Chapter Text
It’s the classic trope of transmigration stories to avoid your death flag by hugging the protagonist’s thigh. If you wake up as the villain who tormented the future hero, the safest move is to turn into his biggest supporter and hope he spares you when the story reaches its climax.
So when he apparently woke from a fever after a Qi deviation, to a man calling him Qingqiu-shidi, Shen Yuan hoped maybe his luck wasn’t that bad. Maybe he had arrived years before the protagonist ever set foot on Cang Qiong Mountain.
As naturally as he could, he weakly asked about Luo Binghe. The Qiong Ding Peak Lord-Yue Qingyuan, he now recalled-made a pained face and gently told him he shouldn’t be so hard on his disciple. Apparently, Shen Qingqiu had locked the boy in the woodshed for days after whipping him.
The churning in his body only grew worse, stirring beneath his skin, rushing sharp as fire through his veins. Blood roared in his ears like a drumbeat. Shen Yuan thought this must be his first real Qi deviation as he collapsed back onto the bed, shutting out the frantic calls of the scum villain’s name and praying this was all just a nightmare.
It’s not.
He only snapped back into reality when a cooling sensation traveled from his hands toward the rest of his body, dulling the ache he hadn’t even realized was there. Shen Yuan had lived his entire life in chronic pain-so much that he’d stopped noticing it unless it spiked. Now, with that sudden relief spreading through Shen Qingqiu’s limbs, he felt disoriented, almost alarmed. Had his sickly, mortal illnesses actually followed him here?
Blinking blearily up at Yue Qingyuan’s worried face, he felt more confused than anything.
“Is it the... cramps again, Shidi?” Yue Qingyuan asked quietly, voice pitched low as if he didn’t want anyone to overhear.
Cramps? Shen Yuan barely stopped himself from saying it aloud. That was… news to him. Judging by Yue Qingyuan’s tone, this was some recurring problem.
When Yue Qingyuan caught his blank look, his worried expression deepened. “Shidi… you don’t remember? Has your qi deviation damaged your memory?” He hesitated, lowering his voice even further. “It’s been troubling you for years. You asked me not to speak of it to the others besides Mu-shidi.” He then hesitantly added as if expecting a backlash “Should I call for him?”
Shen Yuan lay very still, pondering if now was the time to play the amnesia card. Clearly, aside from knowing Shen Qingqiu was a scum villain to everyone around him, he didn’t know jack about the original goods-his personal habits, his private quirks, or how he acted when he wasn’t busy being a terror to the protagonist.
How long could he keep bluffing before someone noticed their lofty, cold Peak Lord suddenly forgetting the part he was supposed to play? Isn't there some talisman detection about possession?
Ah, but if he just claimed he didn’t recall a thing, that would be way too telling, wouldn’t it? He’d already asked about Luo Binghe-why would someone with real amnesia zero in on one disciple by name? Better to act like he didn’t have amnesia at all… while also making it obvious he did. Flawless plan.
Shen Yuan forced his mouth into a thin, disdainful line, scoffing as he turned his head just enough to avoid Yue Qingyuan’s eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. This master is merely disoriented,” he said, doing his best impression of an aloof bastard while his pulse hammered in his throat. Hopefully it sounded more convincing out loud than it did in his own ears.
Yue Qingyuan’s frown deepened. “Xiao Jiu…” he said softly, almost like he was trying to soothe a startled animal.
Xiao Jiu? Who the hell was that? Shen Yuan blinked, confusion flashing across his face before he could stop it.
Yue Qingyuan’s expression tightened instantly, worry bleeding through his usual calm demeanor.
Great. Fantastic. SHen Yuan is a natural!!!
· · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ··
Shen Yuan found himself pacing tight circles in the study, sleeves snapping behind him with every turn. The moment Yue Qingyuan was forcefully out the door, he slammed it shut and locked it for good measure to panic in peace.
Why! Is! He! Shen Qingqiu!
Of all the trash novels in all the cheap publishing websites in the world, he had to wake up in this one? In this body ? If Shen Yuan can find Airplane, he will wring that trash author’s neck like he deserves! This is obviously all his fault in the first place!
Why couldn’t he have woken up as some background extra? A nameless disciple who gets one line before disappearing forever? Or even a demon-at least that would be cool.
But no, the universe decided to dump him in the one story where the only way to truly survive was to become one of the protagonist’s wife… or just a woman in general, because every single man in this world lived under Luo Binghe’s harsh scrutiny and his-Hate-and-Destroy-All-Men-and-Steal-Their-Girls tour. And He is the unfortunate transmigrated reader that got the short end of the stick, waking up as the scummy master who started it all.
Maybe… there’s still hope. He clearly hadn’t kicked the protagonist into the abyss yet-not after Yue Qingyuan’s long-suffering nagging about “taking it easy” before the Immortal Alliance Conference. Which meant Luo Binghe wasn’t blackened. Not yet. Just still suffering under the Scum Villain’s hand.
That was… something Shen Yuan could fix.
It was embarrassing how long it took him to wrestle himself into his peak lord robes. He could only pray the layers were in the right order as he barked an order for Ming Fan (fellow soon-to-be-victim in the getting-tortured-by-the-protagonist club) to drag Luo Binghe out of the woodshed and up to the Bamboo House.
While waiting, he tried to pace the nerves out of his system. What was he even going to say? What if he made things worse? Why had he impulsively decided to meet the protagonist face to face like this? Stupid. Stupid! But he was excited, okay? This was his first ever meet-and-greet with his favorite character. And no one could stop him.
When Ming Fan finally called from outside to announce their arrival, Shen Yuan nearly jumped out of his skin. He coughed into his sleeve, frantically arranging his face into something cold and “masterly” before the door slid open. Two sets of footsteps crossed the threshold.
Shen Yuan turned-and nearly lost his composure on the spot.
Damn you, Shen Qingqiu. How could you beat the protagonist so badly?!
He was so screwed.
The boy limping beside Ming Fan was unmistakably Luo Binghe, the protagonist himself. But not the dazzling, stallion portagonist Shen Yuan knew from the novel. This was a teenager barely holding himself upright, his robe in tatters, skin a mess of bruises, eyes dull with exhaustion, unable to meet Shen QIngqiu in the eye. Even standing still, his presence burned too bright that Shen Yuan swore there is a golden halo around him even if he looks like a drowned rat.
He nearly broke character when the protagonist started to Kneel, further aggravating his wounds. No thank you sir. Stay upright. Shen Yuan had to school his face hard not to let the horror show.
He knew he was starting to slip when even Ming fan began to look confused at his silent behavior. Obviously expecting a tongue-lashing and even more punishment to Luo Binghe for dirtying his floors But instead, A stern “Have you learned your lesson” like a parent scolding a child and a healing salve hastily thrown towards his youngest shidi who caught it on instinct, staring at the bottle as though it were an alien object.
“Don’t let others think Qing Jing Peak abuses its disciples,” Shen Yuan said coldly, the way a proper bitchy Shen Qingqiu would. Or so he hoped
When Luo Binghe raised his head, Shen Yuan braced himself for suspicion, maybe even contempt. A face that screamed Do you think I’m an idiot? would have been completely deserved. If the person who’d spent years whipping you raw suddenly tossed you medicine, why wouldn’t you assume it was poison as another part of their sadistic schemes?
Instead, there was no hesitation when Luo Binghe stared at him full on, eyes brilliant and piercing, holding emotions far too deep for Shen Yuan to decipher. It sent a shiver racing down his spine.
For one ridiculous second, he understood why the original novel’s women kept swooning over the protagonist. If someone looked at you like that, wouldn’t your breath catch and your knees tremble at such intensity?
Then, as if something about Shen Yuan had passed some invisible test, Luo Binghe’s blank mask softened and bloomed into an angelic smile. He bowed gratefully, voice soft as he thanked Shen Qingqiu. “This disciple thank his Shizun for this gift” The way Luo Binghe said his title feels like its feel with reverence,as if the word itself were something rare and precious.
Shen Yuan’s heart swelled in spite of himself. Such a pure lotus, still capable of gratitude over something so small-something that should have been a basic need, not a rare gift. It was sweet, and it was heartbreaking. This boy, this too-trusting protagonist, was doomed to be crushed by the world… and Shen Yuan mourned that he was starting out so eager to please the very master who should have protected him in the first place.
That unfamiliar weight tightened in Shen Yuan’s chest. Damn it. How was he supposed to stay in character when the protagonist spoke like that, as if he-the scum villain-were worth trusting? Woodenly, he asks the dreaded question.
“Binghe” The name slipped out before he realized how informal he sounded.
The boy’s head jerked up at the sound of his name, those soft tufts of hair bouncing with the movement. Shen Yuan, hopelessly dazed, found himself fixating on the disarray. How was it even legal for anyone’s hair to look that fluffy? If sheep could cultivate, they’d probably look like this. He had to clench his fists to stop himself from smoothing it down. No. Bad Shen Yuan. You’re supposed to be a stern master, not some deranged petter of heads. Was this what parenthood felt like? Was this why Shen Qingqiu never touched his disciples’ heads-because once you started, you’d never stop?
“How old is Binghe now?”
That fluffy head tilted in mild confusion, as if the boy himself couldn’t believe his scum teacher was asking something so… normal.
“This disciple is fourteen, Shizun.”
If Luo Binghe noticed anything strange in his master’s sudden interest, he didn’t show it. In fact, his eyes never once left Shen Yuan’s figure as he is far too busy internally screaming and panicking as he calculates the timeline to notice.
Two years already under Shen Qingqiu’s tyrant thumb. Great. Two years of daily beating, Two of his limbs certified to be gone in the future. Not to mention the Immortal Alliance Conference and abyss mess that will happen 3 years from now. Maybe if Shen Yuan fainted now, he could skip the next few plot points entirely.
The room tilted as his stomach lurched, and he stumbled. Ming Fan gasped and immediately rounded on Luo Binghe with accusation. “Beast! You’ve angered Shizun!”
Brother, are you blind? Shen Yuan wanted to scream. Look at this walking bruise! Who’s angry at who here?
