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Chapter Text

It hit Shen Qingqiu one day like a stab to the heart—if he stayed on Qing Jing Peak, Luo Binghe would return from the Abyss and grind the whole mountain to dust. Anyone who stood against him would die, or they would be captured and tortured. That was just how Luo Binghe worked.

So, if only to protect the peak and everyone who lived there, wouldn't it make more sense for Shen Qingqiu to leave first? Luo Binghe's biggest grudge was against his scum villain teacher. If Shen Qingqiu cut all ties with the mountain, Luo Binghe just might abandon any plans to destroy the peaks in favour of hunting him down. The more Shen Qingqiu made it seem he no longer cared for the sect, the less reason Luo Binghe had to attack it. Even if he wanted to get even with some old bullies, why target them when he could have his Shizun’s miserable head on a silver platter?

Of course, it wasn't a flawless plan. Luo Binghe could easily see through his ploy and destroy the mountain out of spite. And if Shen Qingqiu hid too well, Luo Binghe might grow frustrated and turn his rage on the sect anyway.

What Shen Qingqiu needed, more than anything, was to become bait.

He had explained a general outline of his plan to Shang Qinghua, who had blinked at him with bewildered eyes. Why, Shang Qinghua had asked him, did he need to leave now? Only two years had passed since the Immortal Alliance Conference. They still had three years before Luo Binghe came back.

Shen Qingqiu’s response was this: because he needed to make his departure look completely natural. Luo Binghe was clever—if Shen Qingqiu left just before Luo Binghe’s return, then he would assume Shen Qingqiu was protecting the sect with his absence and immediately target it to lure him out. But if Shen Qingqiu had well and truly burnt his bridges years in advance, it would be far easier to take Shen Qingqiu’s departure at face value.

So, he left. Leaving letters behind for his disciples and fellow peak lords, Shen Qingqiu descended the mountain one cold morning with only his sword, a bag of clothes, and some savings on his person His letters explained enough—he betrayed Luo Binghe and pushed him into the Endless Abyss to his supposed death (for a normal human, at least. He avoided mention of Luo Binghe’s demonic heritage). He even implied the Shen Qingqiu they had been interacting with was nothing more than an imposter. This was a calculated move on his part. If the peak lords were disgusted by his actions, they wouldn’t want him to return. And then, when Luo Binghe came looking for Shen Qingqiu, they would have no reason to protect him.

His plan might have seemed stupidly self-sacrificial, but that wasn't entirely true. He and Shang Qinghua still had their contingency plan: their spare bodies from the Sun and Moon Dew plant. So, really, Shen Qingqiu had nothing to worry about! By isolating himself and letting Luo Binghe torture him towards a slow, agonizing death, he would increase the chance of Cang Qiong Mountain’s survival by at least 70%, maybe more! 

At the foot of the mountain, Shen Qingqiu paused for a moment. He couldn’t bring himself to look back. If he did, he was afraid his determination would vanish. He kept his eyes towards the sky, sunrise still a few hours away, as he forced himself to keep moving. 

He was doing this to keep everyone safe. As long as he reminded himself of that, he could walk forward. 

It took about two days of travel on foot to reach his destination: an unassuming fishing village in a northern valley, nestled in the meander of a large river. The village did well for itself with its easy access to fish, and the natural floodplain made it an efficient area for growing rice—as a result, the village was fairly self-sufficient.

You see, Shen Qingqiu had scoped out his options all for the sake of the plan. 

Thanks to his prior research, he knew about a little house in walking distance from the village; it rested partway up a path leading to a higher part of the valley, obscured by trees and overgrown bushes, having been used by lookouts in the past as they watched over the village from their vantage point. Now, though, the village was peaceful, and so the little house was dilapidated and empty. When Shen Qingqiu asked who owned the house now, hoping to buy it outright, the villagers looked at him incredulously. Barely anyone remembered the little house even existed, and the ones who did saw no point in charging a man for such a decrepit building. They told him he was free to do whatever he wished with it.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t know whether they expected him to move in, but that was his plan! The little drafty house would become his home away from home for the next four years. The interior was dusty and damp, but there was a table and a bed-like object that looked… less than comfortable, but the plan was never about his own comfort. Besides, he could easily improve his living situation with a trip to the village! Purchase new bedding, maybe some decorations! A nice tea set would brighten the room immensely! 

