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“… really would be no trouble for us to take those plains as well, so I'll just mark those as —”
“That would never work,” a cool voice cut in.
Ming Zhang blinked. “Pardon me?” he said. “Does Yue-tàitai have something to say?”⁽¹⁾
Shen Jiu unfurled his fan with a quick flick of his wrist. “Apologies,” he said, fanning himself slowly. “This lowly wife obviously has none of the experience Ming-qianbei has. It’s just…” He brought his fan up to hide the lower half of his face. “It looks as if this plan is practically designed to fail. I just don’t understand — and again, forgive this poor wife for his lack of knowledge — how you think you are going to travel there often enough to have a stable presence, when none of your…” he tuts, “comfortable amenities are near?”
His fan hid the smirk, but Ming Zhang knew it was there anyway. It was in that infuriating quirk of his delicately plucked eyebrows. “Now look here,” he blustered, “my people have laboured over this partitioning for many dozens of hours —”
“Obviously not long enough,” Shen Jiu whispered softly enough that no-one but the two of them would hear.
The two of them and Shen Jiu’s husband, that is.
Yue Qingyuan cut in with a patient smile on his face. “My husband did not mean insult,” he blatantly lied. “Though he did admittedly put up a good point. Particularly, I’d like us to take another look at where you would get the manpower to keep up an outpost of this size…”
Ming Zhang let himself be pulled in by the man’s well-practised appeasements. He was sent here on Huan Hua’s behalf for what was firmly not a formal meeting, just a little get-together between friends…
… where they would determine the next decade of Inter-Sect relations through the division of the land between the two Sects.
They could not come right out and say, ‘This land is mine, this is yours,’ heavens no! If the mortal leaders knew that was going on, they’d riot. But it was simply good business sense to decide in advance who would take care of any crises. Imagine, otherwise they’d both send help to the same area! What a waste of manpower — and money! — that’d be.
And yet, despite both parties knowing what would be happening when going into this, Cang Qiong’s new Sect Leader had chosen to take his wife — his wife, without any other titles to his name, no achievements, no nothing — instead of the Peak Lord of Qing Jing like his predecessor had always done.
A clear snub, and yet Ming Zhang could do nothing without breaking the unspoken rules of not acknowledging the real purpose of this rendezvous.
He stewed in his anger for the rest of the meeting; Shen Jiu taunting him with every minute lift of his eyebrows and with the sweep of his expensive and well-decorated robes as he lifted his fan to hide whisper-soft derisive scoffs. The touch of bright colour pressed around his eyes only emphasised the amusement at each of Ming Zhang’s words.
It was when Yue Qingyuan had left for a brief moment, seeing an acquaintance he’d decided to greet, that Ming Zhang struck out. “You must be courting trouble, for you to take the place of Qing Jing's peak lord like that.”
Now what was he called again? Something with Qing, Cang Qiong did that inane thing where they coordinated names. Qingdong? Qingchun? A seasonally themed name, so it had to be —
“Shang Qingqiu?” Shen Jiu asked incredulously. “You think he would want to be here?”
“Doesn’t he feel offended that he is passed over in favour of, well… You?” A trophy wife, good for nothing more than a few luck-born glimmers of insight that were born out of luck rather than any skill or experience. This situation was almost as great an insult to Shang Qingqiu as it was to Ming Zhang.
The amusement that glinted in Shen Jiu’s eyes was infinitely more palatable now that it was not born at Ming Zhang’s expense. “Between the two of us,” Shen Jiu said, leaning forward slightly, eyes flickering around the room, “I don’t think he minds much at all. He’s, ah, how do I put this delicately…”
Ming Zhang held his breath. “Yes?”
“He turned Qing Jing into nothing more than a book club,” Shen Jiu confided in a hushed voice. “He’s the furthest thing from a proper advisor. It’s a disgrace, but it’s not like we can do something about it. I’m here merely because I’m the only person it would be acceptable for my husband to take in his place.”
“Oh my,” murmured Ming Zhang, eyes wide.
“It’s not something we want everyone to know, you understand?” Shen Jiu looked to the side, toying anxiously with his fan. “I really shouldn’t have told you, but…”
“It’s alright,” Ming Zhang rushed to assure him. “I can keep a secret.”
Shen Jiu sneaked him a quicksilver smile. “Thanking Ming-qianbei.”
