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Chapter Text

A gentle breeze was coming in through the window. Shen Qingiu’s body stirred, a small frown forming on his face. His fingers twitched minutely against the sheets.

Had it all been a fever dream? Was there a fate cruel enough to birth such a nightmare? Or was it the beast twisting the knife just so, pulling at the remaining threads of his frayed consciousness? A passing reprieve. A taunting spark to rekindle the pain long dulled by habit. The king opens the cage, forces pray to run. The king draws the bow–

Relentlessly, clarity began to seep in. He resisted.

No use. The beast could come bearing as many gifts as it wanted. It could wail and roar, it could beg and tear and disgrace however it pleased, here, at the blasphemous altar it had placed Shen Qingqiu upon. The altar where it had anointed him, made him into a god forever kept from culmination by his one ardent devotee. God of unreachable quietus. God of perpetual disembowelment.

No use. Once corporeal pain had been exhausted as a bargaining chip, the beast had turned its greedy claws to the overflowing well of Shen Qingqiu’s emotional trauma. It tried to lay him open, to gnaw at his heart and curl up in the cradle of his ribs. It replicated in all likeness the broad face of the slaver, the revolting warmth of diseased bodies piled up against him from all sides. The fair hands of the young master down to the blue mapping of veins under fragrant sleeves. The expanse of his presence. The blooming of skin under punishing fingers and the feel of bamboo stick hitting the back of his legs. Even the oblivious chirp of a singing bird happily perched on its cage.

No use. He had always been self-sufficient. The sycophant could rest assured; torment would never be lacking. As the beast nosed the sullied skin of his neck, little nothings falling from his lips, Shen Qingqiu would just lock himself on a loop of his most intimate heartbreak where none could enter. Shen Qingqiu’s hallucinations had the aesthetic appeal and the martial prowess of a doubled edged sword. Left behind was the insentient body of the master for the unfilial disciple to be accompanied by.

But wasn’t the other a god, too. God of hunger. God of malice. What if? The capital is besieged, pestilence finds its way through the cracks.

Ah. Such a flimsy rope to walk on.

He refused to open his eyes, feeling Yue Qingyuan’s gentle breathing to his right. Rough hands caressed his knuckles intimately. So much time had passed since he last caught a trace of the Sect Leader’s scent – warm and dry, like a wheat field at the peak of summer. It could feel different. Messier. A daring taste at the back of the tongue.

A violent shudder forced some blood up of his throat. Before he could hide his mouth behind a sleeve, Yue Qingyuan kept him steady with a gentle grip. He dabbed the corners of Shen Qingqiu’s mouth with a handkerchief, staining it red beyond repair.

Shen Qingqiu kept his eyes fixed on the Sect Leader’s chest, unable to meet that intense gaze boring holes in him. Dizziness brought migraine along to the party. What would it feel like, seeing himself reflected on the eyes of the man whose life had been dragged down from High Heavens just by association?

‘Get away,’ his heart pleaded. No words were allowed to come out. The skin on his lips broke and then bloomed as he pressed them into a tight line. Light pierced through his skull like an arrow. The pungent smell of iron helped him settle a bit, like a trusted cane. When Xuan Su’s remains had been presented to him, gleaming scales torn from a formidable dragon, he had wanted to shallow them all. Let them pierce and let them fester.

Yue Qingyuan’s sword was now resting against a wall, cast aside in a careless manner.

Whether rebirth or delusion, this was nothing. It meant nothing.

Yet the possibility was a dirty street cat rubbing his body against Shen Qingqiu’s legs. A chance. A chance.

“Shidi, let me –”

Yue Qingyuan’s hand was slapped away before it could once again breach propriety.

He ought to steel himself, ought to keep himself ready for the act to be dropped. If this was yet another mind game – What? What if it was? What could Shen Qingqiu possibly do but to face it, unyielding? It had become easier after a life of practice to alienate himself from his bodily experiences. Yue Qingyuan’s ghost had shaken him, that was all. He would gather himself soon enough.

The back of his hand still buzzed from the collision.

It had been real, hadn’t it? The man-eating wolf, the swinging of his dismembered body.

It had been real.

The dead man that was Yue Qingyuan was staring at him with heartfelt worry. No complaint or gibe or meek retreat. He wished this person would just devour him whole, let him rest under placid waters. How would that feel, to be worn under skin and bone. To feel Yue Qingyuan’s heart throbbing all around him. Like vermin on hidden paths moving to the beat of the earth, a deafening drum within.

Yue Qingyuan was a mountain. He forced Shen Qingqiu’s wrist up and pressed two fingers over his pulse. The audacity of it took Shen Qingqiu by surprise. His quibbles were drowned amidst thunder, for the Sect Leader’s voice travelled outside the room with oppressive force. “Go,” he commanded to some disciple or other guarding the door, “send word to Qian Cao.”

Yue Qingyuan took advantage of Shen Qingqiu’s bewilderment; a tentative hand rested gingerly on his forehead, providing both discomfort and relief. He felt a little pleased knowing his sweat would taint that fine sleeve of his illustrious shixiong. He also felt a little disgusted with himself, and so he tried to push the hand away rather soon. He found he couldn’t, much like a hare struggling against the hunter’s grip. Yue Qingyuan whispered a word of reassurance. Nausea was throwing punches in his stomach. He felt faint. Weakened. Yue Qingyuan just wouldn’t stop staring. He felt like he was being pulled in all directions at once. Yue Qingyuan cupped his face, fingers trembling in obvious distress, said the fever was rising. Shen Jiu ceased all efforts and lost consciousness for a while.

He might have dreamed. Then again, if a dream happens within a dream –

 Shen Qingqiu came to himself just as Mu Qingfang engaged in his examinations. There was no use in feigning unconsciousness in front of these two people, so he braced himself for the second act. The two of them talked in hushed voices. Shen Qinigqiu could fill in the gaps just fine: don’t let him wake up, he’ll only make things difficult. He’ll refuse, he’ll hurt himself, he has a knack for veering matters into unpleasant experiences.

“… light sensitivity?”

“I think so,” the Sect Leader whispered as he drew the curtains. If only he was always so receptive to subtle orders. Shen Qingqiu opened his eyes with a soft exhale of intense displeasure.

“Shixiong,” Mu Qingfang’s gaze always felt so heavy. Unlike his hands. The careful hands of his shidi – never invasive, ever so clinical – got a hold of him and settled on his wrist. A stream of qi travelled through his body, reopening channels and digging out his crushed organs from underneath. He could picture it vividly, like thunder piercing through suffocating clouds. His eyes seemed to follow the energy trail from the outside; maybe the doctor was picturing it too. Shen Qingqiu didn’t have the mind to be embarrassed by his sorry excuse of a foundation at present. Not that it had ever been much of a secret to begin with. He stared at the man in front of him and willed the pain out of his features.

Ah. He had never given much thought to this shidi of his, had he? Shen Qingqiu had only known how to sort people into “himself” and “troublesome”. If someone were to fall in between, it would most likely blend into the background. But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? He did notice Mu Qingfang. He noticed the soft edges of his face, the intense shadows under his eyes, the pleasantness of his voice which was on the coarser side. It gave a special kind of weight to his manner of speaking, always so steady. The way he seemed to have a tacit understanding of ugliness, that was something Shen Jiu had very much noticed too, and thus kept his distance. His weariness towards his shidi had been of a particular flavor. There had been an intimacy of sorts, in their youth. Shen Jiu refused to go to Qian Cao out of pride once the beatings from the Bai Zhan brute became a regular occurrence and Mu shidi started to show up on Qing Jing uninvited. At his weakest, head cushioned on the lap of a woman, Shen Jiu had almost craved the caring touch of the other; the remnants of spring, a loneliness to be artfully composed. But yearning was a recreational pursuit, and in the end Shen Qingqiu had risen high enough to isolate himself and Mu Qingfang hadn’t needed to fuss over broken ribs and fingers anymore. Surely all past affections would have been dragged through the mud after accusations piled up on Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders. Out with the pretense. It had never been this man the one Shen Qingqiu had burnt for.

In the throes of deviation, it was always Yue Qingyuan who’d bring him back, who’d sit by his bedside just like now. At the moment Yue Qingyuan towered behind Mu Qingfang’s slender frame, looming like a hungry ghost. Every single thing had to become a study on duality when it came to Yue Qingyuan, right? Open fire between them while mutiny undermined their ranks behind the trenches. Once again, Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrowed in ire and anguish he himself couldn’t process. All the staged care, the natural talent for decorum, the spitting image of Budha; what a laugh. There were embers to be fanned.

Fire bears fire bears fire.

“Zhangmen shixiong, it would be best if you stepped outside for some time.” Mu Qingfang’s face blocked Shen Qingqiu’s view without making eye contact with either of them. “I need to ask Shen shixiong some questions and he might be distracted by your presence.”

Yue Qingyuan’s qi flared almost imperceptibly. Shen Jiu’s lips curved slightly, just for a second. He could smell the desperation, that revolting need the man had to wait on him like a dog. Shen Qingqiu’s heart rate picked up and Mu Qingfang frowned.

“Zhangmen shixiong,” Mu Qingfang’s voice didn’t waver. “Please step out.”

Yue Qingyuan turned his silence into the string of a bow, drawing it taut only to let it loose. Ever the disappointment.

“Qingqiu,” he sounded so defeated, restraining himself from locking eyes again. “I’ll be outside. It won’t take long.”

Were not for the presence of another, Shen Qingiu would have aimed the porcelain jug to that useless head of his. The nerve of him. Seeing Yue Qingyuan’s back leaving the room at last, Shen Qingqiu let go of the air he didn’t know he had been holding. He became lightheaded, sinking deeper into the bed. Mu Qingfang’s qi retreated from him. Shen Qingqiu felt drained.

He took in the room, faced with the life accounted for by these walls. Which disciple had been tasked to sweep the floor? By name, he knew not more than ten. On his desk, someone had favored a delicate bouquet over incense.

With great effort, he brought a cup to his lips and nodded to Mu Qingfang.

“Shixiong, I’ll refrain as much as possible from asking the obvious but bear with me. Some questions are unavoidable.” Shen Qingqiu did not react. “Are you noticing any gaps in your memory?”

If this was in fact another sick game, what did it matter? If it wasn’t, then for sure he had gone mad. The finality of it provided him with some respite. Play along, not play along. Whatever.

“I am well aware of my surroundings, but I have trouble pinpointing this exact moment in time.”

