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The man’s eyes lit up with joy. “Shidi finally woke up,” he said warmly. “Do you have any discomfort?”
Shen Yuan shook his head, his mind still lagging to catch up with all the new impressions. This was… Qing Jing Peak? The System had implied that much, startlingly free with its information. Out of his bedroom window, he could see bamboo stalks gently waving in the wind. It was beautiful.
The man’s -- Yue Qingyuan, then? -- forehead creased in worry, not assuaged that easily. “Is shidi alright?”
Shen Yuan instinctively patted his side for his note cards but was startled when he was only met with a delicate paper fan.
“Shidi?” Yue Qingyuan prompted again.
He reached up and cupped his own throat. Nothing was wrong with it; it had been used for many years to hurl abuse at disciples without even a single sentence indicating its failing. Surely Shen Qingqiu would be able to make use of it, right?
He opened his mouth and nothing came out.
This was stupid. He tried again, and felt his vocal cords vibrate as he managed to choke out something that very generously might be called a sentence, if you didn’t care about things like having it be understandable.
So this body could speak, it was just the soul occupying it that was lacking in any skill.
“I’ll call for Mu-shidi,” Yue Qingyuan said decisively, and stood to do just that.
“Th'nks,” Shen Yuan managed to slur, surprised when the sound didn’t come out hoarse. He shouldn’t have been -- this voice had been used for decades, holding up perfectly all this time -- but it still sent a feeling of dissonance rushing through his head. Logically, if he’d ever speak, shouldn’t his voice be rough? Shouldn’t it come out stuttering and cracking?
Yue Qingyuan seemed only more worried after that, and hurried off.
“Fascinating,” Mu Qingfang breathed as he sat on the side of Shen Qingqiu’s bed -- and it was his bed now, he’d decided, despite it only having belonged to him for less than an hour. His shidi ran a carefully exploratory trickle of Qi through Shen Qingqiu’s systems.
“What is it?”
“Everything is perfectly intact,” Mu Qingfang said, the tips of his fingers still resting on Shen Qingqiu’s throat. “As far as I can see, there should be no reason why Shen-shixiong can’t speak.”
He frowned. “No physical reason, that is,” he amended.
Well, Shen Qingqiu could have told him that.
“So Mu-shidi has guesses pertaining to other areas of his health?” Yue Qingyuan asked, a tinge of desperation in his voice.
Mu Qingfang shook his head. “I’m afraid not. It’s possible it’s a side effect of his Qi Deviation -- almost certainly so, in fact -- but it’s anyone’s guess as to what specifically has gone wrong for Shen-shixiong to end up in this situation.”
“D -- Do… Nn --” Shen Qingqiu tried to force his mouth into the correct shapes, but there was far too much at once to pay attention to. His vocal cords and tongue and then he also somehow had to shape his lips properly --
Mu Qingfang briefly glanced at him before once again turning to Yue Qingyuan. “This one recommends we observe this situation for a short while.”
Shen Qingqiu waved a hand to try to get his attention. This pertained to his health, shouldn’t he know?
“After all, this may only be a momentary lapse of ability,” Mu Qingfang continued. “If after a week this problem persists, we might want to start looking at --”
Don’t talk to him, talk to me! Shen Qingqiu signed sharply, hands cutting through the air. Just because you can’t understand me, doesn’t mean I don’t understand you!
People always ended up doing this. Shen Yuan was dead, had left that world behind -- oh god, he's dead -- shouldn't he have left this kind of idiocy behind too? While he had been born with something in his throat missing, that didn’t mean his mind suffered for it!
Yue Qingyuan looked at him very intently, following his hands’ rapid movements with his eyes. “Mu-shidi, I think it’s time to go,” he said, not taking his eyes away from Shen Qingqiu’s ongoing rant. “Ming Fan? Please call over your Shang-shishu.”
Shang Qinghua? Shen Qingqiu signed furiously, secure in his knowledge that nobody would understand his ramblings. That traitorous bastard with a spine the strength of one-ply toilet paper…
… and also if he wanted the death to be impactful, he should have dedicated more than a single throwaway sentence to it. Not even Airplane cared about the two-bit plot device that is Shang Qinghua, Shen Qingqiu continued. Yue Qingyuan was still watching him, as patient as he was uncomprehending.