“A-Jiu, Ming Zhang.” Yue Qingyuan sat himself down again, running a hand down Shen Jiu’s back. “I trust that both of you entertained yourself without me?”
Ming Zhang looked at him with new eyes. Stuck with a good-for-nothing shidi, the poor man. See, he had always known that Cang Qiong Sect's attitude of inclusivity and unity could result in nothing good.
“Only as much as I ever can when you aren’t there,” Shen Jiu purred. Ming Zhang felt a sliver of pity for him. How saddening that a man so much better fit to the life of a careless, gossiping wife was forced to follow his husband around to business meetings.
It was only when Ming Zhang was long on his way back to Huan Hua Palace that he realised that while all his attention had been on Shen Jiu, the man’s husband had expertly finagled concessions out of him far beyond what he’d been prepared to make.
* * *
“Poor Shang-shidi,” Yue Qingyuan murmured. “You’re ruining his reputation.”
Shen Jiu looked up from his tea. “You know he wants this.”
“I do! It's just…”
He bit back an exasperated sigh. His husband had such a bleeding heart, to be bothered by this. “It doesn’t make it easier for you to deride him?”
Yue Qingyuan gave a pained smile. “It really doesn’t.”
Shang Qingqiu had secrets, and plenty of them at that. He schemed and he plotted, pretending with the best of them. Shen Jiu had always known this, like recognising like.
(Once, in the middle of the summer; an elaborately embroidered fur cloak, the rims wet with melting snow.)
(Another time, during a peak lord meeting; sleeves falling back to show dark bruises covering his wrists, when everyone could attest he hadn't participated in inter-peak spars for months, and that nobody had seen him leave the Sect.)
Was it incredibly suspicious? Yes. And yet, if he wished so desperately to remain under the radar, then they’d help him, even if they had no clue why on earth he wanted it.
It was the least they could do in return for what he’d done for them.
(Or at least that was Yue Qingyuan’s reason. Shen Jiu was a little less generous. But this ensured that Shang Qingqiu would never try that hard to hide his machinations from them, so… Letting some things slide was worth the insurance that if Shang-shidi ever went too far, he would face all the accumulated repercussions he had evaded by the grace of Shen Jiu’s husband’s kindness.)
Shen Jiu paid no attention to where he was walking, his eyes on a variation of reports that technically he wasn’t supposed to have. What was anyone going to do about it? Complain to his husband?
He turned a corner, scoffing as he flipped one of the pages around. Truly, not even using synonymous names for the same beast to make it appear as if there were more foes than there really were could make you seem powerful — not when your lack of intelligence was immediately betrayed by your appalling skill at grammar.
A hand caught him around his waist, whisking him off to an empty room before he had the thought to shove it off.
“What is it?” he asked through narrowed eyes, not putting his files down.
Yue Qingyuan smiled beatifically at him. “I only wanted to see my wonderful husband, that is all.”
“Flatterer,” Shen Jiu sneered, hiding his pleasure. He looked his husband up and down; a sliver of throat exposed, his lightly rumpled robes that surely would reveal even more skin if only Shen Jiu reached out and pulled the cloth aside…
It was very obvious what he was here for. His husband met his eyes, the very same hunger he felt reflected in the dark irises.
“I don’t have anywhere to be.” Yue Qingyuan took a step forward, running a hand down his arm.
Shen Jiu fought the urge to shiver. “Hmhm,” he said non-committally, and swallowed. “Two — two seconds.”
He quickly placed the files down on the nearest table, not eager to have to sort them again the way he would have to do if he just threw them on the floor like he so desperately wished to do. Then, his hands free, he threw himself at his husband, feeling lips touch his own in a rapturous relief.
Their bodies melded into each other, fitting perfectly; whether from years of practice or fate itself Shen Jiu didn’t know, and wasn’t inclined to question either. He gasped at the gentle nip of teeth against his bottom lip, his hands clenching down and wrinkling Qi-ge’s robes.
Through dozens of layers of cloth, he could feel his husband’s firm body; cultivation-strengthened, a beautiful thing, full of scars both thin and thick; a single mole right at his collar bone — Shen Jiu wanted to bite it — and there, pressing against Shen Jiu’s own, his cock, already thickening.
But he wasn’t close enough, he wanted to be closer, had to be —
He hiked his leg up, grumbling through the kiss when it couldn’t gain grip and fell down again. He was elated to feel a broad hand reach down and pull it back, holding it up, drawing him closer with it. His husband really did know him so well.
