nerve to claim she has true feelings for Shen Jiu? Shen Yuan doesn’t know what to think.
Then Shen Jiu’s words click, and Shen Yuan’s eyes widen in understanding.
“She didn’t tell Qiu Jianluo.” It's not a question.
The older boy exhales sharply, in what Shen Yuan thinks is a laugh. “No.”
“Ah,” Shen Yuan surmises. “So that’s…”
…why he did this.
The reality of the situation is just too cruel to accept.
Shen Yuan’s hands shake as he returns to playing with Shen Jiu’s hair. He doesn’t know when the idea of someone’s death became a comfort to him, but Shen Yuan allows the thought to quell the impotent rage that burns throughout his body. He’ll only know true peace once Qiu Jianluo’s body is cold and stiff – but for now, this will do.
When Shen Yuan opens his eyes next, he’s greeted by the milky light of dawn. Disoriented, because he can’t remember when he fell asleep, Shen Yuan slowly pushes himself upright – yawning as he wonders at the time.
He forgets, in a moment of blissful ignorance, everything that has happened thus far – until he becomes aware of the weight on his legs, and it all comes back in a rush.
“J-Jiu-ge!”
It’s far too early to be shouting, and the other occupants in the room make Shen Yuan aware of their displeasure immediately – but Shen Yuan couldn’t care less because Shen Jiu is deathly still where he’s lying draped across Shen Yuan’s lap. Ignoring their grumbles of complaint, Shen Yuan hovers his hand near Shen Jiu’s nose and waits, heart in his throat, for a sign of life.
The warm heat of the older boy’s breath on Shen Yuan’s skin almost makes him cry; it’s weak, but it’s there, and that’s all that matters.
“Jiu-ge,” Shen Yuan pleads, a visceral need to see the older boy open his eyes, just to be sure. “Wake up.”
Hope buds fleetingly when Shen Jiu’s eyelashes flutter for a moment – but ultimately, the older boy’s eyes remain shut, and Shen Yuan is left to stare at his eerily pale face with a mounting sense of dread.
What do I do?? What can I do?!?
Asking for help from anyone in this manor is out of the question. Once they find out that the young master was the one behind Shen Jiu’s injuries, any attempt to help the older boy could be seen as going against the heir of the Qiu household’s authority. Worse yet – Shen Yuan could be stopped from helping Shen Jiu as well. The older boy is Qiu Jianluo’s favourite toy, so there’s a small possibility that the bastard would actually treat Shen Jiu’s wounds once he realises how severe they are… but there’s also a chance that, after his little sister’s announcement last night, the boy will simply decide to finish Shen Jiu off for good.
It’s a risk Shen Yuan can’t take.
Briefly, he considers Yue Qi. If Shen Yuan leaves right now, slips out through the warp in the fence and runs, he might be able to find the eldest around their old panhandling spots. But – then what? They only meet once a month to replenish the medicine stash precisely because it takes Yue Qi that long to gather the supplies. And besides, what Shen Jiu needs now isn’t pilfered herbs and scraps of cloth, but an actual doctor – something that Shen Yuan knows neither of them can afford.
Then what? What is there left for Shen Yuan to do? Hope? And pray? No, there has to be something he’s overlooking. Gnawing on a hangnail, Shen Yuan wracks his mind for a solution when the sound of horse shoes clopping against cobblestone has his spine straightening like a pin.
Could it be…? Head whipping to the window, Shen Yuan strains his neck as he tries to get a view of the courtyard below. It’s futile from his current position, though, and Shen Yuan returns his anxious gaze to the older boy in his lap. Shen Yuan is terrified of leaving him, because bad things only ever happen to Shen Jiu when the older boy is out of sight.
But. But.
The young master’s father’s friend.
If, by some stroke of luck, that’s who has just arrived at the Qiu manor, then Shen Yuan has to try and meet him. They’re barely acquaintances, and it could turn out that Shen Jiu had gotten it all wrong and the man doesn’t favour Shen Yuan at all – but even so, Shen Yuan has to take the chance.
At this point, it’s the only hope he has.
Easing the older boy’s head onto the pallet, Shen Yuan strokes his cheek once. Shen Jiu’s skin is sticky with half dried sweat.
“Jiu-ge, I’m going to get help now, okay?” A pause, for a response Shen Yuan knows won’t come. “I-I won’t be long, so don’t go anywhere. Just stay right here.”
As if he could move. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Shen Yuan takes one last look at his gege before pushing open the doors of the servant’s quarters and taking off in a dead run.
Working in the stables for a year has done wonders for Shen Yuan’s physical health. It’s not that he’s particularly muscular now, but his stamina has improved in leaps and bounds – it’s the reason Shen Yuan is able to dart through the empty hallways, speed around the back of the manor and make it into the courtyard at the front, only feeling a little winded for his trouble.
The carriage that is stationed by the gates isn’t one Shen Yuan recognises, and he feels his heart drop at the realisation. Still, he has to check, just to make sure. The carriage driver is an ancient looking man, who gives Shen Yuan a strange squint through thick spectacles. He doesn’t chase Shen Yuan away, though, and Shen Yuan can’t help but wonder if he’s been mistaken for someone else. Either way, he hurries forward before the driver can change his mind – or takes a better look at his face – and knocks on the door of the carriage with three quick raps of his knuckles.
There’s movement within the carriage, and Shen Yuan holds his breath when he sees the window curtain flutter. When the door eventually opens, it’s so abrupt that Shen Yuan yelps and stumbles backwards, just in time to avoid a painful whack to the head.
The person behind the door stares down at Shen Yuan, eyebrow raised – and with that discerning stare, the last of Shen Yuan’s hopes are dashed. He’s… a stranger… A complete and utter stranger.
“I–” Shen Yuan’s voice cracks, and he coughs and clears his throat. “This one apologises. He… mistook this carriage for another.”
“I see,” says the stranger. He doesn’t seem angry, so Shen Yuan assumes his apology has been accepted. “If that is all, then–”
Taking another step back, Shen Yuan bites his tongue, giving a short bow out of respect even as he begins to sink into despair.
That’s it, then.
The stranger goes to close the door. It’s almost all the way shut, when a third voice sounds from within the carriage, asking, “Who is it, Li Wen?”
The stranger looks over his shoulder and informs the voice’s owner, “Just a servant boy, my Lord. It appears the footman has yet to arrive.”
Wait. Inhaling so sharply Shen Yuan almost chokes on the air, his eyes widen in recognition – He knows that voice!
The man.
The man!
The young master’s father’s friend.
“Xiansheng!” Shen Yuan shouts in a last ditch attempt, trying to peer through the sliver of a gap between the door and the carriage. The stranger is blocking his vision entirely, though, so Shen Yuan tries again, desperate, “It’s me!”
To hope that the man will recognise Shen Yuan’s voice too is beyond presumptuous, especially considering that he didn’t talk much during the man’s visits to the stables. But it’s possible, just maybe –
The stranger, whom Shen Yuan now assumes is a servant, seems ready to shut the door completely – and would have, had a hand not slid through that minute gap and prevented him from doing so. Shen Yuan watches as the servant retreats into the carriage, and the owner of that hand steps out into the open. The young master’s father’s friend looks down at Shen Yuan with a smile, and he feels his breath hitch in his chest.
“Well, now. I can’t say I was expecting to see you, little one.” The man’s voice is gentle as he shuts the carriage door behind him. “I would call it a pleasant surprise, but you seem rather distressed.” Resting a hand on Shen Yuan’s shoulder, he squeezes it and asks, “Won’t you tell this Lord what happened?”
Shen Yuan can hardly believe it – not only is the man actually here, but he’s even giving Shen Yuan the opportunity to explain himself. This is his chance – his only chance – he cannot fuck it up.
“Xiansheng, this lowly servant begs for his assistance!” The image of Shen Jiu still and listless and barely breathing, alone on their shared pallet returns to the forefront of his mind, and he takes a step back; falling to his knees, Shen Yuan looks up at the man long enough to register the mild surprise that flashes across his face before he is pressing his forehead against the stone cold floor, prostrating himself as low as possible. “M-My gege is hurt, and I–” Shen Yuan bites his tongue, cursing the warble in his voice. “This one knows he’s asking for too much. But xiansheng is – is the only person he can ask.” Feeling his eyes prickle hotly, Shen Yuan wills himself not to cry just yet. He pushes his forehead against the stone hard enough to feel grit prick at his skin before sitting back on his haunches, daring to look the man in his eyes. “This one can’t offer much – but if xiansheng saves gege – I’ll do anything. Xiansheng, I swear.”
It’s a ballsy promise founded on nothing but hot air.
While he hadn’t lied, realistically, there’s only so much Shen Yuan can actually do – and even less that would be of any use to this aristocratic man. Speaking of which – if the man is angry at Shen Yuan’s audacity, he hides it well. In fact, he’s smiling, looking at Shen Yuan as kindly as ever as he offers a hand to the boy. He hasn’t said a word yet, though, and Shen Yuan worries that the silence means his pleas are about to be rejected. Taking the man’s hand, Shen Yuan makes a noise of surprise when he’s pulled to his feet with unexpected strength, stumbling as the man holds him steady by his upper arms.
“A touching display,” the man murmurs, then pats Shen Yuan’s head lightly, “But there was really no need, little one.”
Then… does that mean?
The man knocks once on the carriage door and it opens immediately, the servant already bowing as he says, “Yes, my Lord?”
“A change of plans, Li Wen,” the man informs. “I’d like you to collect an injured boy from the manor and bring him here, we’ll be visiting the family doctor.” The man winks playfully at Shen Yuan as he says this, like this whole situation is another one of ‘their little secrets’. It's… a little strange, but Shen Yuan just smiles weakly. Then the man asks to confirm, “Your gege is in the servant’s quarters, I presume?”
“Ah – yes, xiansheng!” Hurrying to agree, Shen Yuan glances at the slender servant and adds worriedly, “He can’t walk though, xiansheng… and his back, it’s–”
Seeming to understand, the man gives Shen Yuan an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry, little one. Li Wen here is stronger than he seems.”
“Th-This one apologises for the assumption…”
Nodding, the man returns his hand to Shen Yuan’s shoulder, heat from his hand seeping through Shen Yuan’s robes.
For a brief moment, the servant catches Shen Yuan’s gaze – eyeing him with an expression that Shen Yuan can’t quite understand. He almost looks – sad? Pitying? But why on earth would that be the case? The expression is gone before Shen Yuan can really examine it, though, and the servant returns to a serene visage as he murmurs, “Understood, my Lord.”
It is, perhaps, a little too late for second thoughts, but as Shen Yuan stares at the back of the servant as he walks towards the manor, he's filled with doubt.
I know I begged, but this man… He’s really going to help, just like that?
It just seems… too good to be true. Sneakily, Shen Yuan tries to steal a glance up at the man from the corner of his eye, but only flushes in embarrassment when he’s caught – the man having already been looking at him.
“What a loyal didi you are,” the man compliments, out of the blue. “I imagine your gege is very lucky to have you.”
“X-Xiansheng is too kind,” Shen Yuan stutters.
Laughing, the man says, “Humble too, it seems!” and Shen Yuan fists his hands into his sleeves as his cheeks turn red at the attention.
What’s with this weird smalltalk? The whole situation beginning to feel surreal, Shen Yuan tries to direct it to safer ground.
“This one is truly grateful for xiansheng’s help, but is ashamed to say he does not yet know xiansheng’s name…”
The unspoken question floats in the air between them, and the man makes an understanding ‘ah’ noise as he says, “Apologies, Yuan, I did not intend to leave introductions so late. This master is Hou Xianrong, but you may call me ‘Lord Hou’, if you wish.”
“Lord Hou…” Shen Yuan repeats, testing out the name on his tongue. Hou Xianrong seems pleased when he does. Then, Shen Yuan plays back the words the man just spoke in his head, and his eyebrows raise involuntarily as he asks, surprised. “Lord Hou knows who this one is?”
“Hm? Oh, yes. I suppose I should explain.” Hou Xianrong squeezes Shen Yuan’s shoulder one more time before he crosses his hands behind his back. “This may come as a surprise, and I hope Yuan does not think me too forward,” the man trails off for a moment, and Shen Yuan shifts his weight from one foot to the other in anticipation. Too forward? Just what is Hou Xianrong about to say? Staring unabashedly at the man, Hou Xianrong meets Shen Yuan’s gaze and smiles, “I’ll get straight to the point. Yuan, I’m interested in becoming your sponsor.”
The man looks at Shen Yuan expectantly, but Shen Yuan can only gape like a fish as he stares back.
…Huh?
No, really.
Huh???
Chuckling, Hou Xianrong hides his laugh behind a hand. “It really is surprising, then?”
…Will he get offended if Shen Yuan says yes? Because yeah, it absolutely is??? Head spinning, Shen Yuan decides to be honest as he confesses, “This one apologises, Lord Hou… but I – I don’t understand.”
Thankfully, the man just looks more amused. “Some exposition is needed, then – but shall we carry on this conversation inside?” Hou Xianrong nods to the carriage. “I imagine you’ll begin to feel the cold soon, if you stay outside any longer wearing that.”
Hou Xianrong’s gaze lingers on Shen Yuan’s body, and, confused, he glances down at himself. Eyes widening, he thinks oh, right, because he’s still in his thin sleeping robes – not having had a chance to change before he left the servant’s quarters.
While a part of him would appreciate the warmth, he sends a meaningful glance back at the manor, squinting as if he could forcibly manifest the image of Li Wen with Shen Jiu in tow. The servant knew his gege was in the servant’s quarters, but did he know where those quarters were? Getting lost would just waste time Shen Jiu doesn’t have. It’s a bit late to be thinking this now, but maybe Shen Yuan should run in after the servant, just to be safe…
Following his line of sight, Hou Xianrong makes a noise of understanding in the back of his throat. “Try not to fret, Yuan. Li Wen is a capable servant, he’ll return soon enough.” Opening the carriage door, the man takes a step back and gestures for Shen Yuan to enter first. “Standing outside won’t make him appear any faster, though, and if your gege is a good boy like you, he wouldn't be happy if you got sick on his behalf.”
Somehow, Hou Xianrong has managed to hit Shen Yuan where it hurts - how can he refuse now, after all that? Especially since the man is right. Stifling a sigh, Shen Yuan casts one last look behind him before he nods. He did say he’d do anything, after all, and a conversation held in comfort is hardly a steep price to pay for saving Shen Jiu’s life.
Climbing up the two steps, Shen Yuan gets into the carriage. Assaulted by the smell of sweet incense, gold trimmed curtains and plush velvet seats, Shen Yuan freezes like a rabbit caught in the headlights – realising instantly that he does not belong here. Hou Xianrong pushes gently at the small of his back though, so Shen Yuan moves on autopilot, perching himself on the edge of the seat like he’s worried he’ll break it somehow if he sits on it properly. Hands on his knees, Shen Yuan watches stiffly as the man closes the door behind them.
Settling down in the space opposite Shen Yuan, Hou Xianrong leans back comfortably in his seat – the man regarding him silently for a long moment before saying, apropos of nothing, “I’ve always loved children, but I’ve never had time for a wife. My peers tell me I’m already married to my job, and they might be right.”
Hou Xianrong laughs quietly to himself at that, leaving Shen Yuan to smile awkwardly in response.
“Yuan said he didn’t understand why I wanted to sponsor him, but that’s not something he needs to concern himself with. If he wants an explanation, consider it the whims of an eccentric philanthropist.” Hou Xianrong gestures in the air as he says this. “I have the means to support those who pique my interest, and it brings me satisfaction when I do. This time, the person I’m interested in happens to be you.”
…How do I even respond to that?
Shen Yuan is at a loss for words. He doesn’t know what criteria Hou Xianrong follows when picking his charges, but no matter how hard he racks his brain, Shen Yuan just can’t think of anything he’s done to garner the man’s attention! So lost in thought as he is, Shen Yuan doesn’t notice the way Hou Xianrong has leaned forward in his seat, until two thumbs are pushing up at the corners of his mouth, forcing him to smile.
Blinking in shock, Shen Yuan meets Hou Xianrong’s amused gaze. “Don’t look so troubled, little one. I won’t force you to accept my sponsorship, nor will I use the fact that I helped your gege against you.” Shen Yuan’s stomach drops at the casual mention of blackmail, naively having not considered that a possibility. It disconcerts him, though he cannot say as much. “All I ask is that you seriously consider my offer. Your potential is wasted at the Qiu estate.”
“…Potenshul?” Shen Yuan’s squished cheeks make the word come out distorted, and Hou Xianrong chuckles at that before he leans back in his seat. Rubbing at his mouth, Shen Yuan asks again, “What does Lord Hou mean by that?”
“Oh, have I made Yuan curious? Unfortunately for you, little one, I don’t plan on revealing my entire hand today.” Hou Xianrong’s eyes form crescents as he grins, amused by a joke only he understands. “That’s something we’ll discuss when you – ah, should you accept my sponsorship.”
Shen Yuan isn’t sure if he’s imagining things, but didn’t the man seem a little… off, when he said that? Or was Shen Yuan just sleep deprived – and the light playing tricks?
Yeah, he thinks, ignoring the warning voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Shen Jiu, that must be it.
