Chapter Text
Walking away from Qi-ge was surreal. In the back of Shen Jiu’s mind, he heard whispers of an old conversation:
You absolutely have to remember the things you said! You must come back and save me!
All right. Wait for me. Once I finish my training, I’ll definitely come back – then we’ll leave together!
And he had. Qi-ge had come back.
And now Shen Jiu was the one leaving.
If he tried, he could easily imagine phantom pain from where he had pulled those strands of hair out of his scalp. Long, black strands, stored in Qi-ge’s palm now, or maybe a qiankun pouch. He probably had one of those now, being a sect cultivator with a sword and everything. Everything they had dreamed of as children. Absurd dreams, something to make the cold nights on the street even slightly more bearable, because for people like them there were only three potential futures: lifelong slavery, becoming a trafficker themselves, or lifelong begging – or the fourth option, which was no future at all.
Behind him, being left behind, was a cultivator in expensive robes, carrying a spiritual sword. In his own hand was a stolen sword covered in the blood of his masters. At his side, just a step ahead, was the man who would teach him to cultivate until Qi-ge could find him again and bring him to his fancy sect.
In front of him, an endless stretch of potential futures.
Most of it was a slog. When they made camp the first night, Wu Yanzi had thrown him a qiankun bag – by far the most expensive thing Shen Jiu had ever touched, falling at his feet like it was nothing – and told him, “It’s yours. Keep all your shit in there. There’s a blanket, so don’t fucking complain about being cold or some shit. Now go fetch some firewood.”
Shen Jiu had bowed low, playing at a gratitude they both knew was fake, and did as commanded. While he was gone, his new master apparently caught a hare, and it was of course Shen Jiu’s duty to make the fire, skin the rabbit, and cook it. Wu Yanzi took the best parts. The meat was tough and rather tasteless – he’d gathered from listening in at the Qiu kitchens that hares needed to hang a while to tenderize – but it was the first time in his life he had had freshly cooked meat that wasn’t the filling of a bao fallen onto the dirty market ground. He revelled in it.
He watched eagerly when Wu Yanzi placed talismans all around their little camp, activating them with a spark of qi. But no words were exchanged, and Wu Yanzi simply pulled a bedroll from his own pouch and went to sleep.
After a while, Shen Jiu dug up the thin blanket from inside the qiankun pouch, refusing to marvel at it, and rolled into a ball on the bare ground. As far away from Wu Yanzi as he could get without crossing the talisman boundary.
He did not get much sleep that night. It was cold, too cold, but that was fine. He was used to it. It had been years since he’d had someone to huddle with for warmth, and sometimes Qiu Jianluo had him sleeping in the woodshed even in the dead of winter. But even as he evened out his breath, acting at sleep, he was listening. The woods were not quiet, even at night. Owls screamed. Twigs snapped under trampling feet. Leaves rustled in the wind. The steps he listened for though, never came. Neither did the bruising hand, grabbing at him, making use of him however his master.
Soon before dawn, unconsciousness finally overtook him.
Waking – that was the sensation of a boot kicking at his ribs. Dull pain. Shen Jiu grunted, eyes flying open. Instinctually curling into himself. Then a gruff voice said, “Good. You’re awake. Get up, make breakfast.”
Oh. This wasn’t the Qiu Estate.
Dragging himself onto his feet, Shen Jiu pushed the filthy blanket back into the pouch. Pins and needles prickled at his limbs as he quickly redid his ponytail. “With what, master?” he asked, unable to keep the snideness out of his voice. Gesturing at the camp. They had nothing, as far as he could see.
He only just had time to brace himself before a fist collided with his cheek. Shen Jiu staggered, glaring resentfully. But the pain was nothing – Wu Yanzi hadn’t even hit as hard as Qiu Jianluo usually did, even though he undoubtedly could punch hard enough to kill him. Strength withheld, then.