…Well, actually, putting too much effort into his new living situation maybe wasn’t the greatest idea. It would only make his heart bleed when Luo Binghe inevitably tore the whole thing down with his bare hands. 

Whatever. He would figure something out.

Chapter Text

So, maybe Shen Qingqiu had been pampered.

As Shen Yuan, he had never wanted for anything aside from being able to go a year without a hospital visit. As Shen Qingqiu, he had disciples who respected him (...and feared him, but he had done his best to undo any trauma inflicted by the original goods ), and coworkers who, at least, didn’t hate his company. 

To put it bluntly, he’d lived an easy life, all fears of his impending doom aside. 

Now that he had begun living alone in a glorified shack, he couldn’t help but miss what he’d had. Warmth. Smiles. Conversations. He was alone, and no one would remind him to eat if he spent a whole day meditating. In fact, he needed to work harder to take care of himself in lieu of his disciples. He would be in trouble if his qi failed and he lost the ability to practice inedia—maybe he needed to keep a reserve of long lasting food. Unfortunately, that meant most of the food he ate would be very plain, but he was used to that. Everything at Cang Qiong Mountain started to taste of ash after the Immortal Alliance Conference. Shen Qingqiu didn’t know who made those particular meals, but he sincerely prayed they would improve soon, even if he was the only one who complained. 

Growing restless in the drafty house, Shen Qingqiu decided to make a trip to the village to purchase some supplies. He was greeted by the sound of birdsong as he stepped past the door, and he let himself bask in it for a moment. He didn’t know enough about birds to really distinguish the different calls and sounds, but, well, he had plenty of time to learn now, right? Maybe it would be a fun little project for himself. See how many birds he could identify before Luo Binghe pulled out one of his eyes.

Though it was an overcast day, the village was bustling. There was a marketplace selling fresh fish and vegetables and eggs, and it was clearly popular enough to have drawn in customers from outside the village. People were chatting, haggling prices every so often or offering things to sell. Children were laughing as they chased each other. A few chickens that had escaped their homes were pecking at the road, clucking in a way Shen Qingqiu found oddly adorable. He laughed to himself, his steps lighter as he enjoyed the cheerful atmosphere.

Shen Qingqiu already had a goal in mind for this particular outing—a doctor’s house just past the marketplace. As he could no longer receive treatment from Mu Qingfang, he needed an alternate source for dealing with Without-A-Cure. What would be the point in his plan if Without-A-Cure choked the life out of him before Luo Binghe even had the chance? The least he could do was maintain a semi-healthy body. 

A variety of scents rushed to meet him as he walked through the doorway—aromatic, pungent, earthy, bitter… It was such a cacophony that Shen Qingqiu almost stumbled, but after the initial surprise it wasn’t unpleasant. The doctor (whose name was Qian Xia, according to Shen Qingqiu’s research) was rummaging through a herb drawer, and he looked up almost lazily when Shen Qingqiu entered. Then, he blinked and gave Shen Qingqiu a more inquisitive gaze. Before, Shen Qingqiu would have interpreted that look as, “Why is there a cultivator here? ” Now it could have just as easily meant, “Who is this exhausted-looking weirdo?” 

Offering a smile, Shen Qingqiu bowed politely. 

“Apologies for disturbing you, Yisheng. This… old man was hoping for your assistance.”

He had written a list of the medication he usually received from Mu Qingfang, and he held it out to the doctor who gingerly took it from his hand. As the doctor glanced over the list, his eyebrows creased together. 

“These are quite potent. Could I ask why…?”

“I was poisoned some time ago. There is no known cure, and even now it continues to damage my body and qi circulation. A cultivator treated me and wrote that prescription.”

The doctor read the list again. He looked at Shen Qingqiu pityingly. 

“Without-A-Cure, ah?”

Shen Qingqiu flinched. Even now, he found the name painfully uncreative. The doctor seemed to have his own interpretation for Shen Qingqiu’s reaction.

“This one will not ask how you were afflicted with such a poison,” the doctor told him. “Unfortunately, as these medicines are fairly rare, this prescription will cost you.”