He waved both disciples off with a shaky hand. Luo Binghe had stepped too close-almost brushing against him, gaze worried-and Shen Yuan jerked back more from panic than offense. “This master is fine,” he lied, voice sharp to cover the wobble.
Except… he really did feel fine. In fact, more than fine! That heavy, crawling sensation in his meridians? Gone. That awful cramps in his limbs that had been dogging him since he woke up as Shen Qingqiu? Vanished. Shen Yuan blinked in surprise. Wow. Maybe he was just a natural at this whole transmigration business! Look at him, adapting to his scum villain body like a pro. At this rate, he’d be winning awards for Best adaptable character of the century.
Ming Fan, ever the dutiful suck-up, immediately began loudly berating Luo Binghe all the way down the path, piling on chores despite the boy’s injuries. Shen Yuan winced, watching Binghe take it all like a champ, injuries all but forgotten as he seemed to almost skip on his steps as they left.
Oh, that was bad. That was so bad.
Within minutes, he was tearing through the Bamboo House like a thief in his own home. Well-wasn’t he sort of a thief already? No matter how unwilling he was about the whole situation. First he stole Shen Qingqiu’s body, now he is stealing Shen Qingqiu’s riches. Jades? In the bag. Hairpins? In the bag. Vases, silver ingots, random decorative guans just lying here and there? All in the bag. If it looked remotely valuable, it was coming with him. Who cared if these were priceless heirlooms of Qing Jing Peak? They’d make perfectly priceless funds to get the hell out of here.
“This is insane,” Shen Yuan muttered under his breath, cramming an entire lacquer box into the sack. “Completely insane. They’ll survive on their own. They don’t need me! Obviously they’d prefer no master at all to having this master. I’m doing them a favor. Everyone wins!”
Yes. Everyone except maybe him, but details.
The original Shen Qingqiu had already racked up enough sins to guarantee karmic retribution. Even if he didn’t push Luo Binghe into the abyss, fate would handle the dirty work-protagonist privilege and son-of-heaven plot armor practically guaranteed it. What kind of idiot would stick around to be personally torn apart when the story inevitably hit that beat?
Certainly not Shen Yuan.
And it’s not like anyone even likes Shen Qingqiu anyway,he yanks open a drawer and dumps everything inside into the sack. Ming Fan, maybe-but that kid’s just a sucker for any scrap of acknowledgement from Shen Qingqiu. And maybe Yue Qingyuan-
He paused mid-grab, shoving a bunch of fans on top of the rest. Actually, he has no idea what’s up with that guy. Why is he so nice and lenient to Scum Villain even when everyone else calls for the man’s head on a spike? Just another plothole Airplane failed to fill as usual.
He cinched the bag shut with a vicious tug, breathing hard. There. Enough loot to fund a leisurely escape across the entire continent, if it came to that. Maybe he’d even take a little sightseeing trip before the inevitable stickification and all-expenses-paid staycation in the Water Prison.
The hidden realms, the glittering lakes, the mountains full of rare flora and murderous fauna-basically the only good things Airplane ever wrote besides Luo Binghe. All the places his poor, transmigrated soul should have been visiting as a carefree tourist, instead of playing doomed, villainous master to a trashfire novel.
(Of course, later he would discover that Qiankun pouches existed in this world too-not just in other cultivation novels like M*ZS-but Shen Yuan, in his full-blown panic, completely forgot about them until much later. And he don’t even know where to find Xiu Ya. is he supposed to summon it?)
“Alright,” Shen Yuan muttered to himself, hitching the sack over one shoulder with a grunt. Luo Binghe would be fine. He’s the protagonist. The son of the world. The walking embodiment of Plot Armor. He probably didn’t even need a master, let alone this master. Shen Yuan was practically doing him a favor by leaving-no more trauma from looking at this scummy face every day.
Which, as much as Shen Yuan hated to admit, was annoyingly good-looking. If he squinted, he could even see a faint resemblance to his own original face-only sharper, colder that screamed “bitchy immortal.” with long hair.
It was utterly ridiculous that such an elegant immortal was skulking off like some common burglar.
He set off toward the bamboo forest, relying solely on scraps of memory from the novel. If Airplane’s lazy writing was good for anything, there should be a hidden path somewhere here-one throwaway line about a shortcut leading halfway down the Thousand Steps to avoid people and their nosy stare, or awkward explanations to disciples or hallmasters about why their supposedly recupitatingpeak lord walking around instead of meditating in bed.
The neat rows of bamboo gradually gave way to older, wilder trees, their trunks thick and gnarled, the shade deepening until the path looked almost unfamiliar. The further Shen Yuan walked, the more his confidence wavered. Sure, he was probably close to the stairs now. Probably. But when you’re sneaking off a mountain like a newborn fawn seeing everything for the first time.(He is) but his brain kept insisting this was exactly how dumb horror-movie extras wandered into trouble. his traiturous brain kept insisting this was exactly how dumb horror-movie extras wandered into trouble.
The sharp crack of a twig snapped him out of his thoughts-and nearly out of his skin. Shen Yuan let out an embarrassingly undignified noise just as a familiar voice called out behind him.
“Shizun?”
Shen Yuan spun so fast his neck cracked. His heart about launched itself into orbit when he found himself staring directly at the last person on this mountain he wanted to see right now.
Luo Binghe.
Clean now, with even the worst of his bruises faded-(wow, heavenly demon blood was really no joke)-and dressed in a clean Qing Jing uniform that is too short for his body. In one hand, he held an axe that hung limply at his side as he blinked at Shen Qingqiu in wide-eyed confusion.
“Luo Binghe,” Shen Yuan blurted, voice higher than he intended. “What are you doing here?”
The boy ducked his head almost shyly, cheeks coloring, fidgeting under his master’s gaze. He saluted obediently.
“Answering Shizun,” he said softly. “This disciple is just chopping wood… as instructed by Da-shixiong.”
Shen Yuan’s eye twitched. Ming Fan, keep digging your grave and you’re going to hit the second layer of the earth for you to rest on.
Shen Yuan eyed the axe warily. It was so dull it would probably take Luo Binghe the rest of the evening just to fill half the shed. Really, Ming Fan? Assigning him wood-chopping duty with that thing? Shen Yuan’s thoughts spiraled immediately. Will this pathetic excuse for a tool also be the one that chops off my limbs in the future? What poetic irony. Airplane’s writing really had no shame.
Meanwhile, Luo Binghe stood there, fidgeting, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes darting up to his master’s face only to skitter away again. He looked nervous, like a bullied little lamb-not a future Demon Emperor destined to rule the world with an iron fist, tear his shizun limb from limb, and gather three thousand flowers along the way. Shen Yuan wants to stuff him into a burrito.
“Shizun…” Luo Binghe’s voice was hesitant, “Is Shizun… going somewhere?”
Shen Yuan almost dropped the sack. “Ah? No- well , yes. This master just ,… need to take care of something down the mountain.” Smooth. Very convincing. Everyone packs a suspiciously heavy sack to run simple errands, right?
Luo Binghe brightened immediately, as if the awkwardness hadn’t existed at all. “Does Shizun need help carrying-”
“No!” Shen Yuan cut in a little too fast, heat rising to his ears. “No need. I’ve got it.” As if he’ll force the protagonist to carry his bag! What if he will force him to carry his own severed limbs in the for his impertinence?
The words hung uncomfortably in the air, with Luo BInghe clicking his mouth shut. Shen Yuan coughed, attempting to regain cool. “Go back and rest. Pretend you didn’t see me.”
But Luo Binghe didn’t move. His dark eyes were steady now, a flicker of something unreadable beneath all that nervous obedience. “Shizun is still recovering from qi deviation. This disciple should help.”
Too pure. He’s too pure for this world. Shen Yuan’s chest squeezed in reluctant admiration. Look at him-still offering to help the man who’s supposed to ruin his life. No wonder half the female characters in this novel fell for him. I’d fall for him too if I were a woman.
He straightened, putting on his best air of aloof authority. “That won’t be necessary. Luo Binghe should go now.” Then, with all the elegance he could muster while hauling stolen valuables, Shen Yuan turned on his heel and strode off before Luo Binghe could argue further. Surely Luo Binghe will never dare to disobey his tyrant shizun’s order in fear of being punished right?
No footsteps followed. Good Job well done. Shen Yuan mentally patted himself on the back. He could still feel that prickling heat at the back of his head though, and maybe he walked a little faster after that.
The sun was already setting by the time he finally spotted the blasted stone stairs, with his legs feeling like they’d been replaced with solid lead with how exhausted his whole body was. Who knew Qing Jing Peak was riddled with so many cliffs and 20 feet drop pits? One wrong step and he’d have rolled all the way down like a dropped cabbage.
Exhausted, Shen Yuan let out a long sigh of relief. At least one thing had gone right: on the way, he had finally figured out how to summon Xiu Ya. Flying it, however, was another matter entirely. If anyone ever asked for his advice, he would strongly recommend practicing in an open field, preferably one not filled with horror-movie trees waiting to smack you in the face, before attempting it in a forest.
It was a breath of fresh air to finally step into an open area. He had felt suffocated back there, constantly prickled by the sensation of being watched. Hidden predators? Wild animals? Whatever it was, he hadn’t seen a single shadow, yet every hair on his body had stood on end.
Then he saw the stairs. Finally. Shen Yuan straightened up, grinning despite his aching legs. See you never, Cang Qiong Mountain. Hello, epic saga PIDW world tour! He could practically hear triumphant music swelling as he imagined strolling off into the sunset, sightseeing monsters and neatly sidestepping all those papapa flowers along the way.
He had barely set foot on the first two steps when it hit.
The same sharp, cramping pain from that morning-but so much worse. It struck without warning, cutting his little victory march short. His feet slipped, his legs buckled.
The world tilted violently. Stone rushed up to meet him. Is this how I die? Death by head wound… and humiliation?
He was unconscious before his head hit the steps.
· · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ··
When he woke, it was to the sight of a man standing over him with the most disappointed expression he had ever seen on someone’s face. Shen Yuan’s first instinct was to curl up and avoid eye contact, but the pounding in his skull forced him to focus on more immediate concerns. His body wasn't hurting anymore but His head felt like it had been split open, his mouth was dry, and his limbs heavy.