“Figure something out, boy,” Wu Yanzi said. “I’m not teaching you cultivation on an empty stomach.”’
That snapped him out of any desire to be difficult. Cultivation. It was so close. But. As he looked around, he realized he didn’t have a single clue what they could possibly eat. He was used to scraps, certainly, but he had never had to survive in the countryside, much less the wilderness. The slavers always locked them into carts during transition city to city. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at the trees. They were not going to keep him from learning how to fucking cultivate.
In the end, he made use of a skill every slave develops quickly, or dies. He sat down in a hidden corner and stayed quiet. Watched. The woods settled around him. Leaving him aware of every snap of a twig. Even his chest barely moved with his breathing – staying still as a statue had sometimes, though very rarely, let Qiu Jianluo forget that he was in the room until he had to leave to attend to Qiu Haitang.
A pheasant peeked out its head. Furrowing his brow, Shen Jiu focused his qi. And with a flick of his finger, two leaves slid off the bush. The bird screamed, collapsed. Blood gushed from its neck where the leaves had cleanly decapitated it.
In a smooth movement, he got on his feet and fetched it. There was cooking to be done.
After breakfast, Wu Yanzi roughly manhandled him into the proper stance for meditation. Shen Jiu forced back the urge to wince, even as his ponytail caught and pulled. His master didn’t look particularly interested in what he was doing, but he was doing it, and that was the important part.
“Focus on your goals,” Wu Yanzi told him. “Let everything else go, but think of the power you wish to achieve, and hold that in front of you. Do not let your mind stray.” Then he left, to do whatever. Shen Jiu did not much care.
The task was easy. Breathe in. Think about the goal. About no one ever being able to hurt him again. Becoming an immortal master, powerful and important. Breathe out. Shen Jiu would be the one to trample on others. To sneer and show them that they were not worthy to breathe the same air as him. Breathe in. Anyone who looked at him wrong would get what they deserve.
(He would be able to do the same for Qi-ge, who never fought back.) (Although maybe he did now, now that their lives would not be forfeit for it.) (There was so much Shen Jiu no longer knew.)
His qi flowed easily through his meridians.
In the evening, after walking for hours, they reached a town. It was small. Much smaller than any town Shen Jiu had ever been in for any significant, since it was doubtful anyone in a place like this would be interested in buying slaves, or wealthy enough to make begging worth the time for the masters. No, they had always stayed in cities. If they had been forced to make a stop overnight, he and the other slaves had often been kept in the storage carriage overnight. So it was a new experience to walk along the main street, although it felt very generous to even call it that. It wasn’t even paved. The dirt road was surrounded by small shops and some food stands, but it clearly did not see overly much activity on days that weren’t market days. The houses were small, most of them only one floor, and there were few that had been able to afford to paint the buildings in any good colours. Thus, it was not a new experience that Shen Jiu cared for.
But the townspeople looked their way, and their eyes quickly found the swords strapped to their backs and the sheer lack of packing. Gazes flickering down to the qiankun bags on their waists. He could see it in their eyes: cultivators. It made him stand a little taller. That’s right. He was a cultivator now, or at least enough of one for them to think so. He was better than them. More powerful, more important.
Not someone that could be traded and bought. Who could be forced to beg prettily for a bite to eat.
“C’mon,” Wu Yanzi muttered. “Let’s find the best spot.”
The best spot, it turned out, was taken. It did not take much more than Wu Yanzi putting a hand on his sword for the merchant to scramble out of the way. Shen Jiu snorted in derision. Only a few moments after Shen Jiu placed out all some talismans on a table, the first customer arrived. A woman, heavy with child, dragging a boy after her and yet another child tied safely to her back with a shawl.
“Does the immortal masters have anything that will protect my baby after the birth?” she asked, exhaustion heavy in her voice. “To keep away evil spirits?”