Shen Yuan won’t tell Shen Jiu about this, he decides. At least, not yet. He knows the older boy will tell him point blank to refuse the offer – will scold Shen Yuan for turning to Hou Xianrong in the first place, even though this man is about to save his life. And what if Qiu Jianluo beats gege like that again? I was lucky to run into Hou Xianrong today, but what about next time? The thought of having to go through this again makes Shen Yuan’s stomach lurch. If – If I agree to this sponsorship, will that mean I can help Jiu-ge? As Hou Xianrong had put it, the thought is worth some serious consideration.
Shen Yuan debates probing the man for more details on the matter, but ultimately decides against it for now. He’s too keyed up waiting for Shen Jiu that he isn’t sure he’d be able to absorb any information properly anyway. The only thing he knows for sure though, is that Shen Jiu has protected him all this time – if this really is Shen Yuan’s chance to return the favour, then he’ll grab it with both hands.
Present Day
Once Shen Yuan is done talking, he takes a long sip of his now cold tea to soothe his aching throat. Time somehow passed both slowly and all at once, and when Shen Yuan looks out of the windows, he sees that the sky has lightened from deep sapphire to middling amethyst – heralding the coming of dawn.
Shen Qingqiu is utterly silent. His tea lies abandoned to the side, hands instead occupied by his fan, which he grips hard enough for the wooden tines to creak audibly in protest. There are no words of comfort Shen Yuan can offer the older man, so he just leaves him be. Eventually, the handle of Shen Qingqiu’s poor fan splinters clean down the middle, and Shen Yuan watches it get tossed uncaringly to the floor.
“Ge,” Shen Yuan sighs, setting his cup down atop the table with a quiet ‘clink’, “Say something.”
The older man seems to consider this – opening his mouth, only to close it a second later. Shen Yuan doesn’t think he’s ever seen Shen Qingqiu at a loss for words like this before.
“Wu Yanzi told me Hou Xianrong died in the fire – that day.”
Oh? That information is news to Shen Yuan. “I didn’t know that,” he admits, “though it doesn’t surprise me.”
“How so?”
The question is expected – Shen Qingqiu isn’t aware of Wu Yanzi and Hou Xianrong’s relation after all. It’s… unfortunate that Shen Yuan has to be the one to break the news, though.
“Hou Xianrong paid Wu Yanzi for many things,” Shen Yuan tells the older man. “Taking you on as a disciple was one, and it seems lying about his death, at least to you, was another.”
Though Wu Yanzi was by all accounts a terrible person, he was still Shen Jiu’s first master, and represented freedom from the shackles of the Qius – to find out that master had only been moved by the glint of coin, and not due to any potential he saw in Shen Jiu… it must sting.
Or so Shen Yuan had assumed, but the reaction Shen Qingqiu shows isn’t nearly as strong as he anticipated. The older man frowns – deeper than he already was, anyway – and his lips purse into a straight line. Beyond that, though? Nothing
“Ge…” Shen Yuan can’t help but ask. “You aren’t upset?”
“Upset?” Shen Qingqiu repeats. “What about?” Even more unexpected is the dry laugh Shen Qingqiu lets out, upon seeing Shen Yuan’s confused face. “Wu Yanzi was a crook and a bastard. Knowing he was incentivised for his tutelage just makes sense. It certainly explains a few things.”
And then, the anger Shen Yuan had expected to see before now appears on Shen Qingqiu’s face – expression becoming glacial so suddenly that the transformation gives Shen Yuan whiplash.
“No, what actually upsets me is knowing that everything went according to Hou Xianrong’s plan.” Shen Qingqiu’s lip curls up in a vicious snarl that, now lacking a fan, the older man has to hide behind his palm. “He can plan all he wants in hell, after I send him there.”
“Right,” Shen Yuan agrees, letting out a quiet laugh. The amusement falls from Shen Yuan’s face when he sees the older man looking at Shen Yuan blankly, though, and he asks pensively. “…What is it?”
“He’ll pay for what he’s done,” Shen Qingqiu replies, and there isn’t even the suggestion of a joke in his words. “And once that’s over, I’ll kill him.”
Shen Yuan’s heart drops to his stomach. He’s serious.
“Jiu-ge, no,” Shen Yuan begins, trying to explain, “You can’t–”
“Give me a single reason why I shouldn’t, Yuan!”
The sudden exclamation is loud, echoing off the walls of the Emperor Suite and making Shen Yuan freeze up. As kids, Shen Yuan was familiar with Shen Jiu’s catty nature, and was experienced in handling his longer bouts of bad moods. As adults, Shen Yuan has been the recipient of Shen Qingqiu’s scathing snarkiness – but nothing more. Now, as Shen Yuan watches Shen Qingqiu discard his mask of composure to reveal the incandescent rage beneath, does he realise that this is the first time he’s seen the older man actually, genuinely angry – no, furious.
“After everything he’s done to you,” Shen Qingqiu spits, “all these years –” Pale white light sparks at Shen Qingqiu’s fingertips, and the older man cuts himself off as he balls his hands into fists. When he exhales, his voice is quieter, but his eyes reflect a promise of violence as he says, “Death will be a kindness after I’m done with him.”
In the face of such sincere bloodlust, Shen Yuan trembles. It’s not directed at him, of course, but his body doesn’t care, and he has to hide his hands in his sleeves – close his eyes and just breathe to slow his rabbiting heart. This reaction is something Shen Yuan knows he should have expected, but actually having to deal with it is a different story entirely. The most important thing right now though is calming Shen Qingqiu down, because at this rate, the older man will storm to the Hou estate and commence a part two of the Qius.
Centering himself, Shen Yuan slowly opens his eyes. Pulling his drink towards him, just so he has something to hold, Shen Yuan stares at the remnants of tea still left in the cup.
“Believe me when I say, I want nothing more than Hou Xianrong gone.” It’s the first time Shen Yuan has ever been able to admit this out loud – the bitter dregs of anger that have been building up inside his gut every day since he agreed to the sponsorship, finally seeing the light. Shen Yuan can tell Shen Qingqiu’s gaze is on him, but he doesn’t look up. “I’ve dreamt of killing him. Wondered what it would be like, to have his blood on my hands.” His voice trembles, as he confesses, “…How good it would feel.”
The silence that follows rings deafeningly loud in Shen Yuan's ears; he pushes himself to continue.
“But he’s a man of the law, and an important one at that.” Shen Yuan meets Shen Qingqiu’s eyes, eyebrows pinched. “Jiu-ge, you can’t even begin to imagine the connections he has – Wu Yanzi and the Qius? They were just the start. Hou Xianrong is – untouchable. Even now, I bet he knows we’ve met!” Yes, Shen Yuan thinks miserably, as the words fall from his lips, this is reality – this cannot be changed. He shakes his head. “And if he doesn’t know right now – he will. He always does!”
Shen Qingqiu looks like he wants to disagree, but Shen Yuan doesn’t give him the chance, wanting – no, needing the older man to understand what he’s up against.
“And when he finds out,” Shen Yuan continues, breath shaky, “He’ll ruin you. Your reputation – everything you worked so hard for will be gone before you know it… and there won’t be a single thing you can do.”
“If you think I care about that more than–” Shen Qingqiu starts, only for Shen Yuan to interrupt angrily – furiously – “You stupid fool – you should!”
Chest heaving, memories of reading PIDW race through Shen Yuan’s mind like a film reel: Jinlan city, the water prison, Shen Qingqiu’s dismembered fucking body. All of that had stemmed from the reveal of Shen Qingqiu’s past. Even though the culprit was Qiu Haitang in the novel, who’s to say this shitty plot won’t diverge, and have it be Hou Xianrong here!
Head throbbing, Shen Yuan tiredly pushes the heels of his palms into his eyes – because how can he explain any of that without sounding like he’s gone crazy? There’s no way Shen Qingqiu will believe he has prophetic powers all of a sudden. And if the older man doesn’t heed Shen Yuan’s warnings… Shen Yuan’s whole body trembles. It’s been a while since he’s felt this helpless.
The sound of silk moving reaches Shen Yuan’s ears, and by the time he registers the noise, he’s being pulled into Shen Qingqiu’s embrace. The older man presses his face into the crook of his neck, and a choked gasp leaves Shen Yuan as he’s once again enveloped in the scent of bamboo and tea. It’s – comforting, and calming, and Shen Yuan finds himself involuntarily burying his face into the robes. He doesn’t realise he’s stopped shaking until Shen Qingqiu begins to speak.
“A-Yuan,” he murmurs, voice right next to Shen Yuan’s ear. “I’m going to tell you something, and I want you to listen. Can you do that for gege?”
This is humiliating, Shen Yuan thinks. He’s treating me like a kid.
Even so, Shen Yuan can’t bring himself to pull away – touch starved, he struggles to remember the last time he was simply held like this, gently, and with no other intentions. Clearly, it’s been far… far too long.
Not trusting his voice, Shen Yuan only nods, cheek rubbing against soft, green silk.
“A-Yuan sees Hou Xianrong as a monster,” Shen Qingqiu begins, voice soft and filled with understanding, “but he’s nothing more than a man. Evil, yes, but human.”
He’s wrong – Shen Qingqiu is so wrong and already Shen Yuan is struggling not to cut in. As if sensing the nervous energy that has begun to fill Shen Yuan, the older man runs a steady hand down the length of his hair.
“The number of Hou Xianrong’s allies mean nothing, because they are also men,” Shen Qingqiu continues. “And did you know, A-Yuan? Men bleed so easily. Dead men don’t talk at all.” The older man sounds so gentle as he speaks, as if he’s telling Shen Yuan a bedtime story and not promising a massacre. “I don’t care how many men I have to make bleed to free you, A-Yuan, because I’m not leaving you behind again.”
Those last words hit Shen Yuan like a punch to the gut, and he feels winded as he digs his fingernails involuntarily into Shen Qingqiu’s back.
(Gege, I’m right here!)
The fire had been so strong.
(Oh god, please don’t go.)
The smoke, suffocating.
(I’m still here.)
But Shen Yuan couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.
(Please don’t leave.)
Just watched, as Shen Jiu’s back disappeared into the flames.
Shen Yuan tries to breathe through the lump in his throat, but it hurts, and it’s not long before the tears begin to fall, silently trailing down Shen Yuan’s cheeks. The wetness must drip against Shen Qingqiu’s neck, because the older man hugs him tighter a moment later – Shen Yuan clinging back just as hard, terrified that if he lets go – if these arms around him drop – he’ll shatter into a million pieces, never to be whole again.
“Ge,” Shen Yuan’s voice breaks into a sob, “Jiu-ge.”
“I’m here,” Shen Qingqiu soothes. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The hope Shen Qingqiu is offering Shen Yuan now is a beacon in the dark – the light at the end of a long and arduous tunnel – but Shen Yuan doesn’t know if he can trust it yet. He wants to, so badly, but feels his heart nearly leap out of his chest at the thought of doing so. Petrified that if he does, not only will he be made to regret it, but he’ll drag Shen Qingqiu down with him too. Perhaps Hou Xianrong isn’t a monster, like Shen Qingqiu said – but he’s certainly no ordinary man, and that, Shen Yuan knows for a fact.
And yet, even so – despite knowing this – Shen Yuan finds himself pressing closer to Shen Qingqiu. Revels in the feeling of safety, for the first time in so long.
“If you break this promise,” Shen Yuan confesses quietly into Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder, “I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive you.” It’s a petty thing to say, not to mention extremely childish… but it’s the truth whether he wants it to be or not. Still, Shen Yuan is an adult, and he’s mature enough to exhale slowly before adding, “So I’m giving you one chance to take it back… and I… I won’t hold it against you, if you do.”
Shen Qingqiu doesn’t hesitate.
“And you called me the ‘idiot fool?” the older man sighs, sounding exasperated. “I’m not one to waste words – has it been so long that A-Yuan has forgotten? Everything I say, I mean.”
Unsteady laughter bubbles up in Shen Yuan’s throat as he’s suddenly reminded of happier memories of the past. “You were too honest, Jiu-ge – that’s why you never made any friends.”
Slowly, and ever so carefully, Shen Qingqiu pulls away from Shen Yuan – though he doesn’t move very far at all, just enough that he can see Shen Yuan’s face. “They weren’t worth my time. And besides, I had Yue Qi. I didn’t need anyone else.”
Pulling out a handkerchief from his sleeve, the older man offers it to Shen Yuan. It’s identical to the one he’d been given all those months ago, and Shen Yuan unfolds the silken fabric, running a finger over the Qing Jing insignia out of habit.
“At least, that's what I thought,” Shen Qingqiu adds wryly, “until I met a certain sticky brat.”
The words catch Shen Yuan off guard, and he tries not to visibly cringe as he remembers how… insistent he was on encroaching on Shen Jiu’s personal space and demanding his attention whenever he could. Muttering, Shen Yuan says, “I–I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
“Hm. That’s unfortunate.” Amusement glitters in Shen Qingqiu’s eyes. “I was rather fond of him, believe it or not.”
Ah, really…!
Ducking his head, Shen Yuan uses the handkerchief as a shield while his emotions oscillate from touched to embarrassed.
“Well–” The words he wants to say dance on the tip of Shen Yuan’s tongue, but he hesitates, feeling oddly self conscious. It’s silly, though, because what use is there in hiding anything now? And so Shen Yuan begins to confess, slowly, into the green silk, “He was fond of you too. And… If he was here… I think he would tell you he missed you.” Shen Yuan exhales, and the fabric flutters – the weight of twenty years bearing down heavily on his next two words. “A lot.”
When Shen Qingqiu doesn’t respond immediately, Shen Yuan warily looks up – pursing his lips when he sees the older man no longer smiling, expression shadowed with grief.
“That’s good,” the older man says quietly. “Because I missed him too.”
When he rests a hand atop Shen Yuan’s head, stroking down to the side of his face – it’s warm; Shen Yuan finds himself closing his eyes and leaning into the touch. It will soon be time for Shen Qingqiu to go, despite what the older man said, because it’s not like he can stay at the Warm Red Pavilion forever. Still, Shen Yuan hopes they can remain like this… for just a little while longer.
Notes:
would i be stroking my own ego too much if i said i got choked up writing the final part of this chapter? i guess that just goes to show how invested in this story i am! i can't believe we're almost at the end of the first arc though... there's probably around 2 more chapters left? all i can say is buckle your seatbelts because its gonna be a bumpy ride.
at the risk of wearing the sentiment out: as always, thank you so much for your support. the fact that i was getting such kind comments on this fic even just last week means more than you know. i won't give a time frame for the next update because i don't want to give you guys trust issues, but at the very least, believe me when i say that i am never abandoning this fic. i love jiuyuan too much to ever do that!
see you all next time, whenever that may be <3
Chapter 6
Notes:
happy belated new year to all my amazing, wonderful, kind, patient readers. the hiatus for this fic was totally unplanned and i wish so badly i could've updated it sooner but alas, it wasn't meant to be. i can't express enough how much i appreciate the continued support this story got in my absence, though. 3.1k kudos is absolutely crazy - not to mention all the sweet comments wishing for my good health and never pressuring me to update. thank you all so much!!!
warnings for this chapter: implied and explicit references to CSA, grooming and noncon. as i have stated before, i will never write the act of CSA as it happens - but please be aware that considering this chapter deals with SY's first year under HXR's 'sponsorship', it does get pretty dark.
with that said, this chapter is part one of the finale of the first arc, which is so exciting even to type?! i didn't think i'd get this far tbh. please enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Thirteen Years Ago
A boy sits cross legged in the middle of a room.
Although on the floor, he’s surrounded by cushions so plush they’d put most beds to shame. The boy’s delicate robes of chiffon and charmeuse are similarly luxurious, and lie askew on his body; the motes of qi glittering about his person cast his bare collarbones into sharp relief. His chestnut brown hair is artfully dishevelled, and a few errant strands curl around his face and frame his round, pink cheeks. The boy’s button nose wrinkles for a moment when he feels the ends of his hair tickle his skin, but it does not take long for him to regain his composure and return to his meditative state.
‘Yulan’ is his name, and he is one of Hou Xianrong’s charges.
As a grateful recipient of the older man’s generosity for the last 20 years, it is perhaps time that Shen Yuan stops referring to him as a ‘boy’ in his head, though that’s certainly easier said than done when he doesn’t look a day over 15.
…It’s something Shen Yuan tries not to think about too much.
Allowing his mind to drift, Shen Yuan’s gaze slides from Yulan to the patterned screen behind him. He’s been kneeling opposite the boy for half a shichen now – something he has to do every week, as he plays the good, diligent student watching Yulan circulate his qi. Although this ‘bonding activity’ is forced, it’s pretty harmless overall, and it is for that reason alone that Shen Yuan swallows down his complaints, bored senseless though he is. How Hou Xianrong thinks simple observation will help him learn anything about cultivation is beyond Shen Yuan, but he’s no longer naive enough to think that it doesn’t serve the old man in some capacity. What that capacity is… well, Shen Yuan isn’t sure. But just because it isn’t obvious to him, doesn’t mean it does not exist.
Time drags on.
At some point, Shen Yuan has to ease himself onto the side of his ass, when the tension in his legs gets too uncomfortable to bear. Stifling a groan as his calves become enveloped in white noise, it’s with a sigh of relief that Shen Yuan notices Yulan has begun to dim… or, more specifically, the qi around the boy. Dissipating, it flickers into nonexistence one speck at a time, until nothing remains as the boy stretches his arms languidly above his head.
