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Shen Qingqiu finds out during a night hunt with Huan Hua Palace, one of the joint ones that the Four Great Sects had decided amongst themselves would be an excellent way to foster camaraderie (Shen Qingqiu’s fairly certain Huan Hua Palace only agreed to show off its wealth). Qi Qingqi and her disciples should have filled the roster, but they had been called away to handle a case involving female demons harvesting yang energy. Given Liu Qingge was once again off to slay some great beast or another and Cang Qiong Mountain couldn’t exactly count on his Head disciple to keep Bai Zhan’s ruffians in order, it had been left to Shen Qingqiu and the disciples of Qing Jing Peak to make up the shortfall alongside those of Qiong Ding.
Yue Qingyuan had, of course, jumped at the chance to force Shen Qingqiu to put up with his company on the way to the rendez-vous point. His already bad mood only worsens when they meet with the contingent Huan Hua Palace had sent. The Old Palace Master smiles and greets him and Yue Qingyuan expansively, and Yue Qingyuan greets him in turn. Shen Qingqiu answers with cool, aloof politeness, but even as he tries to focus on the Old Palace Master’s small talk he can’t ignore the quiet presence just a little ways away from them. The first person he’d actually noticed though he’s been doing his best to pay him no attention this entire time.
The Old Palace Master, damn that man, naturally takes the chance to drag the boy forwards. “I’m sure Master Shen remembers Luo Binghe.” he says. As if Shen Qingqiu would ever forget the little bastard he's pretty sure the gods specifically sent to mock his whole existence. Luo Binghe is in black richly embroidered with silver, his back straight and his shoulders broad, a shining sword in a scabbard at his side. Shen Qingqiu’s former disciple, who he hadn’t seen since he was fourteen. He’s sixteen now, Shen Qingqiu remembers. So much taller, stronger too, his build strong and healthy, only traces remaining of the childhood fat padding his face. His cultivation from what Shen Qingqiu can assess of it remains impeccable, and familiar jealousy surges up in him as he beholds the shining hero that he had tried so hard to break.
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe says quietly. Shen Qingqiu hides his gritted jaw behind his open fan. He doesn't miss how the Old Palace Master's smile goes fixed.
“Luo Binghe insults his new sect by still insisting on calling me his Shizun,” he rebukes, voice mild but with an unmistakable undercurrent of malice that used to set the boy flinching. Luo Binghe doesn’t react anymore, but he just bows. His gaze respectfully lowered as he replies.
“Shizun is Shizun. This disciple means no offense, especially as I am grateful to him for developing my foundation.” Shen Qingqiu’s fingers clutch tightly at his fan, and he doesn’t miss Yue Qingyuan’s look of warning.
“We’re very glad to see you’re doing well, Luo-gongzi.” Yue Qingyuan says with a warm, welcoming smile. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t suppress the rush of petty triumph he feels at Luo Binghe’s subtle tensing at the title. “As I have told you before: you are welcome to visit your peers in Qing Jing Peak, any time you wish to do so.” It had been the same thing he’d told Luo Binghe when the Old Palace Master revealed the truth of his mother’s identity to him and the Peak Lords. The relieved slump of Luo Binghe’s shoulders as the Old Palace Master led him away, after, is something Shen Qingqiu would forever resent him for, even as he'd felt bitter relief at having the little bastard gone and out of his sight.
Luo Binghe inclines his head again, still not meeting them in the eyes as the Old Palace Master claps his hands together.
“All right, enough prattle from all of us, there’s a massive beast rampaging through the countryside that’ll take all our effort to defeat.” Shen Qingqiu’s grateful for the distraction. Shen Qingqiu turns way from his former disciple to help Yue Qingyuan strategize the best course of action to take, but he feels the boy’s gaze on him the whole time.
---
The night hunt goes well, all things considered. Unfortunately, Shen Qingqiu’s injury from Without a Cure decides to act up during the main battle. He starts coughing blood just after he and his disciples lay the trap out for the beast to stumble into, while Yue Qingyuan and the Old Palace Master and their disciples corner it.