“Just like that,” Yue Qi pulled back to murmur, his thumb stroking down the side of his thighs. “Hold on to me.”
The other hand rested on the back of his neck, holding him in place — gently so, Shen Jiu knew, and it would remove itself the second he pushed hard against it. So he didn’t, he let it rest in its place, let the fingers curl through the thin, short hairs on his nape.
He smiled, thin and anticipatory, and broke away, tilting his head to the right and coming in to bite at his husband’s neck, kissing a path down from just below his ear all the way to where the cloth prevented him from touching skin.
A sharp inhale, and the hand on his leg lifted it up further, beyond what Shen Jiu could reach on his own. His robes were crawling up, bunching around his waist. Refusing to let the hand fall away, he pressed himself up on toes and slung his arms around Qi-ge’s neck.
A thought sparked his mind, a deep craving overtaking him at the image. Throwing all caution to the wind, trusting his husband to catch him, he threw himself up, slinging his other leg around his husband’s waist in a mirror of the first.
And just as he had known he would, his husband only took a single step back to steady himself, his hand adjusting itself to carry his weight better.
“Hi,” Shen Jiu whispered in his husband’s ear.
“Hi,” Yue Qi whispered back, his fervour temporarily calmed in favour of staring at his husband.
Shen Jiu wiggled a little, making himself comfortable. Qi-ge’s rigid cock brushed against his bottom, and he pressed himself down against it, daringly rubbing his body against Qi-ge’s crotch. Qi-ge's hand trailed down, but Shen Jiu slapped it away before it could reach his straining length. “I have somewhere to be,” he said in a low, throaty voice, “and I will not leave this room before you get your cock in me. Get to it.”
A strong hand dug into his thighs, and yet, it was as careful as ever not to leave bruises. Qi-ge was sweet-tempered like that, no matter how aroused Shen Jiu could make him. Such a shame. Shen Jiu smiled sharply.
“Come on, won’t Qi-ge take my clothes off?” he taunted, just to wind his husband up even further. “Yue-Zhangmen, don’t you want to have your wife bare for you?”
Shen Jiu had overlooked that he actually needed to be put down for that to happen. Luckily, he barely had the time to mourn the loss of Qi-ge’s skin against his own before he was picked up again, his naked skin all the more sensitive to Qi-ge’s touch.
He shivered, the air cold against his skin, and pressed closer to the warmth of his husband. Yue Qingyuan didn’t appear to have found the task of removing his own clothes that important, the expensive weave of his roves soft against Shen Jiu’s skin.
Shen Jiu wondered at the image they must make, the contrast between the two of them; surely Yue Qi looked far more put together than him, which couldn’t be further from the truth. One well-placed whine made to look like it was dragged from his mouth, one whimpered ‘Qi-ge,’ and his husband was putty under his hands.
No, Shen Jiu thought as hands caressed his thighs and back, he was far more composed in situations such as these, far less likely to break apart at the slightest —
“A-Jiu is so good to me,” Yue Qi said huskily, “Nobody else could ever please me the way you could,” and Shen Jiu shook into pieces, clawed at his husband’s chest, why wasn’t he kissing him right this moment —
He pressed his nose in the crook of Qi-ge’s neck, hiding his face. The tip of his tongue came out to lick at the tendons; they tasted like salt.
Two thick fingers traced over his thighs, moving upwards, upwards, circling over his hole, still slick and loose from the very enjoyable morning they’d shared together.
They pushed in, the stretch negligible. Despite himself, Shen Jiu let out a soft, punched-out noise.
“Be silent,” Qi-ge whispered, retreating from his grasp. “We don’t want others to hear, do we?”
Shen Jiu played along and nodded, ignoring how they both knew very well Yue Qi had set up both a silencing charm and a proximity-sensor. Neither of the two shared nicely.
The fingers dipped back in, testing the resistance. Shen Jiu clenched down; the stretch was mild — practically nothing. He noticed additional oil coating Yue Qi’s hands, making the slide that much easier.
Careful of his A-Jiu being hurt, Shen Jiu thought. Ridiculous man.
He bore down on the fingers as they entered again, three thick this time. He focused on his breathing, keeping it steady; he wanted more, wanted to be filled by something more… substantive.