Then, as if Yulan’s calm and collected demeanour was spirited away with his disappearing qi, the boy turns to Shen Yuan – wide eyes and an even wider smile on his face as he picks up from an earlier conversation that never occurred, “So just do that for a few shichen a week, and your core will form in no time!”
“…Of course.” Shen Yuan replies.
Yulan says the same thing every time, and he seems genuinely surprised each week he returns to Shen Yuan no more a master of cultivation than before. Today, though, Shen Yuan’s reply must be more unconvincing than usual, because Yulan makes an effort to crawl over his velvet paradise so he can seat himself right in front of the younger boy. Deft fingers making quick work of the sash keeping Shen Yuan’s outer robes together, Shen Yuan flinches violently when he feels the warmth of the Yulan’s palm pressing against the space just below his belly button. “Your life, your qi, it all comes from here. Focus. Can you feel it?”
Forget his qi – with how thin his inner robes are, the only thing Shen Yuan can focus on is how horribly exposed he feels.
Putting up with the pressure for only a moment longer, Shen Yuan eventually hisses an uncomfortable, “Yulan!”
…It still feels strange to refer to someone much older than himself so casually, no matter what Yulan’s appearance is. But the other boy had made it a point to stress, the first time they met each other, that ‘Xiansheng? No, Yulan is Yulan!’ Shen Yuan had been too freaked out at the time to press the issue, and as the months passed, it became near impossible to bring up again.
When Yulan doesn’t move, Shen Yuan grabs his wrist and pushes it away; the other boy holds the offending hand to his chest and tilts his head in confusion. There’s no way he isn’t aware that he’s making Shen Yuan uncomfortable… is what Shen Yuan would think, had Yulan been anyone else. But – there's a shadow in the boy’s eyes, even when he’s smiling… something rotten and dead that makes the hairs on the back of Shen Yuan’s neck stand up. Yulan is broken somewhere fundamental, and Shen Yuan is certain that Hou Xianrong is the cause. After almost a year of being part of this household, Shen Yuan doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to sleep without nightmares hounding his dreams again. To imagine himself after two decades of Hou Xianrong’s ‘care’ is... Unthinkable.
“Are you playing coy?” Yulan giggles, interrupting Shen Yuan’s line of thought. “How cute! But, ah, not the time…”
Wiggling his fingers in an attempt to slip them back beneath Shen Yuan’s robes, his amusement is quick to fade when Shen Yuan keeps the boy at arm's length.
“Yuan-er…” Yulan sighs deeply, suddenly sounding a lot older. “If you don’t improve, Lord Hou will punish both of us, and you know I don’t like when he’s upset with me.”
Shen Yuan regards the other boy for a long moment. While Yulan talks little of himself during these sessions, his infatuation with Hou Xianrong is the one thing he shares freely. It’s off putting enough that Shen Yuan can’t say he cares for the other boy’s company – but considering he doesn’t have much choice in how he spends his time, it would probably serve him well not to get on Yulan’s bad side.
So – wetting his lips, and in spite of the voice in his head cursing his bleeding heart (sounding suspiciously like Shen Jiu), Shen Yuan reluctantly offers, “If I tell him it’s my fault…”
But that olive branch is quick to burn to ashes under the heat of Yulan’s glare. Though Shen Yuan is well acquainted with his mercurial temperament, he still can’t help but think the expression looks ugly on such an angelic face.
Sharply, Yulan says, “So you can keep all of his attention to yourself? Yuan-er… I dislike when Lord Hou is upset with me, but I hate when he ignores me. You wouldn’t make him ignore me, right?”
And there it is – that edge of madness in his voice and that makes Shen Yuan’s heart beat staccato. He finds himself stuttering as he answers, “N-No, of course not. I–”
A knock on the door saves Shen Yuan’s fumbling tongue, but as Shen Yuan hastily returns to a proper kneeling position, he is filled with a different kind of fear.
This person cannot be Hou Xianrong.
Other than the fact that the man would never bother with something as polite as knocking, he makes it a point not to bother Shen Yuan whenever he’s assigned to Yulan's tutelage… Something about wanting Shen Yuan to concentrate on absorbing his senior’s teachings, or whatever.
But if not him, then who?
The door creaks open, and Shen Yuan can only purse his lips and hold his breath as the click of heels against marble flooring echoes behind him. At the very least, Yulan looking rather unperturbed by their visitor is a good sign; were it really Hou Xianrong, the other boy would be beside himself with joy. The footsteps come to a halt, and Shen Yuan waits as the person behind him takes a moment to right their robes.
Then: “Young master.”
Shen Yuan recognises that voice, and he isn’t happy to hear it. Nevertheless, his shoulders relax a fraction as he is spared the weight of Yulan’s scrutiny when the other boy glances up at the intruding man with a frown.
“What is it, Li Wen?”
“Apologies for the interruption, young master.” The servant steps into view, hands folded neatly in front of him. “But Lord Hou will be leaving early today, and has an important matter to discuss with young Yuan beforehand.”
Like a stone sinking to the bottom of a pond, Shen Yuan’s stomach drops. “An important matter?” He blurts out, leaning forward until he’s almost on his hands and knees. “What important matter?”
Li Wen’s countenance remains unchanged in the face of Shen Yuan’s thinly veiled panic, and he can’t help but think that, sometimes, he might hate this man more than Hou Xianrong. Before the servant can answer, though, a pale hand darts out, and Shen Yuan flinches as he watches Yulan grip the servant’s pant leg with a strength that makes the boy’s knuckles go white.
“And what about me?” Like a storm on the horizon, inevitable and terrifying, Yulan’s voice is steady – but as he looks up at Li Wen, Shen Yuan can see a tumultuous desperation in his eyes. “Does Lord Hou have need of me?”
…It is perhaps a kindness that Li Wen remains unmoved. He sounds neither gentle nor harsh when he says, “Not today, young master.”
A kindness in Shen Yuan’s eyes, though not Yulan’s.
Shen Yuan watches as the other boy exhales shakily, hand coming up to cover his mouth. “Ah,” he says. “Ah.”
From there, it is no effort for Li Wen to extricate himself from the boy’s grip – not when Yulan seems to have deflated entirely. He’s mumbling something to himself, but the words are muffled by the meat of his palm, hushed and inaudible.
Li Wen pays him no mind in favour of offering a hand out for Shen Yuan. “It would be impolite to keep Lord Hou waiting, young Yuan.”
Shen Yuan opens his mouth, then closes it. Stares at that hand, gloved in soft white cotton – deceptively pristine.
He does not take it.
“What kind of important matter would concern me?” Shen Yuan repeats his question as he pushes himself up onto shaky legs.
The servant waits until he’s steady before replying. “I’m sure Lord Hou will be happy to answer any questions you have, in his office.”
It’s a not-so-indirect dismissal, but the dread that burgeons deep in Shen Yuan’s gut at having to go back to the lair of the devil outweighs any prickling irritation he feels toward the servant. The twisted irony of it all is that Shen Yuan used to love that room – it had represented safety, and fun, once… as did its owner. During the first few months of Shen Yuan’s sponsorship, Hou Xianrong had been kind and caring, and always listening attentively whenever Shen Yuan brought up any difficulties he was having with his studies. Some of Shen Yuan’s favourite moments were evenings spent in the man’s office, plied with tea and sweets as they went over his calligraphy mistakes together. One night, as he drifted off to sleep, Shen Yuan remembers wondering if this is what life could have been like with his real father, had he not been so sickly.
All good things must come to an end… But nothing could have prepared Shen Yuan for the fall out that occurred three months ago. That fateful night, the wool that had been placed so carefully over Shen Yuan’s eyes was plucked and cast aside. When Yulan began his visits not long after, it was with a dawning horror that Shen Yuan finally came to realise the reality of his new life.
At Li Wen’s pointed cough, Shen Yuan feels a cold sweat beading at the nape of his neck. He’s sure his face is drained of colour, but Li Wen is blind to all of this as he extends an arm towards the door with a polite, “After you.”
Biting the inside of his lip, Shen Yuan spares a glance towards Yulan. The other boy seems lost in his own head, gnawing on the skin of his thumb with a single minded focus that has Shen Yuan grimacing as he catches sight of raw flesh between pearly teeth.
When he and Li Wen leave the room, Yulan doesn’t react.
It’s only as the door is swinging shut, and only because Shen Yuan chances a look over his shoulder, that he has to suppress a startle as he finds the boy looking at him. Head ducked, hair curtains most of his face, but Shen Yuan can make out a smudge of blood staining Yulan’s lips red. He’s staring at Shen Yuan with eyes so glassy that Shen Yuan doesn’t think Yulan is even seeing him at all… but for a fleeting moment, Shen Yuan is sure that Yulan focuses on him and smiles.
The door closes with a soft click, and Shen Yuan is left to blink mutely at the latticework that hides the devastated boy within.
Li Wen does not check to see if Shen Yuan is following him before he sets off – knowing that the boy will come, eventually. The hallway that they traverse, like all the rest, seems to loom into infinity. Devoid of anything that may constitute a decoration, the entire manor feels completely unlived in – apt, for someone as vampiric to life itself as Hou Xianrong. Though this estate isn’t the man’s main residence, it is still far too big for the skeleton crew of servants that live here permanently. With every step, Shen Yuan finds himself lagging behind Li Wen; the farther ahead the servant gets, the harder it is for Shen Yuan to catch up. His body feels heavy – is as aware as his mind, it seems, of the destination that awaits them.
It’s fine, he thinks, attempting to soothe himself with logic. It’s midday, so he wouldn’t… he always waits until nighttime. And he’s leaving early. It’s fine.
That works long enough for Shen Yuan’s feet to get moving again – but falls apart like a house of cards the minute he turns the corner. The door at the end of this corridor is identical to the rest, save for the knocker that adorns its centre; shaped like a dragon, it spews golden fire in the shape of a perfect circle.
Hou Xianrong lies within, and he is waiting for Shen Yuan.
The realisation makes the boy’s knees knock together, and he pauses by a window, pressing his cheek to the cold glass as he tries to re-center himself.
He tries. He tries. He tries.
But.
Catching himself against a window, Shen Yuan shudders as the glass cools his feverish skin. He knows he needs to keep moving, but it’s as if his legs are stunlocked, refusing to listen to his mind no matter how desperately he begs them to. Shen Yuan’s limbs feel wooden, and heavy, and far too big for his body, and he thinks he might be going into shock. He read about it before, a lifetime ago. The knowledge does not help.
The hallway is dark, anomalously so; not even the moon at her zenith can pierce its inky blackness. It verges on unreality, and if Shen Yuan closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that he’s still in bed, and that this is all just a horrible nightmare. He can almost pretend that his robes aren’t torn half-open – that they weren’t draped over him so caustically, so callously, by hands that had just done such unspeakable things to him that he wonders at his sanity.
But no matter what he tells his mind, his body cannot lie.
Lower back spasming sharply, Shen Yuan is reminded that he is broken somewhere as he gasps in pain, legs nearly giving out from beneath him. Eyes pricking with tears, he looks down at his trembling hands and stares at the marks around his wrists in mute disbelief. The vivid memory of bony fingers churns his stomach, and Shen Yuan claps both hands over his mouth as bile threatens its way up his throat. He concentrates very, very hard. On not. Throwing. Up.
Vision blurring, Shen Yuan’s breath catches in his chest as a sob wracks his body.
How… did things end up like this? Shen Yuan had always been on his best behaviour around the manor, always working hard during his lessons. It was the least he owed to his generous benefactor – not to mention that every second Shen Yuan wasted was another second Shen Jiu was out there at the mercy of Qiu Jianluo. Perhaps he was too overeager a student, and forgot his place when bothering Hou Xianrong late into the night… but the older man had always humoured Shen Yuan’s pestering with a smile. If he minded, that was an odd way to show it. So then… Did Shen Yuan do something to make Hou Xianrong think he wanted this? Was this… his fault?
Shen Yuan’s brain threatens to explode as he tries to make sense of the nonsensical. In the end, though, only one thought stands out with any clarity: Jiu-ge was right.
It is as if time has frozen; Shen Yuan doesn’t know how long he remains huddled beneath this window pane, but the cold begins to numb his aching body, and he starts to shiver as he wraps tattered silk over goosepimpled skin.
There is a light in the distance.
Swaying gently, like a firefly drifting on a late summer’s breeze, it floats towards him. In his exhaustion, Shen Yuan believes that it is his guardian angel come to save him; he thinks he feels himself smiling at the thought. The light slows to a gentle halt a few paces away, and is carefully lowered down by the one who controls it.
Li Wen, with a blanket in his hand, approaches Shen Yuan silently. The sight of the servant, illuminated in the darkness, makes tears spill over his cheeks.
Reaching out to this beacon of hope, Shen Yuan pleads, “Help, please, I–” He coughs harshly, throat hoarse from hours of his screams and his cries. “H-Hou Xianrong, he–”
The servant kneels beside Shen Yuan and lays the blanket over his shoulders; his hand rests lightly atop Shen Yuan’s back, and Shen Yuan shudders viscerally at the kindest touch he has felt all night.
Li Wen doesn’t say anything as he lets Shen Yuan clean his face with the ends of the soft silk.
After a long moment, the servant says softly, “…Your bath is ready, young Yuan. Are you able to walk?”
“My… bath?” Shen Yuan’s cottonmouth struggles to form his own words as he sluggishly parses Li Wen’s.
His bath is ready? But… It’s the middle of the night – why would the servant have run him a bath out of the blue? It – it makes no sense. Unless. Unless…
“You… knew?” The question leaves Shen Yuan’s lips in a croak, and the ringing in his ears turns to deafening white noise as he sees Li Wen bow his head. The relief that had overwhelmed the boy becomes ash in his mouth at the apology and confirmation both, and Shen Yuan is going to be sick as he repeats in a strangled gasp, “You knew.”
Li Wen will not help him escape. In fact, the servant was probably sent to make sure Shen Yuan hadn’t done just that. What little hope – what little fight had begun to build in Shen Yuan’s chest – is snuffed out like a light at the realisation. Swaddled in cloth like a newborn babe, he has no strength to resist as Li Wen picks him up. The servant is careful not to put pressure on his lower back, and the consideration disgusts Shen Yuan.
He knew. He knew. He knew.
Staring unseeingly into the darkness, Shen Yuan is limp as he’s carried deeper into the manor. His guardian angel turned out to be a shepherd from hell, guiding the devil’s lost lamb back into his twisted embrace.
A hand rests on Shen Yuan’s shoulder.
In a moment of delirium, the past entwines with the present, and Shen Yuan feels a hot burst of anger course through his veins as he smacks at – at Li Wen, he realises (he must have dallied too long) – with a viciousness that translates to the snarl in his voice as he half-yells, “Don’t touch me!”
His skin stings at the hit, but it’s worth it for the way Li Wen immediately backs up. If Shen Yuan didn’t know better, he’d say he actually startled the servant, but the man’s poker face is second to none and he recovers too quickly to be sure.
Breathing heavily, Shen Yuan watches as Li Wen laces his fingers together – tactfully not commenting on Shen Yuan’s outburst. The servant merely inclines his head; he doesn’t say anything, nor does he try to hasten Shen Yuan along, but Shen Yuan knows he cannot delay this encounter forever. Heart thundering in his chest, Shen Yuan tries to shake off the sticky cobwebs of unwanted memories that cling to his skin. His steps are leaden as he brushes past Li Wen, and his hand trembles when he rests it against the dragon’s fiery breath. Glancing back, he makes sure to catch the servant’s eye. All of these things, he hopes Li Wen notices; he wants the guilt to eat at his soul.
Letting out a tremulous breath, Shen Yuan tries to imagine Shen Jiu’s voice as he recites a mantra of ‘it’ll be fine’s. Listening to his fictitious gege almost calms him down, and when Li Wen clears his throat, he thinks Jiu-ge would be proud of the way he glares daggers at the servant.
Squeezing his fingers around the cool metal, Shen Yuan allows his body heat to warm it for a moment before he pulls it back and strikes twice in rapid succession.
There is a weighted pause, before Hou Xianrong’s voice drifts from within the depths of his office: “Come in.”
The door feels especially heavy today. When Li Wen holds it open for him, Shen Yuan does not thank the servant as he slips inside.
The smell of ageing tomes and fresh ink welcomes Shen Yuan effusively, and he hates himself for almost, almost missing the scent. Hou Xianrong glances up at his arrival, and for the brief moment that their eyes meet, Shen Yuan feels like a butterfly pinned to a board. The man seems to be in the middle of something, though, and returns to the work on his desk without so much as a nod in Shen Yuan’s direction – not that he cares for the acknowledgement, but waiting is horrible; Shen Yuan had hoped to be in and out, ASAP.
Diverting his attention to the dreary mid-winter weather outside, fat cottony flakes of snow have only just begun to arc down from the sky when Hou Xianrong sets his quill to the side and turns to Shen Yuan. A seat has been placed opposite the man’s desk, and it’s obvious that’s where Shen Yuan is supposed to go – but now that he actually has the man’s attention, it’s as if his feet are glued to the floor, keeping him in place.
“Come now, Yuan,” Hou Xianrong says, smiling placidly. “Don’t be a stranger.”