“I see. Could you tell me what’s your most recent memory?”

“I can’t. But it just feels like I’ve been sleeping too long to remember. I can infer from your faces that I’ve suffered from severe qi deviation once again, so the haze is to be expected.”

“Yes. It was laced with a strong fever, though, this time. Shixiong really did almost die, then closed up to the world for a month. That’s how long it has been. Please, circulate your qi – a whole cycle through your body and into an object.” Mu Qingfang placed a tattered fan into his hands. It had a deep split and someone had clearly tried to wipe it clean to no avail. Shen Qingqiu circulated his qi, a fragile stream writhing though rubble. It took some time to reach his hands and accumulate enough to be transferred into the wretched thing, but he managed. He had a core. A phantom pain bit deep into his bones.

“Could you call forth your sword?”

He tried. He could. Xiu Ya purred softly inside its scabbard, all the way across the room. That felt easier. Felt like Xiu Ya was doing all the work, eager to be by its master’s side.

He had Xiu Ya.

If this was not a dream –

“It seems like there’s no permanent damage, even though it is too soon to decide whether shixiong has suffered a setback in his cultivation.”

“I won’t abstain from practice,” he said.

“This one merely hopes his shixiong will abstain from worrying this shidi too much, that’s all. I will be providing regular check-ups.”

“I’m sure you’ll try.”

He was answered by Mu Qingfang’s private smile. It really had been long. But why bring it back? Was it pity? Hardly, what would be the point.

“Now, regarding internal injuries. Will Shen shixiong apply the salve himself?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll leave for now. Should I keep Zhangmen shixiong from coming in?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

A name got swallowed before it even began to form on Shen Jiu’s lips. Mu Qingfang looked at him inquisitively but didn’t press.

He needn’t ask. Figuring it out was a matter of time.

Chapter Text

He had been drugged, most certainly. Time and time again he was cast into a dreamless sleep, waking hours kept to a minimum. His mind was muddled, his muscles sluggish. At the very least it seemed like his body was making progress mending itself, so Shen Qingqiu restrained his agitation.  Mu Qingfang’s procedures stirred him from slumber but it always felt like they were being done to someone else. Yue Qingyuan was often there, the vastness in his eyes piercing him like a hook. Most times, Shen Qingqiu’s throat was too parched for words. Yue Qingyuan would then help him sit up enough for him to drink, whispering his name in litany. He was being touched with a freedom that threw his whole self into disarray, much like skipping a step on a loop. Yue Qingyuan’s voice, his overwhelming presence – there was a thrill to this drowning, whenever he was lucid enough to notice. Sometimes, though, he wanted to run.

Things happened, but not quite.

On top of that, he could tell he was forgetting things. He gave meditation a try and succeeded to an extent. It felt indulgent, to do so from a canopy bed. He pressed on. As the fog lifted, he spent more time sat by his inner sea, watching it lap at the sand unrelentingly. He was caught between hopefulness and apprehension as singular events faded away from his consciousness, leaving behind a faint impression.

He didn’t feel any different.

Say he forgets enough. Would he come to be any different? He knew himself layer upon layer; he was a blacksmith of the self, hammering himself into shape every time he’d been pushed into the fire. He didn’t know himself before hunger. For as long as he could remember, he had been ravenous.

Being allowed a piece of that person had turned him paranoid, made him unhinged when faced with the idea of having it taken away. Hence, no one else could ever be allowed.

Some things you cannot kill, not even when tossed inside a sack and thrown into the river. Some things can only be subdued. It is a low rumble at the back of your mind. It never tires. The day they are set loose is bound to come.

It took him more than a week after that to regain some sense of balance. He didn’t tell the men in his room about the memory loss. He became very protective of this one little blessing.

The less of himself that was left for the world to stomach, the better. How bad would it be, for this cheap life of his to be given to another, less tainted Shen Qingqiu.

He had been strongly advised against brooding and most physical activities. Thankfully, none of his guardians were present the morning Shen Qingqiu pushed himself into motion.

He rose from bed and placed an outer robe over his shoulders. His legs were too wobbly to take him to the Quiet Pool but what was Shen Qingqiu if not stubborn. The pain tearing at his muscles was easy to disregard. He was a man made of crumbling stone; he could not be bent, only ground into dust.

He was too disheveled to be seen by his disciples, he would not risk the commotion. Not that any of the little lords would be awake at dawn. With much effort he sat down at his desk and combed through matted strands, arms like logs. Stiff fingers braided through waist long hair over one shoulder. How proud he had been of his hair as a peak lord. How zealous of his image. Muscle memory got the mirror out of its drawer. It was and old thing, humble. It was–

It was a cheap thing.

A wet handkerchief got most of the sweat out of his face. He traced his sunken cheeks with some fascination. He had come to recognise himself best in deprivation. Soundless breath, soundless beat.

He had never been one to wish for better looks. He knew he had a certain charm. Maybe too sharp, once he had reached adulthood. Too sultry, if he got distracted. A fuck me into submission kind of sultry.

It was a cheap thing.

But he’d beaten himself into elegance and too sharp had become severe. Dignified. If nothing else, his face had always served a purpose.

Too old can’t be fixed. Cheap can’t be fixed.

The flowers on his desk had been regularly changed by the quiet mouse. He’d ruled Yue Qingyuan out based on character knowledge – Yue Qingyuan was the type to fuss obnoxiously to the point of making himself a nuisance because he got off on drawing out a response. Grand gestures fitted him best. This was an act of service meant to remain in the shadows, which crossed out everyone he could think of. It irked him plenty.

He leaned to one side and breathed in the muted fragrance. Shen Qingqiu let out a heavy sigh, allowing his shoulders to drop for an instant. Did it matter, though? He didn’t use to be so mentally exhausted prior to that fever. The edges around that time were becoming more and more of a blur. He had half the mind to change the water in the vase but decided against it. This was his first time receiving a bouquet.

The memory loss worked in unpredictable patterns. He still had easy access to plenty of awful, foundational episodes of his life. The gaps gathered around what could be considered recent years and were extracted seemingly at random, like grabby hands stealing fruit as they passed by. That meant that a particular figure was being singled out. Exiled.

It was hard to keep himself from probing. A child. A man –

He was unsuccessful in his first attempt at rising. He kept no personal service and so had no way of summoning those in charge of general chores. Embarrassment crawled quietly down his neck. He rarely bathed inside the house, as the Quiet Pool was rather close. The punishing cold held a ritualistic appeal to Shen Qingqiu. A good kind of hurt.

No choice, then.

Once out the door, Shen Qingqiu was greeted by a gentle morning. Qing Jing’s clean greens and deep blues stretched far in front of him. A tightness in his chest made itself known at the sight of it but he pushed through and took a step, then another. There was a misplaced feeling of contentment coursing through him and tripping him further along disorientation. Hadn’t he been waking to his exact views for decades now? What with the sudden outburst?

He crossed the bamboo groove, breathing in the familiar scent that seemed to coax his lungs into full capacity. Sweat rolled down his spine and soon cooled off, raising the flesh in its wake. Someone was close.

Let them.

The robe slid past his shoulders and Shen Qingqiu kept it from falling to the ground. He folded it patiently before stepping into the Quiet Pool. A pained sigh escaped him as the healing cold from the waters made its way into his bones. It turned into a pleasant numbness as he got acclimated. He sighed. He clawed at his thigh for last high.

Tentatively, he circulated a small amount of qi and submerged himself. He opened his eyes to the sun reaching for the bottom of the pool. See-through leaves danced over the surface as if encouraged by his own movements, his white limbs almost luminescent. He welcomed the burn in his chest and was in turn welcomed by the spirit of the mountain. Cleanliness was a fleeting sensation, an elusive friend; peace, too strong of a word for the absence of anger.  Presently, Shen Qingqiu aimed for composure. As he breached for air, eyes closed, droplets pending gently from his lashes, a traitorous thought flickered like a match in the dark.

Rebirth, he had not been given. Absolution?

He hushed his mind. It laughed at him.

The intruder was fleeing, he noticed. Shen Qingqiu had no sense of modesty to speak of but pride – he had enough to pass around. This tacit retreat saved him from having to deal with the transgression. He kept the qi flowing as he washed his hair, fingers sinking into his aching scalp. Smalls sighs of pleasure fell from his mouth from time to time, mingling with the rustling of leaves. Once back, he would start on all the neglected paperwork. He’d need to ground some ink. The faintest hint of a smile graced his lips.

After soaking for an hour, Shen Qingqiu felt much better; less pain, less disgust, less alienation. The walk home was easier. The wind carried the sound of guqin practice and he pondered over resuming lessons with the senior disciples with the comfort of knowing it didn’t need to happen.

But Yue Qingyuan was at the door and static filled Shen Qingqiu’s ears. He swallowed the lump in his throat the size of a fist and approached him.

“Qingqiu,” he called. Nothing else came after. Shen Qingqiu raised his eyebrows slightly.

“Zhangmeng shixiong. Do come in, don’t mind me, my privacy or my personal space.” Shen Qingqiu closed the door after himself and walked to his desk, spine straight above the current means of his body. Soon, Yue Qingyuan’s heavy gaze hit the back of his head. The door had been opened without a sound. It took a lot, not giving in. He busied himself taking out the grinding stone and brushing his fingers over fresh parchment. Then he turned swiftly towards the small kitchen, face blank.

“I’ll serve the Sect Leader some tea, lest he should find fault in my hospitality after I’ve been taken care of so well.”

“Thank you”, he said, and nothing more. Shen Qingqiu didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Was this a new game of theirs? Was the master getting bored and looking to spice things up? Yue Qingyuan stood by the kitchen door, radiating calm. It was infuriating.

Nevertheless, Shen Qingqiu brew the tea with steady hands, rendering a beautiful performance. All the while, Yue Qingyuan remained silent. As Shen Qingqiu placed the cups on the table, Yue Qingyuan finally sat down.

“You’ve been out”, he said.

“The Sect Leader has the sharpest eyes.” He served Yue Qingyuan, then himself. He was grateful for the steam rising to caress his face. He kept awareness of his senses. Yue Qingyuan smiled.

“I’m glad.”

Shen Qingqiu kept his eyes on the table. Many things were swimming around in his brain and he felt like a child trying to catch fish on a pond with bare hands.