And what a dream it was! His whole life playing like a biography as if his brain has been tricked into thinking he’s dying and decided to replay all his boring life.
A cup was pressed into his hands before he could say anything. “Drink,” the man said, calm but clearly tired. Shen Yuan had no clue who he was, though the color of his robes definitely labeled him as Qian Cao Peak, and he called him shixiong… So this must be…Mu Qingfang? And this must be a medical room…Just great.
“I hope shixiong has learned not to push his body so soon after suffering a qi deviation,” the man continued, in a tone so dry it could have sapped the moisture from the room.
Shen Yuan sat up slowly, groaning, and downed the water in one go. Screw hte elegant shit right now. And Back in Shen Qingqiu’s inner robes again. Great. “What… happened?” he croaked, rubbing at his parched lips.
“Shen-shixiong collapsed on the mountain path. You were lucky one of your disciples found you. Had you been lying there longer, the head wound alone might have been fatal.” The man’s face softened just slightly. “It seems to have another one of your… episodes .”
That again? What exactly is Shen Qingqiu’s illness? This wasn’t mentioned in the novel! (As usual)
“Who found me?” he asked carefully. Already having a faint clue as to who.
“Disciple Luo Binghe,” the man replied, watching him closely.
Shen Yuan’s eyes flicked up at the name
“Indeed,” the man said, arching a brow at his sudden interest. “Such a filial disciple. He refused to leave your side for two days until your head disciple had to drag him back to your peak. If not for him, you might not be discovered until much much later.”
Shen Yuan swallowed, uneasy. So Binghe had followed him after all. Of course he had. And stayed by his bedside for two days? That was… well, dangerously and stupidly filial of him.
“I’ll prescribe the usual medicine for the cramps,” the man went on. “I know Shixiong is often reluctant to trouble others, but if the symptoms worsen, you must inform me. The herbs can only do so much. A steady qi regulation is needed if it persists. If I am not available, any senior disciple can assist.”
That snapped Shen Yuan’s attention right back to his bigger problem. These mysterious flare-ups. First the attack in the morning, now this one that had taken him down so completely he hadn’t even had time to think. Almost like something was deliberately stopping him from leaving the mountain.
It sounded insane, even to him. But the timing… just as he was about to make his getaway? Too much of a coincidence.
He’d have to test it. If these attacks really triggered only when he tried to leave, then what? What if he collapsed in the middle of nowhere, unable to move, with no one around to soothe the pain or push qi into his system? The thought made his stomach sink.
Running away might not just be difficult. It might be impossible.
· · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ··
Shen Yuan slid the door open, herbal prescription and Mu Qingfang’s tea bundle tucked under one arm, the man’s stern instructions still ringing in his ears about how he must drink it on time, every time. He stepped inside-and froze.
The bamboo house looked exactly as it had before. Not as he left it in disarray as he vaguely remembered.
Every single item he had packed into his escape bag was back in its original place. Folded, arranged… as if he had never touched them at all.
A chill crept up his spine.
Did Ming Fan really go to the trouble of tidying everything, out of some twisted sense of loyalty? Or… Luo Binghe? The one who found him unconscious and bleeding and dragged to Mu Qingfang’side?
Mu Qingfang hadn’t mentioned anything about his bag that literally screamed attempted runaway pack, only that he is over working and should not keep straining himself. If Luo Binghe had been the one to bring his belongings back, had he kept it quiet on purpose? Out of kindness? or fear that if he told them about the bad, Shen Qingqiu will punish him? But why stay at his side after that?
Shen Yuan stood there for a long moment, staring at the neatly ordered room. Nothing was out of place. Nothing showed that he had ever tried to leave. The silence pressed against his ears until it almost hurt. For a fleeting second, he questioned his own memory. Had he really packed a bag at all? Had he even stepped off the mountain?
It did not feel like a failed escape. It felt like an escape that had never happened.
He swallowed at the thought. Then, true to form, he shoved the thought aside. This isn’t some horror theme novel! This is an embarrassing stallion one! Full of shamelss papapa. As if Airplane will cook up some pyschological genre without a dick involve. He set the tea bundle down with a little more force than necessary, telling himself firmly that there was no need to overthink it.
He called Ming Fan over and told him to brew the tea exactly as instructed. Shen Yuan felt fine now, no hint of pain, no sign of the crippling cramps that had knocked him out, but the memory of how suddenly it struck still lingered. If it came back without warning, it could leave him helpless again. He was not about to take that chance.
The herbal tea Ming Fan brought back was even worse than usual, bitter enough to make Shen Yuan gag. Why were doctors so sadistic? What was with their obsession with making medicine taste like it had been scraped straight out of hell?
· · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ··
A few days later, once Shen Yuan was confident the mysterious cramps would not return for a while, he slipped away from the bamboo house to find somewhere secluded. If he could not run, he could at least make sure he was not a sitting duck.
The clearing he chose was quiet, ringed by old trees here and there, hidden from the usual disciple patrols. He exhaled slowly, centered himself, and summoned Xiu Ya. The blade appeared in his hand, light catching on its pristine edge. Shen Yuan turned it over, studying every polished line of the hilt, every refined curve of the guard. It was dangerously beautiful blade.
“Alright,” he muttered under his breath, tightening his grip. “Let’s see what you can do.” One swing and it left a clean gouge carved deep into the earth at his feet.
Shen Yuan blinked, heart skipping. “...Whoa.” Even with his limited familiarity, the sheer power behind that single strike made his hands tingle. Qi surged up his arm in a bright rush, leaving his skin prickling and his breath a little quick.
“This body really is something else,” he murmured. “If I don’t get myself killed first, maybe I can actually pull this off.”
After testing his skills to his satisfaction, Shen Yuan was about to call it a day when he heard footsteps approaching through the underbrush. His heart leapt into his throat. Without thinking, he leapt toward the nearest cover behind a particularly huge tree and crouched low, holding his breath.
“A-Luo! A-Luo, look at this! There’s a big ditch here!”
The voice was young, bright, and very familiar. Shen Yuan felt a jolt of recognition. There was only one person who ever called Luo Binghe that.
Sure enough, a girl with two loopy buns crouched by the gouge his blade had left, peering into it with the wide-eyed curiosity of a child. Ning Yingying. Shen Qingqiu’s sole female disciple, exactly as Shen Yuan had imagined her from the novel’s early chapters.
Trailing behind her with a basket strapped to his back came Luo Binghe. He followed her gaze to the deep gouge in the earth, his expression sharpening. His eyes swept the trees as if searching for whoever was the culprit. The culprit being him, Shen Yuan sweated a little at the chance of being found out.
Then Luo Binghe’s face lit with certainty, and he said without a shred of doubt, “Only Shizun could do this.”
Shen Yuan buried his face in his sleeve. Binghe, your unwavering faith is both heartwarming and completely terrifying.
Luo Binghe set the basket down and picked up his axe, hacking at the nearby trees with that same dull blade Shen Yuan remembered. Each swing was so forceful that the trunks shuddered from the impact. The boy worked methodically, while Ning Yingying circled him with relentless chatter.
“Stop working and come play with me for a bit,” she begged, tugging at his sleeve between swings.
“I can’t. I still have chores to finish,” Luo Binghe replied, patient as ever. “If I’m quick, I’ll still have time to meditate before evening.”
Ning Yingying pouted. “Then I’ll tell shizun you’re being overworked again!”
Luo Binghe hesitated “Please don’t bother Shizun with something so small.”
Shen Yuan let out a soundless groan from his hiding place. That boy. Always so afraid of burdening others. And it’s not insignificant! Come here Luo Binghe and tattle to your Shizun about your unfair treatment! Shen Yuan realises he can actually do something about it now. He’s the Shizun!
Before Shen Yuan could slip away, content to let them have their alone time, more voices approached. Ming Fan and his usual crowd appeared, smirking as they spotted Luo Binghe and Ning Yingying.
Trouble. Of course. Ming Fan looks like he can’t wait to punch something and is eager for a confrontation. Dear child, I will pray for you.
Shen Yuan feels torn. It would look far too suspicious if he appeared out of nowhere to defend Luo Binghe, but standing by and doing nothing left a sour taste in his mouth.
Meanwhile, Ning Yingying made things worse. She stepped forward, clearly trying to shield Luo Binghe, and in doing so drew Ming Fan’s full attention. With exaggerated politeness, Ming Fan offered her a piece of Hetian jade, flashing it in the light.
“Doesn’t this suit you, Yingying-shimei?” he asked with false sweetness, voice dripping with smugness.
Shen Yuan’s stomach turned cold. He knows this scene.! This was where Luo Binghe would lose the jade pendant his mother had left him, the one keepsake that he had left of her.
In the novel, Ning Yingying had been so thoughtless, blurting out that Luo Binghe is much better than Ming fan’s, tucked under his robes, practically pointing out its exact location. Then Ming Fan, that conniving brat, had twisted her words into an accusation that Luo Binghe didn’t trust his shixiongs enough to show them his treasures. Which was ridiculous-who would trust these guys?-but that hadn’t stopped him from making trouble.
Shen Yuan crouched lower, pulse quickening as he braced himself for history to repeat. Any second now, Ning Yingying would flap her mouth, Ming Fan would pry the pendant away, and Luo Binghe would be left with nothing but bruises and humiliation.
But instead…
Ning Yingying took the jade gingerly between two fingers, peered at it, and said, “Thanks, I guess…” She tucked it into her sleeve and shooed Ming Fan with a little cheery wave. “Da-shixiong can go now, we’re busy.”
Shen Yuan froze. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
Relief washed through him, but unease followed quickly behind. The story was changing in ways he couldn’t predict. Or is he perhaps in a world where the female leads actually have brains even when they are near the protagonist?
Ming Fan didn’t seem to care about the missing script. Being dismissed by Ning Yingying only made him angrier and came up with a bullshit excuse to make Luo Binghe. He stepped forward, shoved Luo Binghe back, and snapped to his cronies, “Hold him.”
They moved at once. Luo Binghe fought to keep his footing, jaw tight, but three against one left him trapped. He look like a bullied sheep against a group of wolves.
