Chapter Text
Shen Jiu was having a strange day.
Apparently, he had died, though he didn't find that particularly noteworthy; people died every day, the cycle of life or something like that. No, the anomaly was the fact that he woke up. That, and the incessant, rhythmic beeping drilling into his skull.
The logic of his situation was fraying at the edges. He remembered the driveway, a hooded figure, and the white-hot agony of a blade burying itself in his abdomen. Again. And again.
He refused to deign the world with an open eye. He was certain this was a fever dream, a cruel hallucination before he truly woke up at home to show his siblings his new music. Perhaps the noise was A-Yuan or Meimei being pests; he was fairly certain being a nuisance was a universal younger-sibling trait.
Having had enough, he snapped his eyes open, intent on shattering whatever was making that sound. But instead of his siblings, he was greeted by a blue, transparent screen.
[Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! Important things must be said three times! Host has been bound to the role of the scum villain, Shen Qingqiu, the Xiu Ya sword!]
A coma-induced delusion. That was the only logical explanation.
Deciding to ignore the floating hallucination for the time being, he looked around. The room was dark, but he could make out shapes through the gloom. He was in a nest, he noted. It wasn't his own, yet some deep, primal part of him screamed that this space was safe.
Unnerved, he decided to test his reality. If this was merely a product of his unconscious mind, surely his senses would be dull? Omegas were known for their keen olfaction, capable of identifying the slightest hint of a pheromone. If he couldn't smell, he was dreaming.
Shen Jiu took a deep breath, and immediately gagged.
The room reeked of distress so potent it made his eyes water. Instinctively, his own scent flared to counter the cloying, panicked omega pheromones in the air, trying to make the atmosphere bearable.
He sniffed again, relaxing for a fleeting second before his brow furrowed and his eyes flew wide.
I can’t tell which one is my scent, he thought, clutching the sheets until his knuckles turned white.
Dread settled in his gut. He did not recognize this room, and more importantly, he would never have constructed such a subpar nest. His own nests were marvels—meticulously maintained and soft beyond measure. This? This was a disastrous mess of haphazardly thrown blankets and pillows, looking more like a messy beta’s bed than the sanctuary of an omega.
Disgraceful.
The beeping returned. Swallowing his agitation, he turned his gaze toward the screen with a frigid calmness he didn't truly feel. His gaze hardened. In the web novels A-Yuan enjoyed, the culprit was always this creature.
"System," he rasped. "Explain.”
[This System greets Host! Host has been bound to the role of Qing Jing Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu, the scum villain of Proud Immortal Demon Way! This System hopes Host will have a great experience! (＾▽＾)]
“Return me at once,” he managed to demand through gritted teeth.
Great experience, his well-shaped ass! If this wasn't a product of his imagination, then it was a kidnapping—and the kidnapper was an idiot. He'd dealt with enough of the industry to know a sugary facade usually hid a venomous snake beneath.
[ (┳Д┳) Host, that is not possible! Host has already expired in that world; returning is not advised!]
A sharp, ragged intake of breath escaped his lips.
“What do you mean by expired?” he snapped, hysteria beginning to bleed into his voice.
[Answering Host: Host was stabbed to death by a stalker in Host’s garage.]
It hadn’t been a dream.
The sensation of being gutted, the white-hot agony, the bone-deep cold, all of it rushed back, hitting him with the force of a blow.
He would never see his family again.
He wouldn’t be able to hug his mother, or lose himself in a long, insightful conversation with his father.
He’d never get the chance to mock da-ge or perform his new songs for A-Yuan and Meimei.
His vision blurred, and he turned away from the mocking glow of the screen, raising a trembling hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks—a pointless attempt at preserving a dignity that had already been stripped away.
[ (┳Д┳) Don’t cry, Host! This System will help Host achieve happiness in this life!]
“Who is crying?” he retorted, his voice thick and muffled by a stuffy nose. “And how exactly would you help me? Explain yourself properly.”