Their usual always went with a very mild Yue Qingyuan trying to make polite conversation. He would lay it out smooth, borderline intimate. He’d drink up every twitch of Shen Qingqiu, every snort.  Soon, the atmosphere starts to weigh heavily on Shen Qingqiu’s chest until he gives up, ever the irredeemable, and spits some cruel remark, makes a gibe out of some petty grievance. Sometimes it escalates, sometimes it doesn’t. When it does, then Yue Qingyuan really gets his fix. ‘Well,’ he’d think, ‘there’s nothing I can do but to silently look after this person. It is my fault, after all, that he can’t do better’. Whenever Shen Qingqiu played his role just right, tightly repressed disappointment would leak out of the Sect Leader’s eyes. To him, Shen Qingqiu was like an ill-raised dog gone rabid; you could feed it but never quite touch it. Either you sacrifice it or keep it forever tied.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t quite know what to think about this innocuous silence. Maybe, the Sect Leader was resetting the boundaries of their relationship – no more soft touches while Shen Qingqiu drifted between hazes. Understandable. After all, watching your brother struggle right under your eyes had to be more difficult than walking away, even if you carried the knowledge that death would be claiming him. Rightfully so.

Huh.

Shen Qingqiu sneered. He pushed his empty cup away and bowed curtly before presenting his back to the Sect Leader.

“When you go,” Shen Qingqiu said, summoning his most detached voice, “would Zhangmeng shixiong be so kind as to send some people this way. I’d be needing an attendant for a while.”

“I’ll see to it. Qingqiu,” a pause. It brought goosebumps to Shen Qingqiu’s flesh. “Would you look at me?”

Shen Qingqiu swallowed. Even at a distance, Yue Qingyuan’s heat surrounded him like a brick wall. Yue Qingyuan kept pushing him down this well, dark and humid.

“What nonsense are you spouting.”

“Qingqiu.”

“What?!”
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said. “Will you have me?”

Shen Qingqiu’s heart plummeted to his feet.

“Are you having fun? Is that what this is?” Each word was uttered low and dragged on, like a warning.

Yue Qingyuan parted his lips, eyes too dark for Shen Qingqiu to process. He seemed to think better of it and restrained his words. As if having his head shoved under water, Shen Qingqiu became deaf to the world. By denying himself speech, Yue Qingyuan forbade all sound. Shen Qingqiu grabbed the vase in a fit of anguish and threw it at the other – surprisingly, Yue Qingyuan dodged the blow for once and so Shen Qingqiu felt at a loss. He felt cornered. Little by little, the violent beating of his heart reached his ears anew.

“Leave,” he hissed.

Yue Qingyuan did. He stood for a second on the threshold and his shadow licked Shen Qingqiu’s feet as the sun poured into the room.

Shen Qingqiu was beyond exhausted. He sat on his desk and willed the turmoil away. He started grinding the ink meticulously, breathing to the sound it made. His brain was drawing circles around his own thoughts, unable to fully grasp them. A very distinct wound had been teared open but the specifics were a blur.

‘Left to die’.

As he made his way down the pile of papers, he managed to cast aside the knot in his chest; he’d forgotten, so what. Let it be forgotten.

He took small brakes to try and meditate throughout the day. The flowers remained on the floor. Broken glass brought the walls alive with painted jewels as the afternoon light travelled through the room. By the time candlelight was needed, Shen Qingqiu was done catching up on paperwork.

There was a light knock on the door.

“Come in,” he said.

The wood creaked softly as a boy walked in on very quiet feet.

“Master,” he all but whispered with a deep bow. “This lowly one has been sent to be entrusted with the chores as the master sees fit.”

“Make yourself useful, then.” Shen Qingqiu’s gaze remained fixed on the drying parchment he was holding. “And don’t let me hear you breathing.”

“Yes, master,” the boy answered. He made a bee line for the broom.

Shen Qingqiu sneered. Had he caught himself a little mouse? As the boy picked the glass shards from the floor, Shen Qingqiu took notice of the energy brimming from the child’s body. He should be around nine, he reckoned.

The swishing sound of the broom against the wooden floor lulled Shen Qingqiu into some semblance of relaxation. At his back, his new attendant worked tirelessly. He was sent back at midnight without even one look.

Chapter Text

Daybreak found Shen Qingqiu staring blankly at his ceiling. It was only normal that insomnia came knocking right after cutting out medication. He should have known better than to expect regular, healthy amounts of sleep only because he’d gotten a taste of unrestrained unconsciousness.

He got up.

Placing himself under the warm light coming in through the window, he practiced his morning stances, allowing his muscles to uncurl after playing dead for hours. With his cultivation, things didn’t crack into place anymore as they never got out of it to begin with, but the pleasant tingling was still there. He washed his face, dressed himself in layer upon layer. He gathered his hair in a simple fashion. As he placed the hairpin, he entertained the idea of growing a small garden. Somehow, qi deviating had awakened in him an interest in pointless pursuits. He thought of it as a mechanical response to absence.

Maybe his face had gotten thicker, so much that he’d dare sink his knees into the soil and let it paint his skin.

He cherished the expired fantasy of another life, one where he traded silks for starkness and closeness; not willingly, but as testimony of devotion.

His attendant knocked on the door and was allowed inside. Shen Qingqiu placed his eyes on him for the first time.

His brain went on lock down for a whole minute. The boy fidgeted under the master’s gaze, fearing he’d done something to offend him. He bowed for a long time and then hurried to take care of the master’s breakfast.

The white noise faded away slowly and Shen Qingqiu refused to acknowledge the full body shudder hitting him like a wave and giving him frostbite.

“Don’t go making the whole house stink of food. Serve this master some tea and be gone.” The boy bowed once more and made himself as tall as possible in order to reach the cupboard, but to no avail. He then rushed to the storeroom at the back of the bamboo house and came back with a stool. Shen Qingqiu watched him devote his full attention to boiling water. He was tiny, most probably recovering from malnourishment. Quick on his feet, not too meek but not daring in the slightest.

Had Yue Qingyuan requested a boy, specifically? Had the servant girls been too afraid to face the lecherous Peak Lord of Qing Jing or had the esteemed Sect Leader acted out of precaution? Shen Qingqiu teared his eyes away from the sacrificial lamb.

He didn’t find it in himself to stir things up. His shoulders went down on their own, eyes back on the ceiling. Shen Qingqiu felt, once again, utterly exhausted, like all the fighting in him had been used up and only the occasional crackling of embers remained. The boy was dismissed, the tea left to cool and get bitter.

Yue Qingyuan came by as promised. He came at night, presuming Shen Qingqiu’s temper was less likely to flare by then. The door to the bamboo house remained shut. He could hear the man leaning against the wood, his boots obstructing the moonlight creeping in from under. Shen Qingqiu placed his arm across his face and kept his lips sealed.

What face was Yue Qingyuan making? Was he pressing his forehead against the door, soundlessly calling that dreaded name? A forlorn lover.

He wanted Yue Qingyuan to beg but Heavens above knew he would be incapable of bearing witness.

Shen Qingqiu seethed at the injustice of it all.

The Sect Leader was a man married to abnegation who’d found himself a harsh mistress that could grab him by the dick just the way he liked. Shen Qingqiu was catering to twisted needs just to hold on to an illusion. Shen Qingqiu was truly pitiful.

Yue Qingyuan kept coming, kept checking on him dutifully after that night. At most, Shen Qingqiu would acknowledge the Sect Leader’s presence by stepping outside only to see him off. Conversation was kept short – Yue Qingyuan inquired about Shen Qingqiu’s state and endured the silent treatment. Was mindful not to touch. It was unnerving.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t know what to make of himself. Did he want him to? Craved it. Didn’t crave it, not even want it. Not even despised it. But he cared, or else he wouldn’t be in this predicament. He cared, therefore he yearned. He burned. He wanted Yue Qingyuan to touch until the lines of him were blurry and his body became a well-traded path.

This wasn’t his usual tug of war with himself, the very simplistic, very predictable way in which he always sunk into guilt induced despair and nausea after the Sect Leader spared him some casual contact. That had always made him feel delirious first and then filthy. It used to bring some sort of religious fervor out of him, going straight to the sickest parts of his brain. It made him both want to take himself in hand and whip his own back raw in atonement.

This felt like free-falling.

He ought to have been over physical matters. Rationally speaking. How beastly was he? Still daring to lust with a body so utterly disgraced. Was that it? Had he been turned into an animal by force of habit? Tainted so deep he’d forever carry the sin within, like a second brand.

Shen Qingqiu took a long drag from his pipe, the new comfort trinket he’d been favoring. Dark wood, red under the right light. Ominous. It demanded enough attention to provide an outlet for his restless energy. It unclogged his mind. As he made it twirl between his fingers, he monitored his own heartbeat– a little fast, nothing much. The Sect Leader refilled his own cup, eyes surveying Shen Qingqiu’s expression demurely. This evening, Shen Qingqiu had acquiesced to be kept company.

This was rewarding foolish behavior.

They sat under a clear night sky. Shen Qingqiu was an indifferent host and Yue Qingyuan couldn’t care less; he looked like a cat that got the cream. More than a month had flown by since Shen Qingqiu had opened his eyes to a disconcerting reality and he’d started to take off the stitching from that wound already, the one which had him chasing phantoms. He downed the wine on his cup and gestured to Yue Qingyuan for more. With a reserved smile, the Sect Leader complied. Shen Qingqiu followed the shadows flickering over his features.

Maybe he no longer held any sort of real desire, but a thirst for punishment. He was addicted to the high voltage. Maybe love and hatred had morphed into contempt, his feelings for the man reshaped into a puppet of Retribution. He pushed the buttons, for he was deserving.

Regard seemed such a pitiful thing to feel for someone, though, if that was all there was left. It could very well be that in the process of being dismantled and restored, all earthly perturbances had been flushed out of Shen Qingqiu, his first responses upon waking nothing more than an echo. Wouldn’t that be an easier fire to quench.

Shen Qingqiu emptied his cup once more and then he also emptied Yue Qingyuan’s. Testing the waters. Because he cared, because he needed to learn his place the hard way over and over if only to have something to look forward to.

He threw back his head gently, smoke warming his lips against the chill preceding the spring.

Enough.

He held desire, stronger than ever. No more looking for loopholes. Guilt now seemed utterly unimportant. But there was no frenzy either – acceptance of himself and acceptance of the other came hand in hand. To have, not to have. To have the Sect Leader’s mouth over his bared neck. To see him go, whatever. To be taken or to bury himself to the hilt inside the man in front him. To be asked to sit still while strong hands choked the life out of – whose –

Yue Qingyuan took back his cup, thumb brushing the rim. Shen Qingqiu licked the taste of mild panic from his lips. He wanted to take Yue Qingyuan’s thumb into his mouth.