It isn’t an invitation so much as a command.
Like a lamb to the slaughter, Shen Yuan closes the distance between them with reluctant, shuffling steps, until he woodenly perches on the edge of the chair – placing himself directly in Hou Xianrong’s line of sight.
“Much better.” The old man reclines in his seat, folding his hands over his stomach. “Now, tell me,” He begins, cutting straight to the chase, “How is your cultivation developing?”
It isn’t, is Shen Yuan’s immediate thought, but he knows he can’t say that.
Spending a moment pretending to consider the question, Shen Yuan settles on, “It isn’t… progressing as fast as it could be.”
His answer doesn’t seem to surprise Hou Xianrong, though the man still tuts in disappointment. “I suppose it wouldn’t be that easy… Not that I don’t have faith in dear Yulan’s talents, you understand, but he had a more… medicinal start to his cultivation.” As he says this, Hou Xianrong pulls out a small jar from within his robes. In his curiosity, Shen Yuan can’t help but try and get a better look; though the glass is tinted dark brown, Shen Yuan thinks he can see the outline of small, spherical objects held within.
Are those… pills? Shen Yuan thinks, before his mouth drops open in realisation. Yulan is a pill cultivator?
Tucking the pills away, Hou Xianrong sounds thoughtful as he says, “They worked well enough, but… Some side effects were unexpected.” Giving Shen Yuan what he assumes the old man thinks is a reassuring smile, Hou Xianrong continues. “I’ll be taking a more natural route with you.”
A more natural route? Doesn’t that just mean… cultivating like a normal person? I don’t think it gets more natural than that. Shen Yuan feels like he’s missing something here, though he’s relieved the old man isn’t going to make him take the cultivation world’s equivalent of snake oil.
It’s as Shen Yuan is pondering the meaning behind Hou Xianrong’s words that three knocks pull him out of his reverie. Struggling not to twist around in his seat at the noise, from the way Hou Xianrong lets out a quiet ‘ah’, it seems at least that the old man had been expecting this interruption.
“Lord Hou.” Li Wen’s voice carries through the door. “Your guests have arrived.”
“Wonderful, send them in.” Hou Xianrong doesn’t speak any louder, but it seems that the servant hears him regardless, because he makes a noise of affirmation before his footsteps fade into the distance.
Standing up, tension threads through Shen Yuan’s body as the old man rounds the desk and approaches his chair. “I actually have some people I’d like you to meet.”
Shen Yuan… isn’t sure he likes the sound of that. Wasn’t this meeting supposed to be brief?
“Who?” Shen Yuan can’t help but ask as he fidgets in his seat.
The older man just chuckles. “Patience, little one.”
Moving behind Shen Yuan, Hou Xianrong places his hands on the back of Shen Yuan’s chair – gripping it before he turns it 180 degrees so they now face the door. Making a startled noise at the sudden movement, Shen Yuan’s shoulders bunch up to his ears. Hou Xianrong doesn’t step back into the boy’s line of sight, and though he does nothing more than tap out an absent rhythm against the leather, Shen Yuan can’t help the way his paranoia swells. He doesn’t think the old man would… try anything now, not with guests on the way… but it’s with a bitterness that Shen Yuan reminds himself that he doesn’t know Hou Xianrong as well as he’d thought.
Trying to occupy his mind with senseless things, Shen Yuan turns his attention to one of the many bookshelves in the old man’s office. He ends up deciding to count the number of books each shelf has – and has just finished tallying the total of the second row of the fourth bookshelf when the door is unceremoniously pushed open.
Three men step in, and Shen Yuan eyes them warily as they form a loose line opposite him and Hou Xianrong. From the swords that hang at their sides, to the robes that drape their bodies, Shen Yuan can tell immediately that these people are cultivators. There aren’t any sects nearby, though, and with how they’re all dressed very differently, it’s probably safe to assume they’re rogues.
“Gentlemen,” Hou Xianrong begins, threading his fingers through Shen Yuan’s hair to ruffle his locks. “Meet your new disciple.”
Bewilderment at the statement overrides Shen Yuan’s desire to recoil at the unwanted touch, and he looks up at Hou Xianrong with wide eyes as the man continues, “Yuan, meet your new shizuns.”
…His new what?!
Mind reeling, Shen Yuan struggles to fathom this development. That these men are rogue cultivators isn’t enough for him to judge them by – but the fact that they’re acquaintances of Hou Xianrong certainly is. Moreover, Shen Yuan has never heard of a disciple having multiple shizuns before… not that he expects Hou Xianrong to do anything by the book, but there’s something fishy about this.
Sensing his glaring confusion, Hou Xianrong lets out a chuckle. “They’re going to help kickstart your cultivation, Yuan. Natural, remember?” The old man gives him a wink as he says that, like it’s a joke they’ve shared a thousand times. He continues, “Yulan will be able to handle the rest, after that.”
As if that clears anything up.
Before Shen Yuan can press him for details, the old man nods at one of the cultivators, the tallest of the bunch, who steps forward before kneeling in front of Shen Yuan. His hair is in a lazy topknot – an attempt at propriety that falls short – and reveals his gaunt, acne scarred face. The cultivator’s smile almost reminds Shen Yuan of Yue Qi, but unlike the older boy’s, it doesn’t reach his eyes at all. Patting Shen Yuan’s thigh, the cultivator grins, and Shen Yuan feels nauseous at the sight of teeth stained brown from tobacco.
Mistaking his flinch for nerves, the cultivator says, “Don’t worry, young master, you’re in good hands.”
The mocking in his tone undermines any reassurance his words may have given, but Shen Yuan doesn’t have enough time to feel affronted when the cultivator’s hand slides pointedly to his hip. Blanching, Shen Yuan tries to squirm out of his hold – only for Hou Xianrong to press down on his shoulders, trapping him in place.
“Tell me, Yuan.” The old man says from above, a smile in his voice. “What do you know about dual cultivation?”
The clip-clopping of the horse’s hooves is muted by the thick layer of snow that blankets the cobblestone streets. Shen Yuan doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to traveling by carriage, and he presses a hand over his stomach to quell the nausea that slowly starts to build as he’s jostled about within the cabin. It’s the only means to get to the Qiu estate, though, so he’ll put up with the discomfort the journey brings for the sake of the destination.
His contract wasn’t like this at first – visiting the Qiu estate, that is, rather than the other way around. Hou Xianrong used to allow Shen Yuan to remain where he was, only sending for him once a week for his lessons in the arts and etiquette. Without realising, though, that once became twice, became thrice became four times until Shen Yuan had found himself with his own room at the Hou estate – sitting in a bed so big he had never felt the loss of Shen Jiu’s warmth by his side more keenly.
The worst part of it all is that Shen Yuan had only agreed to Hou Xianrong’s sponsorship to become a source of strength for Shen Jiu; that was the singular condition he dared set before signing his life away. But what good is having power if he can’t exercise it? Oh, Shen Yuan is sure the Qiu’s say they’re treating Shen Jiu well, but he can’t trust their words, nor can he trust Hou Xianrong to ascertain their veracity. Shen Yuan has to see his gege for himself, or this – this will all have been pointless.
He sighs. Resting his head against the side of the cabin, Shen Yuan pokes at a gap where the curtain isn’t fastened down properly, trying not to let in too much frost-chilled air as he peers out at the streets that he once called home.
It’s a wonder we survived more than one winter, Shen Yuan thinks, watching the way the vendors brave enough to tout their wares in this weather stay huddled next to furnaces and open fires to keep warm. Street kids rarely enjoyed that luxury, and it wasn’t uncommon to find their numbers thinned by the time spring came around to free them from winter’s embrace.
Not taking his eyes off of the frozen scenery, Shen Yuan asks, to the other occupant in the carriage, “How much farther?”
Glasses perched on the tip of his nose, Li Wen does not look up from the book in his lap as he replies, “I should imagine we’ll be arriving soon.”
“Hmph,” is all Shen Yuan says, before letting the curtain fall back into place.
Stifling another sigh, he supposes he shouldn’t complain – should count himself lucky, even, that he was allowed to visit this week. For some reason, Hou Xianrong has begun to show a reluctance in allowing Shen Yuan to return to the Qiu estate… Though perhaps it would be more accurate to say that his distaste lies in the company he knows Shen Yuan will keep. Shen Jiu can’t possibly have done anything to offend the man – not for lack desire, certainly, but simply because Hou Xianrong hasn’t actually returned to the estate since Shen Yuan signed his contract – which means that Hou Xianrong’s cryptic comments about Shen Yuan distancing himself from his ‘past life’ feel odd, to say the least. For a blessing, he hasn’t acted on anything, but Shen Yuan worries that it’s only a matter of time. It’s definitely an issue to bring up with Shen Jiu, and sooner, rather than later – though as he glances at Li Wen, who innocuously continues to read, Shen Yuan acknowledges that that may be easier said than done.
While Hou Xianrong himself doesn’t accompany Shen Yuan on his ‘little playdates’, it’s clear what message he’s sending, when he has his most trusted servant go in his stead. It matters not whether he’s physically there, if the man willing to be his eyes and ears will have a report ready by the time they return. Lip curling up in annoyance, Shen Yuan doesn’t bother to hide the way he perks up when he feels the carriage start to slow. At the sound of multiple people hastening towards them – servants of the Qiu household, ready to attend their guests – Shen Yuan wiggles impatiently in his seat as his restlessness gives way to excitement.
The carriage door is opened, and Shen Yuan is momentarily stunned by the sudden gust of frigid air that invades the warm cabin. He adapts quickly enough, though, and the footman has just barely finished his greeting before Shen Yuan is pushing past him and leaping into the fresh, powdery snow with a satisfying crunch. The ex-stable hand in him urges Shen Yuan to stroke the carriage horse along its sweaty neck in gratitude for the journey, and he smiles softly when it whickers at him in return. Turning on his heel, Shen Yuan catches sight of Li Wen warily poking his head out of the carriage before he takes off running. The servant makes an aborted sound of protest at his sudden departure, but it’s not like Shen Yuan’s destination is a secret – if the servant really wants to find him, he’ll know where to go.
The sun has long since set, but the journey to the servant’s quarters is one Shen Yuan could make with his eyes closed. Pushing through the backdoor, Shen Yuan shakes off errant snowflakes that cling to his hair before trotting deeper into the manor. Passing by two maids he remembers working with before, there is a brief moment of awkwardness as they regard each other, unsure what to do. The maids settle on offering him a short bow before returning to their gossip, which Shen Yuan is glad for as he hastens past them to the men’s sleeping quarters.
His position with the Qius… is a tenuous one, to say the least. While Shen Yuan is still a slave, he belongs to Hou Xianrong now, and as distasteful as that feels, hierarchy dictates that the Quis must treat him with a modicum of respect. Shen Yuan has no idea what skeletons the family have hidden in their closet that require Hou Xianrong’s law expertise to keep under wraps, but he’s grateful for it in times like these – because when he doesn’t spy Shen Jiu among the few people idling in their pallets, it allows Shen Yuan to approach the nearest servant, who has no choice but to stop what he’s doing and listen.
“Excuse me,” Shen Yuan begins, because no matter what his new status is in this place, he still has manners, “Can you tell me where Shen Jiu is?”
Donning a food stained apron, it’s clear this man belongs to the cookstaff. Neither he nor Shen Jiu ever had business with those servants directly, so it’s unsurprising but nevertheless frustrating when the man just shrugs and says, “Don’t know no one called that.”
Making a show of measuring his own height, Shen Yuan presses on. “He’s about as tall as me, but a little older. His hair falls mid-way down his back, but it’s usually styled half up. He’s way too skinny, and, um – looks angry most of the time.”
There is no flash of recognition in the servant’s eyes, and he gives Shen Yuan a bored look as he says, “Fraid you just described ‘bout half the kids here. Ain’t none of em ever healthy, never mind happy.”
Ugh. If this man is trying to be difficult, he’s doing a wonderful job. “Well, he’s usually with the young mistress. She doesn’t have many servants who are companions, right?”
That seems to do the trick. At the mention of Qiu Haitang, the servant snaps his fingers and says, with a little laugh, “You mean Tang-er’s pet? You shoulda started with that!”
Tang-er’s… pet? Shen Yuan’s hackles rise immediately, and he can’t stop his lip from curling in disgust as he looks down at the man sitting before him. Shen Yuan supposes he’s lucky that the man is too busy scratching at his scraggly beard in thought to notice anything’s amiss.
“Heard he’s being punished right now though. I doubt they’ll letcha see him.”
That catches Shen Yuan off guard, and anger morphs into worry as he asks, rapidfire, “What do you mean, punished? What for? And by who? Where is he now??”
With every question, Shen Yuan leans a little more forward, until he’s nearly in the man’s face; frazzled, the man tries to create some space between them as he raises his hands placatingly.
“Slow down, kid. I don’t know none of the details, ‘cept that he’s being kept in the outhouse.”
“The outhouse?” Shen Yuan repeats, eyes widening.
“S’what I heard,” the servant replies, very much projecting don’t shoot the messenger.
Always damp and smelling of mildew and rot, the outhouse is an older building on the edge of the Qiu estate used to store a whole host of miscellaneous items – things that are usually in disrepair, but not so much so that they warrant disposal. Putting aside the fact that Shen Jiu could accidentally injure himself on something precarious, it’s the middle of winter, and Shen Yuan just knows that Qiu Jianluo wouldn’t have given the boy anything to keep warm.
Cursing under his breath, Shen Yuan sets off in a dead run – barely remembering to call out a harried ‘thanks!’ over his shoulder before he finds himself tearing through the snow for the second time that night. Unlike the clothes he used to wear, Shen Yuan’s current robes aren’t designed for any kind of extraneous activity, and after nearly tripping and face-planting into a patch of dangerously spiked frozen grass, hikes up the silk until it’s around his knees. It’s terribly improper, and fucking freezing to boot, but more than worth it for the way he can finally move unrestrained.
Finding the outhouse isn’t difficult; Shen Yuan had passed it once or twice during his time as a Qiu servant, but even if he hadn’t, he thinks he’d still be able to make an educated guess, considering how much it stands out – its design archaic, bordering on shabby, compared to the sleek luxury that comprises the buildings belonging to rest of the manor. Lungs burning from a mix of the cold and his impromptu sprint, Shen Yuan takes a moment to rest; slumping against a skeletal tree, he doubles over, hands on his thighs as his breath leaves his body in rapid bursts of white mist.
The shadow of the outhouse looms only a short distance away, so Shen Yuan decides he can walk the rest. Releasing his robes, he shoves his hands deep into his sleeves, hoping to leech some of his own body heat because he thinks he’s starting to lose feeling in his extremities. Guided by the moon’s dull glow, Shen Yuan glances up and watches its slow ascent into the night sky. Heavy clouds try to conceal its light, but for a brief moment, it bursts free and illuminates the land below in a show of beauty. Drawn to the way the untouched snow glitters like thousands upon thousands of diamonds, Shen Yuan almost misses how the moon also casts a spotlight on the outhouse – and the person already kneeling beside its entrance.
When he does notice, though, Shen Yuan blinks and rubs his eyes – wondering, perhaps, if he isn’t seeing things. The outhouse isn’t normally guarded, simply because there usually isn’t anything inside worth the added security. Plus, if anyone ever were stupid enough to try and rob the Qius, the outhouse would probably be the last place they’d go.
It’s impossible to move stealthily in this snow, but Shen Yuan tries his best as he approaches the stranger. The closer he gets, however, the more he realises that their body is much too small to be an adult – and their clothes, far too ragged to belong to any of the Qiu estate servants.
“They broke both of my legs, is that what you wanted to hear?!”
The exclamation, though spoken through a barrier of wood and stone, carries clearly through the silent, winter night. Shen Yuan feels his stomach drop as he recognises that voice – a small part of him having hoped that the cookstaff had been wrong in his information. Shen Yuan doesn’t dwell on his disappointment for long, because when the kneeling person responds, his eyebrows rise to his hairline as he realises that, yes, he recognises this voice too.
“It's all my fault. Xiao Jiu, I…”
Though he spent less time with this boy while on the streets, Shen Yuan is sure he wouldn’t mistake his voice for anyone else’s. It just seems too unbelievable that he would be here, though, so it is with a measure of hesitation that Shen Yuan calls out, “Qi-ge?”
The kneeling person freezes, before whipping their head towards Shen Yuan. In the moon’s gentle glow, Shen Yuan can make out the way Yue Qi’s fingertips are bright red from the cold where they stay pressed against the outhouse door. His lashes have also begun to crystallise, and the cause is made obvious when the tear tracks on Yue Qi’s cheeks glint in the cool light.
Despite all this, when the older boy’s eyes widen in recognition, the smile he sends Shen Yuan is warm; Shen Yuan suddenly feels a lump form in his throat when Yue Qi whispers quietly, “A-Yuan!”
There is a long moment of silence, and then a hurried knocking that comes from within the outhouse. “Did you just say A-Yuan? Qi-ge, is he here??”
Shen Jiu’s voice prompts Shen Yuan to hurry over the rest of the way. Dropping to his knees, the cold immediately seeps through his robes, but Shen Yuan ignores that in favour of pressing his palms against the door. A thick, iron chain bars any further action, and there has to be at least 5 heavy duty padlocks that adorn it. There’s no way whatever ‘crime’ Shen Jiu committed warrants treatment like this, and Shen Yuan can imagine the glee with which Qiu Jianluo must have locked each one – ensuring Shen Jiu heard every click, just to drill into the other boy the reality that he was trapped and could not escape.