Luo Binghe, of course, heads the charge, and Shen Qingqiu turns away from the sight so he can focus on charging the array instead of getting distracted with keeping the resentment in check. Unfortunately, his very limited reserves give out just as Luo Binghe finally skewers the beast, right into their trap. Ming Fan cries out in alarm as he vomits blood on the array, and the last thing he sees is Luo Binghe's alarmed face. The last thing he feels is utter humiliation.
When Shen Qingqiu wakes up, he’s on a bed. He’s been changed out of his clothes, and he feels the telltale tickle of qi reinforcing his meridians. He sits up, groggily expecting Yue Qingyuan or one of the healers – and then he hears a flurry of movement, sees that of all the fucking people, it’s Luo Binghe sitting right beside him. Holding onto the wrist of his right hand and filling him with spiritual energy. Staring at him with huge, frightened eyes like a child that had been caught doing wrong.
Shen Qingqiu wrenches his wrist back, outraged. “Why are you here?” he demands, and Luo Binghe shrinks away from him. A familiar enough sight that just has Shen Qingqiu getting even angrier, his fingers curling into fists on the silk sheets of the bed, itching to strike the hunched-over figure in front of him. You can't beat him anymore, he reminds himself. He belongs to Huan Hua Palace now. Still, his palms itch as Luo Binghe stutters out a reply.
“Zhangmen-sh-” Luo Binghe catches himself, swallows. The corners of his lips trembling and his shoulders hunched over. So unlike the shining hero on the battlefield that Shen Qingqiu's disgust nearly has him strike the boy across the head in a bid to get him to speak straight.“Zhangmen-gongzi is speaking with the Old Palace Master. No one else was free, so…”
“So you decided to ingratiate yourself,” Shen Qingqiu snorts. Luo Binghe falls silent, has the good sense not to reply. His shoulders tense and Shen Qingqiu breathes out. Wills the rage to ebb away before it can get the better of him. Though it nearly always does, when this little beast is involved.
“Well, carry on then." he says curtly. "I want this over as soon as possible.” He scoffs at the pure relief that crosses Luo Binghe's face.
“Yes, Shizun.” Luo Binghe says quickly, wincing as he catches himself again and glances at Shen Qingqiu like a caged animal. Shen Qingqiu holds back his sigh and allows the boy to take him by the wrist.
The flow of Luo Binghe’s qi is steady. Not painful at all, though Shen Qingqiu instinctively tenses at the sensation of another’s energy, another’s skin. Yue Qingyuan would have continued with no change on his features, knowing better than to draw attention to Shen Qingqiu’s reaction. Luo Binghe freezes, probably expecting to be hit.
“This disciple apologizes,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Shen Qingqiu looks at him, disgusted. He’s still the same wet-eyed little boy that had been so very grateful for the Old Palace Master’s rescue.
“Carry on, then. Don’t make me have to suffer your presence longer than I already have,” he snaps. Luo Binghe jumps and acquiesces quickly, and Shen Qingqiu turns away so he doesn’t have to look at his irritatingly soft face. Luo Binghe finishes up, and Shen Qingqiu’s grateful when the steady stream of qi finally stops. He cannot wrench his wrist out of Luo Binghe's grip fast enough. Luo Binghe flinches, shrinking back, and Shen Qingqiu casts a look of disdain over him.
It’s the only reason he manages to catch sight of his wrists. Shen Qingqiu’s hands dart out without thinking, and Luo Binghe lets out a terrified squeak as he drags him forwards, wrenches the sleeves of his expensive black robes up his arms.
“Sh-Shizun!” Luo Binghe protests. His struggling only has Shen Qingqiu’s grip tighten, not entirely intentionally, and suddenly he goes limp. Breathing hard, his eyes big and wet as Shen Qingqiu stares at the bruises on his wrists and arms. Dark purple and red on top of fading green. Marks Shen Qingqiu's horribly familiar with, when Qiu Jianluo used to grab him and hold him down.
“Who did this?” Shen Qingqiu asks, quiet. Luo Binghe bites his lip. His eyes go shadowed as he looks down. He does not speak, and Shen Qingqiu feels his patience run short.
“Luo Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says harshly, squeezing hard. “Answer me.” Luo Binghe gasps.
“The Old Palace Master!” he blurts out, and Shen Qingqiu freezes. A sick, cold weight settling in his stomach as he stares at him. At the tears in the boy’s eyes, the imploring look on his face.