“Stop it!” Ning Yingying shouted, trying to intervene, only to be pushed aside as the circle tightened around Luo Binghe.
Shen Yuan’s hands curled into fists as he watched from the cover of the trees. Luo Binghe fought back with sharp, desperate movements, but three older disciples closed in from every side. For every shove he gave, two more landed on him. The boy’s footing slipped in the dirt, breath coming hard and fast. It wouldn’t take long before they beat him bloody.
The mystery about the pendant could wait. First, this had to end.
Shen Yuan’s mind raced. He couldn’t simply send Xiu Ya flying into the clearing and impaling a bully mid-fight. And he couldn’t step out himself without revealing he’d been spying on them from the start. And what exactly will he say?
He crouched lower, heart pounding, and felt the weight of Shen Qingqiu’s cultivation in his veins. Muscle memory stirred, unbidden. There were other ways to intervene. Shen Qingqiu’s repertoire was full of flashy little tricks designed to be underhanded. Tricks that didn’t leave obvious signs that it came from him.
Shen Yuan’s gaze swept the ground, landing on the leaves scattered in the grass. His fingers moved before his brain caught up, plucking a small handful and channeling his Qi into them. The leaves stiffened instantly, edges razor-sharp, humming faintly with energy.
He took aim. A breath in, a breath out-and let fly.
The leaves shot through the air like tiny darts, spinning so fast they whined. They sliced clean past Ning Yingying, who had been shouting herself hoarse, and struck the circle of bullies from behind. One slapped against Ming Fan’s wrist with a sharp sting, another nicked a sleeve, a third smacked squarely into the back of a disciple’s head.
The reaction was immediate. The boys yelped, stumbling back in confusion, swatting at invisible attackers. Ming Fan spun around, eyes darting through the trees, his moment of triumph shattered.
“What-?!” one of them barked, jerking his arm back as another leaf zipped past.
Luo Binghe didn’t waste the opening. He twisted free of their grip, shoulders heaving as he backed toward Ning Yingying, still holding his ground despite the blood trickling from his lip.
Hidden in the shadows, Shen Yuan let out a slow breath. Good. That should be enough to scatter them without anyone guessing the source.
A small, involuntary grin tugged at his lips. He hadn’t done much, which he vows to ratify later on. But he stopped Luo Binghe from hurting even more. He won’t be treated harshly anymore.
The realization settled in, warm and almost giddy. He could actually do something about this. He could treat Luo Binghe the way Shen Qingqiu should have, protect him, keep him the pure white lotus he was meant to be, and steer him toward a better future than the one written for him.
And best of all, no one could stop him. Everyone would chalk it up to his recent qi deviation and supposed amnesia. He just had to hope that whatever strange entity brought him here had been thorough enough to make any possession checks come up clean.
For the first time since waking up in this ridiculous body, Shen Yuan felt like he finally had some control over the story.
· · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ··
Ning Yingying puffed up with anger as the bullies scattered into the trees, clutching their cuts and howling about ghosts. Serves them right! Always picking on her shidi. Even the forest must have had enough of them, swatting them with sharp leaves to teach them a lesson.
She glanced at the piece of jade Ming Fan had pressed into her hand and wrinkled her nose. It was ugly anyway. Shizun had given her far better quality jade than this. With a little huff, she hurled it into the underbrush as hard as she could.
“A-luo, are you alright?” she called, rushing to her shidi’s side. Luo Binghe was crouched low, catching his breath. When he looked up, she saw his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white though she hardly gave it a second thought because he was smiling.
Good! It’s good to stay positive about these things, even when Da-shixiong is being awful. Still… she really ought to teach him how to smile properly. His grin looked so wide it might split his face.
“I’m fine, Shimei,” Luo Binghe said softly, voice calm as ever. In his hand, hidden from her view, the fallen leaves marked with blood crumpled under his grip. “More than fine”
· · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ··
“Pendant?” Ning Yingying tilted her head. “This Ying-er didn’t see anything like that. A-Luo didn’t say anything either… no string around his neck, Are you sure he has one, Shizun?”
Shen Yuan’s fingers tightened around the rim of his cup, but his expression stayed calm. “Hm. Perhaps I was mistaken.”
He let the matter drop, yet his thoughts spun furiously. What’s going on here? Had Luo Binghe really hidden the pendant even from his childhood friend? But Why?
Shen Yuan felt a prickle of unease. What else has changed? Was this actually an AU?
If the plot was already this far off track, then he was slowly losing his confidence about his knowledge about the storyline.
Chapter Text
“Shizun”
The voice rang out warmly, snapping Shen Yuan out of his daze. He lowered his cup of tea and glanced toward the familiar sound. Standing there at the entrance of the bamboo house was Luo Binghe, his once-scrawny disciple, looking nothing like the half-starved boy Shen Yuan had first met 4 year ago.
Years had passed under his care, and the difference showed in every line of the boy’s frame. Luo Binghe had graduated from being Qing Jing Peak’s resident punching bag.
With Ming Fan and his lackeys firmly warned off, now that the scales have been tipped to their youngest shidi, they wisely backed off and tried simpering at Shen Yuan for the acknowledgement that he showered to him.
No new bruises marked his skin from the hands of his sect siblings. The only scrapes Shen Yuan ever saw now came from the occasional scuffle with beasts on his missions. Wounds that Shen Yuan patched up himself, nagging Luo Binghe all the while for being careless, but the other seems content and it had become part of their routine if he ever comes back from a mission.
He couldn’t help but wonder why Binghe even bothered to come back with injuries, when by this point he had already known his demonic lineage and under Meng Mo to study Demonic Cultivation.
Looking at the younger man with critical eyes, Luo Binghe was no longer denied proper food and nutrients until he grew gaunt and tired. Now, Luo Binghe had filled out properly. Broad shoulders. A straight back that carried confidence. None of the hunched, meek figure from 4 years ago remained.
Besides Shen Qingqiu’s mysterious illness years ago and the mystery of Luo Binghe’s pendant that he does not dare to ask about, everything else has thankfully stayed on track. His first mission to Shuang Hu City had left him awake half the night.
What if his hypothesis is true and he cant actually leave the mountain like some atticwife due to the flareups? What if his disciples sees? And someone had to carry him back to Qian Cao peak and back to Mu Qingfang’s clutches?
Much to his relief, nothing of the sort happened. His body behaved perfectly the entire journey. The only mishap came in the form of Ming Fan’s ever-present talent for being insufferable. Somehow, the boy managed to prepare only nine horses for ten people, leaving the obvious person, Luo Binhge, with nothing. Worse, the poor sheep is forced to carry everyone’s luggage on foot.
Which is counterproductive Ming Fan! How will their mission be time efficient if someone slowed them down?
Shen Yuan had already warned Ming Fan to cut the childish bullying and instead focus on his own study and duties as his head disciple. Insinuating that he will lose that title soon if he didn’t cut it out. But the child would have a relapse and like a raised snake by the original goods himself, somehow find creative loopholes to make Luo Binghe suffer.
After giving Ming Fan his disappointed stare, Shen Yuan raised his fan and signaled Luo Binghe to come sit inside his carriage.The boy hesitated, dumbstruck, until Ning Yingying nudged him forward with whispered encouragement and climbed in, trying valiantly not to fidget and folded himself up like he was trying to disappear into the seat.
This child. So adorable. He just wants to pinch those cheeks!
He knew everything changed once Luo Binghe finally realised that he wasn’t hated by his Shizun and that none of the other disciples dared to openly ostracize him anymore, not when they all knew they risked their Shizun’s wrath for laying a hand on their shidi.
The shift was subtle at first, but the moment Shen Yuan slipped the useless manual out of Binghe’s hands and replaced it with a proper one, then quietly disposed of the fake before heading into seclusion, the trajectory of events was set.
After saving Liu Qingge and then the Demon Invasion fiasco, the reports from the Hall Masters praises Luo Binghe’s progress, in a shockingly short span of time, the boy had vaulted past his peers, surpassing even Ming Fan in both martial ability and spiritual cultivation.
Of course he did, Shen Yuan had thought with a mix of awe and exasperation. He’s the protagonist. That kind of unparalleled growth is practically hardcoded into him.
It was as if those years of sabotage had never mattered at all. As though the moment the roadblock was removed, Luo Binghe simply surged forward, unstoppable, like water rushing past a broken dam.
He must’ve been convinced of Shen Yuan’s sincerity when Shen Yuan risked his life for him, taking a poison with no known cure in his stead during the demon invasion years ago.
Sha Hualing’s butt-hurt Elder demon—whom Luo Binghe had actually defeated without breaking a sweat (Shen Yuan nearly had a heart attack when the kid volunteered himself; he had only intended to stall until Liu Qingge finally brought his ass over to deal with the demons)—had struck dishonorably with Binghe’s back turned.
Even knowing that the poison would have no effect on Binghe due to his demonic nature, Shen Yuan still found himself moving without hesitation, shielding the boy from harm.
When he woke again, it was to the protagonist kneeling at his bed after realizing his Shizun was awake, crying and sobbing into the floor and begging for forgiveness, apologizing over and over for being so useless in that situation. Shen Yuan, groggy and sore, could only pat his head and mumble that it wasn’t his fault.
The effect was immediate. Seemingly overwhelmed, Luo Binghe threw himself at him, hugging him tight enough to nearly crack a rib. Shen Yuan sat there stiffly, half-suffocated in fluffy hair for the second time that day, brain short-circuiting and face smothered by a mouthful of fluffy hair.
And just like that, the boy bloomed right before Shen Yuan’s eyes
What followed was a child who clung to his every step, eager to please, practically a puppy desperate for approval. Always ready to learn, always watching him with bright, expectant eyes, always drinking in whatever scraps of knowledge Shen Yuan managed to cobble together from his excellent memory of PIDW. What struck him most, however, wasn’t the effort he put in, but the speed. Luo Binghe learned like a sponge, soaking up everything at an alarming rate—and Shen Yuan couldn’t help but feel a strange swell of pride.
