Chapter Text
Shen Jiu watched as Mu Qingfang poured the supposed calming tea into a cream-white teacup, his posture adequate as he maneuvered the teapot from Shen Jiu’s to his own. Despite checking off that Mu Qingfang would be of no harm to him, he was still wary. And why wouldn’t he? Supposedly, he was a Peak Lord now. The Qing Jing Peak Lord. He was the head disciple this morning! And he didn’t even have an ascending name yet–
“Here, Shen-shixiong,” Mu Qingfang spoke softly, passing over the cup to Shen Jiu. He eyed it for a while before taking it from his shidi’s hands with slight hesitation.
“Shen Qingqiu,” Shen Jiu repeated softly, his voice devoid of the turmoil in his heart as he lowered his cup, scrutinizing his reflection in the still tea water. Mu Qingfang made a slight sound, turning away from him.
Shen Jiu didn’t dare turn to look at Mu Qingfang as he spoke, afraid that he could see right through his facade. It’s not like he was not confident in his abilities to adopt a pseudo, no! He’s done it plenty of times, especially with his brat Qing Jing shidi (well, of the past; it seems in this present they are either his disciples or hallmasters), but something told him that this grown-up version of his quiet and compassionate shidi was a different person in entirety, one he wasn’t sure if he wanted to face. “Shen Qingqiu is your name, yes. You ascended to the Peak Lord position around 10 years ago, if I’m not mistaken.”
Shen Jiu snapped his head up in astonishment to meet Mu Qingfang’s brown eyes, shining in the sun’s rays. He quickly looked back down. There went his plan to stay mysterious. Damn it, Shen Jiu!
“Ten years…” He murmured, swirling the tea in his cup again. He wasn’t worried if he looked disrespectful because he hadn’t drunk the tea yet. One: because Mu Qingfang hadn’t either; and two: because, despite being face-to-face with a different, grown-up version of his shidi, it was still his shidi. The one who, despite the allegations and rumors about him, still sought him out for a monthly medical checkup. Shen Jiu wasn’t too sure if Mu Qingfang was so adamant about following him around so pathetically because of his hardworking character or because he truly was a compassionate healer. “Well, shit.”
Shen Jiu heard Mu Qingfang’s breath hitch. His face was pink as he slowly turned back around to see Mu Qingfang’s face, expecting displeasure, but instead, he was met with Mu Qingfang’s toothy grin. “Shixiong!” He exclaimed in surprise.
“Silence!” He gritted out, feeling his face heat up more as he quickly lifted his cup to his face, cupping his hand in front of the cup as he took a long swig, almost as if he was taking alcohol! This isn’t the streets! “Ahem- shidi, may you... write down my ascending name?”
Mu Qingfang nodded, though that idiot grin on his face was still shining brightly as he unclipped a handheld scroll from his belt and procured a sharp-tipped… dark brush inside the scroll. Shen Jiu’s mind went blank as he held the brush, eyes laser-focused on the tip.
“Funny-looking, is it?”
“Extremely. What is this?”
“It’s like a calligraphy brush,” Mu Qingfang replied. “Shang Qinghua once brought it to a peak lord meeting-“
“He became a peak lord?” Shen Jiu blurted out, his eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. (So weird! Thought Mu Qingfang. Shixiong, you should freely show more emotion without that fan!) “Shang Qinghua? He always looked like he was one fēn away from dropping dead in fright.”
“I cannot argue with that, shixiong. But despite his… cowardly nature, he is 100% fit to be the An Ding Peak Lord. Without him, we’d be less than we are now. He has extremely excellent ideas, such as this modified version of a calligraphy brush.” My Qingfang nodded to his words, placing the pad of his index finger on the sharp end of the pen, and then retreated his finger, a dark ink stain on it. “As I was saying, he brought it to a Peak Lord Meeting once and said it made his life so much easier. I’ve gotten to adopt it when I am outside of my office, as has Zhangmen-shixiong.”
The An Ding Peak Lord, huh?