But he knew he needed more than three fingers, no matter what his impatience often made him beg for. Yue Qi knew too, could not forget it after the disaster that was their first few times, before the importance of proper preparation was pressed on them by their suffering shishu from Qian Cao. (That had been, in the kindest words, mortifying. They couldn’t forget it if they tried.)
“A little more, careful, careful,” murmured Yue Qi. “We're almost there, you almost have me.”
It couldn’t come soon enough, in Shen Jiu’s opinion.
Finally Qi-ge pushed in, thick and hot and heavy. Shen Jiu let some more of his weight rest on his thighs, on Qi-ge’s unshaken support, moving one of his arms from around Qi-ge’s neck to his head, carding it through his hair. He accidentally pulled some strands free from his haircrown — he’d help his husband fix that when they were done.
“There we go,” Yue Qi choked out. “A-Jiu, Xiao Jiu, look at how well you take me.”
Qi-ge held infuriatingly still, pressing worshipful kisses everywhere he could reach. Lips on his neck, just below his ears; a shaking chest against his own. Shen Jiu revelled in the physicality of it all. Yue Qi was here, with him, and not even his thoughts could be somewhere else when Shen Jiu ground down, hole clenching around his cock.
His own cock was still neglected, trapped between their bodies, but Shen Jiu could barely spare a thought for it when Yue Qi’s breath was hot on his skin, still wet from his mouth and all the more sensitive for it.
He could feel nothing else — there was no ground to carry him, no wall to lean against. There was only Qi-ge, Qi-ge, Qi-ge; keeping him lifted almost without effort, so deliciously strong.
Shen Jiu rocked forward and down, driving Qi-ge deeper.
It was enough to startle Yue Qi into a weak thrust, and then another one, and one more; starting up a steady rhythm, sweet and easy and euphoric. One hand holding on to Shen Jiu’s thighs, the other on his ass, each used to steady him as he fucked into him with an eagerness that surprised them both.
It was the sheer joyful surprise of meeting each other like this, he thought, when he had thought he’d be without his husband’s presence until late evening.
It did not take long before Shen Jiu was fucked small and whiny, reduced to pressing mindless kisses on any skin in front of his mouth, clenching weakly around Qi-ge’s cock.
Shocks of pleasure echoed through him, and he bowed his head to rest on Yue Qi’s shoulder, biting down on the fabric to muffle his moans. He smiled at what he saw, at his cock standing bright and visible against the dark cloth. A thin droplet of pre-cum leaked out — clearly not the first — and stained the great, illustrious Sect Leader of Cang Qiong Sect’s robes.
His husband would leave, when this was done — not long now, pleasure building along his spine, sparking behind his eyes — but take a bit of him with him, marking him, invisible to anyone’s eye but Qi-ge, who would know what their eagerness had resulted in.
“I’m almost there, slow down,” he begged. “Just a little longer —”
He wanted this to last, but knew it couldn’t.
Shen Jiu hadn’t needed anything but his husband’s cock to come since the second month they were together, when Qi-ge learned to snap his hips just so —
A well-placed thrust, a dirty word whispered in his ears, and he was gone.
White-hot lightning shot up through his back, overtaking his body. For a moment he forgot where he was, who he was — but never with who he was — as pleasure filled his mind. Qi-ge’s continuing thrusts shook him, so much, almost too much.
He was barely aware of Yue Qi following him over the edge, his eyes closed and breath shivering as he groaned through clenched teeth.
Shen Jiu was still held up against Qi-ge’s body when he came back to himself, despite his muscles feeling like jelly, loose and fucked out. He tapped Qi-ge’s arm twice, and when he felt his support lowering, he jumped off to the ground.
His legs were annoyingly shaky, but strong enough to carry him. He let himself lean into Qi-ge’s body for a few minutes, feeling his hand run down his still faintly shivering back. That was. Good. Yes.
Qi-ge seemed to agree, going by the whispered, “Thank you.”
Stupid. Didn’t he know that Shen Jiu enjoyed it as much, if not more than him? What did he have to be thanked for?
Shen Jiu told him that, like he had told him a dozen, a hundred times before. And, like always, Qi-ge only huffed out a laugh, and promised nothing.
He felt Yue Qi's cum hot inside of him, starting to leak out. He sighed, and executed a neat little Qi trick that would keep it inside of him until he was back in his own rooms and could deal with the mess — he’d scoured the library for anything that could help after the first time he’d got Qi-ge to take him in the closet outside an inter sect party. The memory was great; the mess wasn’t. He’d had only his many layers of robes to thank for nobody noticing any suspicious stains.