He wanted.

“Well,” Shen Qingqiu said, voice a tad rough. “It’s been pleasant enough. Excuse yourself.”

It really had been nice, the lack of conflict; Yue Qingyuan’s serene countenance almost too deliberate. Yue Qingyuan was shifting their axis, uncaring whether Shen Qingqiu had braced himself.

“Thank you, shidi. For your time,” Yue Qingyuan’s eyes softened into half crescent moons. Shen Jiu hummed, eyeing him for a second and focusing on that one shared cup right after. His heartrate picked up, just a little. But he swallowed all reluctance and stood, back facing Yue Qingyuan. Neither of them moved for some time. Yue Qingyuan dragged his chair. Shen Qingqiu’s mouth felt dry.

Would the other follow, if he were to leave his door open?

Such a weak heart he had. He bit the inside of his lips, holding down a mirthless smile.

“Well then, be on your way already. Goodbye.”

The bamboo house was warm. The little attendant was by the hearth, guarding the fire. He sat on his legs all proper, like a studious disciple.

As he took down his hair, Shen Qingqiu mulled over how many times you could melt and then harden the iron before it started showing.

Once the child noticed, he got up on his feet and rushed to the master’s side. He placed the master’s sleeping robes next to the folding screen. At the absence of orders, he headed outside to clean after the master and his guest.

Sleep kept avoiding Qing Jing’s Peak Lord. In the yellow-tinted ambience of the room, he recalled the Sect Leader’s face, the meaningful sway of his thumb over the rim of the cup. Shen Qingqiu sighed. Longing had its roots buried deep and it bloomed all year around.

He redirected his agitation towards action. Shen Qingqiu tuned the guqin with fine-boned fingers, mind already switching to a higher form of language.

Holding his breath, a boy listened closely in the dark, walls paper thin. He was still as a dog guarding a lamb. Shen Qingqiu was too exhausted to get annoyed.

“Come,” he said to the boy. “You’ll learn to write music down.”

Shen Qingqiu played until morning broke on him, kissing his shoulders like a lover. His little attendant kept staring with unwavering attention, not a trace of sleep to be seen.

Blue still shy on the sky, Shen Qingqiu walked to the training grounds, tiny butler in tow. The boy was carrying an instrument twice his size. The few senior disciples Shen Qingqiu had took little time to arrive: all of them girls, proud and graceful. Shen Qingqiu had composed a second piece during the night, one meant to challenge them. He assessed the damaged caused by his absence and instructed them with severe words which held no bite whatsoever. As time passed, the performers gained an audience; Qing Jing was the peak with the lowest number of disciples out of the twelve, so the crowd was small and well behaved. While the child at his side readied the master’s pipe with utmost concentration, Shen Qingqiu assigned each senior to a group of juniors, directing them to adapt the piece as needed and to pass the lesson along.

Once Ning Yingying locked eyes with her shizun, her resolve to be a very good, very collected girl was crumpled into a ball and tossed to the side. She ran to him and hugged his leg, causing Shen Qingqiu to almost drop the pipe he was holding. Ning Yingying’s mouth was tightly pressed because she really didn’t want to bother everybody with her ugly sobs. He patted her head and disentangled her grabby hands from his robe.

“Hush,” he said, “be good. Go practice. Shizun is watching you.”

“But shizun,” she said, hiccupping, “they said, said you were ill and,” she wiped her face with her little fists, “and maybe you would die, and they wouldn’t let us see you or, or...”

“It is improper to speak of one’s master like so. Are you to blame or are your seniors?

Ning Yingying shook her head in fear.

“Shizun! It is this one’s fault, this one hasn’t learned properly, please, p-please asking shizun for p-punishment!”

The tight line of his jaw as he looked down at Ning Yingying could be easily misjudged by unknowing eyes. He sighed inwardly, exasperation and fondness tearing at his heart. He didn’t stand a chance against this airheaded girl, this silly child of his. Shen Qingqiu took a silken handkerchief from his sleeve and patted Ning Yingying’s face dry while listening to her pitiful rambling.

Soon, Cang Qion would be opening its doors and new disciples would have to be selected. Ning Yingying, young as she was, would have to look after someone else all on her own. Shen Qingqiu was allowed certain eccentricities on account of his status and, most of all, on account of the revolting performance of doting that Yue Qingyuan paraded around for all the cultivation world to see; still, some new faces were in order.

“Ying-er. Don’t make this master repeat himself twice. Alright?”

“Alright, shizun,” she answered.

“Yes, shizun.”

“Yes, shizun!” Ning Yingying corrected herself, giving it her best. “This disciple will show shizun her progress now. Asking shizun to teach Ying-er!”

Well, that would have to do. He gestured with his hand for her to demonstrate.

Ning Yingying straightened her posture and brought the dizi to her lips. It was quite impressive for someone her age; she was Shen Qingqiu’s favorite after all. With a touch of his pipe, he gently pushed Ning Yingying’s elbow inwards. The little butler looked far more disinterested than he had been while the seniors infused the strings with qi during their practice. He stood by Shen Qingqiu’s side, eyes lowered demurely. It didn’t take much to notice the boy had a natural affinity for cultivation, but it took, at the very least, a kinder master to care.

Later that day, while Shen Qingqiu was looking over the batch of books he’d received from his usual supplier, the boy that was quickly becoming his shadow bowed towards him in a flawless angle. Playful locks tumbled before him, obscuring his face.

“Master, this lowly one is asking permission to speak,” he all but whispered.

“What is it,” the master answered. Long fingers caressed the volumes as if searching for something.

The boy looked up and inhaled deeply, as if trying to make himself taller. Braver. But the master had very little patience to spare.

“If you are feeling so idle that you dare chitchat, start grinding ink.”

“Yes, master. Right away.”

Shen Qingqiu felt his face twitch.

“Boy. Speak or else.”

“M-master! I…I…It is just that this one…Master has never asked this servant about his name!”

The boy kowtowed as if waiting for punishment. His face was pale, eyes wide open and stuck to the floor.

Shen Qingqiu turned his body towards the boy, eyebrows raised.

There was a knock on the door.

“Aren’t you lucky,” he purred. The boy swallowed. “Go tell that man to find someone else to bother.”

The boy walked to the door with his breath still stuck on his throat, Shen Qingqiu’s detached gaze trailing after him. There was no way the Sect Leader hadn’t already heard the dismissal. He opened the door and closed it immediately after stepping out.

“Greetings to the Sect Leader. My master is not receiving visits at the moment. Beg the Sect Leader to come back at another time.”

Shen Qingqiu snorted to himself, hand reaching for a fan that he rarely carried anymore.

“I see,” Yue Qingyuan said. “Then I’ll wait right here until he is.”

The boy whispered some more words of courtesy before the exchange came to an end. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t roll back his eyes any further. If Yue Qingyuan was betting on himself to win this one, he was bound to get a lot of his favorite flavor of disappointment. Let him have his cake and eat it too.

Chapter Text

Cang Qiong’s Sect Leader was spending an embarrassing amount of time by his shidi’s door, like an offending husband kicked out by the wife. He’d leave to attend unavoidable matters and be back on his post as soon as he could pass things onto his head disciple. Letters were beginning to pile up on his desk, envoys were made to wait. Yue Qingyuan didn’t seem to care at all about the gossip running down the mountain along with the first downpour of spring. He stood on Shen Qingqiu’s steps, taking shelter under the roof. A placid expression could be seen on his face; Yue Qingyuan was enjoying himself.

Shen Qingqiu, on the other hand, was feeling mildly inconvenienced. Like an itch of sorts he was having trouble locating. Whenever his eyes betrayingly wondered outside, the other man would meet him with a smile that held a timid air of playfulness. It made something surge like a wave inside him, rising from his gut to his throat and then curling back on itself. Shen Qingqiu was simply unable to stand his ground. He averted his gaze, defeated by his unbridled want. His shameful longing.

He played. He shaped his ache for so long the strings ate at his fingers. It was a plea to himself, a cage self-inflected. He was a crippled crawling towards the sun, dreaming of breaking its legs just to bring it down to his level.

He wanted to prick his own chest with a needle and let his insides pour through, leech himself to be rid of the malaise. Wanted to be sullied by it, wanted its warm slide along skin unraveled.

Shen Qingqiu wanted to open the door for Yue Qingyuan to come in.

A look to the side was all it took for the little butler to come closer. He took the guqin from his master’s lap and wrapped it in rich fabric. He dared to press it against his chest. Shen Qingqiu could tell there were questions left unasked when the child looked up. Shen Qingqiu valued silence and thus nothing was voiced.

“Go find somewhere else to sleep tonight,” he said. The boy’s face fell like he’d been told to throw himself off a cliff. He looked at the door and then back to his master. He bowed, chest trembling slightly. "And get out through the back”.

Among the many things that feel different since he last deviated, his own approach to pleasure would be the one he spent the most time reflecting on. Five days had gone by since Yue Qingyuan was denied an audience. Shen Qingqiu spent most nights on his desk, working through very challenging texts in order to keep his mind from straying. But, alas, he rested his eyes once, and sleep found a gap for a quick dream to slid in. 

It left him burning. He woke up drenched, his inner robe sticking to his back, nerves ignited still. It was painful, it was all-consuming. He squirmed on his sit, paying no mind to the blanket that had been draped over his shoulders. He bit at his tongue, keeping himself from panting by tightening his belly.

He dreamt of being tied up, suspended from high ceilings. His feet could barely touch the floor. The air was humid and stale but tasted like nothing. A pearl of sweat rolled down between his strained shoulder blades. He twisted, skin buzzing. Heat simmered deep within, spreading out in tendrils that had his muscles jumping. He was blindfolded, the dimmest of lights reaching him through the fabric. He was loosely dressed, scarcely. The watery feel of silk against his bare body was obscene. His brain was sluggish yet hyperaware, a mindless thing driven by shameless urges. His breath was coming out in little huffs that felt too loud in the death-like stillness of the cell room. With every reflexive twitch of his hips, a jolt of sensation hit him like a whip. He flushed furiously at the feeling of a wet patch of silk sticking to the head of his cock.

Shen Qingqiu heard nothing, yet the air in the room was stirred. He swallowed, lips trembling. He wouldn’t hide his face. He had forced himself awake at a hand creeping up his thigh, at a man purring against his ear. The voice was lost as he opened his eyes with a gasp, chest heaving painfully.