Shen Jiu looked down at his still-full cup, his lips twisting slightly. Shang Qinghua, even while he was just an outer disciple, was always some level of shady. Every time Shen Jiu passed by An Ding for head disciple duties, Shang Qinghua would always stand still, staring straight past him, as if seeing the little slave boy Shen Jiu worked so hard to leave behind. During Peak Lord meetings that he had to attend with his shizun, Shang Qinghua would usually always be hunched over scribbling down whatever was mentioned at the meeting, but when the Qing Jing Peak Lord took his turn to speak, every single time, without fail, Shang Qinghua would stare straight at him with eyes that hid more than they showed. It would always drench Shen Jiu in a cold sweat.
Eventually, Shang Qinghua would lose that habit.
The presence of him around, though, always made him uneasy.
Shen Jiu hummed as he took a small sip of his tea, his eyes closed. Mu Qingfang scritched on his wrist in thought, before scribbling down his shixiong’s ascending name’s characters in rapid motions. He was silent as he passed the small scroll to Shen Jiu, and stayed silent even as he looked at him with a deadpan expression, jerking the scroll back to him.
“Mu-shidi, I cannot read this.”
Mu Qingfang looked down at the scroll. “It’s doctor's handwriting. You should’ve known this is how I usually write.”
Cheeky motherfucker.
“Mu-shidi. This one asks you to write legibly, for his shixiong,” Shen Jiu gritted out, moving the scroll up and down lazily in front of the healer.
Mu Qingfang looked at Shen Jiu for a moment, then let out a breathy chuckle as he retook it, wrote down the characters, and handed it back to him. They both knew he could accurately read it, but Shen Jiu was just being a little brat.
Finally, He grumbled, unrolling the scroll. So much loitering around, and for what-
沈清秋.
秋.
Mu Qingfang watched him intently; he could feel his piercing gaze burn his skin. No sound escaped as his breath hitched in horror, his pupils constricting to tiny pinpricks upon a white canvas. All of him felt chilly, despite the room being fairly warm. The scroll in his hands shook as he lowered it to rest on his thighs, exhaling shakily.
“Qiū…” Shen Jiu tittered. “Qiū.. as in... Autumn?”
“Yes, shixiong,” Mu Qingfang responded, his eyebrow twitching in concern. “Is there something wrong?” He asked, and Shen Jiu responded by closing his eyes, his vision dark and turbulent.
____
Little Shen Jiu watched as an An Ding disciple inspected the door of the woodshed near his shizun’s home, unaware that this rusty storage shed was where Shen Jiu spent his nights, terrified of the invisible men glowering over his bed. He wasn’t threatened, per se, in the head disciple quarters in his shizun’s bamboo cottage, but the lingering phantom touches of Qiu Jianluo burned dark and red on his ebony skin when he least expected it, and he wasn’t sure of how the Qing Jing Peak Lord would react. No One could ever know of his past as little nine, of his past in the Qiu household.
The door was battered down, an unfortunate consequence of Bai Zhan's raids. Just thinking about it made Shen Jiu’s current rare calm slip away from his fingers, so he exhaled loudly to try to calm himself down. The An Ding disciple received this as impatience, and he jumped slightly, his wide eyes widening even more. Shen Jiu felt a little bad for this disciple: he was the only one willing to even make the trek to Shen Jiu’s bubble, and looked as if he was healing from nasty bruises along his face down to his neck.
“Shixiong,” The An Ding disciple started, wringing his slightly tanned hands in front of him. “We can have the door repaired by tomorrow morning.”
“Have it so, then,” Shen Jiu responded, his gaze turning to the door, barely hanging on its hinges.
He expected the An Ding disciple to leave right at that instant; his anxiety was practically radiating off of him. But instead, he seemed to gain a bit of confidence. He straightened up and stared directly at Shen Jiu, his expression suddenly serious. “Shixiong. By any chance, is anyone living here?”
Shen Jiu’s blood went cold as he slowly turned to look back at the An Ding disciple, pretending indifference behind his fan. Had he noticed the hidden cot on the floor amongst the cut wood? “This one is the Qing Jing head disciple. If that were so, this one would have already noticed,” He responded, his voice cold.