Apparently, though, he’d moved Binghe’s heart a little too much, because the boy promptly decided his Shizun deserved a personal attendant. Correction: a glorified housekeeper maid. Not that Shen Yuan would ever, ever say that part out loud.
Despite his weak protests that Binghe didn’t need to cook or clean for him, the boy refused to back down. And when all else failed, he whipped out his ultimate move—wide eyes shimmering with teary, maiden-like pleading until Shen Yuan caved. Naturally, he had no choice but to move Binghe into the side room of the Bamboo House rather than let him commute back and forth from the disciples’ dormitory. It wasn’t just the distance either. Shen Yuan knew better than to risk letting anyone else take another shot at the protagonist under his nose.
“Binghe,” Shen Yuan acknowledged, lips curving faintly behind his fan as his gaze swept over him, checking for injuries out of habit. Finding none, his thoughts drifted in a far less appropriate direction.
Honestly, how was it possible that this little sheep had grown into someone this handsome, and yet Shen Yuan hadn’t heard a single thing about a sweetheart? Not one meimei introduced to this old man, not even anything from NIng Yingying when Shen Yuan tried to ask. For the protagonist, that was practically unheard of when he is at the peak of adulthood.
Luo Binghe approached, tilting his head with coyness. A faint blush touched his cheeks as he asked, voice light but edged with mischief, “Did Shizun find something pleasant in this one?”
Shen Yuan nearly choked on air. Luo Binghe is always practicing his lines on this old teacher! He hid his fluster behind an eye roll that was far too fond and waved him toward the table. “Sit.”
Binghe obliged, slipping into his place with ease, though his expression soured almost immediately. He pouted at the teapot, plucked it up, sniffed it and without hesitation dumped its contents into a waste pot.
Ah, of course. He must have recognized that Ming Fan had brewed it. No wonder. Shen Yuan reassured himself at once, chalking it up to lingering resentment toward his former bully.
Shen Yuan did not even blink, already used to the casual audacity by now. Binghe calmly brewed a fresh pot in its place, movements neat and practiced, as if this had always been his role. After all, Binghe always insisted his Shizun deserved nothing less than the very best.
Anyone else, and Shen Yuan might have called it lowkey disrespect. But with Binghe? Perfectly understandable. Admirable, even. Protagonists deserved only the finest things in life, and who was he to argue if Binghe insisted on making sure of it?
Once the fresh pot was ready, Luo Binghe poured with steady hands and offered the first cup to Shen Yuan, as naturally as if it were his right. Along with it, he produced a small plate of sweets—pulled from who knows where, as if he carried them around just waiting for a chance to spoil his Shizun.
Shen Yuan accepted both gratefully, taking a sip and savoring the unmistakable difference. Truly, Binghe’s tea-brewing skills had become legendary. With that kind of talent, he could probably start his own store based on his cooking and tea alone and somehow still rule the world with it..
“Delicious as always,” Shen Yuan praises once he’d sipped. “How did the solo mission go?”
Luo Binghe straightened, his tone polite and measured. “Answering Shizun, the Three-Tailed Snapper was subdued without issue. The river has stabilized and is now safe for fishing again. The local lord was most grateful. He even attempted to gift me a family heirloom in thanks.”
He reached into his sleeve and set a folded fan on the table. Even from where Shen Yuan sat, he could see the quality of the jade guard gleaming faintly in the light.
Shen Yuan nodded along, half-convinced Binghe had just wrestled a Naruto-inspired tailed beast into submission. And of course, there was no Airplane around for him to strangle as proof.
Batting the violent thought away, Shen Yuan’s lips quirked, and his brow arched suggestively. “And? Did Binghe catch the eye of any young lady along the way?”
Because seriously. It had already been two years since he avoided that abyss business, and still—not a single girl on Binghe’s arm. Was he interfering with fate somehow? Had he derailed Binghe’s destined path to bed and wed his way through hundreds of women?
Already used to this line of teasing, Luo Binghe sighed softly, looking every inch the patient disciple. “Shizun jests. There was no one.” He paused then, lashes lowering for just a moment before he raised his eyes again, gaze steady and intent. “Even when the lord went so far as to offer his daughter’s hand, I refused. I already have someone in my heart ”
Shen Yuan nearly choked on his tea and leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity. “Oh? Does Binghe care to finally share who it is?” His mind immediately leapt ahead. Could it be Liu Mingyan? Now that would be exciting. He never see them interact more than the usual politeness, but maybe its all an act because of Shen Yuan observing them?
But Luo Binghe only smiled, calm and unreadable, and shook his head. No reveal.
Shen Yuan slumped back, pouting faintly behind his fan. “Fine, fine. Keep this old man in the dark then.”
Unbelievable. His little sheep, all grown up and already hiding secrets from him—most importantly his love life! And all Shen Yuan wanted was to see which lucky woman had managed to catch Binghe’s eye above the rest.
“Shizun is not old! Shizun is very young and virile.” Luo Binghe’s protest came sharp and immediate, his gaze burning with something that flickered like longing before vanishing as Shen Yuan reached lazily for another sweet.
Ha! Virile, my ass. You must be talking about yourself. Shen Yuan waved his fan at him dismissively. “Stop speaking nonsense.” Young, he says. Hah. His joints already felt like they had arthritis half the time. A few more years of this and Luo Binghe would be the one helping him hobble around with a cane, even with the effects of Without-a-Cure kept at bay.
Stealthily, he twisted his wrist to ease the ache. But of course, he could never really hide anything from Luo Binghe. Before he’d even made a full rotation, his hand was caught in a gentle but firm grasp, his disciple suddenly beside him in the blink of an eye.
Luo Binghe’s thumb traced over the faint scars along his knuckles, touch careful, reverent in a way Shen Yuan thinks he shouldn’t receive. His voice dropped soft, almost hesitant. “Is it Without-a-Cure, Shizun?”
Shen Yuan forced nonchalance into his tone. “Mhm. Binghe arrived just in time to clear it.”
It was supposed to be Liu Qingge’s job. Once upon a time, that had been the Bai Zhan Peak Lord’s solemn responsibility. But Luo Binghe had claimed it for himself the moment he reached young adulthood, insisting it was better—more convenient—since they lived together.
Shen Yuan sometimes wondered if it wasn’t convenience at all, but guilt. Binghe had never quite shaken off the belief that Shen Yuan’s lingering injuries were somehow his fault, and so he threw himself into this duty as if it were penance. No matter how Shen Yuan talks him out of it.
Still, he didn’t have the heart to tell Liu Qingge, who occasionally dropped by to deliver beast carcasses and the odd fan Shen Yuan had forgotten somewhere, that Luo Binghe was leagues more effective. The boy’s qi flowed smoother, steadier, and he always poured every ounce of himself into the task.
Luo Binghe moved behind him now, hands firm on his shoulders as he beganA cool stream of qi threaded into Shen Yuan’s meridians, washing over the blockages like a gentle current. It was always a peculiar sensation—strangely refreshing, yet so soothing that no matter how stubbornly he resisted, it left him loose-limbed and heavy-eyed.
His lids slipped shut before he realized it.
He must have drifted far longer than intended, because the next thing he knew, Luo Binghe was nudging him awake, a meal already set before him. Shen Yuan stretched, only to blink when a cloth slid from his shoulders. —an outer robe, Luo Binghe’s, still faintly warm from his body.
This child. Shen Yuan could only shake his head, folding the robe and giving it back to its owner.
Later, after bathing, Shen Yuan toweled off his hair and padded toward the bed. Luo Binghe was already there, seated cross-legged atop the blankets with an eager gleam in his eyes. A comb and small bottle of oil rested in his hands like treasured tools, waiting.
It had become their nightly routine. Once, it had started suddenly, all thin-faced embarrassment and awkward fumbling, but now it was as natural as breathing. Each evening ended with the quiet, steady rhythm of brushing each other’s hair before sleep.
Shen Yuan sat, letting Luo Binghe work. The gentle pull of the comb sliding through his hair, the faint scent of oil, and the boy’s careful hands—it was always strangely soothing, a pocket of peace in their often chaotic world.
And when it was Luo Binghe’s turn, he all but moved into shen yuan’s previous place, settling down with the same anticipation as before. Shen Yuan combed through the glossy strands, humming softly under his breath, an old tune carried from his previous world. As usual, he snuck in a pair of braids at either side, weaving them together as far as the hair would allow.
A few stubborn curls slipped free no matter how he tried to catch them, but Shen Yuan found the sight endearing. He nudged Luo Binghe’s shoulder when he was finished.
As expected, Luo Binghe turned immediately, caressing the braid with eyes filled with adoration as though Shen Yuan had handed him the world instead of a braid.
It’s just braids, Binghe! Shen Yuan thought, both fond and exasperated in equal measure.
“This Binghe thanks his Shizun”
“Mhm.. Good Night, Luo BInghe”
Almost reluctantly, Luo Binghe rose and slipped out of the room. The door closed with a soft click.
Shen Yuan stretched out with a sigh, burying his face into the soft modern pillow he’d traded in years ago. The old ceramic one was long discarded, and good riddance.
Hugging it close to his chest, he drifted off within a minute.
He always slept better on nights like this. His last nightmare had been years ago, back when he’d crossed paths with that dream demon with Binghe. Since then, sleep came easy.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ··
Yue Qingyuan arrived at midday, a few minutes after Luo Binghe bowed out for one of his assigned classes, tasked with drilling the newest batch of Qing Jing disciples on thei basic swordsmanship skills.
After the usual pleasantries and exchange of small talk and prodding questions in relation to the Original Good’s backstory, the sect leader produced a gift- something Shen Yuan had no excuse to decline and always made Luo Binghe pout whenever he catches sight of it- and set it aside with practice ease. Only then did Yue Qingyuan take out a scroll from one of his sleeves and place it neatly on the low table between them.
“One of the..” Here, Yue Qingyuan cleared his throat and looked away, uncharacteristically hesitant. “Establishment you…frequented, years ago, have reached out with a matter of concern. They report a series of kidnappings among their workers. This shixiong thought Shen-shidi might wish to…investigate it personally.
Shen Qingqiu blinked at him. Once, twice, His expression politely blank and waiting for Yue Qingyuan to elaborate.