“Jiu-ge! What happened?!” Shen Yuan digs his fingers into the wood, feeling splinters threatening to pierce the skin beneath his nails. A very delayed panic begins to set in as he finally processes what he just overheard. “They broke your legs? Was it Qiu Jianluo? He knows he can’t hurt you like that –”
“They didn’t,” Shen Jiu interrupts Shen Yuan before he can spiral any further. “…But I have been here for two days.”
Without actually seeing Shen Jiu, Shen Yuan has no way of knowing if his gege is telling the truth… but he sounds alright, considering the circumstances.
Leaning his forehead against the wood with a thump, Shen Yuan exhales shakily. “Why would you lie about that?” Balling his hand into a fist, he whacks it against the door. “You idiot gege!”
Making a noise that is neither an apology nor an admission of guilt, Shen Jiu changes the subject. “When did you get here, A-Yuan?”
Sniffling, Shen Yuan replies, “Just now. I was worried when I couldn’t find you in the sleeping quarters, only for some guy to tell me you were locked up here!” Shaking his head, Shen Yuan asks again, “Ge, you have to tell me honestly. What happened?”
A quiet sigh. Then: “Qiu Jianluo found me trying to ‘escape’. He told me that I’ve been getting full of myself, lately – that I’ve forgotten my place.” The sneer in Shen Jiu’s voice is audible. “And apparently this,” a dull thud sounds, followed by a clatter, and Shen Yuan just knows the other boy has kicked something over, “is it.”
“Oh,” Shen Yuan breathes.
He blinks.
He should – he should tell Shen Jiu to be careful, to not break anything let he get accused of vandalism too – but Shen Yuan’s mind won’t stop tripping over the word escape escape escape, and a question leaves his mouth before he realises it’s happening.
“And – were you? Trying to… escape, I mean.”
Shen Yuan decides to blame the cold for the way his voice breaks, just a bit. It’s silly, because there’s no way Shen Jiu would just leave… without… at least telling him. Right? After all they’ve been through, he feels ashamed for even asking, but he doesn’t take back the question. He can’t.
“…What?” Shen Jiu almost sounds lost – too incredulous to snark back like he usually would. He recovers a moment later, genuinely angry as he says, “Don’t you dare call me an idiot when you say stupid things like that, A-Yuan. Of course I wasn’t.”
There is a press of a body against his, and Shen Yuan turns his unfocused gaze onto Yue Qi as he feels the older boy carefully take his hand.
“It was my fault,” he begins, regret shadowing his eyes even as he tries to keep his smile. “Xiao Jiu missed our meet up for medical supplies and I… Well, I assumed the worst.”
“What he means to say is that he overreacted,” Shen Jiu cuts in. “If Qi-ge had waited one more day, I would have been able to find him – but he didn’t, and now we’re here.”
“Xiao Jiu is right, as always.” Yue Qi laughs without mirth. “I overreacted and snuck onto the estate. I thought if he was in trouble I could, I don’t know,” the eldest shrugs a shoulder, “help.”
Shen Jiu clicks his tongue, his words dripping with derision. “And how, exactly, would you have done that? If I were dead, they would have just buried your corpse next to mine. Then A-Yuan would be alone, and for what?”
Bowing his head, Yue Qi nods despite the fact that Shen Jiu can’t see him. He murmurs, eventually, “…Xiao Jiu is right, again. I couldn’t remember where the warped fence was, and they caught Xiao Jiu while he was taking me there.” The smile Yue Qi sends Shen Yuan is heavy with self-deprecation, and it’s clear that guilt is eating the eldest alive.
But. The relief Shen Yuan feels, knowing that Shen Jiu wasn’t trying to leave him, that his gege was worried about the possibility of the exact opposite… it overwhelms Shen Yuan; stupidly, he thinks he might cry.
Because the thing is, he hasn’t yet told the older boy of the extent of Hou Xianrong’s evils. It’s not that Shen Yuan means to keep secrets from his gege, especially ones of this scale, but the topic feels near impossible to bring up in casual conversation. It had taken Shen Jiu so long to forgive Shen Yuan for signing the contract in the first place, and Shen Yuan would rather not poke at a wound so recently healed… So he just. Doesn’t.
Shen Jiu is Shen Yuan’s solace, and now with only one day a week to spend with each other, Shen Yuan will be damned if he taints that time with the name of the devil. In spite of his silence, though, there is a part of Shen Yuan that thinks Shen Jiu already knows. He can’t confirm his suspicions without outing himself, but the nights that Shen Yuan wakes up screaming are increasing – and when they’re together, Shen Jiu is always there – enveloping Shen Yuan in hugs that would never see the light of day as he banishes the hands that haunt Shen Yuan’s skin. Shen Jiu doesn’t ever say a word, in those moments, but the fire that smoulders in his eyes is louder than any silence.
The fact of the matter is that Shen Yuan cannot do this without Shen Jiu; the mire that he has found himself in is only bearable because Shen Jiu is with him. If the other boy left, Shen Yuan would not survive – so even if the older boy doesn’t know exactly why Shen Yuan needs him so much, Shen Yuan thinks that Shen Jiu is aware of at least this much.
The feeling of Yue Qi shivering next to him clears Shen Yuan’s head. While there is a time for melancholy and catastrophizing, it is patently not now. Using the chain for support, Shen Yuan pulls himself up to his feet – holding on tight when he feels his frozen legs threaten to buckle; the sudden movement displaces Yue Qi, who has to grab at the door to avoid toppling over into the snow.
What a ridiculous pair we make, Shen Yuan thinks with faint amusement.
When the eldest rights himself, he looks up at Shen Yuan with curiosity writ large on his face.
Looking meaningfully at the outhouse, Shen Yuan says resolutely, “I’m going to get the keys; I’ll be back soon.”
“And they’ll… give them to you, just like that?” Yue Qi looks torn between confusion and skepticism.
“Not just that.” Shen Yuan narrows his eyes. “Qiu Jianluo said Jiu-ge has forgotten his place? Well, it’s about time that he remembered his.”
Bold words, perhaps – but for once, they are not empty. While Shen Yuan is powerless in many things, this sliver of authority is all his and he will wield it with an iron fist. Mind focused on his newfound mission, Shen Yuan is just about to leave when Yue Qi grabs the edge of his sleeve, giving him pause.
“Wait.”
Blinking in surprise, Shen Yuan watches as Yue Qi drops his hands into his lap.
“I need to tell you – both of you something.”
Bowing his head, Yue Qi’s hair falls into his face and casts his expression in shadow. When he looks up again, there is a distinct edge of resolve that sharpens his gaze as he glances between Shen Yuan and the outhouse.
“I’m leaving,” Yue Qi declares, hands balling into fists. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but today has just proven that – that I can’t do anything here. Not as I am.” He laughs bitterly. “Even A-Yuan has more power than me.”
Yue Qi looks so ashamed as he says this that Shen Yuan can’t find it in himself to feel insulted – especially since he knows the older boy doesn’t mean badly. Plus, Yue Qi’s feelings are understandable. Despite his best intentions, he always seems to find a way to involve Shen Jiu in one mess or another. Although it’s already been two years, the fact is that it was ultimately Yue Qi’s actions that led Shen Jiu to become trapped under Qiu Jianluo’s thumb. The knowledge must weigh the eldest down like cinder blocks.
In the end, however, it’s not Shen Yuan who Yue Qi has to convince.
“You’re leaving?! Where to??” Shen Jiu’s voice is devoid of any hostility or sarcasm. In fact, he sounds the clearest he has all night, and Shen Yuan imagines that the other boy has pressed his face against the inside of the door, as if he could force himself through it with the strength of his will alone.
“I heard news of a mountain of immortals to the east. They recruit new disciples every year, but even if they don’t accept me, there are plenty of other cultivation sects around. Surely I can prove myself to one of them…” Yue Qi bites his lip before slapping his cheeks. The noise of skin impacting skin is loud, but it goes to show just how cold the eldest is, that his cheeks don’t flush any redder.
“I’ll get strong, and then I’ll come back for you.” He makes sure to look at Shen Yuan as well, a promise in his eyes. “Both of you. I swear it.”
Shen Yuan gives Yue Qi a reassuring smile, but the one he gets in return is thin. It’s clear he’s waiting for Shen Jiu’s reaction, and when the boy speaks, Shen Yuan can’t help but wince.
“Clearly you’ve made up your mind,” Shen Jiu says, voice devoid of emotion, “so hurry up and go.”
Face falling, devastated doesn’t begin to cover the way Yue Qi sounds when he says, “Xiao Jiu–”
“Go!” The shout is sharp and loud, and Yue Qi recoils like he’s been struck. A handful of heartbeats pass, before Shen Jiu continues in a voice so soft that Shen Yuan isn’t sure the boy wants even to be heard. “Become a fancy cultivator and get us out of here, Qi-ge.”
Yue Qi’s eyes widen; leaning forward, he presses his palms against the outhouse door as he vows, “I will.”
“And be careful!” In the next instant, Shen Jiu returns to his normal, abrasive self. “If I find out I have to bury your bones, I’ll bring you back to life so I can kill you myself.”
The threat puts a silly smile on Yue Qi’s face, and Shen Yuan can’t help but wonder if the boy isn’t a bit of a masochist. Still, he’s happy for him. That the eldest found his own path of resolve is good, but Shen Yuan imagines that it would have been much more difficult to stick to, had the person who inspired Yue Qi’s desire for change disapproved of it.
Turning away, Shen Yuan tries to give them some privacy to say their goodbyes. However, as the minutes tick by, Shen Yuan becomes increasingly aware of Li Wen’s presence – or lack thereof. It wouldn’t surprise him if the man had made it to the servant’s quarters by now, which means that it’s only a matter of time before he braves the night’s chill to come looking for Shen Yuan.
Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Shen Yuan begins to fret. Yue Qi being discovered here would be a disaster, because while Shen Yuan has the authority to help Shen Jiu, as a trespasser Yue Qi would be fair game. The gods only know what Qiu Jianluo would do to him should he catch wind of the fact that the eldest is important to Shen Jiu – not to mention the fact that ending up in Li Wen’s report would make Hou Xianrong aware of his existence too. It’s a lose-lose situation no matter how Shen Yuan looks at it.
“Qi-ge,” Shen Yuan blurts out, turning around to face the older boy. “I’m sorry, but you have to go. I’m pretty sure someone is going to come looking for me, and I can’t do anything if you get caught.”
Mouth dropping into a surprised ‘o’, Yue Qi’s expression turns serious as he nods. Slowly getting to his feet, Shen Yuan prepares himself to grab the eldest should he fall – but he only wobbles for a moment before drawing himself to his full height.
“I’ll be back,” Yue Qi repeats, like a broken record.
“I know,” Shen Yuan replies without hesitation.
His confidence seems to take Yue Qi aback, and the soft smile he gets in return is worth the small twinge of guilt Shen Yuan feels over the fact that his certainty doesn’t stem entirely from his belief in the current Yue Qi’s abilities. It’s just – of course Yue Qi returns… because how else will Shen Jiu get to Cang Qiong? It makes sense! Not that Shen Yuan could ever explain this to either boy.
Yue Qi reaches for Shen Yuan, and Shen Yuan protests half-heartedly as the eldest gently ruffles his hair – truly, a big brother to the bone. Taking a step back, Shen Yuan watches as Yue Qi sends one last meaningful look to the outhouse before he slinks off into the night; Shen Yuan waits until his silhouette has melted into the shadows before turning to the outhouse himself.
Crouching down next to the door, Shen Yuan leans his weight against it as he hugs his knees. He says, carefully, “He’s gone, Jiu-ge.”
The sound of shuffling, and then a dull thud. Shen Yuan waits for the other boy to speak, but it becomes clear he won’t when one moment stretches into another and silence still resounds.
Shen Yuan tries again. “Gege.”
This time, he is rewarded with a sigh. “What?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’ve been stuck in this dump for days, A-Yuan – would you be okay?”
That’s a no, then, Shen Yuan thinks sadly.
A long pause.
“He’ll come back, ge.”
“…I know. Shut up. Just – get me out of here, A-Yuan. I’m tired.”
Shen Yuan bites his tongue. He wishes so badly that he could see Shen Jiu’s face and catch his expression… but at the same time, doesn’t think he needs to when he’s never heard the older boy sound so deflated before.
…Maybe letting him have a moment of privacy right now is for the best.
Tugging on one of the padlocks, it clunks loudly when Shen Yuan releases it, the frozen metal burning his fingertips. “Just… hold on, okay? I’ll be back before you know it.”
Straining his ears for a response, Shen Yuan stifles a sigh when he gets nothing. He takes off for the manor after that, running towards the soft glow of lantern light spilling from narrow arched windows.
First, get gege out of the outhouse, Shen Yuan thinks, breathlessly. Everything else… It can all wait until after that.
Qiu Jianluo is reclining in bed, book in hand, when Shen Yuan enters his room. This late into the evening, it’s clear the young master hadn’t been expecting guests, because his hair is freed from its crown, and the robes he dons are loose and thick, meant for sleep. He looks like a fish out of water with the way his mouth opens and closes in shock at the sight of Shen Yuan standing in his personal quarters, unrepentant. To his credit, he recovers quickly, though Shen Yuan almost wishes he could bask in the teen’s idiocy for a moment longer.
Qiu Jianluo blusters. “How dare you come–”
But Shen Yuan really doesn’t have time for his theatrics – not when Jiu-ge is still stuck in that outhouse, and the young master is surrounded by the softest silks, ready for bed.
Holding out a demanding hand, Shen Yuan nips the beginning of Qiu Jianluo’s tirade in the bud with a blunt, “The keys to the outhouse – give them to me.”
Face turning red with indignation, Qiu Jianluo tosses his book aside before he slides out of bed. Walking over to Shen Yuan, the young master draws himself to his full height – which, considering he’s 6 years older, makes him significantly taller – as he says with a sneer, “And why would I do that? Your gege committed a crime, Shen Yuan. Oh, I didn’t lay my hands on him, but that doesn’t mean he’s free from punishment.”
The self-satisfied smirk the young master wears is telling – he probably thinks himself very intimidating. Less than a year ago, Shen Yuan may very well have been cowed, but unfortunately for this budding villain, Hou Xianrong has already shown him what real evil looks like. Now, even feigning an interest in his words proves difficult, as Shen Yuan meets Qiu Jianluo’s gaze with eyes half lidded.
Raising a brow, he says, “Jiu-ge was still on the estate grounds when you found him. Do you have any proof that he was really planning on leaving?”
With his posturing proving ineffective, Qiu Jianluo scowls. He retorts, “I don’t need proof, I just know!”
“But Shen Jiu said he wasn’t, and I believe him. That makes it our word versus yours, right?” Tilting his head, Shen Yuan taps his cheek. He embodies the very picture of innocence as he continues, “You see, I came all this way to visit gege, and finding him locked up unjustly was really upsetting. I don’t want to have to bother Lord Hou about this, but, well…”
The threat hangs heavy in the air, and Shen Yuan makes no effort to hide the way he smiles as the young master’s face goes from red to purple as he struggles to control his expression. Nevermind that Hou Xianrong would just raise an eyebrow if Shen Yuan came to him with complaints about today – that’s a detail Qiu Jianluo doesn’t need to know.
While the teen is still off-kilter, Shen Yuan decides to hammer down the final nail in the coffin of this snivelling noble.
“The young mistress would also find it hard to believe that her best friend would try to escape… Unless the young master has finally decided to come clean about Jiu-ge’s treatment at his hands all these years? I’m sure she’d understand his reasons for leaving, then.”
The flash of fear that crosses the young master’s expression is gone as quickly as it came – in its place, a desperate focus, as the teen goes through countless calculations in his head, an endless spiral of mental gymnastics to come up with a way where he ends up on top at the end of this exchange.
He will soon realise that there is none.
“You…” The young master sounds aggrieved, but there’s the thinnest thread of curiosity in his voice as he asks, “Were you always like this?”
“Who knows,” Shen Yuan shrugs a shoulder. Stepping forward, so that he is the one now encroaching on Qiu Jianluo’s space, Shen Yuan says pointedly, “More importantly, the keys, young master. I don’t have all night.”
A muscle in Qiu Jianluo’s jaw ticks at being brushed off again, and if Shen Yuan listens closely, he’s sure he’d be able to hear the creaking of his teeth.
Eventually, the teen mutters, “…They’re on my desk.”
Turning on his heel, Shen Yuan approaches the table, which is rife with loose papers and random paraphernalia. A glint of metal from beneath the tangle of a fully unrolled scroll catches Shen Yuan’s eye; fishing it out, Shen Yuan is rewarded with the sound of a chain of keys clinking against one another. In the dim candlelight, Shen Yuan makes sure to check that all five are present before he thrusts the whole lot into his sleeve. Glancing around the room, Shen Yuan spies a thick outer robe splayed over the length of a divan. The image of Shen Jiu half frozen has him impulsively folding it over his arm.
An incredulous scoff sounds, before Qiu Jianluo is making his way towards Shen Yuan, and a hand comes down heavily on his shoulder as the teen says, “You’ve lost your mind if you think I’m letting you take that.”