Newborns were, of course, the most vulnerable of everyone to those, Shen Jiu knew. At Wu Yanzi’s glance, he smiled politely at her, and spoke like Qiu Haitang had trained him to. “Of course, madam. This one will keep anything evil at bay.” He pulled a talisman out of the pile. Wu Yanzi had gone through them quickly with him, expecting him to pick it up immediately. He obviously had. He wasn’t stupid. The talisman in question would do what she wanted, it just wasn’t very strong. It would not last the full first month. No use to waste qi on these lowlives, Wu Yanzi had told him. “It’s only one silver.”
Her eyes widened. A silver was a large amount of money for people like this – though nothing to people like Qiu Jianluo, who had paid exactly one silver for Shen Jiu – but after a breath, she dug into an embroidered purse and pulled the coin out. She hesitated. Shen Jiu kept smiling at her.
“It will keep your baby as safe as can be,” he assured her. “This one’s master is a very powerful cultivator.”
The woman glanced at Wu Yanzi, who had settled into painting more talismans, and at the large sword he carried. It seemed to be enough to convince her, and she handed the coin over. Shen Jiu nodded in acknowledgement, and gave her the talisman. “Put it on the door, and it will keep anything malevolent out.”
She looked at the talisman, eyes brightening, and bowed deeply. “Thank you, Master Cultivator.”
As she left, Wu Yanzi glanced at him again. “Good work,” he said dryly. “You sound exactly like those filthy nobles you killed. Very convincing.”
It didn’t sound like a compliment. Shen Jiu bowed anyway. He was saved from responding by an old man approaching, eyeing the talismans with interest.
And so, the days passed. Shen Jiu did all the chores and most of the food-gathering when they were not in a town, and the bitterness at watching his master laze around only disappeared when cultivating. The movement of qi had started to itch ever so faintly, which Wu Yanzi assured him meant it was working. Shen Jiu had no choice but to take him for his word, as much as he hated it. They reached a town, and Wu Yanzi taught him to paint a few talismans, which they sold for an exorbitant amount of money. Shen Jiu got to keep one coin per talisman he had made that sold. He carefully stored them away, except that he had to buy a new blanket. Wu Yanzi kept leaving him alone at night, miraculously, and he quickly learned to avoid the waking kick by waking up first. When he messed anything up, he was hit. It wasn’t as bad as the things Qiu Jianluo would do to him. So even as the rage burned in his chest, he did nothing. Not that there was anything he could do, other than wait for Qi-ge to find him once more.
At least he was cultivating.
It was worth all of that, and the unpleasant sensation of qi accumulating.
They were hunting a monster. Succeed or die, Wu Yanzi said as he commanded that he grab the sword he had stolen from the Qius, and come along. “Your cultivation is strong enough that you shouldn’t die first thing, at least,” Wu Yanzi told him. “Time to help pay for your education.”
Shen Jiu held back a scoff. Pay. As though he was not doing all of the work, all the time. He had inclined his head slightly. “Yes, master.”
The monster’s tracks were easy to follow. Paw prints, the size of Shen Jiu’s head. The claws dug into the earth where it had walked, leaving rips. Shen Jiu gripped the sword tighter in his hand. By now, his master had deigned to show him some sword forms, but they were basic, and he had no real experience. Unless one counted mindlessly stabbing anyone who got in his way while fleeing the fire, at least.
If the monster turned out to be too much, he would run. He was not dying for this man. Not for anyone. But Wu Yanzi seemed somewhat relaxed, at least, so hopefully that meant there was not too much danger. The man was horrible, but he was skilled. Shen Jiu trusted nothing and no one, but he almost was willing to believe that the man would not lead them into a deathtrap. Almost.
Around them, the forest quieted. Not entirely; the insects were buzzing. But any sound that would come from anything bigger than that – the chirping of birds, the steps of deer – disappeared. Unease tingled in his spine. This did not feel right.
Wu Yanzi threw him a sharp glare, as though he knew what he was thinking. Warning him not to back down. Of course Shen Jiu wouldn’t; the man would kill him. He would only be escaping if Wu Yanzi was too busy not dying.
