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Chapter Text

Shen Yuan’s eyes snap open to a dark room, moonlight filtering in through a paper window. He’s not in the hospital, the immediate place his mind goes to when waking up in an unfamiliar setting. He’s not in his apartment, either, and he’s fairly certain that he blacked out in front of the mocking screen of his computer. He’s alone, in some very silky white nightwear that he’s pretty sure he has never owned in his entire life.

Sitting up slowly, he almost grimaces habitually at the movement, but pauses. And pauses some more. He’s holding a half-up position, like he’s mid-sit up, using only his abs. And he’s not even out of breath, or sweating, or trembling with exertion. This has certainly never happened before, either. He feels good. Really good, actually, in a way he hasn’t since… he can’t even remember. Shen Yuan finally pushes himself upright, sitting on the edge of the bed. And what a bed it is. 

Shen Yuan, this pampered second-generation young master, has practically made a career out of gathering pillows to crowd his beloved mattress. This poor excuse for a bed is bare, no comforter in sight, and when he glances at the headboard he sees a ceramic log masquerading as a pillow. He groans and puts his face in his hands, thinking.

He’s probably been kidnapped. Why anyone would kidnap a scrawny chemistry major with stomach issues and social anxiety, he can’t guess. Probably extortion. Maybe Da-ge got in trouble with the mafia, or something. That happens in real life, right? Ugh, he’s been reading too many shitty web novels. 

Speaking of those shitty web novels, he had just finished the scourge of his sleep-deprived existence before he passed out, hadn’t he? He recalls the absolute rage that seared through his veins at that stupid ending. He swears that Proud Immortal Demon Way was just a pastime, something to take his mind off his looming thesis paper, but somewhere along the way he got far too into analyzing the admittedly awesome world that Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky used all of the meager brain cells in his tiny little pea brain to create.

Oh no, his thesis. Fuck. He was almost finished, too. Maybe when he gets back he can email his professor for an extension due to extenuating… circumstances. It isn’t every day he gets kidnapped. But first he has to get out of here.

Since his clothes were changed, there’s no chance he has his phone. Shen Yuan spares a moment to wonder what drug the kidnappers knocked him out with, because aside from the rapidly fading crick in his neck that could be attributed to the damn ceramic log, nothing hurts. Maybe he’ll ask for a recipe if he gets caught trying to escape. Nice one, he thinks, the kidnappers will absolutely tell me the recipe to an almost-certainly illegal drug that makes me feel better than any treatment I’ve ever gotten in the past twenty years. Provided they have the IQ to know what it even is.

He steps cautiously away from the bed, going rigid at the way the floorboards creak slightly from his weight. They didn’t even tie him up, the losers. There goes his hope for a drug recipe. Seriously, where even is he? He spots a very nice traditional tea set tucked away in the corner, some trinkets he can’t make out in the dark lining the shelves. Instead of going out the door, which is probably a trap provided it’s unlocked, Shen Yuan glides to the paper window, which, really, if they wanted to keep him here they could’ve tried a lot harder. Maybe all of this is a trap, and they’re waiting for him to escape so they can hunt him for sport — time to stop thinking, Shen Yuan.

He slides the unlocked paper window open and looks down, face going pale. It’s a little bit of a drop, something he wouldn’t have even considered but for whatever numbing agent is flowing through his veins. He takes a deep breath, glances behind him, and leaps out.

His landing doesn’t even jar him. What does jar him is the way his hair flops against his back — when the fuck did he have long hair? Does the kidnapper have a hair kink? An extension fetish? Whatever the fuck it is, it can wait until he finds a barber. Taking off running into the bamboo forest behind the house, he finds that despite his bare feet the forest floor doesn’t bother him. And he’s not even out of breath. These are some amazingly effective drugs, Shen Yuan might have to come back with the police force and steal confiscate it for himself. Is it cocaine? Is that what he’s on? He feels like he could do a flip in the air if he wanted to. But he’s escaping right now, so he reigns himself in.