“That is fine,” Shen Qingqiu answered honestly. He had his savings and not much else to spend it on. If his funds ever fell too low, he planned to sell one of his more expensive robes he had brought along from the peak. 

He left the doctor’s house feeling vaguely optimistic. Dealing with Without-A-Cure was the first real hurdle to living alone—now that he had a way to obtain his medicine, that problem was effectively solved. He almost wished he’d made a to-do list so he could feel the satisfaction of striking this task from the list. 

He startled; he hadn’t noticed the child peering through the doorway, who dodged out of his way timidly. A boy who reached just past Shen Qingqiu’s knees, frail enough that he was reminded of himself as a child. Once certain he wasn’t about to be scolded, the boy returned to peering into the building.

“Is something wrong?” Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help but ask. A child wouldn’t linger by a doctor’s home for fun, right? 

The boy’s gaze was sad, if a little wary. He mumbled, “My mama needs medicine.”

Shen Qingqiu’s heart quickly crumbled. Seeing a little boy talking about his sick mother, his thoughts flew to Luo Binghe—the orphan whose adoptive mother slowly succumbed. If just one person had helped him… 

“Why not go inside?” Shen Qingqiu knelt to the child’s height. He kept his voice gentle. “Is the doctor scary?”

“No… But I don’t have any money,” the boy said, shaking his head. “This one wanted to ask if he could work for Yisheng to pay for it…”

Shen Qingqiu cursed his weakness in the face of sad children, especially ones who made him think of Luo Binghe. His chest clenched tight.

“Perhaps this old man could help?” In response to the boy’s confused expression, Shen Qingqiu smiled and petted his head. “Come on—let’s go see Yisheng.”

Thankfully, the situation turned out to be far less dire than Shen Qingqiu expected. The boy’s mother was pregnant and needed something to help with nausea; though his mother had insisted she was fine, the boy had been beside himself with worry. The doctor had a good supply of antiemetic teas and herbs. Shen Qingqiu happily purchased them on the boy’s behalf, whose eyes were welling with grateful tears. 

“Gege!” Once they were outside, the boy bowed deeply. Shen Qingqiu… felt his throat close up. “Thank you so much! I will never forget Gege’s kindness!” 

“...There is no need to thank me. This old man… he did what anyone would do.” As he spoke, Shen Qingqiu’s stomach churned. He breathed, tried to calm himself, but the weight in his chest wouldn’t shift. 

Was he seriously having a panic attack? Now?!

“Gege?” The boy was still smiling, though he must have noticed Shen Qingqiu’s now pale face. 

“I am. Fine.” Inhale. Exhale.

Inhale until his lungs popped.

Exhale until he shriveled into nothing.

Inhale.

“This… I… I will be returning home now. I wish you and your mother well.”

Shen Qingqiu managed to smile at the boy. He walked away, waiting until there was some distance and the crowd of the marketplace between them. And then, finally, Shen Qingqiu fucking bolted. 

It was ridiculous, absolutely stupid. The earnest look in that boy’s eyes had reminded him of Luo Binghe again, but this time it was accompanied by the stench of sulfur, and he was thinking about the Endless Abyss, and he was thinking about the water prison, and he was thinking about being a human stick, and, and, and–

He kept running. The marketplace was too loud. The cloudy sky was too bright. His skin was too tight. There was too much blood in his veins, and any moment now his heart would give up and die behind his aching ribs.

(It didn’t, it didn’t, but he was either going to die here or die later. He was going to die, going to die, going to die, going to die, going to die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die—)

He tripped, and his face hit the dirt in probably his most inelegant action since he became Shen Qingqiu. The earth was cold, and his hands and knees stung, but the panicked haze in his brain cleared somewhat.

Shen Qingqiu’s lungs were still burning. He managed to climb to his feet, even though it felt like his legs had filled with concrete. His robe was a little dirty, and as he looked at the stains he laughed quietly. The System hadn’t bothered him since Luo Binghe’s fall to the Endless Abyss, and he had unlocked the OOC function years ago, but he could still imagine the System blaring “OOC! OOC!” at such a pathetic reaction.

Because that was the only word for it. Pathetic. 

When he made it back to the little wooden house, the birds were still chirping, oblivious to everything. Good for them.

