Chapter Text
Liu Qingge’s visits to the Bamboo House to cleanse Shen Qingqiu’s meridians are…confusing.
Shen Qingqiu is confusing! Ever since his qi deviation, Shen Qingqiu is like an entirely different person! A person who is content to be poisoned, who steps in front of a nameless disciple. A person who saved Liu Qingge’s life.
And now someone he sits with once a month, palms flat to Shen Qingqiu’s back while his shixiong talks about monsters.
At least his lectures are interesting. Despite Bai Zhan’s aversion to traditional schooling, Liu Qingge finds himself listening closely as Shen Qingqiu talks, mentally marking down monsters that sound interesting to fight.
“And that,” Shen Qingqiu finishes, waving his fan for emphasis, “is why it would be unwise to fight a Thousand Toed Marmot, without first clearing its nest.”
“Hmph,” Liu Qingge says, circling the last bits of spiritual energy through Shen Qingqiu’s body.
“Oh,” Shen Qingqiu says, sounding oddly disappointed, “Liu-shidi is done already?”
Liu Qingge can’t imagine what could possibly be disappointing about losing his lackluster conversational skills.
“Yes,” he says, grabbing Cheng Luan and pushing himself to his feet.
Shen Qingqiu cranes his head to watch him go.
“Does Liu-shidi want to stay for tea?” he asks hopefully.
The last time Liu Qingge drank tea that Shen Qingqiu personally chose, he spent a week trying to wash the bitter taste out of his mouth.
“No,” he says, and walks out the door.
--
The next time Liu Qingge visits, he kicks the door to find Shen Qingqiu fanning himself serenely behind a full tea set.
“Ah, Liu-shidi,” he says, gesturing to the table, “Join this one for tea.”
Liu Qingge stays stubbornly standing.
“Your poison,” he says, hand tightening on Cheng Luan. Shouldn't they do the most important thing first? Why is Shen Qingqiu trying to waylay him?
Shen Qingqiu waves his concern aside.
“There’s plenty of time for that,” he says, gesturing to the empty seat across from him, “Come, come, sit. My disciple made snacks.”
Sure enough, there is a small platter of pastries sitting next to the tea tray.
Reluctantly, Liu Qingge sits.
With a small, satisfied smile, Shen Qingqiu moves to pour for him, delicately holding his sleeve out of the way. He then pours for himself, just as gracefully, and sets the teapot aside.
“Go on,” he says, picking up his cup, “It’s good, Ming Fan’s family sent it.”
That would probably be more reassuring if Liu Qingge could remember which one of Shen Qingqiu’s disciples Ming Fan was.
Under Shen Qingqiu’s watchful gaze, Liu Qingge takes a tentative sip. It’s…not terrible.
“Adequate,” he says, setting his cup down with a clack .
Satisfied, Shen Qingqiu takes his own sip, eyes curved with pleasure.
“Shixiong has a request,” he says, setting his cup down and meeting Liu Qingge’s eyes.
Is this why Shen Qingqiu had him sit here? Liu Qingge makes a noncommittal noise, indicating for him to continue.
Shen Qingqiu flips open his fan, obscuring the lower part of his face.
“There is a…certain creature,” he says, waving the fan slightly, “that this shixiong would like to study.”
A pause. Liu Qingge raises an eyebrow.
“This shixiong believes,” he says, fanning himself a little faster, “that Liu-shidi may enjoy hunting it.”
Is that all? Shen Qingqiu wants him to hunt something?
“What is it?” Liu Qingge asks flatly.
“Well!” Shen Qingqiu exclaims, snapping his fan shut, “Let’s discuss over here,” he stands, indicating their usual spot for meridian cleansing.
“Liu-shidi will like this,” he says, as Liu Qingge settles behind him, “It’s called a Heart-Eating Rat Possum, but their burrows attract all sorts of symbiotic species-”
--
The Heart Eating Rat Possum lives up to its name. Liu Qingge sidesteps yet another pile of corpses, all missing significant portions of their chests, and skirts around what appears to be a heap of discarded ribs.
According to Shen Qingqiu, the monster isn’t very smart, relying on a variety of more valuable magical plants to lure cultivators into its burrow. Regardless of its intelligence, Liu Qingge is positive he can kill it easily.
He rounds the next bend in the tunnel and enters a wide cavern. Holding up Cheng Luan, he glances around. The walls are crawling with plants: odd colored blooms and creeping vines. In the corner is a quivering boulder of fur, dotted with tiny pink flowers.