He feels like a gazelle: light, graceful, practically flying. As he flits deeper into the forest, a low, barely audible sound off to his right spooks him and he comes to a stop, a shed coming into view. Oh god, this is it, he’s found the murder cabin, hasn’t he. He should leave immediately. But his inner idiot, the one that, in a horror movie situation, suggests “let’s run to the graveyard, surely we’ll be safer there!” draws him forward at the slight chance that it’s not his kidnapper inside, but perhaps a fellow kidnappee.

The faint whine is definitely coming from inside the shed. Shen Yuan, the smart cookie, decides to go around the back and see if there are any openings to peek through before compromising his own escape by barging through the front door. Indeed, there is a small gap between the bamboo slots that allows Shen Yuan to peer in, heart thumping in his ears, and inhale a soundless gasp.

There’s a child. The child is strung up by their wrists, feet barely touching the floor, and clothes torn with what are obviously whip marks. The low groans escape the child as if they’re trying to muffle the sound — not that anyone besides Shen Yuan is there to hear them in this empty shed and remote location. Shen Yuan sneaks around to the front, swiveling his head to check that they’re alone one last time before he jiggles the door. It’s locked. Of course.

The pained little whimpers stop immediately. The child is silent inside, probably shrinking into as much of a ball as they can to make a smaller target. Shen Yuan jiggles the lock more impatiently, like that would actually do something because he can’t fucking pick locks, and surprisingly the lock snaps. Huh. Never would have thought kidnappers would go to all this trouble only to use such cheap equipment.

He steps inside, the moonlight casting a faint shadow on the packed dirt before him, and the child jerks their wrists and bows their head. Aw, Shen Yuan is going to cry. And beat up whoever hurt this little bun. With the police behind him backing him up, preferably.

At his silent approach, the child flinches, and utters a hoarse word that hardly makes it past his lips before he coughs.

“Shi-” The child, a boy, keeps his fluffy little head bowed as he hacks up half a lung. Ouch, Shen Yuan’s been there. He almost pats his back sympathetically before remembering, oh right, child, wrists, help him down first, you moron.

He yanks at the ropes and surprise, these damn things must be rotted too because they come apart easily under his grip. The kid collapses into him, stiffening at the contact, but all Shen Yuan does is pat his shoulder lightly and right him.

The kid darts a look up at him with large, bottomless eyes, and tries to speak again. “What, Shiz—” he’s cut off by Shen Yuan grabbing his hand and leading him out, shushing him.

“Shh, kid, it’ll be alright. Jesus, what did they do to you? Do you know where we are? How old are you? No, first, let’s get out of here.” Shen Yuan leads the stumbling child back out into the bamboo forest where dawn is approaching, from the way the sky is lighting up.

“I- I, where—” The poor kid is in shock, letting Shen Yuan pull him through the bamboo forest. He still tries to answer Shen Yuan’s questions, quietly, out of breath. “This disciple is fourteen this year, we’re— we’re in Qing Jing Peak. You. This disciple was disciplined.”

Shen Yuan frowns, and doesn’t stop tugging him along until he hears the kid gasping, clearly worn out and still very injured. He curses under his breath and turns to pick him up. The kid barely flinches, too tired to turn his head away, and Shen Yuan worries at how light he is. His speed barely slows even with the added burden.

The bamboo starts thinning out and Shen Yuan recalls vaguely that it might mean they’re nearing water. The water source comes up suddenly, and Shen Yuan skids to a halt, stopping his momentum from throwing them both into the river. He sets down the exhausted child, who holds a handful of his shirt in his grasp before he lets go abruptly, blushing as he looks away. Shen Yuan almost smiles fondly because this little bun is too cute, getting embarrassed over acting childish, but they’re not out of the woods yet — metaphorically and otherwise. 

The sky is a soft cloudless blue above them, revealing what’s going to be a beautiful day. Or, it will be beautiful, once Shen Yuan gets this kid to a hospital to get checked out, and probably himself too, because the drugs have yet to wear off which means the dose likely could kill him. Fuck, he doesn’t want his stomach pumped again.