[Answering Host: This System can assign missions for Host to complete, allowing Host to gain points! The System also has a store where Host can buy useful items with these points. And this System has a very unique and special function just for Host! (◕ᗜ◕)]
“What function…?”
[This System can provide lessons and tutorials for any skill Host is interested in! Be it painting or qi manipulation! Even the super-rare ones! This System has given its all for this System’s dearest Host! (◕ω◕)]
Satisfactory.
Tentatively, he moved the entity from his internal blacklist and placed it into the "useful" category.
However, one detail demanded his immediate attention. The mention of qi manipulation reminded him of his "role" in this world. It sounded like a xianxia setting, and apparently, he was someone of importance.
A “scum villain,” it had said. He had died only to be reincarnated as the antagonist. He truly was living out the plot of one of A-Yuan’s trashy web novels. If the situation weren't so tragic, he might have laughed.
“That is... useful,” he praised the System lightly, a gesture that resulted in a dozen happy emojis cascading across the screen. Slyly, he added, “And where exactly is this? I was quite startled to wake up in a nest that wasn't my own.”
[Host is in his bamboo house on Qing Jing Peak, located within the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect! All the disciples have left the Peak following the previous Peak Lord’s ascension, leaving Shen Qingqiu with only a handful of personnel.]
So, the previous owner was new to the job and had been snubbed by everyone. No wonder the room reeked of distress; the man had likely stress-nested in a desperate bid for comfort. Shen Jiu could smell the faint, underlying scent of something vaguely sweet and bamboo-like—a scent he recognized as his own. Unwillingly, a pang of sympathy resonated in his chest. Shen Qingqiu hadn’t had anyone to share scents with. Not even a single friend.
“And what happened to him?”
[Shen Qingqiu suffered through a qi deviation stronger than usual!]
“He died? Poor guy,” Shen Jiu muttered, a trace of pity surfacing as he rose from the bed.
The soft light filtering through the window signaled the break of dawn. He stopped in front of a full-length mirror to study his new reflection and nearly recoiled. He looked like himself, or rather, a version of himself that belonged in a xianxia novel. But he was far too thin. While there were hints of curves here and there, he lacked the healthy, shapely physique he had worked so hard to maintain in his previous life.
Unacceptable.
The body was a temple, and he intended to restore this one to its former glory.
Continuing his survey, he noted the room's layout: a vast collection of fans adorned one wall, a desk sat tucked in a corner, and a wardrobe stood opposite the bed. It was surprisingly bare for someone of his status. Side-eyeing the fan collection, he realized this was likely the only luxury the original Shen Qingqiu permitted himself. It was a bit excessive, perhaps, but he understood the aesthetic. Fans were, after all, the height of elegance.
He reached out and selected one—a beautiful greenish-blue piece featuring tastefully painted carp swimming across the surface, bright orange scales gleaming against a tranquil painted lake.
Meimei would have liked it, he thought wistfully. She always had a weakness for pretty things.
Impulsively, he decided he would use this fan today. Opening and snapping it closed absentmindedly, he moved to the wardrobe to inspect the contents. He had the distinct impression the previous owner followed a strictly enforced theme.
He had never seen so many shades of a single color. Pastel green. Leaf green. A green so deep it bordered on black. It was, frankly, an impressive spectrum.
Shen Jiu gravitated toward the darkest silks. His grip tightened on the fan, and for one moment, he allowed his grief to slip its prison.
He steeled himself barely a second later, gathering the chosen robes to make himself presentable. Or at least, he attempted to.
The garments were undeniably elegant, but they were also a logistical nightmare. He stared at the pile of silk with the sort of cold disdain usually reserved for incompetent subordinates. Which layer went first? How many were considered socially acceptable? How was he supposed to drape these without creating a wrinkled mess that suggested he’d slept in a ditch? He racked his brain for anything from his old history lessons, but his memory only offered dry political facts, not the intricate trivia of ancient fashion.