Yue Qingyuan helped him pull his clothes back on, hands gentle as they manoeuvred Shen Jiu one way or the other. His fingers trailed over the inside of Shen Jiu’s arm, achingly kind. Shen Jiu swallowed and fought the urge to look away, these sweet touches somehow infinitely more unbearable than the deep fucking had been.
For a moment he leaned into Qi-ge’s touch, borrowing his strength and letting the last of the shakiness leave his body. Yue Qingyuan smiled down at him, awe and wonder in his eyes. Would he never get used to this?
Shen Jiu closed his eyes and tore himself away. He patted Yue Qi on the chest. “That was good,” he said pretend-carelessly, gathering his reports. He placed them in the crook of his arm, and walked to the door.
He briefly turned around. “Your meeting — if I hear you managed to wring concessions out of them on three of the points we’d previously discussed,” he began, almost idly, “you can bring out the ropes tonight. Six, and I’ll even let you be the one to wear them.”
He stepped outside before he could see his husband’s reaction, a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. There, that would keep him motivated.
Nobody would know this is what just happened; that the placidly smiling man sitting in their meetings just fucked his husband silly.
Nobody but the two of them. Just another secret for them to share.
Yue Qi gingerly closed the door to his rooms. Xiao Jiu was holding a thick book up close to his face, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips as he was squinting at the text. Best not to disturb him.
He had quickly caught up with his literacy, Yue Qi thought fondly. He was still a bare-bones thing, the meat slow to get on his ribs, and the last of his bruises had not yet faded; and yet he had thrown his all into ensuring that Yue Qi would have not a single reason to be ashamed by his presence.
Not that Yue Qi ever would be! Xiao Jiu didn’t need to prove anything to him. He could wake up one morning and decide he wanted to become a pampered housewife, and Yue Qi wouldn’t care for a single moment. The issue lied with his attempts to convince Xiao Jiu of that, which have been entirely fruitless so far.
Xiao Jiu absent-mindedly licked his finger — his tongue was a pretty pink, and Yue Qi abruptly felt light-headed when he was reminded he knew what it tasted like — and turned the page.
“Qi-ge,” Xiao Jiu said out of nowhere, eyes still on his book, “which persona do you think would work better? The demure, slightly shy spouse who really isn’t used to all the hubbub coming with their husband’s position; or the proactive idealistic spouse fumbling with all the power suddenly handed to them?”
Before Yue Qi had the chance to reply, Xiao Jiu answered his own question, “No, the latter wouldn’t work. You’ve got all the idealism in this relationship, and I’d pale in comparison.” He briefly looked up to cross something off a list laying next to him, before once again burying himself in the dusty pages.
Yue Qi smiled and moved to sit beside Xiao Jiu, sneaking a look at the list. It seemed to be a list of literary archetypes. Some were ever so slightly off, Xiao Jiu’s lack of experience shining through.
“Why not be yourself?” he suggested. “Xiao Jiu is a very lovable person.”
Xiao Jiu snorted and closed the book. “You’d be the only one to think so,” he said wryly. “And a spouse of such report can’t afford to be rude, not when it’ll reflect on you instead of me. Besides, I need an excuse whenever I slip up and say something that betrays my… unsuitability.”
And the truth would be unacceptable, Yue Qi thought with a faint sadness. “Xiao Jiu can do what he wants, of course. But is pretending to be shy really something Xiao Jiu wants to do for years at a time?”
Xiao Jiu snorted. “Can you imagine?” He grinned widely. “Oh, poor newly-wed Shen Jiu, so overwhelmed by the world around him that he just doesn’t know what to do. Be gentle with him, he’ll shatter if you’re even a little bit rude.”
Yue Qi reflexively mirrored his grin. Xiao Jiu often didn’t know what to do, that much was true. He just tended to become rather, how should he put it… fond of small-scale violence. Sometimes not-so-small-scale, if he was cornered for long enough. It was, Yue Qi was certain, one of the more precious things about him.
“Plus, I only need to keep it up a little while,” Xiao Jiu said. “Just until rumours about my demeanour have become so widespread that everyone will only see what they want to see. After that…” He hummed and tapped his lips. “Qi-ge, how would you like your husband to be corrupted into a bit of a gossiper?”