Chapter Text

His dreams had become unpleasant recently.

After a day of contemplation, he would dream of Qing Jing Peak. Sometimes he was back in his bamboo cottage–meditating or drinking tea. Sometimes he was wandering the training grounds and instructing disciples-–praising their achievements and gently correcting their mistakes. With the warm sunlight on his skin, he would return his disciples’ smiles.

And then he would wake up, and an emptiness would ache from within his chest.

The worst nights were the ones where he’d hear a cheerful, “Shizun!” and then his white lotus Luo Binghe would enter the room, polite but eager. Luo Binghe would beam at him and ask how breakfast tasted that morning, or he would have a question about a book he read or a tricky new technique. No matter the topic, Shen Qingqiu always listened patiently.

The first time he woke from such a dream, he couldn’t bring himself to leave his bed that day. Now, though, he was at least able to dress himself before staring at the wall or out the window until sunset. 

At first, he had wondered if his dreams were being purposely manipulated in order to torture him. Perhaps Luo Binghe had learnt to control dreams from the Endless Abyss. But no matter how long he waited, his dreams remained just that-–lonely dreams about a place he tried desperately not to think about.

It occurred to him that day, as he threw out some grains and seeds for the sparrows chirping around his house, that he had seen Qing Jing Peak as his home. An interesting thought, considering he was essentially an interloper. He, of course, still missed his family and home from his old world, but perhaps knowing he was dead back there had made it easier to let go of, aside from the occasional bout of nostalgia. There was no way for him to go back, so he could either mope or try to make the best of his new life. 

But Cang Qiong Mountain was still there. It was right where he had left it. He had left by his own will, and that will was the only thing stopping him from dropping everything and rushing home .

Shen Qingqiu shook his head very firmly. His mind had taken a dangerous turn, but it was fine, he was already getting used to that. He had recently become something of an expert in burying his feelings–maybe he could write a book on the subject! The key was refusing to acknowledge those thoughts, denying their existence outright. If they kept trying to pop back up, then he just needed a good distraction. 

He threw another handful of seeds to the birds then crouched down nearby–he had spent enough time feeding them over the past few months that they no longer fled at his presence, so long as he wasn’t too close. He pointed at the closest sparrow.

“Bao,” he announced. Bao the sparrow had no reaction to its new name; the seeds on the ground were far more interesting. Shen Qingqiu then pointed to each sparrow one at a time, declaring a new name for each bird. Bao, Tiaotiao, Doudou, Pidan… He didn’t have much rhyme or reason for the names, just going with whatever he found cute in the moment. 

Of course, whether he would be able to distinguish the birds or remember their names later was another matter entirely, but whatever, whatever. A distraction was a distraction. 

Shen Qingqiu had saved the best for last. Weeks ago, two magpies began painstakingly assembling a nest in the tree closest to his home, though it was still incomplete. He inwardly referred to these birds as his new nextdoor neighbors, and the thought was always enough to make him smile a little. 

“Huajuan and Meimei,” he said towards the nest. He hoped they would be blessed with a happy union, and that the nest would one day be filled with chirping baby birds. 

With a sharp flutter of wings, all the sparrows flew away at once. Shen Qingqiu blinked–-he hadn’t made any particularly sudden movements, so what could have scared his little bird friends? 

Ah. Someone was behind him.

“Shen Qingqiu.”

He relaxed.

“...Hello, Shidi.”

Shen Qingqiu brushed the dirt from his robes and turned around. Standing there was Liu Qingge, arms folded, completely still. His expression was… conflicted, like he wanted to speak, but his mouth wasn’t cooperating.

And Shen Qingqiu… smiled, despite himself. He hadn’t wanted the peak lords to come after him, but there was a joy deep in his bones at seeing a familiar face.

The silence between them continued for a moment longer, and then Liu Qingge’s shoulders sagged. 

“What are you doing, Shen Qingqiu?”

“I was watching the birds. Would Liu-shidi like to join me? It is quite relaxing,” Shen Qingqiu said. His voice croaked a little, which made him flinch. He had spoken less and less over the passing months–-he could go entire weeks without saying a word, and his voice had begun protesting when he said more than a few sentences.

Liu Qingge scowled at the dirt, his jaw clenching. Shen Qingqiu could practically see the questions swirling around his mind.