He looks upstream and downstream, feeling pity for the child who got stuck with the one rescuer that has absolutely no sense of direction. Seriously, if he’s in an unfamiliar place he could wander for hours before someone finds him and brings him back to the group. Little Lost Sheep Yuan, that’s what they call him. ‘They’ being his siblings and exactly two friends.

“Shizun, what…? This disciple heard that Shizun had a qi deviation, Shizun should seek Mu-shishu before something happens…” The little bun is still pointedly looking away, face red, and speaking with the most cultish formalities. Shen Yuan is only, what, six years older. And the kid is calling him Shizun? They really need to find a hospital.

Shen Yuan pads closer to the kid, who jumps at his sudden approach, and places the back of his hand against his forehead. A little hot, but not to the point where he’d be worried. Good, that means the wounds aren’t infected yet. The kid’s face could drip blood with how red it is, and Shen Yuan chuckles and tweaks his little nose before reassuring gently, “We just need to get off this mountain, then we’ll find a hospital to take care of your back. All you need to do is tell the police how you got here, they’ll find the disgusting fuc- I mean, they’ll put the bad people away. Okay? We just need to get off of — what did you call this place again?”

The kid blinks in confusion, still beet red, and stammers, “I- I, this disciple… Begging Shizun’s pardon, but this disciple thinks Shizun really needs to see Mu-shishu. We’re on Qing Jing Peak.”

Shen Yuan just nods calmly. “All right, I’ll find this… Mu-shishu after we get to a hos- wait, what? Qing Jing?”

At the kid’s hesitant nod all the blood drains from Shen Yuan’s face. “What, what did you say your name was?”

“This one is called Luo Binghe.”

Whatever filthy curses are about to spew from Shen Yuan’s mouth are halted by the loud chirp of an automated voice, the volume making him flinch.

[Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! Good things must be said in threes! Host’s inclusion to this world has been chosen through a lottery~ what fine luck, Host! Unfortunately due to system error, a hold has been placed onto your account. Host may act as he sees fit until system error is resolved and B points are back online!]

What the motherfuck have I gotten myself into.

Chapter Text

Shen Yuan is standing there like an idiot, staring at Luo Binghe. He thinks he hasn’t moved in the past five minutes, judging from the kid’s bright red face and scrunched expression, like he’s been calling Shen Yuan’s name for a while. He might’ve heard him too, if he wasn’t freaking out over the damn auditory hallucination he just suffered through. Give him a moment, he’s suffering mental whiplash, from kidnapping to transmigration into a fucking harem novel.

“Shizun! Shizun is sick. This disciple needs to get Shizun to Mu-shishu.” Luo Binghe is on the verge of pouting, or crying, or — Shen Yuan backs up. Reboots. If this is actually the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way, then that’s Luo Binghe. That’s Heavenly Demon Emperor Luo Binghe in front of him right now, in miniature form. Pouting. Jesus. Shen Yuan almost hopes that the kid’s just delusional, or brainwashed, and that he’s suffering from the side effects of that mysterious drug. But if he’s not— 

“If you’re… Luo Binghe… then who…?” The voice that comes out of his throat is dazed, hoarser than he expected. A little lower than it should be, too. Shen Yuan would pin that on the drugs, but some scattered puzzle pieces are starting to fit together to reveal a picture he doesn’t like. He wobbles — gracefully, if that is possible — over to the side of the river, clear water reflecting like smooth glass. His face isn’t… that’s not him.

He’s kind of good looking.

Wait, that’s not the point. The point is, that is not him. Even though that image in the water is staring at him with the same amazed-baffled-panicked look he can feel twisting his own expression, and its hands move at the same halting cadence that his do, reaching up to pat his cheeks. And his nose. And finally landing on his forehead with a loud smack.

Behind him, Luo Binghe moves closer cautiously, like he’s approaching a wounded animal, cheeks still flaming. Shen Yuan is surprised that he can sense that, actually. The boy’s reflection appears over his shoulder, lashes lowered in deference.

Hold the fuck up.