“Hmm, I suppose I’ll have to be fondly indulgent,” Yue Qi said thoughtfully. That would be clever, to have his blind spot for his husband so clearly apparent. Nobody would look further, with his heart worn on his sleeve like that.
He trusted Xiao Jiu to keep the facade up as long as needed, and to be able to keep from giving any indication as to the contrasting truth for the rest of their lives thereafter. Xiao Jiu was good at things like that, pretending to be someone he was not.
(Perhaps once he might not have been able to stay his tongue from cruelties, but… Xiao Jiu had learned how to keep silent, while he was gone.)
(This, Yue Qi hated perhaps most of all.)
Truthfully, even if Yue Qi had been able to keep himself from impulsively proposing marriage, Xiao Jiu would still be searching for a proper mask to wear. It would just look a little different in the end; it would have to stand on its own, separate from Yue Qi, and likely have far more of a focus on appearing naturally competent.
Someone sharp, most likely, with no patience for being disrespected and a focus on being the unchallenged top of the food chain. With nobody even near him in terms of skill and strength, not when that could lead to being overthrown — someone who would not stand for any of Yue Qi's loving coddling.
Yue Qi was happy it didn't come to that. It seemed like it would be awfully lonely.
Shen Jiu smiled, slow and sharklike, as he made a note. “A bit of a mean one to strangers too, though I’ll have to see how intentionally done I make it look. People can whisper about how I’ve been led astray by the world — not them, of course, but some other nebulous world. It'll be fun.”
Yue Qi couldn’t wait to see his husband in his element, expertly playing the people around him. He already knew he would be beautiful like that.
“Do you think you can spin a measure of jealousy?” Xiao Jiu asked pensively. “Oh, your poor husband doesn’t know how to deal with all those forward men, better not to let them reach him at all, and all that?”
“As far as I know, I’ve gained a bit of an older brother reputation,” Yue Qi said, thinking about the girls he found telling the new disciples to call him ‘gege.’ “I’m not sure how those traits would interact in a long chain of whispers, so perhaps… What about overprotectiveness instead? Even so, if Xiao Jiu ever wants me to remove him from a situation, he only has to tell me.”
Xiao Jiu seemed to be satisfied with that.
Perhaps he should make it easier for Xiao Jiu to tell him if it were a situation like that, though. Maybe some sort of non-verbal signal? A flex of Qi — no, others would notice that, and wonder about it even if they didn’t know the meaning — or perhaps…
Oh, now there was an idea. And it had been almost two weeks since he’d got a gift for Xiao Jiu too.
* * *
“Xiao Jiu?”
“Yes?” Xiao Jiu turned around and put his brush down. “What are you holding behind your back?” he asked suspiciously. “If it’s another animal, I don’t want it.”
“It’s not, I promise. I got this from a shop only two villages to the east.” Yue Qi placed the thin package into Xiao Jiu’s hand.
Anticipation sang through his body as he watched Xiao Jiu rip the waxed paper off. “Does Xiao Jiu like it?” he couldn’t help but ask. “I thought, perhaps we could work out a specific way of holding it that would signify for me to come over if you need help.”
Xiao Jiu unfolded the paper fan, holding it up to the light as he admired the decorative art of a far-away mountain. “Not bad,” he hummed.
He tried to hold it in front of his face like they had seen some women hurrying by them on the street do, would-be mysterious if not for the clear excitement glinting in his eyes.
His wrist was bent wrong, Yue Qi saw. He’d set him up for instruction with one of his shimei who knew how to keep her silence, or, if that was too much, he’d buy a guide for him. He saw one in a bookstore when he’d been out shopping, and it hadn’t been that expensive.
“Xiao Jiu,” Qiu Jianluo crooned, threats laced in the affectionate nickname.
Shen Jiu took one-two quick steps back, clenching his fist around the wooden hilt of a stolen kitchen knife.
Qiu Jianluo only laughed, closing the distance between them. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he said with the sickly-sweetness of poison. “Come now, Xiao Jiu. Don’t tell me you’ve never been curious about it.”
There was supposed to be more time before Shen Jiu had to make the choice whether to follow that strange cultivator, to take his offer for an apprenticeship, but fate was forcing his hand. No time to dither, now.
He clutched the knife tightly, raising it — and before he could blink, a flash of cold steel took Qiu Jianluo’s head clean off.