The helplessness he’d felt in the dream had stuck to him for days.

Shen Qingqiu took a moment to gather himself and let the remnants of his shame be washed away. He wasn’t so delusional that he’d dare hope – no lines would be crossed tonight, no matter how vividly he could picture it. For whose touch could he have dreamt of but Yue Qingyuan’s? It was admittedly out of character for the man, but Shen Qingqiu refused to believe he’d surrender like so to another. The prospect of being owned so intimately had aroused him to the point of coming untouched. He’d woken up to the evidence of his unrestrained desire, breathing a task too hard.

He could still recall the bite of the rope.

The sound of rain against wood offered some form of comfort, muffling his rabbiting heart. His hands didn’t waver at the door, but, once out, he hid them in his sleeves all the same. A dull shade of grey covered the sky, cutting the day short. He walked to the man, a slight bow for a greeting.

“Qingqiu,” Yue Qingyuan greeted. His voice was very pleasant. It did things to him.

Shen Qingqiu let silence stretch between them. He kept his nerves on a tight leash. A childish though popped up on his mind: there wouldn’t be much of a difference in height if he were to stand side by side with Yue Qingyuan, shoulders brushing.

“May I come in?” he asked.

Yue Qingyuan looked at him with gentle eyes. Shen Qingqiu had always been prone to jealousness, there was no denying it. Yue Qingyuan’s gentleness was both a blessing and a curse; because he cherished it so, it pained him to see it freely given away. It was something akin to air: he could not abstain for long and could not stop others from having their fill. He had thought of many things to say, many witty remarks to breach the silent treatment. Yue Qingyuan must have guessed. Must have wanted to make things easier; whether for Shen Qingqiu’s sake or his own, Shen Qingqiu had better not chew over.

“Yes,” Shen Qingqiu answered. “You may.”

Without the usual pretense of annoyance, Shen Qingqiu felt a little tongue-tied. Once inside, he gestured towards the kitchen.

“There’s no one else here. Go make tea if you want some.” Like an afterthought, “there’s wine, too. Suit yourself.”

Yue Qingyuan chuckled. Shen Qingqiu bit the inside of his lips.

“Alright,” Yue Qingyuan said. “Any jug is fine?”

“Should I be saving the best for the Emperor? Maybe he’ll resume his visits once you stop harassing my front door.”

“I’m afraid I can’t give up your front door. Not even to the Emperor.”

Like he hadn’t punched all the air out of Shen Qingqiu, Yue Qingyuan came back and sat at a proper distance. He poured the wine without much thought, as any rich master would.

He seemed confident. It felt alien to see Yue Qingyuan took up more space than needed, like he was commanding the room without giving it much thought.

Yue Qingyuan wasn’t afraid of being driven away.

“What’s going on with you?” Shen Qingqiu grumbled under his breath.

“What does Qinigqiu mean?” His gaze was so placid, like it could hide no secret. “Where is that boy of yours?”

“What do you care?”

“Shidi’s right. I shouldn’t intrude.” Yue Qingyuan retracted his heavy gaze for a while. Shen Qingqiu nursed his cup, frustration getting to him. He fought the urge to hide the petty twist of his lips behind a fan. Of course something was going on, it was plain as day. It didn’t have to be a bad thing, however. Not necessarily. Shen Qingqiu didn’t believe in changes of heart, least of all concerning him – but this was Yue Qingyuan. Shen Qingqiu’s traitorous heart was helpless. Could it be that all along he had been the one unable to move past the narrow back of that boy from a past he’d disentangled himself from?

No. No.

Shen Qingqiu had moved on. Had fallen again. Would fall every chance.

It was possible that he was receiving whiplash from the superposition of narratives. That could easily leave anyone feeling off. At the same time, it could also be plain old him just offering resistance to the smallest glimpse of acceptance. Shifting the focus.

No.

It was him, Yue Qingyuan, the one to hang himself on a thread long broken, on a branch long burnt. The one who wouldn’t look his way without the subtlest of grudges, as if Shen Qingqiu had killed that brother of his and now paraded around wearing his face like a gruesome mask.

And yet, and yet. Shen Qingqiu was perpetually falling, steady as the moth chases the flame.

The silence weighted on them. Shen Qingqiu took small sips now and then, eyes to the front but safely placed on Xuan Su’s scabbard. It was black and unadorned, save for a subtle pattern on the leather. It matched Qiong Ding’s imposing austerity. It was an intimidating sword, fit for a strong pair of arms and divine temperance. Albeit its sobriety, it had the distinctive air of regalia. Shen Qingqiu had never seen it drawn.

“Gift me your sword. It’s dead weight on you, anyway,” he blurted. Qingyuan had selected a fragrant Osmanthus wine, sweet and charming. He kept himself from looking into possible meanings because there were none and so why bother. Shen Qingqiu craved something harsher. Something to blame things on, if worse came to worst.

Yue Qingyuan kept silent for a long time, as if actually deliberating.

“I would,” he said, “if I was told the reason why.”

“Right.” Shen Qingqiu let out an ugly snort. He reached for Xuan Su, but his hand was intercepted.

“Try me,” Yue Qingyuan said, eyes intent. Shen Qingqiu’s fingers twitched in his hold.

“I have,” he said, nothing but a whisper. Then, sharper, “Before.”

Even if he were to bite off his tongue, the arrow had already left the bow. Regret helped no one. Yue Qingyuan let go of him, hurt visible on the tense line of his jaw.

“Yes,” he said.

“Don’t,” Shen Qingqiu snapped. Bile was crawling up his throat, claws unforgiving. He pushed it down. He’d brought this upon himself. “You’d better go. Why do we even– ”

“… I won’t.”

Shen Qingqiu threw his head back in mirthless laughter.

“Everyone knows how persistent Lord Yue can get when forced to right his wrongs.”
It always felt like gazing at a sinking ship from ashore: couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop looking.

“I won’t,” he pleaded. “Xiao-Jiu…”

There. He poked grief and grief pocked back. Yue Qingyuan was mindless of his dart. Surely it could be overlooked, given the circumstances. Nothing but a slip of the tongue.

How satisfying, to be constantly proven right. To have so intimate a knowledge of his butcher, “I won’t resent you, nor will I comfort you. Just go.”

“Qingqiu,” Yue Qingyuan said. It didn’t sound like begging. Shen Qingqiu didn’t know what it sounded like. “Can’t I stay?”

The answer wouldn’t go past the ravine of his throat.

“Qingqiu. I want to learn.”

Shen Qingqiu steeled his face, lest something showed through. He felt on the verge of shattering. Yue Qingyuan was the gentlest man, so it was a matter of balance that the shadow he cast ought to be the most cruel; this, he had always known. Yue Qingyuan’s unique brand of ruthlessness.

“What you want from me, I cannot offer. Your hopes are wasted. Sect Leader Yue, spare me.”

In a single breath, Shen Qingqiu found himself facing the Sect Leader. Yue Qingyuan’s heavy presence washed over him like a wave.

“I’ll take whatever Qingqiu throws my way,” he said, “so, please. Let me.”

The bottomless pit of Yue Qingyuan’s eyes poured over him dark waters. They were close enough to touch. For a moment there, barely the time it took for his heart to beat, when Shen Qingqiu wanted to take a step back and away from Yue Qingyuan’s lightless inferno.

He found copper in his mouth. ‘I see.’ He’d taken many days to realize. ‘So he would be the God of Restless Death.’

After that, Shen Qingqiu distanced himself from the situation. He fell into a thoughtless state of calm, sitting down properly and taking out his pipe. Yue Qingyuan agreed to leave at some point. Shen Qingqiu paid him no mind. He went through the motions with ease, his breathing following a steady pattern. He took a deep drag, smoke coming out of his nose messily. Pipe hanging from his parted lips, the slender hands of the Peak Lord combed through the strands of his hair in swift, practical movements. When the crown came out, though, a soft exhale did as well. He scratched the soreness away from his scalp. He craved something to nibble on – something to suit the wine that was still on the table. It had been gifted to Yue Qingyuan, that Osmanthus wine. A gesture from an ambassador of some outer sect or another. Shen Qingqiu had asked for it as soon as the jar was accepted by the Sect Leader, just because he felt like he could get away with it. Back then, the more his martial siblings disapproved of him, the more he used to flaunt his lack of boundaries. It took some years before things settled down to some extent. It took –

His mind supplied a vague image of a man in white and stale robes, cheekbones high and eyes full of contempt. Shen Qingqiu felt his insides churn in disgust. He had no desire to look into whatever his brain was hinting at. There was no guilt attached. There couldn’t be.

Liu Qingge was ok. Who would dare claim his life? And what did he care, to begin with? Out!

Shen Qingqiu tightened his jaw at the sourness in his mouth.

Once the room had been conquered by the scented haze rolling out of Shen Qingqiu’s mouth, he hummed in satisfaction. It was suffocating in its softness, like the strangling of a playful ribbon. Then, he gathered his robes and crossed the little hut in a few long strides. Outside it was still pouring down. Shen Qingqiu’s feet barely touched the grass beneath as he walked into the night; over him, the pitter-patter of rain on a paper umbrella. He didn’t stray too far before coming to a halt.

“Come out,” he said. “Cunning little beast.”

The boy took a step forward and bowed to his master. He had found a tree carved out by thunder and made it into a little burrow. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t care less about the boy’s reluctance to go back to the servant’s quarters; to each their own burden.

“What a sorry sight. Go bathe, I don’t want you bringing in that wet dog stink.”

The boy pushed his wild hair back and stared at Shen Qingqiu with big, glassy eyes. He pressed his mouth and fidgeted with the edges of his sleeves. It made Shen Qingqiu feel a bit awkward, so he turned around. The boy was quick to follow. A smile kept breaking free from the tight seams of his lips.

Shen Qingqiu rolled back his eyes – what a good life, to have that many shards of happiness all within reach.

Chapter Text

Up requires heaven’s blessing, down is fate inherited – will might keep a man right in between, standing bare feet on the blunt edge of a sword. Will is an anchor.

Will is a shackle.

It took some time for Peak Lord Shen to ease into a bearable rhythm. The gale inside subsided some days, which gave him the temperance to push through whenever it raged. He read avidly; spent hours upon hours by the low table, basking in the filtered sunlight. Some things he read aloud, let them linger; the boy racked his brains for the question he knew he was expected to ask. There’s was praise if he was right, if he was wrong, there was a penance. He saw to it that the master wanted for nothing, all the same. It became easier to place fresh flowers upon the master’s desk.