“Holy shit, that's so rude." An amazed voice came from the doorway. Shen Qingqiu's head snapped up.
“No, no, seriously!” A man stepped over, his hands signing along with him as he spoke. “I’ve tried to curse someone out in sign before, but I didn’t manage a shred of the -- creativity? Let’s call it creativity -- you just showed.”
“Shang-shidi, welcome,” Yue Qingyuan said warmly.
You understand me? Shen Qingqiu asked.
I bet you wish I didn’t, the man -- Shang Qinghua? -- answered. Man, if Yue Qingyuan had called anyone else from my peak you would have been fucked! You are a t-r-a-n-s-m-i-g-r-a-t-o-r, right?
His signs were a bit off from Shen Qingqiu’s polished motions, some words so different as to be nearly unrecognisable, but it was definitely the same language that Shen Qingqiu had just been speaking.
I am, Shen Qingqiu answered, a little uncertain. I’m -- new here.
In the corner of his eye, he could see Yue Qingyuan slip out of the room.
Shang Qinghua plopped himself down on the foot of Shen Qingqiu’s bed. “Is Zhangmen-shixiong gone?” he asked, and did not wait for an answer before he continued, signing along as he spoke, “Hi! Welcome to Cang Qiong. We are currently a few years before the Abyss Arc starts. Bing-ge is somewhere on your peak, hopefully recovering from his injuries --”
You knew Binghe was going to arrive and you didn’t pick him for your own peak? Shen Qingqiu frowned, and Shang Qinghua shrunk back at the sight. He decided it was rather nice to be able to intimidate people for a change.
Shang Qinghua raised his arms defensively. “Calm!” he cried. “Don’t you think I tried? The System, that god awful thing, didn’t let me.”
Why would the System do that? I thought it was here to help me… rehabilitate this novel. Wouldn’t this be an interesting plot diversion?
“Oh, you sweet innocent child,” Shang Qinghua said pityingly. “Congratulations! You hit the jackpot; the omnipresent deathless being watching your every move hates you and everything you do. It’s best to get used to it now.”
Well, fuck.
Shen Qingqiu carefully turned his mind to other, more manageable things that were bothering him, such as, You know I can hear you, right? I'm not deaf. There's no need to sign along.
Shang Qinghua paused for a moment. "I'd still be doing it even if you were able to speak, actually," he admitted. "On An Ding, it's considered common decency to sign even while talking out loud."
Without waiting for Shen Qingqiu's many questions, he explained. "An Ding takes in almost all of the hearing-impaired or deaf children with a proper spirit root." He smiled bitterly. "Mostly because none of the other Peaks think they have enough potential to do something other than paperwork."
He shrugged. "Learning actually ended up really useful for us, like when you can’t make a single sound lest you’d accidentally break your very tense Head Disciple’s concentration in the midst of the final stretch of calculations that she needed to do for this year’s fiscal reports but also your newest disciple has a very pressing question about what on earth is going on with Bai Zhan’s --”
It was actually sort of impressive how fast Shang Qinghua’s hands were able to move in order to keep up with his mouth.
Suddenly it all became a bit much, Shang Qinghua only dumping more and more information on him when Shen Qingqiu’s head was already filled to the brim.
When you go away, can you call Ming Fan for me? Shen Qingqiu interrupted.
“Rude,” Shang Qinghua muttered under his breath. He looked Shen Qingqiu square in the face, and told him, his smile bright and shiny, “I’ll leave you to recover from dying. Don’t worry, if you keep this up, nobody will be able to figure out anything’s changed. Good luck!”
What an asshole. Shen Qingqiu was already a little attached.
The rest of the day was a blur. The exhausting pantomime with Ming Fan as he tried to figure out a way to convey that he wanted Luo Binghe brought to him, the even more exhausting mess that was getting Binghe to understand that no, he didn’t want the medicine delivered somewhere, it was a gift, and to top it all off, having to make himself acquainted with what would become his home from now on.
That evening a note arrived, carried by an An Ding Disciple that looked as tired as Shen Qingqiu felt.