An arm stretched out in front of him stopped him. Not that it needed to. Shen Jiu saw it too. They both stared out into a small glade. A pile of dirt as tall as two of him sat on the grass in front of a hole.
“I was right,” Wu Yanzi said, greed shining in his eyes. “It’s a golden tiger-mole.”
He didn’t hesitate, even as Shen Jiu’s hand twitched to grab him, though he stopped himself. Wu Yanzi marched over to the edge and pulled out a talisman. Sending a spark of qi into it, he dropped it into the pit. A flash of light burst out of it, burning enough that Shen Jiu had to cover his eyes with his arm.
A roar.
The ground shook.
Shen Jiu raised his sword in front of him, gritting his teeth to keep his hands from trembling. If his master had led him to his death, he would make sure to return as a vengeful ghost to torture him. Qi-ge was coming for him, and he was not going to let anyone keep them apart again.
A flash of pure light. Shen Jiu flinched back, closing his burning eyes. The ground shivered. An ear-deafening shriek reverberated between the trees. When he managed to force his eyes open again, they widened. The golden-tiger mole reached halfway up the trees in size. Its claws gleamed, bright as the sun. And its maw opened wide, showing of teeth that would cleave Shen Jiu in half with zero effort. He swallowed, and stayed put.
With the quiet swoosh of a sword against its sheathe, Wu Yanzi drew his. A white sword glare had the monster screaming. It searched for the perpetrator. Its gaze found Shen Jiu.
It charged.
He stumbled back. Pure instinct. But there was no point to running. It was too fast. Shen Jiu’s eyes flickered between the beast, himself, and his master. Wu Yanzi was far away. He was not sure he even cared. The beast was quick.
He raised his sword. Deep breaths. Feet steady. He called on his qi. It burned.
Another bright light.
The beast roared.
A flash of colour.
Wu Yanzi roared in outrage as four cultivators landed. A flying sword returned to the hand of one. The cultivator’s robes were red as blood and black, and a high ponytail of curly black hair with grey streaks cascaded down his back. The cultivator held another sword in his other hand. Only barely had he landed before he pounced at the beast. Another cultivator, this one in black and grey, followed. A woman, this time, her hair in a tight bun. The third cultivator, a man in light green and light blue robes, stayed back, though his sword remained in his hand.
And the fourth…
“Xiao Jiu!”
Yue Qi almost slammed into him. The hug lasted only for a second. As he let go, before Shen Jiu even could process what the fuck was happening, Qi-ge pushed him behind himself. Raised a huge, sheathed sword – Qi-ge’s sword – with a two-handed grip.
Why the fuck was it still sheathed?
He didn’t have time to wonder, though. Wide-eyed, he watched the cultivator in red and the cultivator in black pounce on the beast, leaving it not a second to recuperate. Wu Yanzi glared at him, fury burning in his eyes, as he turned to flee. Clearly recognizing he would not stand a chance against four cultivators.
Qi-ge’s head twitched toward Wu Yanzi. “Mu-shidi!” he yelled, and the cultivator in green nodded. Him and Qi-ge moved to switch places, Qi-ge pursuing Wu Yanzi. They disappeared into the foliage. Shen Jiu stepped forward, instinct telling him not to let Qi-ge disappear, but an arm held out in front of him stopped him. The cultivator – Mu-shidi, Qi-ge had called him – gave him a severe look. “Better not distract Yue-shixiong, young master.”
Being called ‘young master’ startled him enough that he did not immediately protest. Shen Jiu narrowed his eyes, watching this man. He was older – probably late twenties, early thirties - and had a gentle visage, though he knew better than to trust that. His brown hair was in a half-up half down-style with a bun on top, and his sword was simple but elegant. Most startling was the white iris of his left eye. Blind. And between he fingers of the hand that had stopped him, the one that did not hold a sword, gleamed silver needles. They were tall enough to pierce right through his skull, and sharp enough to probably do so without much resistance.