Luo Binghe called him Shizun, didn’t he? And pardon his fucking French, but the only Shizun he ever called ‘Shizun’ was that fucking toad. Shen Qingqiu. Oh, hell no. Shen Yuan is going to march down that mountain, disappear into the reeds like a ghost shaman, and never return. He’s not going to be a part of the protagonist’s blackening, and the protagonist will never have a reason to come after him.

He turns to Luo Binghe suddenly enough that the boy startles like a deer, eyes meeting his for a split second before his face turns an even brighter shade and he looks away again, as if caught misbehaving. Shen Yuan wonders what the boiling point of the poor child’s face is, then decides to extricate himself from the situation as fast as humanly possible.

“Haha, oh, my good disciple Luo Binghe! Yes! I… this master was just about to… take you for training! This was a test. You passed. Congratulations,” and he cringes at the word but presses on, “for your reward you… can spend a free day with any disciple you’d like! How about Ning Yingying, she seems like a good option. Go hang out with your Ning-shijie while this master… does something else.” Oh god, that was the most horribly-told lie he’d ever heard come out of his own mouth. He is flustered, but that’s not an excuse for that abomination of sentences — a crime he would’ve absolutely steamrolled Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky for. Shen Yuan silently vows to get better at lying, quick, before Luo Binghe decides he’s an eyesore and beats him up. Or rips off his limbs. Haha.

Luo Binghe just blinks at the veritable flood of shitty excuses, which, fair reaction. Then his face steels, brows pinched in determination, and he shakes his head. “No, Shizun. Shizun is sick, Shizun will go see Mu-shishu. And this disciple will fetch Zhangmen-shibo as well.”

Shen Yuan rifles through his own memories to recall that while ‘Mu-shishu’ refers to that cannon fodder, the doctor peak lord, ‘Zhangmen-shibo’ must refer to Yue Qingyuan. Oh no. If he’s really in the body of Shen Qingqiu, then the one who was implied to know him best was the sect leader. And he really doesn’t want to know what’s going to happen the moment he’s accused of being a fake.

“Th-there’s no need to call Zhangmen-shixiong! How about you go fetch Mu-shishu and I wait here.” Shen Yuan sways suddenly, stepping back and collapsing to the ground, a miserable pile of silk and shattered dreams. “This master will wait patiently for Luo Binghe to return.”

Luo Binghe eyes him with suspicion. Shen Yuan blinks at him innocently and flops further into the riverbank, which evidently just convinces Luo Binghe that his master is not to be trusted. Damn it, there goes his chance of escape while the bun is distracted. Said bun crouches beside him with a hiss — oh, right. He's been disciplined. As the adult in this situation, Shen Yuan feels an obligation toward the child, and helps him up hurriedly. 

“All right, all right now. Fine. We’ll go see Mu-shishu. But you’re getting treated first. That’s an order,” Shen Yuan adds when he sees Luo Binghe about to protest. The boy purses his lips and nods reluctantly, further stoking the paternal flames in Shen Yuan’s chest. He’s always been the little brother, and now he’s the responsible one! Take that, Er-ge!

He gathers the tired boy in his arms, and Luo Binghe slumps into his chest in defeat, lowering his head. Shen Yuan can still make out his scarlet ears through his thick wavy hair, and he doesn’t chuckle, though it’s close. The kid just trekked through the forest injured, chasing after his teacher who he probably thought was crazy… and Shen Yuan doesn’t even want to think about how he’s going to explain this to the other peak lords. Maybe he can claim amnesia? Shen Qingqiu had a fever, didn’t he? Qi deviation? Whatever it was, he’ll figure it out, and then disappear into the mist, never to be found near Cang Qiong Mountain again.

Shen Yuan starts back in the direction he thinks they came from. After a while Luo Binghe regains enough strength that he asks to be put down, head still lowered. Shen Yuan obliges, and supports the kid with a hand on his shoulder as they walk. Luo Binghe leans into his touch, and Shen Yuan’s heart hurts, just a bit.

They’ve been walking for about ten minutes when a shadow travels over them. Shen Yuan looks up and thinks his heart stops.