He doesn’t even hear the door open, or Yue Qingyuan come into Shen Qingqiu’s room – his gentle smile and mild greeting dying on his lips. Luo Binghe tries to pull free from Shen Qingqiu like a small, frightened animal unable to escape. Yue Qingyuan's expression does not change at this tableau, but behind his calm mask, Shen Qingqiu can see him staring at Luo Binghe with the horror that Shen Qingqiu feels.
"Shizun," Luo Binghe whimpers, a pathetic sound. But he doesn't struggle, doesn't pull away, and for one furious moment Shen Qingqiu wonders if he'll allow him to break his wrists. "Please let me go. It hurts." His voice breaks, and Shen Qingqiu moves.
This time, he doesn't whip him. He releases Luo Binghe, letting go of him like he's been scalded, and Luo Binghe yanks his wrists back to his chest. His shoulders heaving as tears run down his face. Luo Binghe curls in on himself, and Shen Qingqiu sees no bright and powerful hero, no child who fortune smiled down upon in ways it never did him. Just a boy, broken in ways Shen Qingqiu had never wanted, crying all alone.
---
Yue Qingyuan ensures Luo Binghe isn’t alone with the Old Palace Master for the rest of that night hunt.
“Don’t tell anyone.” he had implored them, just as he’d left Shen Qingqiu’s room at the inn. His voice had been small, frightened. His eyes had been pathetically red and swollen. Shen Qingqiu hadn’t bothered replying, and he hadn’t bothered listening to Yue Qingyan’s empty comfort. Staring at the blanket on his bed, the echo of Luo Binghe’s energy still in his meridians, the sight of the bruises burned into his mind.
He doesn’t speak to Yue Qingyuan even when he moves to side beside him. For once, Yue Qingyuan doesn't fill the air with small talk. He just sits beside Shen Qingqiu, the both of them lost in silence. Yue Qingyuan still hasn't spoken when Shen Qingqiu brusquely tells him to leave, and he obeys.
They stay in the inn to recover a few days. Shen Qingqiu does not miss how Yue Qingyuan keeps Luo Binghe surrounded by Cang Qiong Mountain disciples the whole time, or running errands for Shen Qingqiu that keep him in his room rather than his own. Of course, Shen Qingqiu could have told him that would only make things worse for the boy in the long run, but any acerbic reponse he has dies in his throat when he opens his door to find Luo Binghe – looking around him tensely before shrinking back as Shen Qingqiu lets him in. The tightness along his soft features relaxing when Shen Qingqiu wordlessly allows him to curl up on a cot pushed to the corner, wordlessly watches him sleep. One eye on the door, the other on the small, thrashing figure on the cot.
But of course, time runs out sooner or later. On the morning of the third day, the Old Palace Master announces it’s time for the Huan Hua Palace contingent to go home. Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu’s eyes meet, just for one brief, fleeting moment before Yue QIngyuan turns towards the Old Palace Master.
“These joint hunts have for their purpose the good of the Four Sects as a whole. As such, I do believe this calls for closer relations even outside of night hunts.” Yue Qingyuan’s voice is easy, his eyes are warm. A mask hiding the turmoil beneath, even as Shen Qingqiu covers the hard twist of his mouth with his spread fan. “Do allow us to extend an invitation to the disciples of Huan Hua Palace. It would be good for the young people of both sects to learn from each other.”
The Old Palace Master’s eyes flash. “We would hate to impose.” Shen Qingqiu has to control himself not to step in front of Yue Qingyuan. His eyes dart to Luo Binghe’s bowed shoulders, his wary gaze.
“We insist.” Shen Qingqiu interrupts smoothly. “Qing Jing Peak is the peak of scholars, after all. Any exchange of experiences and means of learning would only benefit us both in the long run.” He can feel the ripple of surprise across Cang Qiong Mountain’s disciples – Qing Jing Peak’s disciples are known for being as standoffish and aloof as their master, after all, with the sole exception of Ning Yingying. Yue Qingyuan keeps his expression pleasantly neutral but the bulk of his back covers Shen Qingqiu’s body. As if he could ever protect Shen Qingqiu even when he tried.