Except he really wouldn’t have: despite being the head disciple, Shen Jiu did his very best to stay as far away from the rest of his shidimen as possible. Even as a head disciple, he was still treated badly, though less than when he had recently joined the sect.
The An Ding disciple jumped again at that, all of his confidence immediately leaving him and being replaced by fear. “I-I’m not saying that you are incompetent! I’m… simply asking. If that were the case, then we… this one can send a t-team to repair the entire woodshed.”
”And why would you do that?” Shen Jiu gritted out, goosebumps along his skin hidden by silk robes.
”Because it's my job, shixiong,” The An Ding disciple responded, looking away from him into the woodshed. “I’m the An Ding head disciple. It’s one of my jobs to arrange the maximum infrastructure safety amongst my shixiong and shidi. If someone truly was staying here, then I would want them to be the most comfortable.”
“No one should be staying here anyway,” Shen Jiu said, mostly to himself. The An Ding head disciple only nodded, his face slightly unpleasant.
“If that were the case, they deserve the maximum comfort regardless. They must be staying at the woodshed for a reason.” At this, he turned to look at Shen Jiu, intent hidden behind his eyes.
The Qing Jing head disciple turned his back on his fellow head disciple, his eyes downcast upon his closed fan. “Then, do the most necessary to give this unknown disciple a haven. By tonight.”
The An Ding disciple nodded as he pulled out a qiankun pouch from his uniform inner folds, his gaze burning a hole in Shen Jiu’s back. Look away, please!
As if the universe had heard his pleas, his shizun walked into view, and Shen Jiu almost exhaled in relief.
His shizun, unlike most of the men in the jianghu, was the only one he could somewhat trust. Not even the Qian Cao head disciple, who was too good for himself and everyone who encountered him.
Shen Jiu waited until the Qing Jing Peak Lord was at an appropriate distance before he bowed. His shizun smiled and petted his shoulder as he looked over at the An Ding head disciple. “Shang Huaying.”
“Shibo,” He responded, bowing. “This one is Shang Qinghua now.”
Shen Jiu stood silent as his shizun removed a hand from his wide sleeves to scratch at his chin, a gentle smile on his face. “Shang Qinghua, hm? So your shizun has given you your ascending name, then? That reminds me—“ The Qing Jing Peak Lord turned his attention to his head disciple. “I came here exactly for that. Come, Xiao-Shen.”
Shen Jiu was almost startled when his shizun turned quickly on his heels, swiftly walking away on the many stone paths of Qing Jing. He moved to follow him, but not before shooting a glance at Shang Qinghua, who gave him a guilty smile. Weirded out, Shen Jiu quickly fled, not bothering to say goodbye.
Shen Jiu and the Qing Jing Peak Lord were not that different in terms of appearance. In fact, there were rumors that they were relatives. (Since the beginning, there have always been rumors about Shen Jiu.) For one, they had the same surname: Shen. They both had the same dark phoenix eyes and the same face shape. The difference between Shen Jiu and Shen Anwei, however, was that Shen Jiu had rougher and sharper edges than Shen Anwei. It matched his personality, Shen Jiu thought as he watched his shizun’s hair bounce against his back. Shen Anwei was just more pleasing to look at than Shen Jiu; he just had a more inviting personality than Shen Jiu’s. They both used fans as well, though Shen Anwei used them for more decorative purposes; Shen Jiu used them to hide every single little emotion threatening to destroy his facade.
He knew better than to believe those rumors, though.
These thoughts stayed with him as he sat down in front of his shizun’s low bamboo table, instinctively moving to serve him tea. He stayed silent as he served himself Shen Anwei’s favorite tea.
”Xiao-Shen is awfully quiet right now,” Shen Anwei spoke, breaking Shen Jiu’s thoughts. “More so than you usually are. I see you’ve met the An Ding head disciple. How was it?”