He discovered to his absolute delight that his master was amenable to certain forms of pampering. His master liked sweets.

He had picked up the basics of cooking during his brief stay in the kitchens – not that he was ever allowed to go near the stoves; at most, they had him chopping and mincing. But he had a good memory and a one-of-a-kind-type intuition.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t eat much, to begin with. Once or twice a week, he’d have some bland congee and some very sad-looking steamed vegetables. Upon realization, the boy took it upon himself to handpick the very best ingredients. As for the congee, it was the one thing he’d known how to make before entering service, so all it was missing was the courage to present the dishes to his master. 

He practiced, for how could he not. He sneaked into the big kitchens at night and perfected the texture of the rice, the timing for the vegetables. He tried and tried and tried. The day he finally set the food on the low table in the bamboo house, he feared his master would kick him out just for how loudly his heart was beating.

Whenever he actually slept, Shen Qingqiu was a morning person. He rose with dawn, he washed fastidiously, he cleaned after himself as if there wasn’t a person devoted to do it for him. The little butler wasn’t allowed to dress the master, but he earned the right to take care of his clothes. He hoped to earn the right to comb his inky hair, too. One day.

When he shyly displayed the result of his efforts, he saw his master’s nose twitch, as if following the smell. His cheeks caught on fire.

He filled the master’s cup, kneeling properly by his side.

He knew he should go back to his chores, the master loathed to be kept in idle company.  But if he could see his master’s face, just for a second –

Shen Qingqiu eyed him for a beat that seemed to stretch forever. The boy’s fluttering heart was caught in his throat.

With the grace of a petulant cat, Shen Qingqiu pushed the dishes towards the edge of the table and over. The high-pitched sound of porcelain against hardwood floor made the boy flinch, an abrasive mixture of fright and puzzlement chilling his spine.

“Eat it”, came the master’s order. Shen Qingqiu had the most fascinating pair of eyes the boy had ever seen: a very dark shade of green that came alive with cruelty, like a distant burning forest. “If you are unwilling,” the even tone of his voice betrayed nothing. The boy wanted to hear him speak forever. “Don’t let me see you twice.”

He fought back the tears. This was well-deserved, he’d gotten so full of himself; as if by having been given an inch he could deem himself worthy of a mile. He begged in silence for the master not to cast him away, knuckles white from how hard he was grabbing the hem of his shirt.

Without hesitation, he spooned the food with his hand and took it to mouth.

“Who did you get it from?” Shen Qingqiu poured the lukewarm tea over the boy’s head like it was out of habit. “Drink, too.”

“No one,” the boy answered.

“You dare lie?”

“Never! This one – ”

“Know your place.”

Shen Qingqiu rose like a crane and left for the training grounds. The boy didn’t follow.

For more than a month Shen Qingqiu proved himself to be an aloof and unforgiving master. It hadn’t taken the boy long to figure out that his master had suspected him of being disloyal. It was a devastating realization, that he may never repair the damage done. His master was not one for second chances – his mind wondered towards the pitiful Sect Leader. Never one to let the storm pass in hiding, the boy devised a new plan to try and sway back his master’s favor.

He held his breath for three days straight, going about his chores as if his tongue had been severed. His master was shut in like a snowy peak in the depths of winter; the Sect Leader had been banned once again from the bamboo house.  The man still hounded their front door, but at least he kept his visits shorter.

As for Shen Qingqiu, he couldn’t care less about the whole incident. The punishment boiled down to one petty fact: the boy’s eagerness had pissed him off. Thus, he felt a sting of resurged annoyance when he returned home one evening to find the boy busying himself on the small adjacent kitchen. Soon, a tray of pastries was served along his preferred tea. Shen Qingqiu felt his fingers twitch. That backstabbing, devious little demon! The boy kneeled by his side, pouring the tea with practiced elegance. Then he left with a bow, as if commanded. Shen Qingqiu could hear the muffled sounds of sweeping wood like lazy purrs.

Shen Qingqiu took one delicate pastry and bit at it almost shyly. It was very good. The lightest of blushes tinted his jade-like features. A silly impulse struck at him: to save at least one pastry for that blockheaded person.

Days went by and the little butler felt as if the gods above had finally smiled upon him. Not only did his master accept his humble displays of care and devotion, but he even allowed the boy back under his shadow whenever he enlightened his disciples. The boy had never been happier. His master was not a forward person, so it required a very perceptive mind to pick up all the little nuances, all the implications floating around an off-handed comment, thrown like a discarded piece of paper. His master wanted him to educate himself, so he summoned the courage to ask for guidance. Shen Qingqiu pointed to a shelf without sparing him a look. The boy was delighted.

The selection process for the new disciples was held on the first day of summer. The Peak Lords gazed from up above at the batch of children digging in the soil, the very picture of indifference. Shen Qingqiu extended a pale hand towards his little steward and cold refreshments were soon offered. Peak Lord Liu scoffed at the sigh and his master sneered back, as one would to a dull and unwanted guest.

“Shidi,” Yue Qingyuan said, “is there anyone you are interested in?”

“No.”

“…”

Despite himself, the boy felt the tag of a smile at his pressed lips.

Shen Qingqiu ignored every single suggestion Yue Qingyuan put forward. The heat forced a fan back to his hand.

“Zhangmen-shixiong needn’t fret over this matter,” Shen Qingqiu sighted, visibly fed up with the Sect Leader’s incessant rambling. The edge of the open fan rested playfully against the bridge of his nose. “I have already selected a new disciple for Qing Jing Peak. It should come as no surprise, though, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

The boy was forced to take a step forward.

 “He’s served me tea and all. We are already bound.”

Yue Qingyuan’s smile felt a bit strained. Shen Qingqiu was the one enjoying himself this time.

“Isn’t he too young?” Bai Zhan’s Peak Lord scoffed. He threw a mean pebble that the boy dodged flawlessly. “He’s got potential, though.”

“So keep your dogs on a tighter leash,” Shen Qingqiu hissed.

“Shidi,” Yue Qingyuan began, “He is indeed young. Wouldn’t it be better to wait a coup–”

“I refuse.”

“What, you want to cripple him so bad?” Liu Qingge scoffed.

“I’m sure you’d rather break his legs yourself and call it a valuable lesson.”

Before he could bark an answer, Liu Qingge was silenced by a firm hand on the shoulder. ‘Why’, Liu Qingge’s fiery gaze screamed at his Sect Leader; nonetheless, he complied. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrowed, full of contempt. Liu Qingge would throw himself to the ground and renounce his title to become a rug if Yue Qingyuan took the time to ask. 

“It is settled, then.” Shen Qingqiu’s long sleeves moved gracefully at his sides as he rose to leave. He counted three, four, five seconds. Yue Qingyuan rose as well.

“Liu shidi, I’ll be going back too. Take care.” Yue Qingyuan said. Liu Qingge gritted his teeth and hopped on Cheng Luan.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to muzzle him?”

Yue Qingyuan sighed.

“Must you two rile each other up? Don’t you ever tire?”

“Well,” Shen Qingqiu said, “it has its perks. Ying-er, see that Luo Binghe gets a proper outfit.” Xiu Ya came out of its sheath with an elegant motion. “Go back on your own, I’m not carrying you two.”

Ning Yingying bowed and pushed a very dazed Luo Binghe to do so as well. Shen Qingqiu fled, wanting nothing to do with the tide of feelings about to break loose. Silly boy.

Once back at Qing Jing, Yue Qingyuan insisted on escorting Shen Qingqiu back to his quarters.

“So,” Yue Qingyuan said, “will Qingqiu be looking for another assistant?” Shen Qingqiu kept playing around with his fan. Once he had started twirling it between his fingers, putting it away became a harder task than he had anticipated, like indulging in old habits after a long time of abstinence. “I could take care of it. Find an appropriate replacement.” As they walked towards the bamboo house, Yue Qingyuan had gotten closer and closer, arm brushing his every now and then.

“Why would I do that?”

“Won’t you be sending Luo Binghe to the communal dorms? It’d be beneficial, as he has so much to catch up on. He should be given the chance to form a bond with his peers.”

“Let him work harder.”  Then, with poorly concealed irritation, “what are you even implying, please do explain.”

Yue Qingyuan couldn’t hold back a fond smile.

“Alright. This shixiong is in the wrong, now I understand.”

“Oh, shut up already. You are insufferable.”

“En. Still, Qingqiu should do as he pleases.”

Shen Qingqiu felt the impending blush and cursed inwards, unable to fight back against the gentle teasing. He wouldn’t allow himself to trust even an inch of it to be true yet couldn’t bring himself to dodge it either. He gazed subtly at Yue Qingyuan, fan swaying delicately in the heated air of summer. Like a bird of prey, Yue Qingyuan locked eyes with him as soon as he sensed it. Shen Qingqiu raised his eyebrows in a silent retort that fished a deep chuckle from Yue Qingyuan’s chest, which reverberated through Shen Qingqiu’s like a small earthquake. He swallowed thickly.

“Well,” Yue Qingyuan exhaled softly, “I’ll let shidi be. I’m trying to keep my imposing on you under restrain.”

Birds could be heard all around them, like golden embroideries. Shen Qingqiu held his breath.

“Qingqiu,” Yue Qingyuan coaxed. He sounded far too close. Shen Qingqiu lowered his fan. Unfair.

“Stay,” Shen Qingqiu said. It came out a bit rugged. “Come in for a drink.”

Yue Qingyuan placed his hand over the small of Shen Qingqiu’s back, not quite touching but still searing. Shamelessly, Shen Qingqiu wished it could leave a brand. He smacked the hand away with a swift rap of the fan. Yue Qingyuan’s gentle eyes crinkled at the corners.

The rest of the walk was brief, conversation idle but not stale. They sat outside, an unspoken, youthful undercurrent buzzing around them. A light breeze picked up as the sun went down. They drank until the moon was high in the sky, layers growing too hot and heavy for the building simmer of wine. Shen Qingqiu’s outer robe was coming undone, sliding past squirming shoulders. He fanned himself in earnest, black locks fluttering around his face. He noticed distantly that Yue Qingyuan was keeping both of their cups full.

He smiled – a small, privet thing. Carefully crafted but undeniably willing. He shifted a little closer and made a show of himself as nimble fingers filled the smoking pipe. Yue Qingyuan’s pupils grew large at the way the long thing weighted down Shen Qingqiu’s lower lip. At the peep at velvet inside his mouth.