“Xiao Jiu,” Qi-ge breathed, a bloodied sword held between them. The headless body of Qiu Jianluo fell to its knees, then crumpled in on itself. It should have been terrifying. It looked like salvation.
“You’re here,” Shen Jiu said numbly.
He dropped his knife, hearing it clatter on the blood-stained floor. It’ll get dirty, he thought nonsensically. Of course it would get dirty. He just thought he would be the one responsible for the pool of deep-red life slowly spreading around the room.
(Or, perhaps, that it would be his blood instead staining the floors he had spent so long cleaning.)
Calloused hands cupped his head, gently pulling it away from the gruesome sight. Shen Jiu’s eyes latched on to Qi-ge’s face instead, to the newly matured facial features — he got even more handsome, Shen Jiu was insulted to notice — and ever-so-familiar warm eyes.
A tiny splatter of blood had been sprayed on his cheek. Shen Jiu wanted to lick it off him.
He took a shaky step towards Qi-ge, half certain he wasn’t really here, despite the warm skin still touching his cheek. Then the situation dawned on him, and again he said, “You’re here!”
“I am,” Yue Qi confirmed, stepping over Qiu Jianluo's headless body to wrap his arms around him. “Qi-ge is here.”
Shen Jiu closed his eyes and sunk into his presence. He felt like he should be offended by the soft, almost babying tone Qi-ge was taking, like Shen Jiu was this fragile thing that would break if he spoke too loud. But at this moment, all he felt was comforted by the carefully modulated voice, the rounded edges and sanded surfaces.
To take such care not to hurt him, even when Qi-ge knew how much he could withstand…
Tomorrow, Shen Jiu would be annoyed by it again.
But today, he was not ashamed to say he had missed it.
Yue Qi tried to breathe as silently as possible, the feeling going through him that even a miss-timed gasp would be enough to alarm the people no doubt guarding such a treasure trove of spiritual weapons. Who knew, for a fully-realised cultivator that might be enough. His cultivation was not very strong yet — why else would he be here — but he had already noticed a sharp increase in the variety of nighttime sounds that penetrated his ears whenever he reluctantly laid down to sleep.
He frowned at the sword he was standing in front of. Xiu Ya, the placard read. It looked powerful, and sharp as could be, but strangely brittle, like one hit in the wrong place would be enough to shatter it.
He shook his head and moved on. There must be something else here that better fit his needs.
The halls all seemed to blend into each other, a maze of roughly-hewn stone and polished swords. Even so, the further he walked, the more powerful the weapons became. Half an hour in, far beyond where any disciple might stray when searching for their own sword, the names began to become recognisable from myths and warning tales alike.
Like that pole arm over there, which Yue Qi was pretty sure had once belonged to a woman so ludicrously clever that she was able to fool the gods themselves. Or that Yi Dao, from that cautionary tale that spoke of a man who tried to become the judge, jury, and executioner of the reigning Emperor, and was struck down for his audacity.
That these were hidden within Cang Qiong Sect… Yue Qi understood why his Shizun might want that to be kept secret. A shiver ran down his back at the thought of what Huan Hua might do to acquire and display some of these treasures.
Only ten minutes after that, during which the weapons had grown sparser and sparser, laid a whip made of a sleek metal folded around sharply cut gemstones. Vaguely curious, Yue Qi picked it up and experimentally snapped it, the metal moving as smoothly as if it were made of natural fibres. He flinched back at the sound, and quickly put it back again. If he reacted like that, after only a short encounter with young master Qiu’s whip, he didn’t want to know how Xiao Jiu would react. Better to spare him the association.
But, oh, there —
Yue Qi stepped around the corner and was met with the sight of a beautiful sword almost as broad as his upper arm. A sheath was hung up just beneath it, but Yue Qi disregarded it. He needed the steel edge where he was going, not the sparsely but expensively decorated cover.
Someone cleared their voice, and Yue Qi had fallen into a defensive stance before he recognised the figure standing in the corner.
“Qingqiu-shidi,” Yue Qi said, surprised.
Shang Qingqiu cringed into himself, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth. “Please, please just call me Shang-shidi, hearing you address me as Qingqiu-shidi is the stuff nightmares are made of.”