The Old Palace Master is smiling right at Shen Qingqiu. It reminds him of the smile of the slaver when he dragged him out in chains to throw him at Qiu Jianluo’s silk-clad feet, makes anger knife through Shen Qingqiu’s unsteady heart. As the Old Master places a hand on the top of Luo Binghe’s bowed head, Shen Qingqiu’s scalp aches at the memory of Qiu Jianluo’s fingers wrenching his hair by the roots.
He restrains his shudder, just as Luo Binghe bites down on the tremor of his lips. Hope, bittersweet, painful hope flaring in his eyes and Shen Qingqiu has to clench his fists to fight the damned instinct to slap it out of his young face. But it’s short-lived, and that muddied emptiness returns to those once-expressive eyes. Shen Qingqiu keeps his expression as cold as he always has, his mouth tilted in cool scorn, and he does not understand why the sight of that familiar hope dying no longer gives him the relief it once did.
“Cang Qiong Mountain’s offer is generous, but once again this master will have to decline. Huan Hua Palace’s disciples have too many responsibilities to shoulder for them to wander off away for too long. Especially my beloved Head Disciple.” The Old Palace Master pats Luo Binghe on the head, and the boy holds himself as still and as cold as a piece of carved stone.
“Perhaps we can make arrangements for an exchange at a future date." The Old Palace Master's eyes glitter at Shen Qingqiu, exactly like Qiu Jianluo's. "However, Luo Binghe will have to stay at Huan Hua Palace, with me.” He does not bother to mask the triumph in his smile, and with a sick twist of his heart Shen Qingqiu remembers Luo Binghe insisting on calling him Shizun. Wonders just how badly he'll pay for that small act of rebellion. If he hasn't already.
He doesn’t hear Yue Qingyuan’s response to that. Shen Qingqiu is no longer looking at any of them, but at Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe’s gaze is fixed at some far point above his shoulder, his expression distant and empty, like his soul has fled to a place too far for anyone to reach. A place Shen Qingqiu knows all too well, that he thought he already escaped – only to time and time again, be wrenched back into pain.
----
Yue Qingyuan is quiet all the way to Cang Qiong Mountain. No longer filling the air with his inane questions, with his unwanted concern. Instead, the ride their horses in silence and Shen Qingqiu does nothing to break it. His hands tight on the reins as he remembers Luo Binghe’s dull gaze, hope rising up only to sink back drowning into the mud.
It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Shen Qingqiu thinks dully. It’s only at the sound of Ming Fan’s voice announcing they’ve arrived at Cang Qiong Mountain’s gates that he releases the reins, and feeling floods back into his fingertips.
Only then does he realize Yue Qingyuan is watching him. His solemn gaze flicking down to the stripes on Shen Qingqiu’s hands before flicking up to his face.
“Qingqiu-shidi, if I could have a word with you.” He says abruptly. Before, Shen Qingqiu would have grasped at every and any excuse to avoid speaking to him. This time, Shen Qingqiu barely has the time to dismiss his disciples before following Yue Qingyuan to Qiong Ding Peak. Yue Qingyuan, for once, does not waste his time getting to the point. He turns towards Shen Qingqiu the moment the doors are shut and locked.
“What will you do?” Yue Qingyuan asks bluntly. Shen Qingqiu glares at him.
“What exactly do you mean by that?” he asks acidly. Yue Qingyuan looks at him, and Shen Qingqiu can’t stand how that clear gaze bores into him like he’s trying to see past the hollowness in Shen Qingqiu’s chest to the bloody beating heart of the boy he had burnt to ash at the Qiu manor.
“What will you do, so I can prepare for what’s to come?” Shen Qingqiu turns away from Yue Qi, willing his fists not to clench around Xiu Ya’s hilt, willing his expression not to be anything else other than cold and unfeeling, uncaring.
“There’s nothing to prepare for,” he answers, stilted. “Luo Binghe already has so much more than what I did during that age. If he dislikes it so much he can leave, can’t he?” The words ring hollow in his ears, and he nearly flinches when Yue Qi whirls on him.
“We both know he can’t.” Yue Qi says, and it’s the harshest he’s ever spoken to him – either as Shen Qingqiu, or Shen Jiu. “Given a choice between dying of starvation or illness and the Old Palace Master, what child from the streets would choose the former? Does he even have that choice?” Shen Qingqiu snorts, because there’s the old Yue Qi again. The busybody who could never leave well enough alone. Who was so willing to save everyone but Shen Jiu.