[Host! This System offers a Beginner Package for its very special and dearest user! The package includes tutorials on how to present yourself in a way fit for a Qing Jing Peak Lord!]
“Thanks,” he muttered. It felt like a prompt from a cheap mobile game, but he wasn't in a position to be picky. Even if the System was complicit in his kidnapping, at least it was proving itself to be a semi-competent tool.
[(⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄<⁄ ⁄)]
Good grief, this thing is insufferable, he thought. The fangirl energy radiating from the screen reminded him of the more frantic elements of his fanbase back home.
Scouring the available videos, he noted that the Newbie Package was surprisingly comprehensive. He suspected this wasn't just a gift; the System was likely bridging the gap between his own knowledge and Shen Qingqiu’s established role. To be a Peak Lord—a master and a scholar—he had to embody the part with absolute precision, even if the Peak was currently a ghost town.
His eyes landed on the clothing tutorial. He couldn't help but scoff at the title: Dressing Up for Dummies. It hardly inspired confidence in the author’s intellect.
However, Shen Jiu was a man who could admit when he was wrong, and this was one of those rare, irritating occasions where his initial judgment was off the mark. The tutorial was incredibly illuminating. As he followed the instructions, he began to realize just how much weight this society placed on optics. Not that he ever intended to look like anything less than a masterpiece, but as the Lord of Qing Jing, his image had to exude a very specific brand of scholarly disdain.
Still, the process was absurd. Seven layers. He had to don seven individual layers of silk.
Despite feeling like a stuffed doll, he couldn’t deny the result: the final silhouette was breathtaking. It was a tragedy, then, that he had to mar the look with a pungent scent-blocker to conceal his designation.
Shen Jiu felt thoroughly cheated. He had nothing against Betas, of course, but he was an Omega, damn it!
As he had been following the tutorial, the System had chirped that the original Shen Qingqiu never went without his blockers. He was fully prepared to ignore this travesty against his person until the cursed machine began to flash a violent red, shrieking warnings about a “Punishment Protocol.” To shut the thing up, he had applied the vile concoction to his scent glands with a sneer. Shen Jiu was not scared! He was merely being pragmatic. There was no sense in picking a fight with a sentient light-show before breakfast.
Glaring at the whining screen, he pulled up a tutorial for his hair. If the thing was going to force its features on him, the least he could do was use and abuse them until he was satisfied. It was only fair after it had the audacity to threaten him.
[This System has not threatened dearest Host… (┳Д┳)]
“Lies,” he hissed, pinning a hair crown into place with a precision that bordered on aggressive. “A punishment for simply existing as I am? How is that anything but a threat?”
[This System is sorry, Host! But Shen Qingqiu has not revealed his Omega designation to anyone in this sect; and Host, as Shen Qingqiu, must stay in character!]
“And now I have a script to follow?” he questioned sharply, his tone dripping with incredulity.
[Host should not worry! This System will do everything in its power to ensure dearest user's happiness and wellbeing! (＾▽＾)]
The thing was impossible.
Shen Jiu ground his teeth. Shen Qingqiu was an Omega playing the part of a cold Beta, isolated within his own sect. Now, Shen Jiu was expected to inhabit this hollow shell of a man—and make something out of it.
He sat daintily on the bed, trying to center himself, but the room was a blank, impersonal slate. He craved his family's familiar scents and the premium blankets of his own nest to soothe the ache in his chest. But they were gone. Even the previous reek of distress had dissipated, leaving behind a sterile void that set his nerves on edge.
Shen Qingqiu had turned his safe haven into a bunker.
It made Shen Jiu wonder. He had never felt the need to hide; as the second son of a wealthy family, he lived a life of polished privilege. But he wasn't naive. If a man of this rank felt that excising a core part of his identity was the only way to survive, then the danger was closer than a distant dark alley.