“Let me try it,” Yue Qingyuan asked.

“Sure,” he answered, “as long as you pay for it.”

“Yes,” Yue Qingyuan said, a little out of breath, “whatever you want.”

“Yeah?” Shen Qingqiu pushed down intrusive thoughts as they crawled up his throat. It would be so easy to twist Yue Qingyuan’s words just so, to stab between the ribs and watch the man fall apart. But he wanted this, he wanted it to be good. He wanted to taste Yue Qingyuan through the clash of wine and smoke. Yue Qingyuan’s gaze was scalding. “I ask, you answer. No backing out.”

“…Qingqiu.”

“What, am I ruining the mood?” Shen Qingqiu lowered his eyes, focusing on the ripples trapped in his cup. “I’ll ask anyway.”

Yue Qingyuan sighed. He offered a mirthless, resigned smile as prove of surrender. Shen Qingqiu set his jaw.

“Are you courting me?”

Chapter Text

“Are you courting me?”

There was no immediate answer; the cry of cicadas filled the air between them and seemed to only grow louder. Feeling impatient, Shen Qingqiu lifted his face ready to search Yue Qingyuan’s expression.

Under the Sect Leader’s composed façade, Shen Qingqiu found bewilderment. He saw himself reflected on those eyes that were always so guarded, all mortal perturbances flushed so long ago he no longer remember what they even felt like. Then, for the very first time in who knows how many years, he saw Yue Qingyuan blush furiously.

Shen Qingqiu laughed – open, loud. Hard enough he bent forward. Spilled wine slid down his fingers.

“Really,” Shen Qingqiu whispered. His cheeks were sore from the unexpected workout. His hands were shaking a bit, so he placed one over the other.

Yue Qingyuan swallowed and took a couple of shallow breaths. Shen Qingqiu looked away instinctively, feeling his ears go red. Yue Qingyuan shook his head minutely and laughed quietly. Shen Qingqiu felt undeserving of Yue Qingyuan’s adoring smile and busied himself with his cup, eyeing the jar. As he reached for it, Yue Qingyuan took hold of Shen Qingqiu’s hand and brushed it tenderly with the rough pads of his fingers.

“I am,” he said, “I really tried to make it obvious.”

“Alright. I’m afraid to ask anything else. Take the pipe.”

Shen Qingqiu gave his hand a half-hearted pull. Yue Qingyuan held tighter.

“Xiao Jiu,” he cooed. Shen Qingqiu’s stomach did a double flip.

“You are pushing it,” he warned, just because his face couldn’t quite take it.

“Am I? Humour me, then. Just for a while.” Clever fingers went up, tracing the delicate bones of a scholar’s wrist. “Can I come closer?”

“You can already count every single one of my lashes, how much closer can you possibly get!”

He did get closer. Yue Qingyuan’s smile was a puff of hot air against Shen Qingqiu’s ear. It burnt. Shen Qingqiu could feel the short hair at his nape raising after an overwhelming wave of sensation.

“This one will be happy with whatever closeness the Immortal Master can spare.”

“Do you hear yourself – and I am the one said to be shameless,” Shen Qingqiu mumbled. He kept worrying at the inside of his lips out of nervousness, out of excitement. Wine had muted most of his self-doubt. He was too drunk to draw any elaborate thoughts, to dig any deep pits to push himself into. It was really difficult to get trapped inside an angsty loop when his hand, gently cradled between Yue Qingyuan’s, felt like the center of the universe. For all his strength as a strategist, his face had always been paper-thin. He was as ruthless as he could be honest if you figured out the strokes. That’s why distance was key, why Liu Qingge got the better of him sometimes. Shen Qingqiu wore his heart on his sleeve.

Once the seal was peeled off, the thrill spread through him like wildfire. He leaned towards Yue Qingyuan, mastering the courage to look at the way Yue Qingyuan’s fingers climbed up his arm, delivering pressure that edged roughness. Yue Qingyuan’s touch felt almost greedy. Shen Qingqiu was dizzy with elation. Yue Qingyuan’s scent was all around him but he still craved more. He nuzzled at Yue Qingyuan’s neck. Yue Qingyuan gasped; Shen Qingqiu’s mouth went dry. He pushed his shoulder against Yue Qingyuan’s chest a little bit more, a little harder. Yue Qingyuan breathed deeply though his nose.

“You’ll regret it,” Shen Qingqiu said. He dragged his nose against the line of Yue Qingyuan’s tense jaw, all the way to the shell of his ear.

“I’ll die if you stop,” Yue Qingyuan whispered back. Shen Qingqiu smiled, teeth teasing the sensitive skin of an earlobe.

“I didn’t know you could be so needy.”

“I want you to know. I want –  ngh…” The grunt that came out of Yue Qingyuan’s open mouth nearly sent him over. Shen Qingqiu licked his lips and flattened his tongue over Yue Qingyuan’s pulse, moving along a throbbing vein. He shuddered at the light taste of salt and itched to sink his fangs deep.

“I’d eat you whole,” Shen Qingqiu purred, “and then eat myself to enjoy you all over.”

Yue Qingyuan’s bruising grip closed around Shen Qingqiu’s graceful neck, thumb tilting up his chin. Shen Qingqiu’s lips parted with a soft exhale and he placed both hands around Yue Qingyuan’s arm, urging him to squeeze. Yue Qingyuan’s thumb rolled down to Shen Qingqiu’s bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Yeah,” he breathed out. Yue Qingyuan kept drawing circles around it, mesmerized by its movement. Shen Qingqiu’s heart fluttered in his grasp like a songbird. Shen Qingqiu fought against Yue Qingyuan’s punishing grip, breath hitching, and inched forward. Angling his face, he blew the ghost of his smothered breath over Yue Qingyuan’s lips and the man let go with a shudder. Yue Qingyuan looked like a dying man that had found water in the desert but was asked not to have more than a sip at a time. He kissed Shen Qingqiu’s chin reverently, hand sliding back to his arm.

“Will you regret it?” He asked. Almost shyly, he rested his forehead on Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder.

“I’ll kill you if you stop,” he said, rolling back his eyes. He stood up and offered Yue Qingyuan a hand. “Come inside.”

The bamboo house was very small. They were sitting on the bed in no time, hands suddenly all too hesitant. It had been easier in the open somehow, the new moon casting just the right light, blurring the edges of time. Yue Qingyuan said something under his breath but Shen Qingqiu’s heart was too loud for him to hear. He tugged weakly at Yue Qingyuan’s robes, color high on his cheeks, then he straddled him out of impatience. Yue Qingyuan’s hands pinched his waist and Shen Qingqiu squirmed.

“Is Xiao Jiu ticklish? What a find,” Yue Qingyuan said, lips moving against Shen Qingqiu’s neck.

“You sound like a pervert,” Shen Qingqiu’s hips rolled as he arched his back. Yue Qingyuan’s mouth chased him hungrily. “I really don’t like it when you call me that,” he run his fingers through Yue Qingyuan’s hair, purposefully catching some knots along the way.

“…I’ll do better.” Shen Qingqiu nodded. Yue Qingyuan’s hair came undone soon after. He allowed Shen Qingqiu to push him onto the bed but kept himself propped up, eyes focused intently. “How does A-Jiu sound?”

Shen Qingqiu looked down, an unexpected rush of emotion clogging his chest.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. Yue Qingyan’s right hand came to rest upon his hip, drawing soothing circles. Shen Qingqiu sighed in pleasure. He closed his eyes as Yue Qingyuan’s got rid of his sash, scalp tingling at the rustling of silk. Everything else came out easily.

Shen Qingqiu rolled his hips once more, gasping at the distinct feeling of Yue Qingyuan’s hardness. Yue Qingyuan’s blood surged at the sigh; he pinned Shen Qingqiu under him in one swift movement, wood creaking under the weight of two grown men.

“Undress,” Shen Qingqiu whispered, pressing one side of his face to the bed in a tepid attempt at hiding. Yue Qingyuan parted Shen Qingqiu’s legs enough to kneel comfortably between them. Shen Qingqiu’s thin inner robes did very little to hide his desire, fabric stretched obscenely over his hard cock. Out of the corner his eye, he saw Yue Qingyuan set his shoulders right before leaning in. Yue Qingyuan pressed his nose to his crotch, inhaling deeply. Shen Qingqiu yelped and pulled at Yue Qingyuan’s hair, but the man’s face didn’t budge an inch. He looped his arms around Shen Qingqiu’s legs, raising them to his shoulders. Like an animal, Yue Qingyuan kept nuzzling at his length, air hot and wet sending shivers through him like lightning.

“Qingqiu. You smell so good it’s making my mouth water.”

Disentangling himself from Shen Qingqiu, Yue Qingyuan made quick work of his clothes. Grabbing a fistful of him, he brought Shen Qingqiu up to meet him. They pressed their foreheads together, eyes open and breaths mingling. Long fingers took a firm hold of the Sect Leader’s jaw, angling it gently. Shen Qingqiu kissed him slow, almost experimentally. He nibbled at Yue Qingyuan’s bottom lip, feeling a little self-conscious about his lack of experience. Yue Qingyuan’s mouth parted eagerly, hands kneading Shen Qingqiu’s waist like he wanted to leave an imprint.

“My cultivation is going to improve so much,” Shen Qingqiu said, teeth pulling at Yue Qingyuan’s bottom lip, “after I fuck you tonight.”

“You might even ascend.” Yue Qingyuan’s laugh had him grinding against the man’s thigh.

“I might even ascend,” he managed. Yue Qingyuan kissed him back, humming in approval. He kissed commandingly, tongue darting out to taste every crevice. He delighted in the softness of the inside of Shen Qingqiu’s lips, the catlike roughness of Shen Qingqiu’s own tongue. Yue Qingyuan’s thigh pressed farther and Shen Qingqiu moaned weekly, face burrowed in Yue Qingyuan’s neck. He had wanted to hold his ground, but embarrassment was getting the upper hand. Yue Qingyuan would let no air pass between their bodies. The intimate knowledge that Yue Qingyuan’s scent was rubbing off on him was maddening. He craved physical proof. 

Shen Qingqiu loosened Yue Qingyuan’s inner robes with urgency, hands mapping the expanse of his chest. The skin was marred. There wasn’t a single scar he recognized. Some looked like scratches left by human nails; he traced them with his own. Yue Qingyuan took Shen Qingqiu’s left hand to his lips, kissing it gently. He kissed the center of his palm, then the wrist. The tenderness of it was overwhelming. Shen Qingqiu gave in to the need of skin on skin, baring himself completely. They hugged for a quite some time; Yue Qingyuan’s deep breaths against his temple eased the sudden knot in his chest.