“How long will you be continuing this?” Liu Qingge asked finally.

“Hm?”

“This… whatever this is. When will you return to Cang Qiong Mountain?”

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help but frown. What an odd question! He thought he had made it clear in his letters he would be well and truly burning this bridge. 

Perhaps, he wondered, glancing towards the nervous birds in the trees, the sect wanted to see him answer for his crimes. That would have made sense, and it would also explain why Liu Qingge had come looking for him. He had admitted to pushing Luo Binghe into the Endless Abyss--essentially a murder confession, since Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua were the only ones who knew Luo Binghe was still alive. Not to mention the whole ‘I am not the real Shen Qingqiu’ thing… But then, why would Liu Qingge even need to ask? Shouldn’t he have just… drop kicked Shen Qingqiu and dragged him back in metaphorical handcuffs? 

There was something weird about this, Shen Qingqiu decided. 

“You must have read my letter,” he said. “I’m sorry, but this old man will not be returning.”

“Your letter…” Liu Qingge’s gaze was troubled, but he smoothed his expression into something closer to indifference. “Yes, I read that nonsense.”

…Nonsense?!

Shen Qingqiu’s smile thinned. “Pardon? Could Liu-shidi please explain what he means?”

Liu Qingge let out a little huff, like he was being forced to explain something obvious.

“You haven’t been the same since… since the Immortal Alliance Conference. Did you really think anyone would take those letters seriously?” Liu Qingge set him a level gaze. “The peak lords are still debating whether or not you’re of sound mind. Mu Qingfang said you are purposely punishing yourself out of misplaced guilt, and Qi Qinggi is convinced you’re delusional. Yue Qingyuan refuses to say anything on the matter, but he is clearly waiting for you to come back.” 

What the absolute fuck?!

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t believe his ears. He stared at Liu Qingge, dumbfounded. It had seemed like such a good idea–-a bittersweet exit, leaving behind the truth as his final farewell. Everyone would hate him, but that was okay, because he was doing it to protect them. Except, apparently the peak lords hadn’t seen it that way at all. 

There was a rusty knife in his ribs. It was as if he had stepped outside himself to listen to the neighbors’ gossip. 

‘Did you hear abut Shen Qingqiu?’’

‘They said he lost his mind!’

‘I’m sure he’s just having an episode. He’ll come back eventually.’ 

‘He was so sad after what happened to his disciple. No wonder…’

‘Maybe he’s doing this for attention? Just let him get it out of his system.’

Shen Qingqiu wished he had the resolve to grind his teeth to dust and bone and spit blood in everyone’s faces. But right now, he could only grimace harmlessly. 

“And what does Liu-shidi think?” he asked bitterly.

Liu Qingge furrowed his brow. He seemed to be searching Shen Qingqiu’s face.

“...You need to come back.”

What, so now Liu Qingge was changing the subject? Shen Qingqiu shook his head firmly.

“This mas–-... This old man has made his decision.” He turned away. “If you have no other business here, then you should leave. I’m sure the sect wouldn’t appreciate one of their peak lords idling away his time with a madman.”

Liu Qingge opened his mouth. He seemed to think, and think, and think, but could not settle on the right words. He suddenly couldn’t look Shen Qingqiu in the eye.

“Then at least let me cleanse your meridens.” Liu Qingge held out his hand. Shen Qingqiu stared at it in alarm, but it didn’t take long for him to relent. 

The following minutes were terribly awkward–Shen Qingqiu didn’t know what to say, and Liu Qingge was never one for small talk. He glared down at Shen Qingqiu’s hand as he focused on channeling his qi. 

It had been a while since the last time anyone did this for him. The process felt a little more uncomfortable than normal, like someone was using a power washer on his meridens with minimal success. 

He heard Liu Qingge click his tongue. 

“I would have understood if you were cultivating in isolation, but look at you,” he muttered. “Have you practiced cultivation at all since you came here?”

“I meditate.” Shen Qingqiu sounded defensive even to his own ears. In truth, he hadn’t focused much on his golden core nor his cultivation. Maybe enough to keep him going, enough so he didn’t lose his ability completely, but why work on improvement? This body would be a human stick in only a few short years. 