“Fine,” Shen Jiu huffed, momentarily dropping his respectful language as he sipped on his tea, his fine eyebrow twitching at Shen Anwei’s sudden change of topic. His face bangs tickled him, and he moved to push them out of his face. “He came to fix the woodshed. This one noticed it was growing old.”
Shen Anwei stared at him for a moment, fanning himself with his fan as he analyzed Shen Jiu, before nodding in response. “Xiao-Shen is correct. Eventually, it wouldn’t be useful to hold the cut wood.”
You aren’t that good at hiding your intentions, are you, Shizun?
Shen Jiu asked Shen Anwei the true intention of this visit, and Shen Anwei smiled. “I’ve decided on your ascending name! Since you are in the Qing generation, which means clear, I decided–” He stood up and walked over to his actual desk, standing higher than the low bamboo desk on which they were taking tea, pulling out a messy scroll from underneath his piles of paperwork (Shizun, really? I just organized it yesterday…) as he picked up a calligraphy brush discarded atop his desk (Oh, Shizun…!) and dipping it in dark ink. He scribbled in perfect script and happily pushed himself off the desk to sit back down at his low table. Shen Anwei took a good look at the scroll before excitedly passing it over to Shen Jiu.
It seemed as if this scroll was used to hold the Qing Jing Peak Lord’s thoughts: from small to large, pristine to messy, ranging from reminders to complaints. Shen Jiu would’ve laughed if it wasn’t for Shen Anwei’s sudden serious demeanor.
He sure is taking this unnervingly seriously.
“Ignore what’s written on the top; look down!”
Shen Anwei was always a show-first, tell-second type. Shen Jiu rested his arms on the table, his eyes scrolling past the notations until reaching the bottom of the scroll. He froze.
“Qīng for Clear, qiū for Autumn: Qīngqiū for Clear Autumn! Aren’t I so smart, Xiao-Shen!”
“...”
“You want to know how I made it up?” Shen Anwei asked, his eyes crinkling in excitement as he leaned forward. “It’s… autumn! Haha!”
Shen Jiu stayed quiet, his body almost stiff as he stared down at the offending voice, suffocated.
“...Xiao-Shen?” Shen Anwei finally read the room. He stopped smiling and adopted a look of concern. “Xiao-Shen… do you not like it?”
Shen Jiu felt like he was underwater. Hands on his neck. Pushing down. Pushing down. Pushing harder, harder, harder.
He was choking on blood. His eyesight was blurry, dark, and terrifying. His body screamed in pain. His throat ached, ached, burned, scratchy, scratchy, scratchy. It hurts.
Comply. Stay strong. Cry, scream, don’t, don’t, don’t. It’s harder to breathe.
His insides are misplaced, misplaced, it hurts it hurts it hurts.
Bleed, bleed, it’s what he wants.
Released, get thrown on the ground, and shiver. It’s okay. He’ll come back. He’ll save you.
It hurts,
hurts,
hurts,
hurts–
Shen Jiu looked up, his eyes unfocused. Shen Anwei was a blur in front of him. There was a hand on his forehead, he thinks. It moved down to the curve between his neck and shoulder. He tried not to flinch and scream.
“Xiao-Shen?” The hand released hesitantly. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, Shizun,” Shen Jiu said evenly, looking back down as he rolled the scroll back up, hiding the turmoil, terror, and trauma, deep, deep, deep into the back of his mind. “This one was simply thinking of any way to improve it. However, this one forgot to recall that Shizun is even more creative than this disciple. I have nothing against it.”
Shen Anwei stared at him as if trying to pick away at every layer of the image Xiao Jiu had worked so hard to build. To try to hide his shameful past. They stayed silent as such, master and disciple sitting peacefully at the low bamboo table, the tea long since gone cold. It was an eternity for Shen Jiu before Shen Anwei weakly put back up his smile, fanning himself. “Well, if Xiao-Shen has nothing against it, then let it be so: from now on, you are to be Shen Qingqiu, head disciple of Qing Jing Peak and the predecessor of Shen Anwei, the Qing Jing Peak Lord. Cheers?”