Written in miserable Chinglish, it read, So much for keeping everything in character. Oh well. It took the rumours two and a half hours to travel to my Peak; that’s more than I thought you’d manage!
He snorted and crumpled up the paper. It seemed he’d already made his first friend here.
“… Shizun?”
Shen Qingqiu looked up from his notebook. Hello, he mouthed, making sure to enunciate clearly.
Luo Binghe bowed, the motion a little deeper than was strictly needed. “Good morning, Shizun.”
He hung back in the doorway, shifting from one foot to the other. He was holding something behind his back, and when he noticed Shen Qingqiu’s curious eyes on it, he tried to hide it better.
Shen Qingqiu tilted his head. He probably didn’t have the notecards for whatever this was.
He closed his notebook and put it away -- it was not meant for the sight of young disciples, or really, any eyes but his. He’d had a habit of writing his thoughts out almost as long as he remembered, started by his Er-ge shoving a blank wad of papers into his arms with a muttered, “So you can empty your head a little,” and kept up as he graduated to grimy Internet fan-forums.
Come in, he wrote in small letters.
“I can’t --” Luo Binghe stepped inside, coming just close enough to read the note through squinted eyes.
He looked up, betrayed.
Shen Qingqiu smiled at him, the picture of innocence.
He put the paper back on the table and wrote beneath it, What can this Master help you with?
Luo Binghe opened his mouth, then closed it again. He seemed very on edge, his muscles tense like he needed to be able to rear back at any moment. “This Disciple was presumptuous, and…”
Go on.
“We had our introductory class to singing today,” Luo Binghe burst out, pulling a thin stack of vocal exercises from behind his back and practically shoving them in Shen Qingqiu’s face. “And I thought, if Shizun might perhaps like to go through the exercises with me?
Ouch. Shen Qingqiu mentally applauded the Protagonist’s ability to needle people even while seeming totally blameless on the surface. He thought they’d been building a rapport, but it wasn’t like a few weeks of smiles were able to make up for however many months of cruelty.
“No, no! I meant, I didn’t mean to --” Luo Binghe tripped over his own words.
I don’t mind, Shen Qingqiu signed, motions slow. A few signs had made their way to Qing Jing, and Luo Binghe probably knew this one. On paper he continued, I trust Binghe meant well. Collect your thoughts and try again.
Binghe nodded tearily. He took a few deep breaths and tried again. “I know Shizun was assigned exercises by Mu-shishu, but he rarely does them.”
And where did he learn that? Shen Qingqiu had certainly never told him.
“And this Disciple thought that maybe, if Shizun didn’t have to do it alone, or saw someone failing -- not that I think Shizun would ever fail at anything! -- that it might be a little easier for him?”
Hah, what failing? Luo Binghe would only face resistance as long as necessary for the plot to convey how impressive it would be when he succeeded later on. A few beginners’ vocal drills barely deserved to be mentioned for a single sentence.
No, it would only be Shen Qingqiu struggling here.
He didn’t know what made him say, Alright.
Luo Binghe looked as surprised by his acceptance as Shen Qingqiu was.
In for a penny, in for a pound. He patted the pillows next to him, motioning Binghe to sit down where he would have an easy view of Shen Qingqiu’s notecards.
Where do we start?
“Good,” said Mu Qingfang. “Now, once again, please. Remember to use more air than you do know.”
Shen Qingqiu sighed, and once again repeated the vocal exercises, breaking off halfway through to cough.
“Shixiong has improved,” Mu Qingfang said, his frown making clear that it had not been as much as he wanted. “Have you made progress on any front other than a speaking tone?”
I can’t scream yet, Shen Qingqiu admitted, gently massaging his throat with the hand he wasn’t writing with in the hope of getting rid of the tension trying to speak always gave him. I tried, and though it shouldn’t be so different, I can’t quite get a hand on how it works.
His shidi nodded, a dark expression on his face. “I -- forgive me,” he said. “I really thought this would be easier.”
Ha? You are bothered by how hard this is? Try being the one who can’t speak to almost everyone around him, please and thank you.
It’s alright, Shen Qingqiu said, a forgiving expression on his face. I can almost --
“Yes, but still --”
Shen Qingqiu’s grip tightened around his brush. -- always make myself understood, even if it takes a little more time.