Target in sight, he stalks forward. Just before he can strike, a tall, pointed ear swivels towards him. It’s heard him. The lump of fur twists, revealing a pointed face with rows of jagged, sharp teeth.
Undaunted, Liu Qingge swings his sword anyway. A couple of silvery whiskers float to the ground. Now he has its attention.
The Rat Possum screeches, Chen Luan’s sword glare reflected in its massive, flat black eyes.
On the next swing, the creature tries to hook Cheng Luan with one of its long, hooked claws. Being a spiritual sword, the blade cleanly slices the claw off at the root.
A harsh, high-pitched scream echoes throughout the cavern. The Rat Possum reels back, allowing Liu Qingge to take a running start and lunge.
Backed into a corner, the creature snarls and charges, slavering jaws open wide. He has no choice but to dodge the multitude of needle-like teeth.
Twisting in midair, Liu Qingge lops its head off, which falls to the ground with a wet thud . Unfortunately, the body keeps going, barreling straight into Liu Qingge and sandwiching him into the wall.
Blood soaks through Liu Qingge’s robes as sweet smelling dust rains down on him, coating his face and lungs. Coughing, he kicks the monster’s corpse away and stumbles towards Cheng Luan’s faint glare on the ground.
--
Liu Qingge drops the carcass on the Bamboo House’s front lawn and kicks open the door.
Shen Qingqiu, seated at his desk, startles, then visibly relaxes.
“Liu-shidi!” Shen Qingqiu smiles, gently putting down his brush, “Hello, what brings you here?”
For some reason, his easy acceptance of Liu Qingge’s entrance makes his chest feel tight.
“I brought the monster,” Liu Qingge says, and walks back out the door.
A quiet gasp indicates that Shen Qingqiu has followed.
“Oh!” he exclaims, rushing over to the corpse, “Look!”
Liu Qingge does not need to look at the creature—he’s seen quite enough of it, thank you very much—but he finds himself humoring Shen Qingqiu nonetheless.
As usual, his input is unneeded. The Qing Jing Peak Lord fawns over the Rat Possum’s claws, its eyes and long tail, detailing their uses and evolutionary purposes.
Eventually, even Shen Qingqiu’s boundless enthusiasm is exhausted in the face of a carcass rotting in the midday sun. Several hapless Qing Jing disciples are summoned to carry it away for further study.
“Thank you, Liu-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu says, after watching them go, and unleashes a devastating, beaming smile, directly in Liu Qingge’s face.
The tightness in his chest returns, accompanied by a vicious squeeze in his lungs.
“Hmph,” Liu Qingge says, and promptly escapes towards the safety of Bai Zhan Peak.
Clearly, something is wrong with him. Shen Qingqiu has never caused these kinds of reactions before!
He spends the night in meditation, carefully circulating his qi, and discovers a small blockage in his middle dantian.
It’s not significantly influencing his cultivation, and he’s already visited Mu Qingfang this month.
He chalks the whole thing down to exhaustion, and promptly forgets about it.
—
Unfortunately, the mysterious affliction continues to react to Shen Qingqiu.
The monthly meridian cleansing sessions become exquisite torture. Every brush of skin, every tender smile sends his heart galloping and his lungs convulsing.
Despite all of it, he manages to keep it hidden. Liu Qingge is a Peak Lord, something as small as a minor spiritual blockage won’t get the best of him. So he lets Shen Qingqiu speak at length, and cuts their visits short if the spasms become too frequent.
Everything is manageable until a disciple shows up at his door, carrying an ornate box.
After the skittish disciple relays that it’s a gift from Shen Qingqiu, Liu Qingge cautiously takes it inside his house. They’ve been getting along since his qi deviation, so it probably isn’t anything that explodes, this time.
An expensive piece of paper is secured to the top.
Liu-shidi , the simple note reads, many thanks for all of your help.
Liu Qingge eyes the box with trepidation. Slowly, he lifts the lid.
Sitting on a bed of soft cloth are a pair of silver vambraces, wrought with delicate stalks of bamboo and swirling leaves. For a moment, Liu Qingge’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. Shen Qingqiu favors bamboo, so why-
Oh.
The tightness in his chest increases, forcing a strangled cough.
Once it starts, he can’t stop it. He doubles over, something wet and fragile forcing its way up his throat.
The object sits on his tongue, sickly sweet and silky. Disgusted, he spits vehemently—the thing splats wetly next to the box.
Liu Qingge clears his throat, blinking tears from his eyes. Did he breathe something in? Curious, he glances down.
On the desk sit two mangled, pale pink petals.