Shen Yuan narrows his eyes. “So are you going to explain to the young mistress how Jiu-ge got sick, or shall I?”
The grip on his shoulder tightens. “You are pushing it, Shen Yuan.”
Shirking off the young master’s touch, Shen Yuan says, coolly, “Then that makes two of us, Qiu Jianluo.”
The room seems to shrink for a moment, space distorting as the young master stares at Shen Yuan with rage barely controlled. This must be the first time anyone has treated him like this, Shen Yuan thinks, though he’s entirely unsympathetic to the fact. It’s precisely because a young Qiu Jianluo was coddled upon a throne that did not belong to him that the teen before Shen Yuan has ended up as twisted as he has.
However – furious though he may be, it seems that Qiu Jianluo is not a complete imbecile. When Shen Yuan makes to leave, the teen rocks on his heels and his fingers twitch by his sides, but does not stop him.
With one hand on the door handle, Shen Yuan glances over his shoulder. He smiles genially. “Pass on Lord Hou’s regards to your father, would you?”
The last thing that Shen Yuan sees before the door clicks shut is Qiu Jianluo’s expression of dumb disbelief, and it is with no small amount of satisfaction that Shen Yuan hears the muted thud that follows – the reality of the situation leaving the young master with nothing but his impotent anger and a room full of fragile, breakable things.
Trotting down the stairs, Shen Yuan has just made it to the main hall when a voice calls out from his right.
“There you are.”
Unfortunately, it’s about the only voice he would recognise in this place, so Shen Yuan has no excuse not to wait for Li Wen as the servant makes his way over. He looks less put together than Shen Yuan remembers him being in the carriage – a few hairs out of place as his glasses fog with a condensation that lets Shen Yuan know the man has just returned from the outdoors.
Though slightly out of breath, the note of disapproval in his voice is plain to hear as he says, “You weren’t in the servant’s quarters, young Yuan.”
Crossing his arms, Shen Yuan retorts, “Well, neither was Shen Jiu.” Making a show of taking the collection of keys out of his sleeve, Shen Yuan waves them around. “I’m on my way to get him now.”
The expression on Li Wen’s face turns dubious, and Shen Yuan huffs because this is such a waste of time. “Go talk to the young master if you think I’m lying, Li Wen,” he mutters, brushing past the man. “Otherwise–”
“Your room has been prepared,” the servant interrupts, returning to neutrality as he pushes his glasses higher up his nose.
Shen Yuan raises an eyebrow, expecting Li Wen to carry on. When he doesn’t, Shen Yuan asks, “…Is that all?”
“That is all.” The confirmation is cemented by the way Li Wen turns and makes his way up the stairs, presumably to his own room in the guest wing of the manor.
Shen Yuan’s room would be up there too, if he didn’t insist that he bunk with Shen Jiu every time he visits. After a round of clutching pearls and whispers of impropriety, the Quis had compromised by allowing both boys the use of a renovated room in the servant’s quarters normally meant for the head maid or butler. Shen Yuan supposes anyone else of his alleged ‘status’ would feel offended, but Shen Yuan spent years sleeping in alleyways – as long as the room has a bed – a proper one, big enough for two people to sleep comfortably – then he really couldn’t care less.
These nobles and their politics, Shen Yuan thinks, tiredly.
It’s almost a relief to be back in the cold and away from other people – though he can’t say he’s going to enjoy having to trudge through the snow again. Still, he doesn’t dawdle overlong; while he had intended to give Shen Jiu some time to compose himself, he hadn’t meant to leave the older boy alone with his thoughts for this long – all too familiar with how easy it is for your worst enemy to become yourself.
The keys in Shen Yuan’s sleeve jangle as he sets off at a brisk walk, not having the energy to run anymore as he makes a beeline for the outhouse. His trail of footsteps from earlier are nearly invisible now – filled with a layer of fresh snow, they look like nothing more than little dips in the ground. The sight makes Shen Yuan feel a rush of anger, because in a world where he didn’t visit today, it’s possible that the young master really would have left Shen Jiu out in the cold for the third day in a row. Though it may not have killed the older boy, hardy street rat that he is, Shen Yuan doesn’t doubt that it would’ve made him sick – something the older boy would have undoubtedly hidden from Shen Yuan until it was possibly too late.
Hmph. Maybe I will pay Qiu Haitang a visit after all, Shen Yuan thinks bitterly; having his precious little sister turn on the bastard is the least Qiu Jianluo deserves for all his crimes.
Shaking his head, Shen Yuan marches on.
His journey this time is a lot faster now that he knows exactly where to go, and the knot he hadn’t realised constricted his chest loosens a bit as the outhouse comes into view.
“Jiu-ge!” Shen Yuan calls out, stumbling through the snow as he forces his exhausted body into a barely-there jog. “Jiu-ge, I’m back!”
Worried that the older boy still won’t reply, it’s a relief when Shen Jiu mutters, “Took you long enough.”
“Sorry! I wasn’t expecting… Ah, it doesn’t matter.” Fumbling for the keys, Shen Yuan begins the arduous task of testing each key with each lock – feeling his annoyance rise every time it’s a mismatch. In his haste, the keys slip through his fingers and fall into the snow, and Shen Yuan curses as he falls to his knees to pick them up.
“Calm down,” Shen Jiu says. He doesn’t sound like himself – not entirely – but Shen Yuan is pretty sure he can hear a scathing amusement in the older boy’s voice when he continues, “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
“You’re not funny,” Shen Yuan mutters, but he takes a deep breath, and – now that he can focus on keeping his fingers steady, fiddling each padlock open is a little easier than before. With one thunk after another, the padlocks fall to the ground, and soon there is only the thick iron chain keeping Shen Jiu from freedom. With a grunt of effort, Shen Yuan pulls at it, tugging and tugging until it finally rattles free and coils up like a metal snake hidden in the snow.
Wiping his hands off on his robes, Shen Yuan carefully pushes on the door of the outhouse. Its interior is cast in darkness, but before his eyes can adjust to the lack of light, he feels something grab his ankle. Logically, Shen Yuan knows that it’s Shen Jiu, but he can’t help the way he squeals in fear as he trips over his feet and falls onto his ass. Pain shoots up his tailbone like lightning, and when he hears the older boy huff a laugh, manages to squint his eyes open in a teary glare. When Shen Jiu comes into focus, however, Shen Yuan quickly forgets about the pain for a moment as his heart breaks.
With a torn rug covering his legs, Shen Jiu is resting against the leg of an old table. His eyebags are pronounced – looking like little purple bruises – and Shen Yuan knows that the older boy must not have slept much, if at all, while in here.
When Shen Yuan doesn’t say anything, a frown graces the older boy’s face, and he leans forward to pinch Shen Yuan’s cheek with icicle-like fingers as he reprimands, “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Shen Yuan asks, playing dumb. From the way Shen Jiu looks at him, he can tell the older boy doesn’t believe his act for a minute. Well, whatever. With a quiet hiss, Shen Yuan pushes himself to his feet – taking a moment to rub his sore backside before holding a hand out to Shen Jiu.
“Come on, ge,” Shen Yuan says, trying to lighten the mood. “Our room is ready.”
“Hm.” Shen Jiu makes a vague sound of acknowledgement, but to Shen Yuan’s relief, does not hesitate to take his hand. Pulling the older boy up nearly sends them both toppling over; Shen Jiu is like a newborn deer on his feet, and Shen Yuan allows himself to be used as a crutch as he waits for the older boy to find his balance.
The soft weight of Qiu Jianluo’s robe makes its presence known when, one step out of the outhouse, and Shen Jiu is shuddering at the frigid air.
Pressing the warm fabric to his gege’s chest, Shen Yuan says, “Wear this.”
Slowly unfolding the robe, Shen Jiu eyes it with suspicion when its ends brush the ground. “Isn’t this a little big for you?”
Ugh. Shen Yuan had hoped the older boy wouldn’t notice.
Reluctantly, he admits, “It’s not mine, exactly.”
It’s amazing how much Shen Jiu can convey without words, when one pointed eyebrow raise tells Shen Yuan exactly what he’s asking.
“…It’s Qiu Jianluo’s.”
In an instant, Shen Jiu releases the offending robe as if it has just burned him. Shen Yuan makes a squawk of protest as he picks it up, hastily brushing off any snow that clings to the fabric, lest it melt and render it useless.
“Why are you like this, ge?!”
The look Shen Jiu gives him is devastating, and there is a snarl in his voice as he spits, “I would rather die than use anything that belongs to that bastard.”
Cheeks puffing in frustration, Shen Yuan thrusts the robe back at Shen Jiu. “You’re freezing. Just put it on and be satisfied with the fact he’s probably seething in his room at the thought of you wearing it.”
That gets Shen Jiu to pause, and the older boy clicks his tongue; unfolding the robe once more, he stares at it long and hard. Though he treats it like it’s no better than the dirt under his shoe, to Shen Yuan’s relief, the boy eventually wraps it around his shoulders. The sigh Shen Jiu releases at the immediate warmth has to be involuntary, and Shen Yuan’s lips quirk up at the sound; facing away, he tamps down his smile before the older boy notices and does something stupid like take off the robe out of spite.
Once Shen Yuan is sure the older boy is sufficiently covered, he grasps Shen Jiu’s hand and begins to lead the older boy back to the manor. They don’t talk while they walk, and while the silence isn’t uncomfortable, with so much left unsaid, Shen Yuan can’t help but feel antsy. Eventually, he decides that, while there are many things that can be saved for later, there is one thing that Shen Jiu needs to hear right now.
“Jiu-ge?”
“Mn.”
Shen Yuan exhales softly. “I’m still here.”
The words slow the older boy down – but he doesn’t stop moving, so Shen Yuan keeps his eyes ahead of him as he continues, “I know Qi-ge is Qi-ge, but… I’m still here. And even if I could, I wouldn’t go anywhere without you.”
That’s dangerously close to the confession of a truth Shen Yuan isn’t ready to share, yet – but he wants Shen Jiu to know, to hear it from his own lips, that Shen Yuan is fine with his lot in life so long as the older boy is around.
The quiet crunch of snow is the only thing that can be heard for a handful of moments. Shen Yuan had predicted this silence, though, because frankly, he’d be surprised if the older boy returned to himself any earlier than tomorrow morning. As long as Shen Yuan has said what he needed to say, then it doesn’t bother him if Shen Jiu replies.
And the older boy doesn’t. At least, not verbally.
But – when Shen Jiu twists his hand in Shen Yuan’s grip so that they can lace their fingers together, Shen Yuan knows he has his answer. Giving the older boy a hesitant squeeze, Shen Yuan smiles softly when he feels it returned.
Though the silence persists, it is much more companionable after that.
Present Day
To say Baihe-jiejie was angry when she finally arrived at the Emperor suite would be putting it… lightly; incandescent would probably be more accurate.
Shen Yuan – robes bloody and face swollen from crying – had ended up having to body block the older woman, lest she get thrown in jail for assaulting a Cang Qiong cultivator, or be punished by the Madame for risking the profits of one of the Warm Red Pavilion’s highest paying customers. It took Shen Yuan nearly fainting from the stress of the situation for Baihe-jiejie to halt her attempt at rearranging Shen Qingqiu’s face in favour of easing Shen Yuan down carefully to the floor before draping her outer robes over him to hide him from the older man’s view. That it had left her in her translucent inner robes in the presence of someone she (now) hated was of no concern to her, so long as Shen Yuan was safe.
I need to get her something from the markets again, Shen Yuan decides fondly, remembering how his heart had swelled twice its size at her complete lack of hesitation.
Putting the thought aside for now, Shen Yuan pops another piece of candied winter melon into his mouth as he returns his attention to the scroll Xu Shan had delivered to him earlier today.
Upon seeing the Hou family seal, Shen Yuan’s blood had turned cold as he became filled with a horrible certainty that he – they – had been caught. But when Shen Yuan had mustered up the courage to peel off the wax with trembling fingers, he found the contents of the letter to be utterly unremarkable. Rereading the elegantly penned characters, Shen Yuan tries once again to identify a hidden meaning in the brief message and falls short. If there is a threatening double entendre tucked in amongst the query after his health and his plans for the day, Shen Yuan cannot find it. It’s been nearly three weeks since his identity was discovered by Shen Qingqiu, and Hou Xianrong has yet to make an appearance at the brothel since. It isn’t entirely implausible that the man is staying away because Shen Yuan is, or rather, was, sick; he had extended such basic courtesies in the past, after all – though notably never for this length of time.
Baihe-jiejie’s report probably helped with that, Shen Yuan thinks, with another burst of gratitude.
As the unofficial head of the flower garden, Baihe-jiejie had agreed to corroborate Shen Yuan and Shen Qingqiu’s story – that is, that Shen Yuan had a minor qi deviation while serving another, unrelated cultivator client. Eventually discovered by the older woman, she had, upon considering Shen Qingqiu’s position as Peak Lord, called him for assistance.
It was a decent cover up story for something thought up on the spot, though getting the older woman on Shen Qingqiu’s side wasn’t easy. Baihe-jiejie had been convinced that the cultivator had done something nefarious to Shen Yuan in the time that she had been getting ready, and convincing her that no, Shen Yuan hadn’t been brainwashed, hexed or cursed, was impossible without telling her the truth.
Shen Qingqiu had been reluctant to do so at first. However, after Shen Yuan had impressed upon him just how much he trusted the woman, and pointed out that the alternative was her going to the Madame to report the state in which she had found Shen Yuan, in the arms of Shen Qingqiu no less – a detail that would invariably reach the ears of Hou Xianrong – the older man had no choice but to relent.
Before hearing them out, Baihe-jiejie oozed skepticism. Shen Yuan could hardly blame her, though, when in her eyes, the didi she cared for so dearly no longer wanted to avoid the man he had been hiding from so dedicatedly, for seemingly no reason. However, after a long chat with the comfort of freshly brewed tea in hand, the woman had eventually come to accept the reality of their tale. It’s thanks to her that Shen Yuan has managed to see Shen Qingqiu twice more since that night – the other flowers also proving to be of great help, though their involvement was certainly much less planned for.
No secrets between family, I guess, Shen Yuan thinks helplessly. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little nervous at the number of people who now know the truth, though. It’s not that he doesn’t trust the older women with his life, but sometimes, it feels like these walls have ears…
With a sigh, Shen Yuan decides that one more attempt at decoding the letter couldn’t hurt. It’s just as he begins to scan the first paragraph again that a finger prods at the space between his eyebrows.
“If you think any harder, smoke is going to start pouring out of your ears!”
Going cross-eyed to look up at the offender, he makes a squawk of protest when Mudan-jiejie uses his lapse in concentration to pluck the scroll from between his fingers before tossing it to the floor.
“I was reading that!” Shen Yuan cries.
“You’ve read it, A-Yulan!” Mudan-jiejie counters. Hooking her leg over her knee, she raises an eyebrow. “Did you want to memorise it as well?”
Jutting his lower lip out, Shen Yuan doesn’t deign to answer her. When the woman holds out her hand, Shen Yuan sighs and allows her to take his own. Lately, she’s been obsessed with trying to create her own cosmetics, and while Shen Yuan isn’t sure what this mixture of beeswax and crushed rose petals is supposed to do, he can’t deny that it feels pretty good on his fingers.
“Have you picked out your robes?” Mudan-jiejie asks, tongue sticking out slightly as she concentrates on pressing the wax over Shen Yuan’s cuticles.
Shen Yuan tilts his head. “…No?”
“What?!” Mudan-jiejie looks scandalised as she glances up from her work. Setting her wooden spatula down, she grasps Shen Yuan’s un-waxed hand and holds it tight. “Listen to me, A-Yulan. Men of Shen Qingqiu’s calibre are rare. You can’t squander him, or some other floozy will snatch him right up!”
“What, like you?” Shen Yuan mutters, and then groans in pain when the older woman, fast as lightning, smacks him upside the head.
Petulantly, Shen Yuan protests. “I’ve told you – all of you – it’s not like that!”
Because this – this is the development Shen Yuan hadn’t anticipated. He’s eternally grateful for his jiejies support, truly, but for some reason, they’ve gotten it into their heads that Shen Yuan and Shen Qingqiu are star crossed lovers, or something equally ridiculous. It’s why Shen Yuan had been ambushed on his way out of the baths, because on the days where Shen Qingqiu is planned to visit, his jiejies deem it their duty to help him get ready – not even considering the possibility that Shen Yuan might not attend him.
Well, ‘help’ is pretty subjective, Shen Yuan thinks with a wince, as Mudan-jiejie begins peeling off the wax with a gusto that leaves his skin pink and raw.
The rattle of the bead curtain announces the presence of a third person, and a lilting voice, albeit slightly out of breath, calls out, “I-I found it!”
Glancing over his shoulder, Shen Yuan sees the way Lanhua-jiejie holds up the vial of hair oil that she had been scouring her room for for the last two incense time. She looks so proud of herself that Shen Yuan can’t help but laugh, finding it as difficult as he always does to wrap his head around the fact that she is the second eldest.