Even if almost nobody had the patience to wait until he had written his full stance out, trying to fill in the ending themselves.
Shen Qingqiu’s throat cooperated long enough for him to growl in frustration.
He couldn’t wait until the day his voice finally decided to work properly. Not only was the lack of conversation partners tedious, it was also absolutely fucking infuriating. He just wanted to bounce ideas off of others again, to talk through an issue together instead of this strange to-and-fro that felt more like a bunch of business emails than an actual conversation.
He just wanted to be seen as a proper person.
Even back then, as Shen Yuan, when he was surrounded with people who had learned a whole language just for him, he had still felt lesser, like there was a certain degree of independence he would never be able to acquire.
For fuck’s sake, he’d been in his twenties! What kind of self-respecting adult still needed their mom to make appointments for them? But if your legs weren’t strong enough to carry you to an in-person help desk, and the only other option was a phone call, then what could you do?
He’d been unable to participate in even fewer spaces in society than his already bad health had cordoned off for him, leaving him what? His room? His parents’ home and his brothers’ apartments, each carefully designed to be wheelchair accessible, just in case it would ever get that bad, but don’t worry, Yuan-di, you’ll never need it. (And so he never had.)
He looked at the off-white paper of his notebook. The page was filled almost entirely with reassurances for other people, that no, it wasn’t that bad, they didn’t need to worry.
Was it so bad to let it be awful sometimes?
… Hah. He’d never thought he would actually miss the many hours spent wallowing in his room.
How do I say s-h-i-d-i? Shen Qingqiu fingerspelled.
Shang Qinghua made a sign Shen Qingqiu had never seen before, but bore some resemblance to the sign he knew for younger brother. “It doesn’t have an official sign, so I had to make one up. At least, as far as I know. It’s not like there’s a dictionary to check now.”
Shen Qingqiu snorted. Who knows, he said dryly. The System has already pulled out a lot of awful surprises. What’s a dictionary compared to the power to undress me whenever it wishes?
He was still upset about how the System, when it needed to stall and could not have him monologue in a language the enemies understood, would usually resort to divesting him of one or more layers of robes.
Like, did it work? Without any doubt.
Was it pleasant to never know when you might have need of the backup robes you now always carry with you? Not at all.
Shang Qinghua snickered. “Nah, it’ll find some way to be upset for sure. Next thing you know, modern dictionaries are considered more world-breaking than battery-powered back massagers.” He sighed. “That was a nice surprise. After bending over a desk eighty percent of the time you spend awake, not even Cultivation can save your back muscles.”
Shen Qingqiu had a thought about why the System might have included those in what was, at its core, a tasteless erotic novel. Then didn’t it get mad about you teaching your disciples sign?
“I mean, sign was in use as early as the Tang Dynasty for sure, and probably long before that. My System couldn’t get mad at me for introducing something that has probably, definitely, already developed in a rudimentary form somewhere, you know?” Shang Qinghua signed along in grand, sweeping gestures, looking rather proud of himself.
And when did you learn it? Shen Qingqiu tilted his head curiously. In my experience, not a lot of people bother. I think at least eighty percent of the people I spoke with were paid by my parents to learn.
He was going to have to get used to other methods of communication. He had never needed to carry around paper, or a little whiteboard, but it wasn't like everyone here would deign to learn a whole new language for him. That he had been able to speak to so many people in the first place was only due to his isolation and his parents' money.
Shang Qinghua made a so-so gesture. “I already knew a bit from when I tutored some hard-of-hearing kids in university, it paid good money seeing as nobody else was willing to put in the work. And then…” He paused. “Do you -- Do you remember Su Yuxi?”
Of course I do! Shen Qingqiu threw his hands up. How could I not?
Su Yuxi, the little sister of Luo Binghe’s eighty-fourth wife. She was born with the ability to speak water into existence. Whole lakes would emerge whenever she screamed, rivers flowing forth like the lines of the poems she recited. After a disaster in her childhood that led to her parents drowning, she was taken in by her sister, her only surviving family member.
She swore to never speak a single word again, and so she didn’t. Not even Binghe had managed to get her to talk. In the end, she only regained her voice in order to save her sister from the fierce South-Western Flame Demons.