“Shit! Drone strike!” Shen Yuan disregards the fact that he has never been, and likely will never be, under a drone strike. He also conveniently forgets that he’s in xianxia China, where hopefully drones will never appear, as that would be too much even for Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, that rat-bastard. 

He reflexively ducks, like that would help under a drone strike, and forces Luo Binghe’s head down as he goes, his hand grasping the back of the boy’s very fluffy head. The kid squeaks, and Shen Yuan quickly releases him to let him stumble back, smoke practically coming out of his ears. He looks dazed, poor kid. He’s been through a lot. Oh fuck, Shen Qingqiu put him through a lot.

“Qingqiu-shidi! There you a- where are your clothes?!” A deep voice comes from above and Shen Yuan looks up again to find not a drone, but a man. A man dressed in some complicated xianxia-style robes, which makes sense because he is in a xianxia novel. He’d somehow almost forgotten. He rides a sheathed sword, and holy fuck does that look cool! Shen Yuan wants one.

Then the cultivator’s words register.

Shen Yuan looks at the shiny immortal’s shiny robes, then down at his own chest. Then back at the black and gray robes that look to have five, six, many layers, then back at his own scantily clad torso. He slowly raises his hands in front of his chest, like that would block the impropriety. 

Luo Binghe’s profoundly embarrassed expression flashes through his head and suddenly Shen Yuan wants to die. Just bury him. System, come back. Terminate his account. He just rescued the kid — carried him, no less — in nothing but his underwear, no big deal. Fuck, he’s never going to get his face back.

“Sh-Shixiong. Um. Shidi is… a little lost.” Hopefully this excuse will work. Shen Yuan feels his cheeks heat up but manages to calm his expression in an attempt to imitate the original goods, and the worried look on the man’s face deepens. His eyes flicker between him and the scandalized disciple behind him, and then he lets out a long-suffering sigh reminiscent of Shen Yuan’s Da-ge.

“Qingqiu-shidi is recovering from fever. This one will take him back. Disciple Luo, go back to your room, your punishment is over.” If Shen Yuan remembers correctly, Qing Jing Peak is the second ranking peak, which means that the only one to call him “shidi” must be… Yue Qingyuan. Great.

He reaches back and grabs Luo Binghe’s shoulder — reflexes far faster than they should be — in order to keep him from leaving him alone with Yue Qingyuan. If anything, the future overlord of this world will make a good buffer between him and a possession sword to the face. “Actually, this master will see to it that Binghe gets medical treatment.”

He thinks he hears a choked off gasp behind him, but he’s watching Yue Qingyuan’s face too closely to pay any attention. The cultivator’s handsome face is puckered like he’s sucking on a particularly acidic lemon, but he agrees with a slow nod. He controls the sword to land gently, Shen Yuan tracking it with his eyes greedily. He really wants one.

Yue Qingyuan takes his hand when he’s close enough, frowning harder when Shen Yuan doesn’t yank his hand back. Like he was expecting him to act like Yue Qingyuan had the plague. With his sweaty palm clasped in Yue Qingyuan’s cool grip, and his other hand clamped down on Luo Binghe’s shoulder as if it is the only lifesaver within kilometers and he is on a sinking boat, they form a weird conga line to traipse through the bamboo forest, emerging near the bamboo house Shen Yuan woke up in.

Along the way, they don’t run into any disciples, which Shen Yuan finds a bit odd until he hears Yue Qingyuan mutter apologetically, “…this one will need to recall the hunting parties,” to which Shen Yuan decides he does not want to know. Can Yue Qingyuan even do that? Well, child labor laws don’t exactly exist here, do they.

Another cultivator is waiting for them at the entrance to the bamboo house, placid expression unmoved as he takes in the strange duckling formation Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe have made, trailing behind the sect leader. It’s telling, what he must deal with, for this to not even get a raised eyebrow. Shen Yuan is impressed with his professionalism.

“Shen-shixiong is brave, venturing out in just his… delicates. Maybe we should have stationed a guard.” Forget professionalism. This man came to snatch Shen Yuan’s soul.