I will not be taken by surprise. Not again.
If this world was the epitome of might makes right, then a lackluster cultivation was a death sentence. Especially in that recent one his brother was obsessed with, the one featuring a half-demon protagonist who slaughtered and debauched his way to the top simply because he had the power to do so.
A creeping sensation climbed his neck. He called out to the screen, his voice tight. "System! Is Proud Immortal Demon Way the novel where a Shen Qingqiu is tortured to death?"
[Host is correct! Shen Qingqiu is Luo Binghe’s mentor, the one responsible for the protagonist's blackening!]
He was well and truly fucked.
[Host can rest assured! Host is capable of guiding Shen Qingqiu's character development in any way Host desires!]
“And how exactly?” Shen Jiu asked with a weary sigh. "You insist I stay in character, yet you speak of freedom. Make up your mind."
[Host must develop Shen Qingqiu organically! If Host shifts too suddenly, the other Peak Lords will suspect possession!]
That was a chilling thought. If the most powerful cultivators in the world decided he was a malevolent spirit, his second life would be shorter than his first.
“You said he is a Peak Lord. How strong is he, truly?”
[Answering Host: Shen Qingqiu is the sect’s second-in-command, a remarkably intelligent and cunning man! However, his cultivation is lackluster compared to the other Peak Lords due to... past circumstances.]
Past circumstances. The System was being intentionally vague, but the pieces formed a grim picture: an Omega who lacked the raw power to defend himself, despite his rank. A man with no friends, no family, and a brilliant, lonely mind.
No wonder he was in constant surveillance mode; he had been bracing for mutiny.
And now, Shen Jiu was standing in the line of fire.
It was a stroke of luck that the Peak sat empty of disciples. It gave him the chance to shift the narrative—organically, as the System insisted. Shen Qingqiu hadn’t felt safe even within the walls of his own home. Shen Jiu, however, was going to transform this entire Peak into a sanctuary.
And then, he thought with icy resolution, I will become so powerful that fear becomes a foreign concept.
“System, catalog Shen Qingqiu’s abilities. I need a training schedule, immediately."
[Answering Host: Shen Qingqiu wields Xiu Ya and is renowned as the Xiu Ya Sword! He excels at spiritual infusion. But Host must not neglect the Four Arts; Qing Jing is the Scholars' Peak, after all!]
“The scholar’s path won’t be an issue,” he replied, a spark of confidence returning to his voice. Artistic pursuit was second nature; he had built a career on music and been taught by the best tutors his family could buy. The scholarly duties might actually be the only part of this nightmare he’d enjoy.
He perused the tutorial list with a critical eye, selecting a foundational curriculum: Swords for Noobs, Basics of Qi, Beginner Tactics, and Sect Politics. He couldn't risk the embarrassment, or the death sentence, that would come from failing to play the part.
Scrolling further, he felt a grudging respect for the locked, high-tier options. The Store was a literal goldmine of forgotten techniques and blasphemous power-ups. The motivation of being the weakest Peak Lord with a torture-filled expiration date was more than enough to make him a points-hoarding glutton; he would buy his way to safety if he had to.
“System, how long until the protagonist arrives?”
[Answering Host: Luo Binghe will arrive at the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect in twelve years!]
Twelve years. Plenty of time to rewrite the script.
Satisfied, he settled himself daintily onto the nest to begin Basics of Qi. But just as the interface flickered to life, a polite knock sounded at his door.
He froze. His fingers went instinctively to his lips, tapping a nervous, staccato rhythm. What do I do? How does a Peak Lord speak?!
The knocking grew more persistent.
“System!” he hissed, panicked.
[System believes in Host! (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ:・ﾟ✧]*
Useless thing! he screamed internally.
The next knock was louder, echoing through the house. In an instant, the performer took over. Shen Jiu’s panic retreated behind a wall of ice; he smoothed his features into a mask of cold aloofness and glided toward the exit with forced tranquility.