The roar of the monster pulled his attention back. He flinched, raising his sword once more. But there was no need. The fighting cultivators pulled back, floating on their swords. The beast went limp. The ground shook as it collapsed. Dead.
They turned back toward Shen Jiu and Master Mu, eyes sharp. Now, he could see that the man had a burn scar that covered a good third of his face, and the woman’s eyes were sharp. Master Mu gestured the direction that Wu Yanzi and Qi-ge had disappeared, and they set off without a word.
Leaving Shen Jiu alone with Master Mu. Both their swords remained raised. Everything was silent. Ever so slowly, the sounds of birds and small animals returned. Shen Jiu wasn’t sure how long they waited there, in silence. His heart beat against his chest, nausea rising at the thought of Qi-ge, alone with Wu Yanzi. It didn’t matter that he was a proper cultivator now. It was Qi-ge. Who, the last time he had seen him, had looked like he was seconds from collapsing.
The bushes rustled quietly behind him. A blade gleamed in the corner of his eye.
Master Mu twisted, raising his sword.
Shen Jiu gasped. Ducked, right underneath the blade that shot out from between the leaves. He threw himself forward, blade raised. The same way he had attacked the Qiu guards. Pure instinct. The need to survive.
Wu Yanzi coughed a mouthful of blood. It splattered over Shen Jiu’s worn robes. Hatred twisted his face. He went on his knees. The sword, as Shen Jiu was forced to let go of him, pierced right through his stomach.
A hand on his wrist pulled him back so violently that he would’ve fallen, if arms hadn’t steadied him. Master Mu stepped in front of him, blade ready. But there was no need.
Wu Yanzi was bleeding to death on the forest floor. In immeasurable pain, from the sound of it.
Twigs flew everywhere as Qi-ge burst out of the woods, soon followed by the other two cultivators. Panic was etched on his face, though it melted when he saw Shen Jiu protectively cradled behind Master Mu. His gaze flickered to the dying cultivator on the ground, and the to him unfamiliar sword. Then, to Shen Jiu’s empty hand.
“You-”
“Yes, obviously,” Shen Jiu spat before he could say something too obvious. “Come here, Qi-ge.”
Almost in a daze, Qi-ge came up to him, Master Mu stepping aside to allow it. The green-clad cultivator’s gaze stayed on Wu Yanzi, something like fascination in his eyes. Shen Jiu did not particularly want to think about this honourable sect cultivator clearly almost enjoying watching a man bleed to death, so he didn’t.
Qi-ge stopped in front of him, frozen in place. “Xiao Jiu- I-”
Rolling his eyes, Shen Jiu hugged him. Burying his face in his shoulder. Wu Yanzi’s blood smeared on Qi-ge’s pristine robes, and he didn’t care. “You came back. Again,” he whispered.
Slowly, and then all at once, warm arms encircled him. Pressing him close. A nose buried in his dirty hair, taking a deep breath. Qi-ge’s chest expanded against his. If he tried hard enough, he could sense the heartbeats beneath all the layers of clothing.
“He’s dead,” Master Mu commented idly, informing them. Then, as Shen Jiu could see when he glanced up, he turned the body over with the flat side of his sword and crouched down next to it. What the fuck.
Whatever. He had more important things to do than to wonder what weird cultivators were doing. He breathed in. Qi-ge still smelled like himself, but with the refinement of hair oils and soap that probably were worth more than either of their lives. No, he corrected himself. More than our lives used to be worth.
“Well,” a deep voice finally interrupted them. Humour tinged it, and Shen Jiu immediately hated it. “Is Yue-shixiong going to introduce us to his friend, whom he was so desperate to save?”