Ah.Right. Qi Deviation
Yue Qingyuan’s gaze softened with quiet understanding, remembering. Shen Qingqiu’s deviation years ago had left gaps in his memory. Possession had been ruled out early on, after all the quiet questions about his sudden change in temperament. Many had eventually settled on a easiest explanation: that whatever memories were lost had been the very ones that sharpened him into a blade. With those fragments gone, what remained was a softer, more accommodating man.
Despite Shen Qingqiu’s careful efforts to patch over the missing pieces of his past and carry himself as though nothing were amiss, there were still holes he could not fill. Habits unremembered. Histories he could not replicate. Threads of a man he had never actually been.
Apparently, one of them was a brothel habit.
“Ah… forgive this shixiong,” Yue Qingyuan said gently, almost apologetically. “It must have been some time since your last visit. I refer to the Red Warm Pavilion.”
At Shen Yuan’s still-blank stare, he was forced to spell it out. “…The brothel.”
“Oh.”
Silence fell, heavy and awkward, stretching long enough for the tea in the pot to cool.
At last, Shen Yuan cleared his throat, straightened his spine, and plucked the scroll from the table with an air of composure he absolutely did not feel.
Yue Qingyuan cleared his throat, setting his teacup aside. “The madam of the Red Warm Pavilion sent word directly to the sect. At first, she believed it to be nothing more than runaways. But the situation escalated quickly.”
Shen Yuan tapped the edge of the scroll. “Escalated how?”
“There were… signs,” Yue Qingyuan replied carefully. “One of the rooms showed deep gouges along the walls, claw marks from something no human hand could have made. There were traces of struggle, yet no corpses left behind. And the disappearances did not stop there. At first, it was only the courtesans—both women and men—but soon, even the younger girls of the household of the surrounding area began to vanish while on a stroll”
Shen Yuan’s fan stilled mid-motion. “How often?”
Yue Qingyuan’s expression darkened. “There seems to be an interval of three days between each disappearance, though in some cases it stretched to a week at most.”
Shen Yuan frowned, leaning forward slightly. “And how many are we talking about?”
“As of now,” Yue Qingyuan said grimly, “ten. The first vanished nearly a month ago, and the pattern has held steady ever since.”
Ten was already bad enough, but in cultivation-novel logic, with many women involved, it usually meant the culprit was gearing up for something worse and it's up to the protagonist to save these maiden. Hopefully there would not be some...papapa after the mission ends. Shen Yuan tapped his fan against his knee, lips frowning faintly and internally cringing at the thought.
Well. It had been a while since he’d gone down the mountain. Truth be told, he’d been itching for some proper action again, though he was always weak against Luo Binghe’s pleading eyes whenever the boy insisted he “rest and recover” as he might have a Without-a-cure flareup on the way. (Speaking of that time he nearly splat on the ground from a hundred feet drop)
Maybe this was the perfect chance to stretch his legs—and perhaps even take a few of the younger disciples out for practice.
He snapped his fan open with a practiced flick. “This Qingqiu will descend the mountain in two days’ time. I’ll inform my head disciple to prepare.”
“Luo Binghe?” Yue Qingyuan asked mildly.
Shen Yuan choked. “Ming Fan,” he corrected hastily, waving his fan as if to shoo the misunderstanding away. No way was he going to look Yue Qingyuan in the eye for that one.
The sect leader only blinked, though his silence spoke volumes. Everyone knew how much of the actual workload Disciple Luo shouldered, to the point that some whispered he was already Shen Qingqiu’s true successor. Even Disciple Ming seemed to recognize his so-called “title” of head disciple as little more than that, a title.
Because when it came to Shen Qingqiu, Luo-shizhi’s words had become ironclad. No one dared to contradict him when it involved their Shizun’s comfort, schedule, or safety. Meals, medicine, even the smallest errands—Luo-shizhi had a way of quietly inserting himself into every gap until the other disciples no longer bothered to volunteer. If the Bamboo House needed repairs, he had already arranged it. If someone was foolish enough to try gossiping about their Shizun, Luo-shizhi’s dark look silenced them before a word reached Shen Yuan’s ears.
It was an unspoken rule settled across Qing Jing Peak: when it came to their Peak Lord, Luo Binghe was the final authority.
Yue Qingyuan’s gaze lingered, a quiet crease forming between his brows. That child’s devotion was unquestionable, but sometimes it carried a weight that unsettled him. Obsession, possessiveness, even flashes of something darker—he had seen them, even if Shen-shidi had not. Liu-shidi had certainly seen them, his complaints of the boy’s thinly veiled hostility toward anyone who stood too close to Shen Qingqiu echoing in Yue Qingyuan’s memory.
He had tried once, gently, to bring it up. To caution Shen Qingqiu about his disciple’s behavior, to suggest that perhaps it was not mere loyalty. But Shen Qingqiu had only waved him off, dismissing it with that same faint smile. Binghe was simply devoted, he had said, simply repaying his Shizun for his kindness and for tending to him despite the affliction of Without-a-Cure.
And so Yue Qingyuan kept his silence, watching with wary eyes as Luo Binghe’s shadow stretched ever closer around his shidi.
Notes:
Chapter 3 will be published within the day. Had to split them since the chapter is becoming too long :3
Chapter Text
· · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ··
The brothel the original Shen Qingqiu had once favored was no shabby\ place, but the largest establishment in a small town tucked near the foot of Cang Qiong Mountain. A half-day’s journey was all it took to reach it.
Shen Yuan caught the look on Luo Binghe’s face at the mention of the brothel when informing the chosen disciple for the journey and had to stifle a snicker. The boy’s brow was faintly furrowed, lips pressed tight, like he was seconds away from protesting and stomping his feet at the mention of it.
Of course the boy would react-after all, the original goods had left behind quite the reputation there years ago.
Don’t worry, little sheep, he thought wryly. This Shizun is only here to investigate the kidnappings. He wouldn’t dare lay a finger on any woman who might end up as one of your future wives.
The mention of the brothel drew a ripple of hushed whispers among the younger disciples and he begun to sweat at the weight of their curious stare.
“I heard Shizun used to go there often…”
“Really???”
“Then-is it true what they say about—”
One sharp look from Luo Binghe cut the gossip short. His eyes swept across the group with quiet menace, and every whisper died on the spot. The disciples snapped to attention, backs ramrod straight, as though they were soldiers under inspection rather than junior disciples.
Shen Yuan pretended not to notice the exchange. Best to let Binghe practice his stern act (that’s the future emperor right there! silencing his subjects without a single word.) Instead, he turned to Ning Yingying and Ming Fan.
“Yingying, Ming Fan. Take charge of your shidi and shimei. Make sure they understand the protocols—no wandering without a senior disciple, remain professional, and above all, do not separate from the group.” Both disciples nodded earnestly, already corralling the younger ones.
Satisfied, Shen Yuan lifted his fan and tilted his head to the side. “Binghe,” he called.
The protagonist perked up at once, all eager attentiveness. Before Shen Yuan could even finish signaling him over with a casual wave, Luo Binghe was already bounding toward him, falling into step at his side.
As they walked away from the chattering group, Shen Yuan noticed the subtle shift in Binghe’s posture—the way his shoulders sagged, the shadow that dimmed his expression. He sighed inwardly. That version of pouting never boded well.
“What’s wrong now?” he asked
Luo Binghe was silent for a while, biting the corner of his lips befors hesitantly speaking.
“This Binghe would prefer if Shizun did not go,” Binghe murmured, low and firm. “I would rather handle the matter myself, if Shizun permits. What if Shizun gets hurt? Without a cure-because of this disciple... His words faltered, the unspoken dread heavy in the silence, “…this disciple could not bear it.”
When Binghe lifted his eyes, wide and pleading, Shen Yuan had to fight the urge to look away. That sheer, naked earnestness—gap moe weaponized into artillery fire—was a dangerous thing to face at point blank range.
He reached out anyway and gave the boy a light bop on the head with his fan. “Silly child. What kind of Shizun would I be if I couldn’t handle a simple kidnapping? Besides, the town is close to the mountain. We’ll be finished in a day.”
Hopefully, he added silently.
Binghe’s lips pressed into a pout, but no protest followed. His silence was acquiescence, though the way his eyes lingered on Shen Yuan—quiet, dissatisfied, unwilling to yield—made it clear the matter wasn’t settled in his heart.
· · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ··
The stare from the Madam could have burned a hole straight through his skull when Shen Yuan stepped into the Red Warm Pavilion with his senior disciples and a Tag-a-long Peak lord in tow.
At his side, Luo Binghe pressed in close, shoulders tense, his dark eyes flicked toward the Madam, sharp as blades, as though the woman’s gaze alone was a threat to his Shizun’s virtue.
“Master Shen…” The Madam finally tore herself free from whatever internal monologue she was composing and approached with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It has been a while.”
Shen Yuan forced a polite nod, though inwardly he was screaming. He snapped open his fan in practiced ease and offered her a respectful bow. “This master apologizes for his tardiness. There was something that required this master’s attention.”
On his left , Liu Qingge let out a short derisive snort. He shot his shidi a warning glare. Both of them knew perfectly well what that “something” had been.
They were late. By almost two hours.
And all because Shen Yuan had overslept—dragged rudely out of his warm bed by an irate Liu Qingge who looked ready to throttle him. It wasn’t even an all-nighter! He’d gone to bed at a decent hour, and still managed to wake up late.
And Yue Qingyuan. Why, oh why, had Yue Qingyuan failed to mention that Liu Qingge would be tagging along?
(What he didn’t know is that, despite Luo Binghe’s best efforts to smother the gossip, the rumor of their brothel-bound mission had already spread like wildfire across the sect. Liu Qingge, upon hearing it, had promptly dropped everything to make sure his shixiong didn’t disgrace himself. Hilarious. Just hilarious.)
Shen Yuan cleared his throat, folding his fan with a snap.
The Madam’s expression smoothed, her voice light. “This one has prepared a private room for discussion. Shall we?”
Shen Yuan inclined his head stiffly, already catching the silent protests radiating from both Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge at his sides. They didn’t say a word, but their eyes all but shouted: Here? In the open is better! Don’t follow her!