As he stepped out, he watched with mild astonishment as the door to his nest shimmered and vanished into the wall.
Clever, he thought, his fan snapping open with a clack. The mechanism ensured no one would stumble upon the safe haven. He turned toward the front door, his chin tilted at a haughty angle.
Let the performance begin.
Opening the door, he was met by a tall, broad-shouldered man with a fist poised to knock yet again. Handsome, Shen Jiu noted dispassionately, but possessed a look of such vacant warmth that he appeared positively dim-witted. Shen Jiu raised his fan, masking his expression as he discreetly sampled the air.
A woody, pleasant scent—Alpha—hit him first, but it was ruined by a sour undercurrent of guilt.
Shen Jiu's hackles rose. A dual impulse warred in his chest: he wanted this man to vanish into the earth; he wanted this man to stay here and never leave. Irritated by his own body's betrayal, he leveled a glacial glare at the invader.
“Xiao Jiu…”
The name triggered a visceral curl of disgust in his gut.
“Shen-shidi. This one is glad to see shidi is so... well-spirited, considering recent events,” the Alpha corrected himself smoothly, his smile never wavering as if overstepping Shen Jiu’s boundaries was a practiced routine. But Shen Jiu noted the minuscule tensing of the Alpha’s shoulders—the man was bracing for a lash of his tongue.
A degenerate masochist, Shen Jiu thought, his grip tightening on the fan. He had no interest in playing along with this psychodrama. The man wanted rage; he would only receive indifference.
“This one is well enough,” he replied, matching the man's bland tone.
A flash of genuine surprise flickered across the man’s face, and for a split second, his eyes lost their glassy, vacant quality and sharpened with confusion. He seemed unsettled that Shen Jiu hadn't snapped.
System, Shen Jiu projected, refusing to look like a madman by speaking to the air, who is this annoying pest?
[Answering Host: This man is Sect Leader Yue Qingyuan! Host should address him as Zhangmen-shixiong!]
The first-in-command. Of course. Who else would have the audacity to bother the second-highest-ranking person in the sect at this hour?
“This one is relieved. If shidi requires any assistance, this master will gladly provide it,” Yue Qingyuan said. He wore the same smile Shen Jiu remembered on the politicians back home—hollow and utterly false.
“Thanking Zhangmen-shixiong for his concern. This master shall keep it in mind.”
And promptly discard it. Shen Jiu fanned himself languidly, less for the aesthetic and more to clear his nostrils of the man’s cloying scent.
“Does Zhangmen-shixiong have urgent business?” he asked, his tone dripping with the annoyance of a man interrupted. “As newly established Peak Lords, we both have duties requiring immediate attention. Unless the sect has fallen into such total chaos that the Sect Leader has nothing better to do than make social calls, I suggest we both return to our work.”
Yue Qingyuan wilted like a particularly unimpressive flower, yet through narrowed eyes, Shen Jiu saw his smile turn a touch more genuine—a look he didn't trust for a second.
“Shen-shidi should not trouble himself; I was merely passing by and noted the silence of these woods. I only wished to ensure all was well with you and your Peak.”
Shen Jiu snapped his fan shut, cursing the opening he’d left. “All is as it should be. This master is perfectly capable of attending to his own responsibilities.”
“Xiao—” Yue Qingyuan choked back the name at the sight of Shen Jiu’s warning glare, but he forged ahead with his gentle probing regardless. “Shen-shidi is talented. I have no doubt your disciples will benefit greatly from such expertise.”
There it was. The needle. Yue Qingyuan knew the Peak was a ghost town, and he was rubbing it in. While the humiliation burned, a secret wave of relief washed through Shen Jiu. He had no desire to play nursemaid to a pack of brats while he was still flying blind; he needed to find his own footing before attempting to mold impressionable minds.
