Chapter Text
When Shen Qingqiu woke up, he didn’t immediately recognize his surroundings. In fact, he didn’t recognize them even after a few minutes had passed.
The last thing he remembered was standing in his bamboo cottage; he hadn’t slept all night, an unfortunate habit of his, having chosen instead to meditate after working on some of his correspondence. He’d started feeling uncomfortable at some point, his skin clammy with cold sweat, and it was only when he tried to stand that he realized something was wrong. And then–
And then he’d collapsed, he supposed, and now he was awake again but nothing around him reminded him of either Qing Jing Peak or Qian Cao. Where was he? Had he been poisoned and kidnapped? Who had taken advantage of him?
It was with some trepidation that he noticed that he didn’t actually seem to be being held prisoner at this strange location. Furthermore, his qi was circulating normally, without any sort of strain or blockage, even if it did seem to be relatively weaker than usual.
This in itself was already strange, but it was as he raised himself from the bed he’d been lying on that he noticed something even stranger: his body did not feel the same.
It was a body, yes – two legs, two arms, hands, feet and all that came with it –, but it didn’t really feel like his body usually did. His own body was slightly slimmer, his muscle just as defined but not as obvious, his ribs and collarbones protruding just a little bit more due to his inability to eat more. This body, on the other hand, was perhaps a few centimeters shorter, though still tall, face a little bit rounder and more filled in, with a healthy glow to its skin. This… was not his body.
What the fuck was going on?
After a careful glance around his room, he quickly surmised he seemed to be in an inn, where thankfully he located a mirror near the washbasin. His face… was different, but surprisingly not as much as he expected. His eyes were green, a different shade but green nonetheless, his hair was still black and silky, slightly shorter than before, and while his skin was a little bit darker and his face rounder and healthier-looking, he could still somewhat recognize himself.
This was… a very surprising predicament.
Shen Qingqiu pondered his situation. It wasn’t a common occurrence, but there had been situations recorded throughout the years of both body switching and body possession. As the strategist of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, it wouldn’t be entirely farfetched to theorize that someone might have targeted him in an effort to pull him away from the sect and infiltrate it themselves in a rather privileged position.
On the other hand, there was another option – he’d been feeling unwell before he collapsed, and he was prone to qi deviations. It was entirely possible that he had died. By all means, he should have reincarnated as a baby, beginning an entirely new life, but… could it be possible he’d reincarnated into an existing adult instead?
In either case, Shen Qingqiu knew the best possible course of action would be to find out as much as he could about the body he was inhabiting.
First things first, he looked through his belongings. The previous owner of his body, whoever he was, appeared to travel light – he had a sword in his qiankun pouch, though not a spiritual one, confirming that either his cultivation was not as developed as he’d initially assumed, or he wasn’t a part of a sect or a noble family that could help him obtain one; he had two spare sets of simple robes, both in dark gray and black, along with a simple gray hair ribbon; a handful of mixed herbs and potions and a small money pouch, holding a relatively decent amount of money.
There was nothing in the qiankun pouch that would suggest he was affiliated with any sect, and nothing to hint at what his name might have been either. His best bet, it seemed, would be to talk with the staff of the inn and try to find out what he’d told them when he’d procured a room, if anything at all.
As it turned out, the original goods seemed to be the mysterious sort. The innkeeper referred to him only as ‘esteemed cultivator’ in the entire course of their conversation, leading him to believe he’d never introduced himself by name.
“Pardon this master, but can you please remind me how many days I’ve booked my room for?” he asked a little later, the picture of politeness. “As I am unsure if I will need to extend it.”
“The esteemed cultivator has paid for three days,” the innkeeper’s wife confirmed.
“So I should leave on…” he trailed off, prompting her.
“Tomorrow, esteemed cultivator,” the woman confirmed, albeit a bit nervously. It seemed the original goods didn’t speak as coldly as Shen Qingqiu did, since she seemed surprised at the way he was talking to her. “Will you require some extra days for your business?”
“My business,” he repeated, consideringly. Was the man really just a rogue cultivator or was there something Shen Qingqiu should be on the lookout for? If so, his best bet would be to really leave the town and go on his way, lest he be found by anyone who held expectations about him. “No, that should be sufficient. Thank you.”
He would need to give himself a name, all things considered, but in Shen Qingqiu’s list of priorities, that ranked fairly low. What he needed to do, he decided, was to go to a restaurant or a teahouse in order to try and understand what had happened to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect after his passing and, more importantly, how long it had been.
Finding a teahouse wasn’t difficult, and neither was blending in. He sat quietly by himself, trying to pick up various bits of conversation as he delicately sipped on his tea, but neither of them seemed to be helpful to him or related to the cultivation world at all.
“Pardon me,” he said, calling over one of the room attendants, “can you tell me what is the nearest cultivation sect?”
The young attendant thought quietly before responding. “I believe it would be Zhao Hua Temple, esteemed cultivator,” she finally said, her eyes flicking briefly towards the sheathed sword propped up against his leg.
Zhao Hua Temple would mean they were near the Central Plains, East of the Tiangong Mountains. Even though Cang Qiong Mountain Sect was one of the four great sects, he wouldn’t be surprised if there was little conversation about it so close to a different sect.