Brushing her hair out of her face, Lanhua-jiejie makes her way towards the divan; Shen Yuan takes a moment to appreciate how the fine gossamer skirt of her robes accentuates the way she seems to float when she walks. Certainly a woman worthy of the title of Lanhua’s refined beauty, Shen Yuan thinks that her airheadedness just accentuates her charm. Settling comfortably behind Shen Yuan, a quiet clink precedes the delicate scent of water lily wafting into the air as Lanhua-jiejie removes the stopper from the vial and sets it atop the coffee table.
“Can you believe this man, jiejie?” Mudan-jiejie starts, apropos of nothing. Waxy wooden spatula in hand, she points it in Shen Yuan’s direction as she says, “Lord Shen is visiting tonight, and he still hasn’t planned his outfit!”
Lanhua-jiejie hums thoughtfully as she begins to run the oil through the tips of Shen Yuan’s hair. “Maybe Yulan knows Lord Shen will like him no matter what he’s wearing?” She giggles, a melodic thing. “How romantic!”
The sigh that leaves Shen Yuan is one born from the very depths of his soul. “Lanhua-jiejie…”
“Well, what do you expect us to think?” Wrapping a damp towel around Shen Yuan’s hand, Mudan-jiejie gives him a pointed look. “You tell us that you two are childhood friends, that you were everything to each other. Then you say you became a slave for his sake, and now he’s swearing vengeance for yours!”
“Separated by tragedy, reunited by fate,” Lanhua-jiejie sings, “Oh, I could write a song about this!”
“Please don’t,” Shen Yuan interjects quickly – but the woman has already begun stringing together a melody, something slow and sweet that Shen Yuan will not admit sounds beautiful, lest he encourage her.
Pursing his lips, Shen Yuan wonders if it’s time he finally clarifies things. He hadn’t bothered to at first, because he knows his jiejies are only having fun – not to mention the fact that it’s hard for Shen Yuan to describe what Shen Qingqiu – Shen Jiu – is to him. ‘Friend’ isn’t intimate enough, and ‘brother’ just doesn’t feel right. ‘Family’ is probably the closest of the three, but… His jiejies are his family, too. Can Shen Yuan put them and Shen Qingqiu in the same category? For some reason, it’s difficult to imagine.
Settling on what he has always known to be true, Shen Yuan says, with a helpless shrug, “Jiu-ge is Jiu-ge. I don’t know what else to say.”
Mudan-jiejie raises an eyebrow, and looks over Shen Yuan’s head at the woman behind him.
Lanhua-jiejie’s fingers are tangled in Shen Yuan’s hair, so he can’t turn to see her expression, but he thinks she sounds wistful when she says, “Jiu-ge, hm? How sweet.” Brushing back Shen Yuan’s hair, she tucks a lock behind his ear – there’s a smile in her voice as she continues, “I’d love to meet my own Jiu-ge some day.”
“Hear hear,” Mudan-jiejie murmurs in agreement.
Shen Yuan isn’t… sure how to respond to that… So he doesn’t. He figures it doesn’t matter – the women were probably just teasing him again, anyway. Closing his eyes, it’s easy to slip into a meditative state as Lanhua-jiejie continues to oil his hair. Mudan-jiejie’s ministrations are less careful, but there’s something satisfying about the sound of the wax cracking off of his fingertips. It feels like it’s been an age since he was pampered like this, and though Shen Yuan has other things to attend to, finds himself relaxing as Lanhua-jiejie’s manicured nails scratch over a sensitive part of his scalp. A part of him feels guilty that this treatment is the result of a lie – he and Jiu-ge aren’t really lovers, after all… but, well. As he finds himself creeping closer and closer to the precipice of what promises to be an incredibly good nap, he sleepily decides that he’ll let the women continue to believe in what they want, just for a little longer.
The sound of ceramics quietly rattling follows Shen Yuan as Xu Shan trots behind him, dutifully carrying a tea set to the Emperor suite to help set up before Shen Qingqiu arrives. Though Shen Yuan doesn’t imagine he’ll actually use it, he had made sure to bring along his erhu, just in case. The jiejies have made it clear that they’re willing to cover for Shen Yuan should he wish to spend the entire evening with Shen Qingqiu – and as much as he’d like to take them up on that offer, it’s just too risky. Instead, Shen Yuan has compromised with serving the older man tea while the woman assigned to him readies herself; if she should take longer than strictly necessary, Shen Yuan certainly won’t complain.
Stepping into the room, he directs Xu Shan and the tea set to the table with a nod of his head. “Just set it down there, Xiao Shan. I’ll handle the rest.”
“Of course, xiansheng.”
As the young boy begins carefully arranging the china, Shen Yuan kneels beside him and starts going through the motions of tuning his erhu. As hardworking as he may be, Shen Yuan still huffs in fond exasperation when Xu Shan insists on helping the older man with the rest of his preparations – refusing to listen to Shen Yuan’s reassurances that he’s fine, now, really – as he burns the incense and brings up teacakes from the kitchens. The lighting of the lanterns, however, he leaves up to Shen Yuan, if only because he’s just not tall enough to reach them yet.
When the boy is done with his tasks, there’s a light sheen of sweat upon his brow. Making a mental note to gift him another one of his more luxurious hairpins, Shen Yuan gives Xu Shan a reassuring smile when the boy hesitates by the door and fidgets with his sash.
“Is something the matter?” He asks, gently.
Xu Shan is an open book – a fact Shen Yuan does not think the boy is aware of, when he startles at the question and meets Shen Yuan’s eyes with a hint of guilt.
“Sorry, Yulan-xiansheng. I just…” Tugging at his sleeve, Xu Shan says, “xiansheng is happier these days?”
Shen Yuan isn’t sure whether the boy is trying to ask or tell him, and he laughs, saying, “I suppose I am.”
Though truthfully, Shen Yuan hadn’t realised he’d been acting any differently. With Xu Shan being the closest he’ll ever have to a personal servant, though, it makes sense that the boy would notice any changes in his demeanour.
“Is–” Xu Shan hastens on before Shen Yuan can say anything more, “Is it because of Shen Qingqiu?”
It takes a long moment for Shen Yuan to parse what Xu Shan has said, and when he does, it’s with a blank look of surprise that he regards the servant boy. Xu Shan is respectful to the point of social awkwardness; after years of needling, Shen Yuan has had to accept the fact that he’ll be stuck hearing ‘Yulan-xiansheng’ until the day he dies. That Xu Shan would call a Peak Lord by his name is so unthinkable that Shen Yuan actually wonders if he simply misheard.
But he knows he didn’t.
Surprise turns to worry, and a little seed of unease sprouts deep in Shen Yuan’s gut as he says, “Xu Shan… You–”
The door to the Emperor suite is thrown open.
Biting his tongue, Shen Yuan watches as Shen Qingqiu sweeps into the room, robes fluttering lightly behind him as he scans the suite. The older man’s eyes soften briefly for the moment they linger over him, before returning to steel as he turns his attention to the servant boy. Xu Shan has pressed himself flat against the wall, hoping not to be seen; when he feels Shen Qingqiu’s gaze on him, he cowers.
“I don’t recall requesting the presence of a rat,” Shen Qingqiu begins, conversationally. “But tell me, since you’re already here,” Pulling out his fan, Shen Qingqiu uses it to tilt Xu Shan’s head up so that he’s forced to make eye contact. “What, exactly, is it that I did?”
The following moments are like watching a car crash in slow motion. Under the weight of Shen Qingqiu’s complete scrutiny, Xu Shan has clammed up – lips forming words, though none actually leave his mouth. Every second that he doesn’t answer makes Shen Qingqiu’s expression that much sterner – which, in turn, terrifies the servant boy.
Shen Yuan can only stand by for so long before he has to intervene.
Getting up, Shen Yuan sets his erhu aside as he hurries towards the two. He doesn’t slip between them, but his hand hovers just barely over his gege’s fan as he says, a plea in his voice, “Begging forgiveness on behalf of this servant, Lord Shen.”
Glancing at Shen Yuan, Shen Qingqiu turns his nose up and says nothing.
…There are limits to stubbornness, Jiu-ge, Shen Yuan thinks, eye twitching.
Pushing Xu Shan towards the door, Shen Yuan takes the full brunt of Shen Qingqiu’s glare in his place. At 26, Shen Yuan isn’t sure how effective his puppy dog face is, but it probably helps that he doesn’t need to hide behind a veil anymore as he says, with a put upon saccharine-sweet pout, “This one promises Xu Shan will be punished later… But surely Lord Shen doesn’t intend on wasting his visit with such trifling matters, hm? Let’s forget about him for now.”
Pursing his lips, Shen Qingqiu scowls at Xu Shan one last time before eventually waving his hand in dismissal. There is gratitude and guilt in the servant boy’s eyes as he bows at the Peak Lord and Shen Yuan both before bolting out of the suite. When the doors swing shut, Shen Qingqiu is quick to retrieve a few talismans from within his sleeve before sending them flying to each of the four walls of the room with a burst of qi.
Despite living in this world of cultivation, the path that his life went down has meant that Shen Yuan hasn’t actually had the chance to see anything, well… Cool. It’s because of this that he’s sure his eyes are twinkling as he drops the simpering flower act in favour of asking, “What were those?”
“Privacy talismans,” Shen Qingqiu replies – then, upon noticing Shen Yuan’s expression, snorts. “Don’t look so impressed. Has A-Yuan already forgotten that I’m a Peak Lord?
At Shen Qingqiu’s teasing, Shen Yuan crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. “Oh yes, a very respectable and kind Peak Lord, who is apparently in the business of bullying my cute servant.”
That gets Shen Qingqiu to quirk an eyebrow. He says, with a scoff, “Your cute servant? Hm. That would explain his lack of manners, then.”
Smacking Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder, Shen Yuan tries to look irritated. He’s missed this banter too much to really commit to it, though. “Did you come here just to annoy me, or would you like some tea?”
“No tea,” Shen Qingqiu refuses.
There is a question on the tip of Shen Yuan’s tongue – because that doesn’t sound right – before it dissipates when he feels the older man take his hand and lead him to the bed. Perching on the edge, Shen Qingqiu pulls Shen Yuan to do the same when he hesitates.
“Have you been practicing the exercises I gave you?” The older man asks, pressing two fingers to the inside of Shen Yuan’s wrist.
The cool trickle of qi beginning to circulate through Shen Yuan’s meridians makes him sigh. “I’ve tried, ge, but I don’t think they’re working.”
Shen Qingqiu’s brows furrow, and Shen Yuan winces when he feels the intruding qi turn pointed – searching for his core. Ripping his hand out of the older man’s grasp, Shen Yuan holds his wrist to his chest. “Jiu-ge, enough.”
Upon seeing Shen Yuan’s discomfort, Shen Qingqiu’s expression turns apologetic.
“It wouldn’t be that easy, I suppose.” The older man mutters; he shakes his head. “You need to see Mu-shidi. I can’t do much else without his guidance.”
A bitter frustration drips from Shen Qingqiu’s words, but Shen Yuan can’t focus on anything except the mention of another Peak Lord. It makes this whole… escape plan feel like more than just a daydreamed fancy, and the thought turns Shen Yuan’s stomach. From the very moment he opened his eyes in this world, Shen Yuan has had to come to terms with the fact that his life was not his own. It was a fact he accepted, and something that even brought him a twisted sense of comfort, when bad and terrible things happened to him that he could do nothing about.
But now… Now Shen Qingqiu is offering Shen Yuan his first chance at life on his own terms – if only he takes the leap. He feels stupid that it scares him so.
“A-Yuan. A-Yuan, look at me.”
Warmth cups his cheeks, and Shen Yuan feels his mouth pucker when Shen Qingqiu squeezes his face – but he isn’t doing it to tease. There is concern in the older man’s gaze, and his face is much closer than it was before; it feels like Shen Qingqiu is trying to see into his soul. Slumping forward, Shen Yuan rests his forehead against the older man’s and closes his eyes.
“…A-Yuan.”
“Mn.”
Shen Qingqiu sighs softly. “It won’t be like last time; I’ll repeat myself as many times as I have to until you trust me.”
A lock of the older man’s hair must fall over his shoulder, because Shen Yuan is suddenly enveloped by the gentle scent of bamboo and tea; he inhales it quietly, this smell of safety.
“I do trust you,” Shen Yuan argues eventually, though his voice sounds weak to his own ears. “It’s just… the fear is louder, sometimes.
Which is all Shen Yuan’s reticence comes down to, in the end. He feels like a child on the cusp of waking from a nightmare long drawn – but if there’s a possibility he returns to that darkness, no matter how small… then is it really a good idea to wake at all?
Feeling his chest constrict, Shen Yuan pulls away from the older man. The sudden loss of closeness leaves him feeling bereft, but Shen Yuan doesn’t have it in him to rehash this conversation. The petulant, desperate part of Shen Yuan wants to pretend that this moment, right now, is enough – that he’d be satisfied with life, so long as Jiu-ge continues his visits in secrecy. But even as he has the thought, he feels it ring untrue. In Shen Yuan’s mind's eye, there is a metronome; it oscillates rapidly between salvation and damnation. There will come a day where the pendulum slows, and Shen Yuan must live with the side fate has chosen. Salvation or damnation. There can be no middle ground…
Keeping his eyes fixed on the floor, Shen Yuan asks, tiredly, “Can we talk about this next time?”
“Yuan…” Shen Qingqiu murmurs, “There won’t be a next time.”
Head whipping up to look at the older man, Shen Yuan’s heart feels like it’s made a home in his throat. “What?”
“The arrangements I proposed to… the sect leader were approved.” Shen Qingqiu’s tongue trips over the title, though he recovers quickly. Lip curling up into the suggestion of a sneer, he tacks on, “Not that there was any chance they wouldn’t have been.”
Shen Yuan refrains from commenting – reminding himself that he isn’t technically supposed to know who that is yet.
Instead, he presses, “Arrangements?”
Shen Qingqiu scans his face. His eyes – ever jadeite – soften to something verdant green. The older man’s voice is gentle, yet brooks no argument as he announces the beginning of the end.
“Next week, when I visit, you will return to Qing Jing with me.”
The next few days pass in a blur.
That night, Shen Yuan had left the Emperor suite in a stupor. He remembers that he had bumped into his jiejies on the way out, and his barely there apology had set the womens’ brows to frowning. They’ve been worried about him ever since, he knows… But as much as he has told them the truth thus far, this is something he must keep to himself.
After I… escape, Shen Yuan thinks – his mind still faltering over the word. He tries again, a little more confidently. After I escape, and everything has settled down… I’ll come back and apologise.
It’s a paltry comfort, though, because the idea of disappearing without a trace sits ill with his soul, and he knows that of all the women, Baihe-jiejie – with whom he is the closest – will be beside herself. He doesn’t doubt that she’ll assume the absolute worst, and leaving her with that uncertainty for who knows how long is the last thing he wants to do. A silly idea comes to mind, but the more he considers it, the more he thinks it might just work – that is, were he to leave a present for each of the flowers the day before his departure, that they would know that he was alive – and more importantly, that his disappearance was by choice. Someone who was kidnapped wouldn’t have had time to go shopping, right? That’s the logic he’s using, anyway…
It’s with that in mind that Shen Yuan heads down to the guard shack – trying to be covert as he peers between wide pillars at the men milling about the courtyard. His cover is almost blown by Xu Shan, who, after spotting him, trots over to his hiding place; shooing the servant boy away with a wink, Xu Shan glances hesitantly between Shen Yuan and the guards before eventually picking up the basin of water he’d been carrying and going on his way.
A bored looking man fiddling with a deck of cards seems to be the most likely to agree to Shen Yuan’s demand… but he still actually has to convince the guy. In the end, it is the small pouch of gold dropped at the guard’s feet that sways him – eyes coming to life at the sight as he looks at the spilled coins like one might their lover.
An unfortunate expense, Shen Yuan thinks, considering he essentially had to pay the man for the honour of doing his job, but alas. Shen Yuan has already prepared himself to part with most of his money, today. He made sure to set aside a humble amount for when he arrives at Qing Jing – not willing to be known as a complete parasite by the residents of the peak when he imagines he’ll already be stealing much of Shen Qingqiu’s free time.
But that’s a worry for much later. Right now, all Shen Yuan wants to do is focus on finding the best of the best for his jiejies.
One of the few good things about the Warm Red Pavilion is that it’s only a stone’s throw away from the centre of town, so it’s not long before Shen Yuan is perusing his first jewellery stall. Flexing his fingers in an attempt to loosen his stiff leather gloves, Shen Yuan picks up an opal pendant that has caught his eye. Like a miniature, polychromatic cloud, he can already imagine it sitting in the hollow of Lanhua-jiejie’s neck – suiting the woman’s airy but elegant vibe. When he makes the mistake of mentioning this out loud, the stall owner agrees with unbridled enthusiasm, and Shen Yuan smiles through about half of his monologue of ‘a special price, just for you, xiansheng!’ before interrupting the man as he hands over an obscene sum of money – picking up an extravagant hairpin adorned with pearls for Baihe-jiejie, and a lapis lazuli bracelet as dark as the midnight sea for Meigui-jiejie for his troubles. The stall owner is beside himself with gratitude, but only receives a short nod from Shen Yuan who is already on the move because he has an itinerary today, and he intends to keep to it.
“You just got fleeced, xiansheng.” The guard says. Following a few paces behind Shen Yuan he glances back at the stall Shen Yuan just patronised. “Want me to get your money back?”