“If that is what Shang-shidi wants.” It was not like his brother, An Ding’s Head Disciple, was near enough to risk confusion. Now that was who Yue Qi would have expected to stand in front of him; the ambitious brother, who always wanted more, rather than the strange one who wrote his days away on Qing Jing. But no, his robes were a pale green that washed him out, making his skin look wan and his forehead sweaty.
… Or maybe that was merely the situation. He seemed to be far more anxious than Yue Qi was, for all that they were committing the same crime.
Truthfully, nobody knew what this Shang brother had done to acquire his title as Head Disciple of Qing Jing. Maybe Yue Qi shouldn’t have dismissed it as luck and bad judgement, he thought, eyes narrowing.
“Now,” he said, perfectly polite. “Would Shang-shidi be as kind as to tell me what he is doing here?”
“I’m here to…” Shang-shidi swallowed and looked away. He took a deep breath, gathered his nerves, and said in a rush, “You really shouldn’t take Xuan Su! It’s a very, very bad idea, and I don’t know how much I can say — how much I need to say, even — but you should listen! To me. About this.”
Yue Qi tilted his head. “Xuan Su?”
Shang-shidi pointed in the direction of the sword. And yes, looking closer, there did seem to be a small metal plate attached to the stand naming it that.
Tension crept into his shoulders. “You can’t stop me,” Yue Qi said in a low voice. “I’ll be coming out of these halls with a sword one way or another, even if I’ll be expelled from the Sect for it.”
He wasn’t going to be kept from Xiao Jiu any longer. He’d already waited long enough — far too long, in his opinion.
Shang-shidi jumped. “I know!” he squeaked. “I know, I know. Yue-shixiong is very devoted, we all know that.”
Nobody knew that. For all that Yue Qi wanted to do nothing but shout from the rooftops about Xiao Jiu, who was impossibly clever and loyal and bright and the best person in this world, he never had. He had to give Xiao Jiu the chance to create his own costume, to dress himself up in other’s eyes the way he wanted himself to be seen.
“I just —” Shang Qingqiu squared his shoulders and looked Yue Qi in the eyes, startlingly resolute. “Even a rusty sword in the hands of someone who cares is good enough to save your loved ones,” he said in an unnatural cadence, like it was something he had read before, or possibly prepared himself to say. “Yue-shixiong’s sword doesn’t have to be all-powerful just yet. You’re not going up against a tyrannical demon lord as powerful as he is intelligent, there is no vast army you need to fight off. You’re rescuing him from a few mortals, not a cultivator’s prison. It just… It just needs to be sharp. That’s enough.”
At Yue Qi’s stricken look, he added, “You might need that later. But later is not now. You can always come back here, when the time is right and things won’t go horrifically wrong if you grab that sword.” He laughed nervously. “Not that things will! I’m not saying that. I’m just saying they could.”
Yue Qi cast a longing look at Xuan Su. With it, nobody would be able to stop him; not from leaving the mountains on a rescue mission, not from tearing his way through the Qiu household.
“And you swear, you swear I will not need it?” he found himself asking Shang-shidi, not sure why he was so concerned with what the man would answer.
“I promise,” Shang-shidi said. His shoulders were pulled back, his back straighter than Yue Qi had ever seen it.
Yue Qi released a breath. “Then on your head it’ll be,” he threatened, and turned his back.
There were some swords kept in sheds near Qiong Ding’s training halls, not used for anything more than to practice flight. Nonetheless, they were kept sharp, if only to avoid creating bad habits that would later lead to you cutting yourself when you got your own sword.
They would have to do.
(A year later, as he confidently unsheathed Xuan Su and levelled it at Tianlang-jun’s mad grin, he wondered, is this what he thought I would need it for?
Tianlang-jun bared his bloodstained teeth and called out for his army to focus on Cang Qiong’s contingent, throwing himself in the fray along with them. Yue Qi sprung forward and swung his sword, the weapon moving with a power that surprised even himself. He wished he had had longer to get used to it before being thrown into war.
He did not spare a glance to the small figure hidden in his shadow, wielding golden knives that shifted into sharp projectiles with barely a thought, the childish trick adapted into a vicious and unpredictable fighting style. Nobody that knew Xiao Jiu would expect him to be capable of it, but there he was, a bright shining star, not dimmed an inch by past experiences.
And as he stood above Tianlang-jun’s prone body, sharing a victorious kiss with his fiancé, he was certain, it does not matter how he knew, or what precisely he saved me from. Damn his secrets — all that matters is that I have this, and that I have the power to keep this.)