Shen Yuan coughs with a carefully stiffened face and ushers the little bun forward. “Go treat Binghe.”

This does gain a reaction, the barest twitch of his mouth. Based on the green and white of his robes, this must be Mu Qingfang. He exchanges glances with Yue Qingyuan, then extends a hand to Luo Binghe, who rushes forward with his head bowed, like a good little disciple. Mu Qingfang takes him to the side room of the bamboo house, while Yue Qingyuan tugs Shen Yuan’s hand into the main room.

“Shidi seems to be feeling better. Shixiong is glad. But, shixiong has to ask, why did shidi adjust his treatment of the newest disciple?” Yue Qingyuan doesn’t seem upset with the change in behavior, just worried. Of course, since he’d thought he’d been kidnapped, Shen Yuan has been acting very OOC. The original goods would spit blood if only he knew what Shen Yuan got up to in his body.

“This shidi has reflected on his actions. It is indecorous to treat disciples of Qing Jing Peak in the manner this master has been. It would reflect badly on Cang Qiong if other sects thought we abuse our disciples, after all. We’re not Bai Zhan.” Shen Yuan adds the last part with a curl to his lip. Shen Qingqiu’s disdain for the warrior peak is well-known.

Yue Qingyuan’s furrowed brows relax at his words. Ah. Acting like an asshole is in character, check. He smiles gently, a hint of — something that makes him a little uncomfortable — included. “Yes. This shixiong is pleased that Qingqiu-shidi is thinking of the sect. By any chance, is shidi able to draw his sword? If he is able to control his qi, he will be able to get back to teaching his disciples.”

“I have a sword?” Shen Yuan blurts out before he can catch himself. Wait, of course I do, it’s in the job description. Shen Qingqiu: Xiu Ya Sword. Pretty awesome. Shen Yuan waves off Yue Qingyuan’s worried little murmur, and concentrates. He somehow… manifests the sword in his hand. He can feel it, not just how it sits in his hand, but feel it. It feels alive. Cold. But not unwelcoming. It’s on the edge of being familiar, a forgotten limb he has just now regained.

Yue Qingyuan looks a little placated when he manifests Xiu Ya. Oh, right — only the owner of the blade can summon it (from the aether?? Shen Yuan has so many questions), which means, at the very least, Xiu Ya doesn’t reject his presence. Shen Yuan stares wonderingly at the sword, watching the light catch on the blade. It looks almost… as if it’s not metallic?

Shen Yuan almost raises it to his mouth to bite the blade, like a dumbass, thinking of testing the malleability of the metal. He’s stopped by both the sword’s and Yue Qingyuan’s identical distressed buzzes of protest. 

He lowers Xiu Ya, and somehow conveys an embarrassed apology. Though, it makes him wonder. He and Xiu Ya are connected somehow; the logistics for how that is physically possible are insane. Is it a magnetic force at work? A shared attraction between particles within his own body and the sword that determine compatibility? But something about it feels almost alive. And where the hell did he manifest it from, anyway? Is this the explain-all magic of qi? He needs answers.

Shen Yuan swishes Xiu Ya around a few more times, feeling the weight of it and observing how it slices through the air with a whistle before putting it back wherever he got it. Yue Qingyuan looks on with concerned pride, like an elder brother watching his little sister try on wedding dresses. Shen Yuan nods to him, then raises his chin in the snootiest way possible and strides past him without another word into the room he woke up in.

The door slides shut behind him and Shen Yuan listens for a moment before crumpling on the uncomfortable bed. He’s in so much trouble. Shit, he’s not even in his own world. How did this happen? What petty god did he piss off on the eve of his culmination of years of work? Practically two years of research. Fuck my life. The system said he won a lottery. What lottery, the lottery of hell? Lottery of horrible writing and worse side character development? Is he going to have to teach Shen Qingqiu’s disciples? He’s not qualified. Oh, fuck, he’s responsible for children. And he has to survive the protagonist’s wrath.

Shen Yuan tears up. He’s going to have to rewrite his senior thesis, isn’t he.