After a shichen, he deemed his efforts unfruitful and took his leave, choosing instead to peruse the nearest bookstore, hopeful he would find something that could help him make sense of the current state of the world around him.
“Please sir,” a young woman was begging as he made his way inside, along with another woman he assumed was his friend, “we heard there were some early copies released, we ask you to help us!”
The bookstore owner looked a little lost in face of the pleas from the two young women. “I-I don’t know what to tell you, those are just rumors! We’re only expecting the new volume tomorrow…”
Shen Qingqiu was naturally curious. He didn’t often indulge in literature outside of the usual Qing Jing material, and as such he was often out of the loop when it came to popular literature outside of the sect and cultivation as a whole.
“Apologies, I couldn’t help but overhear,” he said, approaching the trio. He was wearing a new body and a new face; there would hardly be any harm in taking advantage of it until he figured out what he could do about it. “Which book are you referring to?”
The two women giggled, covering their mouths with their hands. “I see how it is,” one of them said, exchanging a look with her friend. “We’re talking about the latest installment of The Regret of Chunshan.”
“The Regret of Chunshan?” he asked, trying to understand if it seemed familiar at all. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of it.”
At this, even the bookstore owner gave him an odd look. “Esteemed cultivator, these books are very famous,” he said. “Have you really never heard of the sordid tale of Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe?”
Shen Qingqiu thought he had certainly misheard. “Pardon?” he said, trying to remain polite. “Did you say Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe?”
“Yes yes, master and disciple,” the other woman said, an excited glint in her eye. “Their love story has been told countless times and there are many songs about it.”
Shen Qingqiu sputtered, unable to hide his shock. “Shameless! Utterly shameless!” he hissed. “Shen Qingqiu is an immortal master and Luo Binghe is a child , how can you—“
“A child?” the bookstore owner asked, interrupting him, clearly surprised at his words. “You must surely be confused — you’re talking about the Heavenly Demon Emperor, who is certainly not a child!”
* * *
Shen Qingqiu didn’t qi deviate, but only by a great miracle.
He’d left the bookstore armed with several volumes of The Regret of Chunshan, including the very first one, and the knowledge that over 10 years had passed since his death. Not only that, but no one seemed to even know he’d died.
After all, Shen Qingqiu had seemingly lived on: according to the information he’d gathered from the books and from the bookstore trio, he’d had a torrid affair with his disciple – the little beast – during his disciple days, who had turned out to be a Heavenly Demon, had died, had had his body ( his body actually, not the impostor’s in the first place!) desecrated by his extremely unfilial disciple during 5 years and had somehow returned to life only for said disciple-turned-demon to nearly destroy the world.
Tianlang Jun, the previous ruler of the Demon Realm and supposed father of Luo Binghe, had also apparently returned and the Huan Hua Old Palace Master had had his reputation ruined. Luo Binghe was now the new Huan Hua Palace Master, as well as the Heavenly Demon Emperor, and just like that 12 whole years had passed since the last time Shen Qingqiu had inhabited his body.
Ah, and the cherry on top of the cake was: Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe were married.
Shen Qingqiu was at a loss on what to think. His reputation was completely ruined by whatever impostor had taken over his body and no one had noticed someone else had taken over his life.
Actually, he thought, a little meanly, they’d very likely noticed – they just hadn’t cared. After all, the relationship between him and his fellow martial brothers was quite strained. Why should they care if he was replaced by a person who involved themselves with their disciple who turned out to be a Heavenly Demon and attempted to merge the two realms? Certainly, everything the real Shen Qingqiu had done before warranted much harsher judgment and contempt from their end.
He could go after them, after ‘Shen Qingqiu’ and Luo Binghe; he could find a way to reverse whatever possession had happened and find a way back into his body. Unfortunately, he was having difficulty finding reasons to do so.
On the one hand, that body and the Qing Jing Peak Lord title were the fruits of his labor – he’d worked hard to improve his cultivation despite how crippled it’d been to begin with, despite the first 16 years of his life spent in poverty and slavery, and he’d worked hard for his spiritual weapon and his courtesy name, even if it was a permanent reminder of the family who’d taken so much from him.
Someone else had taken over his body – whether willingly or not he didn’t know, but it didn’t particularly matter – and had reaped the benefits of his hard work, never having had to go through the same hardships as he had.
On the other hand… well, on the other hand, nobody had cared and 12 years had gone by. As far as the other Peak Lords were concerned, they likely firmly believed that they were better off this way, even if their problematic martial brother had ended up marrying a dangerous demon.
Why should he be eager to return to a life where he’d had power but no actual contentment from it? Why should he be eager to return to a life no one wanted him to return to in the first place, even if it was his to begin with?
That night, Shen Qingqiu indulged himself; he went to a restaurant, famed for its braised duck, listened to live music, and partook in sweet white wine accompanied by sweet pastries. It was late when he returned to the inn, and for the first time in literal years, he slept without any nightmares.
The next day, Shen Qingqiu gathered his sparse belongings and politely bid goodbye to the owners, leaving behind some additional coins. He didn’t have any real idea on where he was going to go; there was much he hadn’t seen of the world yet, but all he was certain of was that he wanted to be as far away as possible from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect cultivators.
“Esteemed cultivator,” the innkeeper called out, right when he was about to step out, “may we ask for your name?”
“Certainly,” he said, with a small smile, “this one’s name is Yin He.”