Qi-ge laughed, bright and free, so different from how he usually sounded. He pulled away, just slightly. One arm remained tightly wound around Shen Jiu. Good. Now that he could get a better look at him, he noticed Qi-ge looked a lot better than last time. Gone was the obvious exhaustion, the shakiness. The wounds. His hair was shiny and his cheeks held a hint of red under his tan skin.
“Wei-shidi, Mu-shidi, Liao-shimei, this is Shen Jiu. Xiao Jiu, this is Wei Qingwei, head disciple of Wan Jian, Mu Qingfang, head disciple of Qian Cao, and Liao Lan, my shimei from Qiong Ding,” he introduced them. “I told them about how my sworn brother had been kidnapped, and they came to help.”
Shen Jiu narrowed his eyes at him.
“You didn’t say that he had been kidnapped by Wu Yanzi, shixiong,” Mu Qingfang commented.
Wei Qingwei and Liao Lan startled. “Wu Yanzi?!” Liao Lan demanded. “Are you certain, shixiong?”
“Quite. Young Master Shen, would you confirm?”
“…Yes, that was what he called himself. How do you know it?”
Wei Qingwei snorted. “He’s quite infamous. What on earth did you do to earn a kidnapping?”
Thinking fast, fuck, how would he explain this, Shen Jiu replied, “I believe he intended to blackmail Qi-ge.” Qi-ge looked important. He had to be important enough, now. Especially if he had two head disciples coming along here, calling him shixiong.
“That would make sense,” Mu Qingfang agreed. “Since Yue-shixiong is head disciple now, and probably will be named sect heir properly soon.”
Shen Jiu’s eyes widened, and he gaped at Qi-ge, who blushed faintly. Then Qi-ge blinked, and startled. “Wait! He didn’t hurt you, did he? Mu-shidi, check him!” he insisted. “Xiao Jiu, give him your wrist.”
Baffled, Shen Jiu obeyed as Mu Qingfang took a step forward obediently, holding his hand out. The calloused hand held his wrist steady as two fingers pressed against the underside. Something in him twisted anxiously as Mu Qingfang frowned, and Qi-ge’s expression turned fearful.
When Mu Qingfang let go, he shook his head. “Your meridians are infected, Young Master Shen. Have you been practicing demonic cultivation?”
“I-” He swallowed. “He made me.”
An alarmed whimper came from Qi-ge.
“I see. Well. Luckily, it’s not too bad. With proper healing and meditation, they’ll make a full recovery. And you have an abundance of qi.” A smile. “A very promising foundation for cultivation.”
Qi-ge looked like he wanted to sink to his knees in relief. Weak. Shen Jiu refused to acknowledge any similar feeling in his stomach.
After that, it didn’t take long until Qi-ge held out his hand, helping Shen Jiu onto his still sheathed sword. A bracelet of long black strands of hair rested against Qi-ge's wrist, braided and enforced with cultivation. Wu Yanzi’s body had been safely stowed inside a qiankun bag, to show their masters that the bastard truly was dead. Apparently, he was some kind of scourge on the cultivation world. Shen Jiu could barely contain his annoyance that a man like that had tricked him into thinking he was a regular cultivator.
Mu Qingfang, Wei Qingwei, and Liao Lan had stepped onto their swords and were waiting. Wei Qingwei was grinning, and telling all kinds of gods-awful puns. Mu Qingfang was smiling at him, while Liao Lan wrinkled her nose.
Qi-ge only had eyes for Shen Jiu. They were soft and sweet like honey, and his hand was warm. His arms encircled him, keeping him steady on the sword. “Don’t worry, Xiao Jiu. Qi-ge won’t let you fall,” he promised.
Shen Jiu elbowed him. “Stupid Qi-ge. Of course I know that.”
The answering smile was bright enough to knock the breath out of him.
Qi-ge’s arms were warm and safe around him as the sword rose toward the sky, and he had to remind himself not to lose his breath like some kind of helpless maiden as the world spread out below them.
They were going to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.
And Shen Jiu was going to join, no matter what he had to do to.