Still, Shen Yuan followed. Better to keep things polite than to start their visit with offense.
The Madam led them into a richly adorned room centered around a long dining table clearly meant for negotiations. With a wave of her hand, attendants began laying out drinks and small dishes as they settled into their seats.
“It has been a long time since Jiu’er visited this old woman,” the Madam said at last, her voice soft but edged with something Shen Yuan couldn’t quite place.
Luo Binghe perked up immediately, eyes narrowing. “The Madam should address my Shizun properly,” he interjected smoothly, though his tone carried a warning undertone.
The air cooled several degrees. Shen Yuan could feel the Madam’s discontent pressing against him like a weight. Something deeper was tucked beneath her words, something unsaid that she demanded answers from.
He coughed lightly into his sleeve, feigning calm. “This master must apologize if the Madam and I share a history I can no longer answer for,” he said quickly, voice steady but edged with formality. “After suffering severe qi deviation, much was lost to me. Memories most of all. Even now, there remain gaps I cannot mend.”
The Madam’s gaze sharpened, searching his face for a lie. Her painted lips pressed into a fine line, as though weighing the truth of his words against the man seated before her. For a heartbeat, Shen Yuan thought she might press—demand the rest of the story he didn’t have.
“Six years,” she said finally, voice carrying a thread of hurt. “It has been six years since you last stepped foot through these doors.”
Shen Yuan froze. Six? That couldn’t be right. By his count, it should have only been four years since he transmigrated. Unless… something had happened to the original goods in those missing years. The chronic pain, the fragility that had lingered even before Without-a-Cure… had that been the reason?
He must have looked genuinely unsettled, because the Madam’s eyes softened, her rigid frame loosening a fraction. “I see,” she murmured at last, voice faint but carrying a trace of resignation. “That explains… much.”
Then, as if that moment of vulnerability had never slipped through, her poise returned, every syllable lacquered with control. “All the more reason you should make up for lost time. It would be best if Jiu’er reacquainted himself with my flowers. He has been dearly missed.”
From behind him came the sound of a half-aborted choke—Liu Qingge, visibly about to combust—and a low, unmistakable growl—Luo Binghe, glowering.
Shen Yuan didn’t so much as twitch. Professionalism, thy name is ignoring disasters. He plastered on his most polite smile and inclined his head. “This master understands. Your thoughtfulness is appreciated.”
The Madam poured wine into delicate cups, her motions graceful, practiced. But the longer she spoke, the more the façade slipped—just slightly. A too-long pause before she set the jug down.
“The first was Plum Blossom. When was not found in her rooms, this madam thought she had simply run away. It happens, sometimes.” A small laugh escaped her, brittle at the edges. “Foolish ones who think that they will run away with the love of their life”
Her gaze flickered to the table, then away.
“Then it was Peony. Then Rose Dawn.” The list fell from her lips like she was reciting an account book, but her hand tightened around her cup until the porcelain gave a faint crack.
She forced a smile, smoothed her sleeve again, and continued.
“But when our Lotus vanished…”
The silence that followed weighed heavy. Liu Qingge’s frown deepened. Luo Binghe, beside Shen Yuan, shifted closer, tension rolling from him in dark waves. the names, especially the first 3 rings a bell. Furiously searching for a wife arc that talks about this.
“…that was when I knew it was not a simple case of runaways.”
Shen Yuan fanned himself slowly, fighting to keep his expression neutral. “And after that?”
The Madam drew in a shaky breath. “I could no longer allow the others to stay in their separate rooms. I gathered them together and assigned guards, thinking it would keep them safe. The disappearances stopped within my walls…” Her hand curled into a fist against the table. “…but then the girls outside began vanishing. None were mine, but they were still children.”
Shen Yuan leaned back, thoughtful. That explained the shift in the kidnappings’ focus. Whoever it was, they hadn’t stopped—they had only changed their hunting grounds.
Across from him, Luo Binghe’s gaze had darkened to a dangerous edge. Not saying a thing as he seems to realize the gravity of the situation.
Her shoulders trembled, almost imperceptibly. “Ten lives now, within a month. As far as I know”
Shen Yuan shut his fan with a snap and leaned forward, expression sharpening in a way that made the Madam blink.
“Rest assured,” he said, his tone measured, “this master will not let this crime go unanswered. We will try our best for them to returned, and the ones responsible will face justice.”
He could feel it, and he was sure his companions could feel it too—that faint, lingering smear of demonic qi clinging to the corners of the brothel, scattered in all directions as if in an attempt to confuse cultivators in pinpointing their location.
While the Madam was talking, the first three names already caught his attention and set off alarms in his head and searched through Airplane’s ridiculous wife arcs.
Plum Blossom, Peony, and Rose Dawn. A triplet sisters that is the total opposite of the Taoist Nuns Triplets.
He knew this plotline.
The Demonic Slave Traders Arc.
Years later in the original, post-Abyss Luo Binghe would stumble across the three sisters, haggard and terrified, escaping from their captors. It had taken days before they trusted him enough to confess what they’d endured: an entire network of demonic cultivators and slavers banding together, trafficking women with strong unrefined qi to turn them into human cauldrons. Feeding on their energy. Trying pathetically to gather together power to rival the protagonist.
Binghe had freed them, gathered evidence, burned their operation to ash. He’d even given the sisters their revenge for their fallen brethren.
But then, instead of allowing dignity, instead of writing recovery, Airplane had done… that thing. That “healing” arc. Shen Yuan pinched the bridge of his nose, shoving down nausea. No. He wasn’t going to think about that part.
But that was supposed to happen after Binghe got out of the abyss. And, considering that he is here now, post-immortal alliance conference, it is still years ahead of time. But will all the things he managed to change and avoid there are bound to have some events snowballing out of order.
If his memory served correctly, there were two camps. One for the newly kidnapped being ‘initiated’. The other for those who had already been turned into human cauldrons. He grimaced. Definitely not something he could blurt out just yet without explaining why he knew.
But this is also an exercise for his disciples to practice their interrogation and investigation skills. But it also wouldn’t hurt to give them a nudge here and there to make it easier.
So, when they finally bid the Madam farewell after looking at the rooms of the missing people, noting that ‘ Lotus’ have the only one with Claw marks in it—politely refusing her offer to arrange the old room he used to “sleep” in—and regrouped outside the inn, Binghe already arranged the rooms so he didn’t have to worry about anyone being left without one. Looking at you, Ming fan. Shen Yuan snapped his fan shut and gathered everyone’s attention.
“Before we move,” Shen Yuan said, eyes sweeping the group, “tell me what you’ve noticed so far. Theories, patterns—what kind of targets, what the culprit might gain, and what signs you’ve observed.”
The younger disciples shifted uneasily until Ning Yingying nudged one forward encouragely. He cleared his throat. “This disciple… noticed claw marks in one of the rooms. It looks like there was a struggle. But the other victims vanished without a trace.”
Shen Yuan gave him an approving nod, which made another disciple muster the courage to speak. “The victims are all young and… uh.” His voice trailed off as his nerves wavered.
“Go on,” Shen Yuan coaxed gently. “Disciple Jin seems to be onto something.”
Disciple Jin swallowed hard, then pressed on. “This disciple thinks it has to do with their qi. The missing ones are all between twelve and eighteen—the years when cultivation potential is strongest.”
Shen Yuan’s lips curved faintly. Good. At least they were paying attention. A few more steps, and they’d circle close to the truth.
Luo Binghe raised his voice next, excited to share and contribute for approval. “This disciple believes there may be human involvement. None of the reports mention beasts or ghosts in the area. But the traces of demonic qi… they make it complicated.”
Some of the younger ones frowned at that, confusion written across their faces. Shen Yuan caught the exchange and noticed how quickly the senior disciples straightened, already understanding they’d need to teach their shidis how to sense demonic qi until it became second nature.
Not one to be Outdone, Ming Fan raises his hand and declared “The Qi was also scattered, different each time. As if deliberately throwing us off so they wouldn't be tracked easily. This also suggest that it's thought through and not just mindless case of kidnapping”
The discussion quickly spiraled into a chorus of raised voices as disciples threw out names of every demonic creature they could recall with vaguely humanoid forms—the Skinner among them. But that theory collapsed almost immediately; no corpses had been left behind, so it didn’t fit.
Still, excitement only fueled more guesses, and soon it was turning into a competition of who could sound the most convincing. Shen Yuan let it run just long enough before flicking his fan and motioning for quiet. “I’m sure all of you are very eager to prove yourselves,” he drawled, “so this master will assign groups. Be sure to follow your Shixiongs and Shijie and learn from them”
Shen Yuan nodded, satisfied. “You’ll be split into groups of five.” The first team was naturally Ning Yingying and Luo Binghe, paired with three of their younger shidi.
Call him a nosy parent, but he still felt responsible for making sure the child he took care of had a match up!
Ning Yingying, especially, had grown so much since the Skinner mission—now standing tall as a female lead in her own right, practically Liu Mingyan’s equal. “You’ll speak with the courtesans and anyone else who may have seen something unusual. Afterward, sweep the surrounding forest at the border. Just in case.”
(Just in case Binghe accidentally stumbled across three frightened sisters and triggered the entire plotline ahead of schedule. Hopefully Shen Yuan had managed to instill a little tact in the protagonist’s skull by now, and not everything needed solving with his pillar.)
Ning Yingying’s eyes lit with excitement. She seized Binghe’s sleeve and tugged him forward before he could mount a protest, smiling as though she had done this a thousand times before. Binghe, meanwhile, cast Shen Yuan the most pitiful look over his shoulder, all long-suffering misery.
The second team went to Ming Fan and the rest of his shidi. “You’ll be keeping watch,” Shen Yuan ordered. “Especially over the women in town. If someone is being targeted, you are to intercept suspicious activity and report it immediately. No running off alone.” His eyes landed on Ming Fan until the boy gave a reluctant bow of acknowledgment. Not without first sneaking a look at Ning Yingying and raising a brow, silently bringing up the Skinner mission from years past. She responded with a quick tongue stuck out before dragging her group along.
And lastly, there was himself and Liu Qingge.