“Let me…,” Yue Qingyuan began, voice hitting yet lower notes. Shen Qingqiu’s cock wept as if trained to. Yue Qingyuan guided him to lay on his back once more and he braced himself, little sighs spilling out helplessly.

“Do you even know what to do?”

“I’ll take notes,” he said, “if you guide me.” Shen Qingqiu’s face flushed once more. He focused on his breathing. “Unless you’d rather…?”

“Yeah,” Shen Qingqiu answered, swallowing down the awkwardness, “I think so.”

Yue Qingyuan leaned down for another kiss; gentler, this time. Painfully intimate. Shen Qingqiu almost chased after it, sharp canines biting at the inside of his lips.

“Relax,” he said. Yue Qingyuan smiled indulgently. Shen Qingqiu snuggled between Yue Qingyuan’s powerful thighs, hands too hesitant and too greedy all at once.

Yue Qingyuan’s skin felt feverish to the touch. Shen Qingqiu looked at the man’s face, long locks of hair spread over white sheets. Yue Qingyuan’s gentle eyes held a dangerous abyss. Shen Qingqiu retreated. He stared at Yue Qingyuan’s heavy cock instead where it rested, pulsing against hard abs. Yue Qingyuan was a very big man. Shen Qingqiu’s own desire felt to him like a savage thing, too wild to bridle. The cock felt thick in his hand, thicker yet when he tried to circle it with his tongue. The stretch ached so good when he closed his lips around it. He wanted to dissect the taste, to have an intimate knowledge of it. Bitterness pooled on his tongue and Shen Qingqiu shuddered, body ablaze. He lapped at the head and ran his nails along the shaft like a promise. Yue Qingyuan groaned, hips bucking up once, twice. Shen Qingqiu placed his left hand on Yue Qingyuan’s stomach to keep him still, long fingers fanning out over corded muscle. Yue Qingyuan placed his own hand over Shen Qingqiu’s and squeezed. When Shen Qingqiu began to suck him off earnest, that hand became a fist at Shen Qingqiu’s nape; Yue Qingyuan kept himself propped up for a better look, legs spreading further.

“Come,” Yue Qingyuan said, voice hoarse with hunger, “let me taste you. I want to come with your dick in my mouth.”

Shen Qingqiu was picked up and placed over the Sect Leader’s chest before he had any time to process the request. Strong hands kept kneading his thighs, prompting him to get closer. He felt lightheaded. Shen Qingqiu’s watched enraptured as Yue Qingyuan moaned around his dick. Yue Qingyuan set a steady rhythm and kept it up until Shen Qingqiu fell into the cadence. He discovered a passion for long, slow drags in and out, sliding filthily over Yue Qingyuan’s offered tongue, hissing in pleasure whenever the head of his cock caught at the rim of Yue Qingyuan’s mouth. His face was – Shen Qingqiu was making a mess. He wanted to come all over Yue Qingyuan’s face. He picked up the pace, fucking into Yue Qingyuan’s mouth with abandon. He arched back and grabbed Yue Qingyuan’s neglected cock. He jerked him off roughly and Yue Qingyuan responded with a full body shudder. He moaned low, desperately. He sounded so full. Taking himself in hand, Shen Qingqiu gave it a few last tugs and spilled his seed on Yue Qingyuan’s parted lips, on his cheeks and hair. The man came soon after.

Yue Qingyuan’s chest went up and down in full breaths. His ribcage expanded underneath Shen Qingqiu, skin to skin. It must be suffocating, he thought distantly.  Cold come dripped from his right hand and the corners of his mouth curled downwards. His dick laid limp on Yue Qingyuan’s sternum, moonlit. Disorientation hovered above him, grazing his shoulders from time to time. There were some freckles dusting Yue Qingyuan’s skin. They were telltale of a childhood spent under the sun. Shen Qingqiu had gotten rid of his own. Yue Qingyuan stirred enough to reach for something to clean his face with. Shen Qingqiu shivered at the movement. He was tempted to drag his hips once more over Yue abdominal muscles.

He dared not look higher than the neck. He hadn’t bitten the skin there, hadn’t done it at all. Hadn’t dared to. He pictured Yue Qingyuan’s gaze, still fervent but softened around the edges with bliss. There would be tiny wrinkles around his eyes that he would like to trace. Couldn’t quite meet the man’s face, though; the wrecking truth of what was going on between them, reflected on Yue Qingyuan’s eyes. He feared. Shen Qingqiu felt the first signs of nausea; the dry, unrelenting kind that bears nothing but its unwillingness to subside. He parted his lips but no words came out. Yue Qingyuan’s heartbeat was a light in the mist. He’d follow. He’d follow.

The man surged forward and enveloped Shen Qingqiu in a tight hug, tipping him over backwards and onto the bed. A soft exhale left Shen Qingqiu’s throat. He closed his eyes. The man was a furnace. Contentedness travelled through Shen Qingqiu’s veins, a pleasant buzz settling in his limbs.

“I am happy,” Yue Qingyuan whispered, voice muffled against Shen Qingqiu’s hair and the tender skin of his shoulder. Shen Qingqiu shivered once more. His arms were trapped between them and that felt good, somehow. The weight, too, felt good. “I can’t get enough of you.” Shen Qingqiu wished he would hold him tighter, press him harder; crush him like wood long rotten.

If only he was missing a tongue, so that both mutism and bluntness could be forgiven. If only Yue Qingyuan would gag him hard enough.

“Qingqiu,” he called. “You are trembling.”

“What,” Shen Qingqiu mumbled. But he was.

“I’ll run a bath.”

Shen Qingqiu turned on his side as soon as the night air fell upon his bareness. He focused on his sullied hand, transfixed. His heart wasn’t racing anymore but every beat still felt like a punch. Yue Qingyuan ran his hands over Shen Qingqiu’s arm one more time and stood up. He nuzzled softly at the crook of Shen Qingqiu’s neck, whispering nonsense. The absence of Yue Qingyuan’s grounding weight felt mocking but he fenced off the thought. Soon came the sound of water being poured into the wooden tub.

Shen Qingqiu made an effort to snap out of the unexpected paralysis. Things came to him in fractured waves of sense. Anxiousness licked the back of his neck and he worried at the flesh inside his mouth. Surely Yue Qingyuan felt estranged by Shen Qingqiu’s plummeting. He’d think that Shen Qingqiu was feeling rueful about the whole thing. He’d maybe play it off, save them both the awkwardness.

It was very painful to imagine.

He picked Yue Qingyuan’s robe from the floor and wrapped himself in it. It was heavy. He’d speak up as plainly as he knew how – no rehearsed words, not a chance to guard himself. Yue Qingyuan would have to really pay attention, for once. Really see him.

Yue Qingyuan had lit up a fire. Light danced on his exposed back like ripples as he handled the buckets. He was wearing pants for some semblance of modesty. Shen Qingqiu itched to touch the hair sticking to Yue Qingyuan’s neck, to shoulders sun-kissed. He felt self-conscious, so he tidied himself a bit before stepping into the other’s field of vision. Yue Qingyuan’s smile upon seeing had him lowering his face. He felt like crying. Nausea had turned into a bag full of stones that pressed his lungs against his throat.

“Come,” he said, but walked towards Shen Qingqiu himself. “Qingqiu. Can I touch you?”

Shen Qingqiu rolled his eyes, the faintest blush high on his cheeks. Yue Qingyuan’s hands cradled his face. Gentle fingers closed his eyes. Yue Qingyuan’s lips were hot when he kissed the soft skin under; Shen Qingqiu’s lashes quivered.

“I will touch you, then. I won’t ask anymore. Won’t stop touching you.”  

If only Shen Qingqiu could be free from the burden of his bleeding heart, fill its vastness with dirt and silence.

“Explain,” he said.

“Pardon?”

“Yes. Explain – us. Why, what’s different now. What’s going on. Who–”

Yue Qingyuan didn’t feign confusion. He disrobed Shen Qingqiu, helped him get into the water. Shen Qingqiu was soon pressed against Yue Qingyuan’s large chest. He struggled in his hold.

“Are you serious,” he hissed.

“I don’t know what it is that you want me to say,” Yue Qingyuan stated. He sounded sincere. Shen Qingqiu felt his heart drop. “I love you.”

Shen Qingqiu laughed. He tasted bile.

“Enough with the games,” Shen Qingqiu said, twisting his body to face his lover. “Be fucking honest or get out. Yue Qingyuan!”

Yue Qingyuan sighed, as if the conversation was a huge inconvenience.

Shen Qingqiu thought: I’ve brought this upon myself. He thought: take my life. Have mercy.

He thought: The burden that I am it is yours to carry. I’ll take your life. I’ll kill you.

I’ll kill you.

“I died,” Yue Qingyuan said. He moved Shen Qingqiu’s hair out of his eyes, gathered it all in one large hand. “You must have, too.”

“What?”

Shen Qingqiu pushed Yue Qingyuan’s chest away, tried to look him in the eye. He found himself running out of the tub and onto his knees. He retched again and again, cold sweat coating his skin like rain. He was shaking hard.

“What… what did you – Don’t touch me!”

Yue Qingyuan froze. He retracted his hands. A petty part of Shen Qingqiu enjoyed the precise knowledge of how he must have looked like, dirty and disgraced, face contorted in fury like the wretched beast he was, the pest that should have been put into a bag and left to drown. Blood tickled down his nose and into his mouth.

“Qingqiu,” Yue Qingyuan said, like it pained him so. He kneeled by Shen Qingqiu and covered him up. They hugged for some time. Yue Qingyuan kept breathing him in.

“It is beyond my comprehension. It is the will of the Heavens. I died; Xuan Su took over. We came back. We are one. When I saw you on your bed, the fever –”

“You mean – It’s not always you I’m talking to.”

Inside Shen Qingqiu’s head, sharp claws kept scratching at the door. He was too frightened to open. He’d forgotten. He–

It had been real.

It had been real.

Yue Qingyuan nodded. Shen Qingqiu cupped his face and found his own reflection in Yue Qingyuan’s eyes of endless night. “How will I know,” Shen Qingqiu asked. His voice was small but steady, “how will I tell when it’s you.”

It took some time for Yue Qingyuan to answer.

“You won’t.”