Shen Anwei raised his cold tea, trying to lift his disciple’s mood. He had no idea what made his aura so murderous; it was strong, and it smelt of ash and blood. But Shen Jiu… now looked as if nothing had happened. The murderous aura was now but a figment of Shen Anwei’s memory.
Shen Qingqiu raised his cup as well, his eyes clear and his face impassive as master and disciple clinked their cups. It tasted disgusting, the tea. It was exactly that that pulled Shen Jiu from his dark thoughts, not bothering to hide his grimace. Shen Anwei leaned forward to pat the hand Shen Qingqiu had rested on the table, laughing loudly. It seemed like everything was back to normal.
In the fixed woodshed, Shen Jiu suffered a Qi deviation. It would be days before anyone saw the last head disciple to be given an ascending name, at the Peak Lord meeting, weeks before the An generation ascended to the heavens, leaving cold Xiao Jiu with a name he wished to eradicate from the heavens and the Earth.
____
Shen Qingqiu clutched his pounding head, his hands slapping against his forehead with force as he doubled over himself, bile rising to his throat. Mu Qingfang immediately moved from his seat to press his hands against Shen Qingqiu’s back, sending a steady flow of cool qi through his meridians. Shen Qingqiu grimaced at the weird feeling, but it was useful. The pounding headache was now gone, and his throat was clear.
He felt exhausted. Really exhausted. Once Mu Qingfang removed his hands from Shen Qingqiu’s back, he slumped down onto the bed, a dull pain coursing through his spine.
“Shen-shixiong, are you alright?” Mu Qingfang asked out of curiosity, gently grabbing a hold of his wrist as he checked the state of his meridians, his eyebrows furrowed.
“I just remembered something,” Shen Qingqiu said dully, closing his eyes. “It’s nothing,” The healer said nothing in response as he shuffled around the room, presumably putting away the materials he had taken out before Shen Qingqiu’s memory. Then, he stood still.
The man on the bed cracked open an eye, exasperation on his face. “Are you not going to leave, Mu-shidi?”
“Are you tired? I can turn off the lights so you can sleep,” Mu Qingfang said instead, evading his question in its entirety. Shen Qingqiu glowered at him. “No. I’m not.”
“Well, if that’s the case, here,” The younger man walked over to him and placed a book on Shen Qingqiu’s bedside, smiling softly. “Here is one of the books I was mentioning. I was going to tell you about it, but maybe later. It seems as if you want some time for yourself to process.”
Shen Qingqiu raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Shixiong,” Mu Qingfang started, putting his hands behind his back. “From what I’ve noticed, you have amnesia, presumably a side effect of your Qi deviation. By encountering certain phrases or places, there is a possibility that you may be able to regain your lost memories from between your distant years and now,” He extended one of his hands to the wrapped-up scroll on his belt. “You must’ve regained a memory just now–”
“No. I don’t want to talk about it,” Shen Jiu rebutted, twisting his lips before untwisting them. Damn it, he didn’t have his fan with him. He had to be more careful, especially in front of his current healer, who seemed to be interested in what he had remembered.
“Very well, then. This one will leave. The candle is there on your bedside if you want to turn it off. Take care, shixiong.”
And with that, the door locked behind Mu Qingfang, leaving Shen Jiu alone with the book. At first, he left the book right where it was left, opting to close his eyes and try to think of nothing, but when that clearly wasn’t working, he begrudgingly opened his eyes and turned on his side, dragging the book down in front of him.
The cover was horrible! Evidently cliché, and the title as well! This is what Mu Qingfang was talking about? And it was even worse when he turned it over to read the summary on the back– a princess needs help, a knight is tasked to rescue her, a love triangle between the handsome prince and the knight, and, oh! This was a raunchy book!
Shen Jiu almost screamed.
Well, there really wasn’t anything better to do. So begrudgingly, Shen Jiu positioned the pillows behind him to sit upright at an angle, got comfortable, and opened the book to the first page.
Let’s see, Liu Qingge, what the hell this is all about!