She was -- Shen Qingqiu swirled his hands around, searching desperately for a way to explain everything she meant to him. The way you wrote about her struggles with the lack of people who cared to try and figure out what she was thinking, the frustration when it sometimes seemed people didn’t want to even try… He looked away. It was good.
Shang Qinghua smiled at him, less wide than his usual grins but all the more genuine for it. “I’m glad,” he said sincerely. He paused briefly and continued, still signing along, “I picked up a lot of signs during the kidnapping part of that arc, mostly to see what could be said when you’re all tied up, and then I simply forgot to cancel the emails with daily vocabulary. It was nice to have something to do that had nothing to do with Proud Immortal Demon Way, you know?”
The sign he used for the book, ‘edgy’ and ‘endless’ signed so close together they blended into one, made Shen Qingqiu snicker.
At least writing that thing was good for something.
“Hey!” Shang Qinghua squawked. “It also resulted in… In…”
Shen Qingqiu grinned, a little mean. You don’t even know yourself?
“I wanted to say Mobei-jun’s tits, but you haven’t seen those yet. Not that you’d appreciate them properly,” Shang Qinghua sniffed. “If nothing else in this world makes living worth it, I know my king’s gaping robes have me. I never wrote this -- imagine the fangirls’ reactions, I’d have to beat them off MoBing with a stick -- but I’m really, really not mad at the surprise.”
You know, I’ll pass.
Hello, Yue Qingyuan signed clumsily, slurring the words. I have been good. How have you been?
I’ve been well, thank you, Shen Qingqiu responded in over-enunciated sign, smiling despite himself at the endearing attempt.
Yue Qingyuan smiled and opened his mouth to respond, then resolutely closed it again. How was your… He paused. “Your day?”
Shen Qingqiu held his two hands in front of him, palms up and elbows out, and moved them up and down.
Yue Qingyuan carefully repeated the motion. Shen Qingqiu gently reached out and tilted his elbows a little more to the front, his body receptive to the adjustments.
“Apologies,” Yue Qingyuan sighed, smiling wryly. “There really aren’t many books out there. I should probably just ask Shang-shidi. I’m not getting very far this way.”
Shen Qingqiu shook his head.
Yue Qingyuan tilted his head. “Is that no, I am succeeding this way, or is that no, I shouldn’t ask Shang Qinghua?”
He sighed and reached for his brush again. He was almost out of paper; Shen Qingqiu had a great variety of art supplies, but they were all far too valuable for him to use at the rate he was going through right now. Maybe he should ask Shang Qinghua for some of the paper his disciples do their calculations on. It looked cheap.
I could teach you, he wrote, Yue Qingyuan leaning in to see. Actually teach, not just a few signs here and there.
“Wouldn’t that be a bother?”
I want to figure out how to teach the language in a structured environment. On An Ding, they learn organically. We don’t have the time for that.
Yue Qingyuan sat up straight again once it became apparent Shen Qingqiu wasn’t going to write more. “And you think I could help you with that?”
I need the experience. It’s hard trying to teach a language to someone who doesn’t actually have to use it. If I figure out what works for you, I can build from that when trying to instruct my disciples.
“Then I’d be glad to help you,” Yue Qingyuan said, not a hint of hesitation in his voice.
Shen Qingqiu smiled. Thank you.
He still had to learn how to speak. He could, in theory. He’d already made a bit of progress, even! So there was no reason why he shouldn’t put in the effort, no? What right did he have to demand that everyone learn a whole new language, instead of him spending a little bit of time relearning something he was meant to know in the first place?
But people genuinely wanted to learn. Wanted to make life easier for him, for him to be heard and understood and --
Who was he to deny them their wishes? When Yue Qingyuan came to him with a month’s worth of useless books he’d all painstakingly read through, when Ming Fan got frustrated with his fingers' inability to bend properly but still tried again and again, when Luo Binghe’s tongue poked out through his lips in concentration…
… It became really hard for Shen Qingqiu to believe they did this out of a sense of obligation.
Maybe it was best to let them do this for him.
To let himself be a bit of a burden.
They wouldn’t break under the weight of it.