Predictably, Binghe froze mid-step, as if realizing it. Expression tightening, eyes turning suspiciously glassy. The look he gave Shen Yuan was pure betrayal. Shen Yuan, seasoned survivor of the protagonist’s crybaby tactics, snapped his fan closed and turned away.
“You and I will track the demonic traces,” he told Liu Qingge, gesturing toward the brothel. “As mentioned, The qi has been scattered, spread thin to throw off pursuit. But if we comb carefully, and investigate the most obvious ones each, we should be able to follow where it leads.”
By now, the town was bathed in lamplight, warm glow spilling across cobblestones and shuttered windows. Shen Yuan took in his disciples with a measured gaze. They were green, yes. But they were Cang Qiong disciples. His disciples.
“Stay vigilant,” he said, voice carrying across the courtyard. “No wandering off. If you find something, report to me immediately. Do not take unnecessary risks you couldn’t handle.”
Of course, Luo Binghe lingered, casting worried glances at him before shuffling closer. Shen Yuan suppressed a sigh. Here it came—the inevitable “Don’t worry about this master” reassurance. He gestured at Liu Qingge almost casually. “I have your Liu-shishu to watch my back.”
That only made Binghe look more downcast, like he had just swallowed bitter medicine. What now? Did Liu Qingge block one of his courting attempts at Liu Mingyan? Was that why they still had the long-standing beef? Shen Yuan didn’t have the time to untangle that mess.
“But Shizun…” Luo Binghe whined, tears already gathering in his eyes
As if sensing Binghe’s silent accusations, Liu Qingge let out a sharp snort, seized the boy by the scruff of his robes, and hauled him bodily toward Ning Yingying’s waiting group. It was a ridiculous sight—Luo Binghe, taller than the Baizhan War God, hunched like a sulky puppy as he was dragged off.
“Get moving, brat. We don’t have all day.”
After one last wounded glare at Liu Qingge and a pitiful glance at Shen Yuan, promising he will do his best to complete his task fast, Luo Binghe allowed himself to be herded off. Shen Yuan waved them away with a faint smile, thoroughly amused by the whole display.
Once the disciples had dispersed, the courtyard quieted, leaving only the two of them. Liu Qingge stood with his arms crossed, still watching the retreating figures, his brow furrowed. Finally, he muttered, “That brat of yours is strange. You should be careful.”
Shen Yuan flicked open his fan and gave it a lazy wave, already too used to hearing this line of commentary. “Binghe’s fine. You just don’t understand him.”
Liu Qingge turned sharply, unimpressed. “He’s already old enough to to be acting like a brat. Clinging to his master at every step—it’s unbecoming.”
Shen Yuan glanced at him over the fan, hiding a smile. In truth, he found Binghe’s clinginess and eager to please more endearing than concerning. The boy’s teary-eyed moeness was a little manipulative, sure, but also harmless. Cute, even. Besides, it wasn’t as though Binghe’s behavior actually hurt anyone.
Instead of answering, he just hummed, noncommittal.
Liu Qingge’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll be keeping an eye on him.”
Protective as always. Shen Yuan resisted the urge to snicker. “You do that,” he said lightly, then snapped his fan shut. “But for now, let’s focus on the missing women. Priorities, Liu-shidi.”
With a curt nod, Liu Qingge accepted the shift in topic, and together they left the inn, shadows stretching long behind them as they stepped into the night to begin their part of the search.
·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ··
Just as he remembered, there were indeed two camps. Not too far away from Each other. Both tucked into the shadows of the forest, shrouded beneath layers of cloaking talismans that bent light and muffled sound. To a passerby, it would seem like nothing but an empty stretch of trees. But both Peak Lords saw through the veil immediately—and what lay inside twisted their gut.
There was a clear division among the men. Cloaked figures loitered around smoky fires, voices raised in harsh shouts, their qi steeped in demonic cultivation. Mixed among them were others in ragged hoods, their faces half-hidden, their presence devoid of cultivation. These men moved under the cultivators’ orders, shoving a group of chained women toward a cage lashed to the back of a cart.
Shen Yuan only needed one look to know them for what they were: slave traders. That was why the kidnappings had left no trace. Worse still, from the way the camp stirred, it was clear they had caught wind of them arriving in town and were packing to flee.
The occasional sharp cry or muffled sob carried on the night wind, thin and brittle—women, children. Far more than had been reported. Of course, the orphans and drifters on the streets would never be counted. No one would notice if they went missing. And from the sheer number of captives—no fewer than thirty—it was obvious this town was not their only hunting ground.
Beside him, Liu Qingge shifted his weight, hand on his sword, eyes fixed on the nearest camp with predatory focus. He was ready to strike, to carve through the filth without hesitation.
Xiu Ya felt heavy in his hand. His stomach tightened with each whimper that slipped past the wards.
His disciples—no, this was not something they should be thrown into. They were still green. Most had never even crossed swords with demonic cultivators before, let alone faced the kind of cruelty festering here. To pit them against this now would be to wound them needlessly.
This was work for Peak Lords. It had to be done swiftly, before any more innocents paid the price for hesitation.
He hesitated only a moment before pulling out a folded talisman. With a flick of his wrist, it streaked into the night, a faint glow that vanished almost as soon as it sparked. His junior disciples didn’t need to see what was inside the camps, but his senior ones had to be here—close enough to guard the perimeter and catch any rats that tried to bolt when the nest was overturned.
Inside the camp, voices carried.
"How many are there still?" one man muttered, his tone edged with complaint.
"Stop whining and get it done," another snapped, tossing him a key. "Only the unruly bitch left in the tent. Unchain it and move it with the others." He grasped the man hard in the shoulder before he could take a step. “Make sure the talismans are in place. We don’t want it surprising us again”
The first man grumbled, but took the key and disappeared toward the tent.
Shen Yuan’s eyes met Liu Qingge’s. They didn’t need words. The timing had to be perfect. When the men weren’t close enough to use their captives as shields.
They moved in tandem.
The camps erupted into chaos the instant blades were drawn. Liu Qingge cut down the first demonic cultivator before the man even had a chance to raise a defense, his strike so clean the body dropped without a word. The others lunged to retaliate, demonic qi flaring, but they were too slow.
It wasn’t hard to guess where Liu Qingge’s attention leaned—straight toward the cultivators he’d been itching to cut down. Shen Yuan took the rest, keeping the rest from escaping and sending a pulse of support whenever Liu Qingge was pressed from more than one side.
Shen Yuan flicked his fan, talismans whipping into the air. Paper and leaves scattered by the night wind twisted into deadly darts, striking down the slave traders who tried to rush toward the cages. They collapsed with strangled cries, their hands never getting close to the captives.
Two demonic cultivators decided he was the easier prey. Shen Yuan sidestepped the first, fan snapping shut just in time to parry a strike meant for his ribs. He slipped back, breath steady, letting the man’s blade slice empty air. The second surged in—and then there was a wet spray across his sleeve as Liu Qingge’s sword cleaved the cultivator cleanly in half, blood spattering close enough that Shen Yuan flinched.
“Thanks,” came the dry reply as he flicked the blood. Liu Qingge didn’t answer, already throwing himself into the next exchange.
Shen Yuan turned back to his own task, surrounding the cages with qi infused leaves to deter any attackers.Calming the crying women down and some even cheering as more men went down.
It wasn’t until only a handful of enemies were left standing that Shen Yuan caught it thanks to his cultivator hearing amidst the havoc around him.
Low, muffled sounds of struggle from inside one of the tents. His steps faltered. Right. Someone had slipped off earlier before the ambush. And in the chaos he’d written the man off, assuming he’d come charging back with the others once the attack began.
Glancing once at Liu Qingge, who was still carving through the last of the demonic cultivators with grim precision, Shen Yuan pivoted and moved swiftly toward the sound.
He pushed past the tent flap.
The tent is mostly dark, with only a few rays of Moonlight entering from the tears and wears above. Then his eyes adjusted.
The bulky slaver was hunched in the dim light, his face slick with fear. His arms were locked tight around a thrashing figure, half-dragging, half-wrestling them against his chest. Shen Yuan’s gaze caught the deep scratch marks raked across the man’s forearms, blood welling in fresh trails. The captive was feral, hair hanging in tangled sheets that hid most of their face, snapping and biting at any skin they could reach.
“Stay back!” the slaver barked, wild-eyed. His knife pressed hard against the boy’s throat, a bead of red already welling beneath the blade. “One more step, I’ll carve him open! You want him alive? Let me walk out, or I’ll drag him to the grave with me!”
To prove his threat, he fisted the boy’s hair and wrenched his head back, baring the pale column of his neck to the knife’s edge.
Shen Yuan’s fan stilled in his hand.
Because the moment that tangled curtain of hair shifted, the boy’s face came into view—and wide, starry-black eyes locked with his.
Everything inside Shen Yuan went blank.
No mistake. Not possible to mistake.
That face. Those eyes.
“...Binghe?”
Notes:
Plot Twist 1 Complete
Its another Binghe!
How could he possibly end up in the camp??Click here to get some Family Drama
So many things happened to me today, lmao. First off, I came home from school and my room rearranged without my permission. Surprise! Then, my fish, the one I’ve been taking care of for months and using as my unofficial therapist, just… disappeared. My aunt threw him out. I don’t even know where. Toilet? Trash? Parallel dimension? All I know is both the fish and his tank are gone.
Now, this aunt is only staying for a couple of days before her flight, but she’s already leaving behind trauma souvenirs. This is the same woman who once threatened to stomp my rabbit to death if she ever saw it. So I had to hide her for safety. Even her own daughter is like, “Yeah, I need to get away from her.”
And as if the unprompt fish funeral wasn’t enough, I got tag-teamed by my mom and aunt for reacting negatively. Like, sorry for not throwing a party after you 'fixed my room (I basically dont know where my things are) and killed my emotional support fish. On top of that, my allowance is now hanging by a thread. Last week my aunt already convinced my mom to slash it, and I’m down to 2000php (around $35) a week. Which basically means: goodbye proper food, hello canned goods and convenience store diet. Chef Boyardee and instant noodles are about to become my new best friends. ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧
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