“I would know that better, right? Having had no choices.” Shen Qingqiu sneers, but it’s a pale thing, wilting in the face of Yue Qi’s anger. His anguish, his guilt – neither of which has any no right to, but since when has Yue Qingyuan ever been anything but a hypocrite? “Are you really asking me to save him, Zhangmen-shixiong? Putting it on my shoulders to do what you refused to do?”
His cruelty has the intended effect. Yue Qi reels back, stricken. Shen Qingqiu laughs, short, cold, ugly.
“If there’s no good choice between two hells, he can save himself. I managed it, didn’t I? Why can’t he?” Shen Qingqiu turns away from Yue Qingyan, unable to bear that look on his face. For once Yue Qingyuan doesn’t go after him, and Shen Qingqiu stifles the clawing guilt, what he might have once recognized as shame.
----
He doesn’t quite remember the way back to Qing Jing Peak,only that he tells Ming Fan not to allow anyone else to disturb him for the rest of the day as he closes the door to the first and only place he’s ever been allowed to call his own. But the bamboo house is not the sanctuary it usually is. Instead it confines, suffocates. Shen Qingqiu sinks into his chair by the low table, but at the corner of his eye he sees the figure of a kneeling boy, tea dripping down his face like tears.
He flinches away from it, stumbling off the chair, away. Fumbling with Xiu Ya at his belt and dropping it without touching it, afraid to even look at it as he sinks into the corner of the room. His back to the wall and facing the window and door, like he’s waiting for a specter to come in and devour him.
What will you do? Shen Qingqiu thinks ironically, fighting to breathe. Protect him? Promise him the Old Palace Master will never touch him again? Hide him away in Qing Jing Peak, in Cang Qiong Mountain? He grabs at his fan, opening it. Desperate to stir the air, to breathe.
What will you do? The fan creaks under Shen Qingqiu’s hand. Shuttle the little brat back to the master who beat and starved him and did everything he could to drive out the ghost of his past? Who actually succeeded and condemned him to a far worse hell than he ever expected or wanted?. The question rattling in his skull as he takes one unsteady gulp of breath after another.
The wood beneath Shen Qingqiu’s hand splinters. He sinks back against the wall of the bamboo house, facing the window and all of a sudden he’s a little boy again, trapped in a prison cell and helpless to do anything but watch the one person he ever loved as he left him with nothing but a promise.
Even then, it was more than what Luo Binghe has. Shen Qingqiu’s lips twitch up in an ironic smile as he remembers that overwhelming jealousy that had turned him into an even worse monster than he already thought he could be. It turns into a grimace, and he breathes, his chest heaving as he fights to pull himself together.
Walk away, Shen Qingqiu tells himself. Remember Shiwu. Remember what happened the time Yue Qi tried to help someone he never could have helped. Remember saving Liu Qingge and getting blamed for trying to kill him. Remember what happened to you. He closes his eyes, but Luo Binghe’s face swims out at him, mute with Shen Jiu’s own pain, his own fear.
Save yourself, then, he snarls, but he doesn’t know who he’s even speaking to - Luo Binghe, or the boy in the cell. You're speaking to no one, Shen Qingqiu thinks, insists to himself tiredly. Because no one can do anything. No one who can save Luo Binghe, or even want to try. No one who will bother to get him out, or care enough to try. Shen Jiu didn’t, either, but at least he only found that out at the very end. But Luo Binghe…
He smells the reek of smoke, breathes in and out before it can choke him. Fire licking at his skin as he shivers and shivers and then he sees Luo Binghe again, but this time holding a sword: corpses all around him and tears flowing out of his eyes. Bodies falling and the world soaked with blood as he hacks and slashes all around him, unable to tell friend from foe or his own vulnerable flesh, his own broken heart.
The vision of horror fades, and Shen Qingqiu can breathe again. but it leaves behind only one weary certainty: if Luo Binghe saves himself, the way Shen Jiu did – there will be nothing left to save right after.
Shen Jiu stares emptily at Xiu Ya, thinking, remembering. Then he stands up on wobbly feet, his unsteady fingers closing on its hilt as he makes his choice.