“Indeed,” Shen Jiu replied tonelessly. He had no more retorts to give. Trying to hide it would be far more pathetic than simply acknowledging it.
“If shidi is amenable, I plan to arrange a disciple selection a few days ahead of schedule,” Yue Qingyuan offered, his voice treading carefully as if navigating a minefield.
“Unnecessary,” Shen Jiu denied instantly.
“Xiao Jiu, I must insist,” Yue Qingyuan pushed, his serenity finally cracking. “A Peak cannot function without its disciples.”
The use of the loathsome nickname made Shen Jiu’s skin crawl. He didn't understand the origin of the reaction, but the name made him freeze like cornered prey.
“Zhangmen-shixiong oversteps,” he snapped, a defensive edge bleeding into his voice. “The business of Qing Jing Peak is handled solely by its Peak Lord.”
“Xiao Jiu is indeed a Peak Lord,” Yue Qingyuan countered with that same hollow smile, using the name like he was correcting an unruly pup. “And as such, he requires students to whom he can impart his wisdom.”
The cloying scent of guilt intensified, thick enough to choke. Shen Jiu clutched his fan until the bamboo groaned, forcing himself to regulate his breathing through the suffocating musk of the Alpha’s remorse. He could not lose his cool; a breakdown would only embolden the man to act without his input.
“This shidi will handle the matter in due time. Zhangmen-shixiong’s offer is generous, but unasked for,” Shen Jiu said through gritted teeth.
“Shen-shidi is, of course, free to manage his own affairs,” Yue Qingyuan replied pleasantly, though the sourness of his scent betrayed a deep-seated worry. “May I inquire what shidi has in mind?”
Shen Jiu’s mind raced; he needed a compromise that would appease the Sect Leader while keeping the reins firmly in his own hands.
“This master will seek out candidates suited for the scholar’s path shortly,” he stated, his eyes locked onto Yue Qingyuan’s from behind the safety of his fan. “Zhangmen-shixiong need not fret; I shall endeavor to find suitable talent on my own terms.”
Yue Qingyuan leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he weighed Shen Jiu’s uncharacteristic patience. Then, just as quickly, the dim-witted warmth returned. He bowed his head, a gesture of concession that felt more like a tactical retreat than a genuine apology.
“If that is shidi’s wish, this master shall not interfere,” Yue Qingyuan said. He offered a final, lingering look before turning to leave.
Shen Jiu didn't wait for him to be out of earshot. He snapped the door shut and fanned himself with a violent motion, desperate to scrub the air of that suffocating musk.
What on earth was that?
He retreated deeper into the house, but the moment he sank onto the cushions, a sharp ding shattered the silence.
[Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! Important things must be said three times! Host has completed the mission, Introduction: Deserted Peak, and has gained 100 points!]
Mission? Shen Jiu's eyes snapped toward the screen. Was the cursed thing not supposed to warn me?
The System didn't give him time to demand an explanation before chirping again.
[Mission Activated: Recruit First Disciple! Reward: 50 points. Time limit: 1 month.]
“Only one month?” he snapped. He had been trying to buy time, but he’d expected a more generous window than that. “And what about this 'introductory' mission? Why was I not informed?”
[ (┳Д┳) This System is sorry, Host! This System became... distracted by the user’s sharp verbal exchange!]
Shen Jiu clicked his tongue, closed his eyes, and took a slow breath. He massaged his temples, forcing the pieces of this absurdity into a coherent picture. He was in a xianxia world. He was still an Omega—thank everything holy and divine for that small mercy—and he was a Peak Lord. A newly ascended master with a ghost-town for a peak and an impending date with a torture rack.
I died—
No. He slammed the door on that thought. There were more pressing concerns than debating the nature of the afterlife or wondering if his mind was finally fracturing under the strain. He had to survive.
He snapped his eyes open, his gaze hard as flint.
“Tell me everything,” Shen Jiu commanded. “In detail.”