The gleam in his eye at the mention of coin is probably brighter than the gold itself, and Shen Yuan wonders wryly just how philanthropic this offer of assistance is.
“No need.” Shen Yuan waves him off. “Good wares are always worth their price.”
The guard looks doubtful, and Shen Yuan imagines that he appears very much like a sheltered beauty with no knowledge of how the real world works – or someone with more money than sense. Well, it doesn’t matter, either way.
Handing over the jewellery to the guard, Shen Yuan says, “Be sure not to damage the tissue paper. They’re gifts.”
The guard dutifully takes the small packages, and he’s careful enough that Shen Yuan is content to leave him be as he weaves between the people bustling on the street. With three of the flowers down, Shen Yuan only has Mudan-jiejie and Yuanwei-jiejie left to shop for. He’s pretty sure the former would be happy with some new supplies to make more of her own cosmetics, and the latter had mentioned her annoyance at the lack of stimulating reading material in the brothel (something Shen Yuan agrees with wholeheartedly) – which means he’ll have to seek out an apothecary and a bookshop – not necessarily in that order.
Shen Yuan thinks he’s just caught a glimpse of a sign for a perfumery, when something far more prominent grabs his attention; entirely out of place, considering the weather, is a stall for fans.
Shen Yuan purses his lips.
He – there’s no point in gifting Shen Qingqiu a fan of all things, when it’s doubtful that anything being sold here is nicer than the ones already in his possession. Shen Yuan is being loose with his money today, but that doesn’t mean he has to be stupid with it too… Even so, Shen Yuan can’t stop his feet as they carry him towards the stall, and, well – since he’s already here, a little look couldn’t hurt, could it?
The vendor welcomes him over, but aside from a perfunctory nod, Shen Yuan barely pays her any mind. Biting the inside of his cheek, he runs a hand over the fans spread open on display; most of them bear designs of majestic landscapes, which are a classic, though the mountainscapes are perhaps a tad over done. There are fans adorned with prowling tigers and drifting koi, which are beautiful, except for the fact that Shen Yuan actually doesn’t know what Shen Qingqiu’s favourite animal is. Sighing, Shen Yuan takes a step back; he knew this was a bad idea.
The vendor seems to disagree heartily, though, because upon sensing his mood change, pulls out another box of fans from somewhere behind her as she says, with an edge of desperation that undermines the aloofness her sales pitch requires, “I’m not supposed to sell these here, xiansheng, but you seem to have quite the discerning eye.” Plucking a few fans out, she spreads them open, revealing a veritable bouquet of flowers painted delicately on ivory silk. “Now, these were done by artisans from the south, so they’re a little more pricey… but I like you, xiansheng. I’m sure we can strike a deal.”
Holding back a snort, Shen Yuan raises an eyebrow at the woman. What honeyed words these are, from someone who looks like she’d cry if he left. Deciding to take pity on her, Shen Yuan makes a show of looking over this new collection.
They really are pretty, Shen Yuan muses, as he traces the veiny petals of a spider lily. It appears that the vendor hadn’t been lying when she’d purported their higher than normal quality; Shen Yuan doesn’t claim to have an eye for things like this, no matter how much the woman had tried to flatter him, but it’s not difficult to imagine fans of this calibre already in Shen Qingqiu’s collection. It’s just a shame that none of them really call out to Shen Yuan, because if he wanted to gift the older man a fan, he thinks these would be his golden ticket.
And then his breath catches in his throat.
Tucked behind a glorious display of roses and lotus flowers, a lone magnolia hides. Its wide, cotton-white petals bloom as Shen Yuan spreads the fan open with careful fingers, and he stares at it in silence for a long, long time. The vendor watches his reaction with bated breath, and he doesn’t say a word as he pulls out his rapidly lightening money pouch. Dumping a handful of gold on the table, a few coins skitter to the floor in his haste. The vendor is effusive with her gratitude for his patronage, but Shen Yuan does not respond – tucking his most recent purchase into his sleeve as he walks away.
When Shen Yuan leaves the Warm Red Pavilion, he will no longer be Yulan.
With the old flower pruned, a new one will inevitably bloom, and when that happens, it will be as if his past never existed. But it isn’t that simple – not for Shen Yuan. Much as he may wish otherwise, he can’t just pretend that these years have not shaped him irreparably. The burden is bearable with his jiejies, who he knows share his fate, but when he leaves the brothel, what then? Pressing the back of his hand to his cheek, Shen Yuan takes a steadying breath. He’ll lose the support of his jiejies, yes… but that doesn’t mean he’s going to be alone, does it? Closing his eyes, Shen Yuan imagines Shen Qingqiu’s fingers curling protectively around the magnolia fan and feels relief. Without a doubt, he knows that as long as the older man is by his side, the weight of Shen Yuan’s past will be a burden shared.
A drop of liquid ice splashes against Shen Yuan’s forehead, interrupting his thoughts – joined by another, and then another, and another still; skin breaking out in gooseflesh, Shen Yuan looks up at the sky. Dark clouds, heavy with the tears of the gods, split in two, and the market crowd flows like a riptide as people hasten to find shelter where they can. Swept up in its flow, Shen Yuan finds himself deposited under the boughs of a tea house, and he wrings out his waterlogged hair in disbelief because he had only been in the rain for a minute!
Attempting to wait out the impromptu rainstorm, when Shen Yuan begins shivering and it still doesn’t look like it’s going to let up any time soon, he decides he may as well continue his vigil inside with a nice cup of oolong for company. Entering the building, Shen Yuan’s face tingles as the heat from the roaring fireplace warms his skin. The tea house staff must be pleased with this turn of the weather – or more accurately, its owner – because waiters are running to and fro, looking harried as they take orders from their sudden influx of customers. There’s a small table by the window still open, so Shen Yuan hurries toward it, letting out a sigh of relief as he sinks down.
Shen Yuan rubs a hand over his stomach. He didn’t take breakfast in his haste to get to the markets, and it’s only now that he’s realising just how hungry he is; tacking on an order of osmanthus cake with his pot of tea, Shen Yuan relaxes in his seat as he watches the rain patter down. The murmur of conversation makes for nice background noise, and by the time Shen Yuan’s order arrives, he’s all but melted into his chair.
He dines in comfortable silence, and by the time Shen Yuan is taking his last sip of the sweet, floral tea, his stomach has been thoroughly warmed and sated. It’s unfortunate that the rains still haven’t ceased, but much as he would like to, Shen Yuan can’t wait here forever. At the very least, it’s lightened just up enough that Shen Yuan can probably run to the nearest shop selling umbrellas without ending up too sick afterwards. With how busy the tea house staff still remain, Shen Yuan leaves a couple coins on the table before he pushes himself to his feet. Patting himself down, Shen Yuan makes sure the magnolia fan is still safely tucked away before he braces himself once more for the wet and the cold.
Exiting the tea house with a satisfied sigh, Shen Yuan blinks in surprise at what awaits him outside.
Courtesy of the abysmal weather, one could be forgiven for thinking that it’s later than it actually is – but since Shen Yuan knows otherwise, he also knows that it’s far too early for Xu Shan to have finished his work at the brothel for the day. The only reason Shen Yuan can fathom that the boy is here, right now, is because the Madame found out about Shen Yuan’s shopping trip and sent Xu Shan to fetch him. But while the old woman is overly strict, she isn’t typically cruel; Shen Yuan is no fan of hers, but he doesn’t think she would send the servant boy out in the rain with no umbrella. Truthfully, Shen Yuan isn’t sure why Xu Shan didn’t just take cover somewhere nearby, because while he’s diligent to a fault, he isn’t without common sense.
He must be soaked to the bone, Shen Yuan thinks worriedly.
Approaching the boy, Shen Yuan feels his surprise compound when Xu Shan startles violently – looking up at Shen Yuan like he’s shocked to see him.
“Xiao Shan,” Shen Yuan begins, pitching his voice soft and low so as not to scare him. “What are you doing here?”
“Y-Yulan-xiansheng,” the boy begins, in a stutter. “I was – I was sent to find you.”
Resignation settles over Shen Yuan as his suspicions are confirmed, though he tries not to let it show; it’s not Xu Shan’s fault he’s been caught.
“How long ago did she send you?”
It’s a foolish hope to have, but maybe, just maybe, Shen Yuan can squeeze in his last two purchases on the way back… He doesn’t think he’ll be let out again, before everything… goes down.
“She?” Xu Shan repeats.
“Yes?” Shen Yuan tilts his head. “The Madame.”
Understanding washes over Xu Shan’s face, before unease takes its place. “Xiansheng…” The boy avoids Shen Yuan’s gaze. “It w-wasn’t the Madame who bade me find you.”
Giving Xu Shan a funny look, Shen Yuan says, “What do you mean it wasn’t the Madame? Who else would…”
In an instant, the words die in Shen Yuan’s throat. They turn to dust, washed away by the pelting rain.
No. No, no, no–
He must say something out loud, because Xu Shan just – breaks.
“I’m sorry!” The boy lurches forward, frozen hands grasping at Shen Yuan’s soaked robes. His eyes are wide, and he might have started crying. Then again, it could just be the rain. “Yulan-xiansheng, I’m sorry. I had no choice. My siblings – xiansheng knows how many I have, and – my s-sister is sick. He, he–” The servant boy’s voice breaks, and Shen Yuan feels his body move on its own as he rests a limp hand atop Xu Shan’s head. The touch, meant for comfort, makes the young boy fold in on himself, burying his face into Shen Yuan’s sash as his shoulders shake. “He said would pay for her medicine. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Shen Yuan isn’t sure how long they stand there in the rain. It could be hours, it could be seconds. The people that pass them by are as ghosts – figures distorted by the deluge, they haunt this street in their intangible forms. Xu Shan’s sobs turn squeaky, and Shen Yuan’s heart squeezes in his chest, but he still cannot bring himself to speak.
The rain suddenly ceases.
…But that’s not quite right.
The rain above Shen Yuan ceases, and he blinks away the water in his eyes as he glances up at the underside of the umbrella now covering him.
“You came,” he croaks.
“Always,” Hou Xianrong promises.
Shen Yuan does not need to look at the old man to know he’s smiling – he must appear like the cat that got the cream, or perhaps something more sinister. It doesn’t matter, either way.
At the sound of Hou Xianrong’s voice, Xu Shan flinches. This does not go unnoticed by the old man, and his voice is deceptively soft as he murmurs, “Now, now. You did well, little one – no need to cry.”
Stepping into view, Shen Yuan is forced to take in his countenance; robes as black as charcoal, and completely dry to boot, not a single hair is out of place as Hou Xianrong reaches towards Xu Shan. Perhaps he wants to pet the boy’s head, perhaps cup his cheek – neither option is acceptable to Shen Yuan, who, for the first time since leaving the tea house, comes to life as he violently smacks Hou Xianrong’s hand away.
He feels like a ball of energy, an incorporeal being of nerve endings alight with adrenaline. Shen Yuan’s voice does not sound like it comes from his body when he hisses, “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Hand hovering mid-air, Shen Yuan feels no satisfaction over the fact that, for the first time ever, Hou Xianrong looks shocked. He recovers quickly, and there is something like ecstasy reflected in his eyes but Shen Yuan just bares his teeth at the promise of punishment there because he doesn’t fucking care.
“What did you do to Xu Shan?”
It’s over for Shen Yuan now, he knows; if he doesn’t get his answers right here, he fears he never will.
Hou Xianrong’s eyes crinkle. The older man is aware he has Shen Yuan exactly where he wants him, and it’s likely that fact alone that allows his reply to come so easily. “You heard the boy, did you not? I paid for his sick sister’s medicine – nothing more, nothing less.”
“I don’t believe you,” Shen Yuan says, bluntly. He slides the hand that had been resting on Xu Shan’s head down to the boy’s narrow shoulders, hugging him closer to his waist as he attempts to angle himself between him and this demon in human flesh.
“Oh?” Hou Xianrong raises a brow. “You seem to have forgotten, dear Yulan, just how easily young boys can be bought. Family is such an interesting concept, don’t you think? I’d hate to be burdened by it, but it has its uses.”
The whimper Xu Shan lets out is near inaudible, but Shen Yuan hears it and it makes his blood boil. It’s all too easy to see himself in the boy – frightened and willing to do anything for the sake of the ones they love. It is for both their sakes that Shen Yuan spits, through gritted teeth, “You are going to leave him alone. You are never going to touch him, or I swear to all the gods I will make you regret it.”
“And how will you do that?” Hou Xianrong asks, bemused. “My sweet, foolish Yulan – you have no power over me.”
“Maybe not…” Shen Yuan narrows his eyes; he draws strength from the magnolia fan hidden in his sleeve. “But he does.”
The unspoken name rings loudly in the space between them, and the lackadaisical smile on Hou Xianrong’s face goes taut.
A hand finds Shen Yuan’s bicep, squeezing hard enough that he has to swallow down a sound of pain.
The old man says, half growling, “How fascinating that you worry about others, when your biggest concern right now should be yourself.”
But of all the emotions Shen Yuan is feeling right now, fear isn’t one of them. His veins are flooded with the adrenaline of the freefall, and he wonders if this is how icarus felt – knowing that the ground is rushing to meet him, but that it is not there yet.
“You will leave Xu Shan alone.” Shen Yuan repeats his demand, eyes locked with Hou Xianrong. “Or else.”
“You will come with me,” Hou Xianrong counter-demands, “and I will spare your pet and his siblings.” Voice dropping, Hou Xianrong hisses into Shen Yuan’s ear, “With how much you have been running your mouth, Yuan, I do not advise you test my generosity.”
There is the promise of suffering untold in his voice, but Shen Yuan has heard all he needed to hear.
Wrenching Xu Shan away from him, he pushes at the boy with such strength that he topples over backwards. Looking down at Xu Shan, Shen Yuan takes in his red eyes and snotty nose.
He commands, softly, “Go home, Xiao Shan.”
The endearment seems to strike a chord with the boy, and his lip quivers as he stutters, “Yulan-xiansheng, I–”
Shen Yuan narrows his eyes. “Did I misspeak, Xu Shan? Or are you ignoring me? I told you to leave.” Raising his voice at the boy for possibly the second time ever, his shout echoes through the streets, above the sound of rainfall. “So listen to me and leave!”
“Ngh–!” With a look of despair, Xu Shan nods shakily before scrambling to his feet and tearing down the street – running so fast that he kicks water up with every step.
“Sacrificing yourself for someone else’s child… How noble.” Hou Xianrong comments conversationally. Not taking his eyes off of the spot in the horizon that Xu Shan disappeared into, he says, “I’m going to make you regret it.”
Turning to face the old man, Shen Yuan smiles. “You won’t have the chance.”
It’s interesting how Shen Yuan can sense the change in the air a split second before Hou Xianrong grabs his chin. The old man angles his umbrella so they are shielded from the public as he says, through clenched teeth and bulging veins, “I should have never let you meet that filth again.” Spittal hits Shen Yuan’s cheek but he can’t even move to wipe it away. “Did you really think you could escape this time? That I’d let you? I own your soul, Yuan. Trust me when I say that I will reclaim it.”
Trust me, A-Yuan.
Though it’s painful to speak, Shen Yuan forces himself to get out, “Shen Qingqiu is going to kill you. Hou. Xianrong.”
It has always been Lord Hou; it has always been Master – but never, never has it been Hou Xianrong.
The old man’s eyes go wild. He laughs, loud and maniacal. “Oh, we’ll have to see about that.”
Like a dog, Shen Yuan keeps his gaze down as he suffers the humiliation of being dragged behind the old man as he is led to where he can only assume is the carriage Hou Xianrong arrived to town in. At the old man’s impatient knocking, the door opens swiftly – and truly, the universe must be playing some kind of cosmic joke on Shen Yuan, because there can be no other explanation for why the servant who greets them is Li Wen.
White streaks marr the servant’s otherwise jet black hair, and crow’s feet have made a home in the corners of his eyes – but that hardly matters when in one, blurry blink, all signs of ageing disappear as Shen Yuan is left staring at the man who peered down at him from this very carriage 15 years ago. When Shen Yuan does not enter immediately, foot hovering between the ground and the step-up, Hou Xianrong has no qualms placing a hand on his back and shoving him into the cabin. Hitting the other side of the cabin with a grunt, Shen Yuan feels his shoulder begin to throb as he slides into the plush velveteen seat.
Li Wen eases himself down beside Shen Yuan, but he doesn’t want to look at the servant again; making himself as small as possible, Shen Yuan lets his hair curtain his face – a veil, between himself and reality. Hou Xianrong is saying something to the driver, so Shen Yuan takes the opportunity to slip his hands into his sleeves. He grips the magnolia fan so hard he’s sure the tines leave impressions against the leather of his gloves.
I trust you, Jiu-ge, Shen Yuan thinks – sacrilegious as he begs salvation not from the hands of the divine, but from those of a single man. I trust you, and I’m waiting. So please…
…Hurry.
Notes:
please believe me when i say that i didn't want to end this chapter on a cliffhanger, but there was no other option considering what happens next. optimistically, i'll be able to update in march-april, but i'm in my last year of uni and kind of want to graduate highly, so chap 7 may be pushed to july-aug. i know thats not what anyone wants to hear, but i thought i'd be realistic. anyway, thank you again for all the insane support you've given this fic and me, it really means so much. fingers crossed 2025 is kinder to us all :)
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