Liu Qingge’s eyes were clearly frustrated. If he could convey his thoughts and feelings by just bashing his head against Shen Qingqiu’s, he probably would. But that sort of instant telepathy did not exist, so he let Shen Qingqiu’s hand slip from his own.

“...I will be back some other time. Don’t die.” 

Shen Qingqiu watched Liu Qingge leave. He stared after him until he was gone, and until the air began to chill with the sunset. A strange emptiness threatened to consume him whole. 

It didn’t, though. As always, he walked along the edge of that particular abyss and urged himself back inside. 

Chapter Text

Even in the spring, it was far too cold. Shen Qingqiu’s little house was practically crumbling in the wake of winter, and not for the first time he missed the warmth of the bamboo cottage. He was fairly certain moss had started to grow in one corner of the room.

He had no experience in carpentry, so his attempts to fix the holes in the roof and the drafty walls were… less than successful. The wood he managed to obtain was flimsy and damp, and working with it riddled his hands with splinters. One particularly unfortunate day left him with a big gash across his palm when he lost his grip on the carving knife. Even Shen Qingqiu wasn’t stubborn enough to leave that injury unattended, so he wrapped his hand in an old cloth and dragged himself down to the village. 

He politely knocked on the door to the doctor’s house with his uninjured hand. He didn’t have to waste any time explaining—the doctor took one look at the state of him, pale and haggard and bleeding, and ushered him inside.

His wound was swiftly cleaned and closed up. The normally gruff doctor had an air of anxiety about him. Shen Qingqiu had never seen him like this, even though he visited every few months for his prescription. Could something have happened?

“That should do it,” the doctor finally said with a sigh. “We will need to keep an eye on it for signs of infection, but Shen-xiansheng will be fine so long as he takes care of the injury.”

“This old man has troubled you, Qian-yisheng. Thank you.”

The doctor fixed him with a complicated look. “Please, be more careful. Doesn’t Shen-xiansheng live alone? If you were to injure yourself in such a way that you were unable to seek help…”

Oh! Shen Qingqiu blinked, stunned into silence. So, the doctor was worried about him? Was that why he had been acting so strangely? 

…Well, Shen Qingqiu supposed that made sense. He was a regular customer! It was in the doctor’s best interest to make sure Shen Qingqiu didn’t die from stupidity. 

“This old man will not be dying yet,” Shen Qingqiu said lightly. “Still, I will follow Qian-yisheng’s advice and be more careful.”

He wasn’t sure if he’d really convinced the doctor, who just sighed like he was babysitting an accident-prone toddler.

Returning home was always a little difficult when he visited the village—the villagers were all quite friendly, especially now that they’d grown used to Shen Qingqiu as the harmless eccentric who lived nearby. The little boy from before would still grin and chirp, “it’s Gege!” whenever he spotted him. Apparently he had told all the other kids about what had happened, because Shen Qingqiu would sometimes have a whole gaggle of kids following him like ducklings, asking him to play with them or buy them candy. Other villagers would stop to chat with him, clearly curious about their mysterious neighbor, and some went so far as to invite him for dinner!

Shen Qingqiu always declined, of course.

This might have seemed bizarre—while loneliness had become a part of his life, Shen Qingqiu didn’t like being alone. He wanted to talk to people again. He wanted connections. So, why deny himself opportunities for warmth and laughter? The village had nothing to do with Cang Qiong Mountain, so it should have been fine, right?

But every time Shen Qingqiu’s resolve was about to waver, Luo Binghe’s face flooded his mind: Luo Binghe finding Shen Qingqiu, Luo Binghe seeing his obvious affection for the villagers, Luo Binghe accusing the village of purposely harboring Shen Qingqiu, right before razing it to the ground…

No. Shen Qingqiu needed to stay away.

As he hurried back to the safety of his little house, Shen Qingqiu looked down at his freshly bandaged hand.

…Next time, he would ask the doctor to start delivering his prescription to his house instead. He needed to spend as little time as possible among the villagers.

Chapter Text

Liu Qingge had kept his promise–every few months, he would visit, cleanse Shen Qingqiu’s meridians, and then leave. They rarely exchanged words. Shen Qingqiu was still stubbornly limiting his contact with Cang Qiong Mountain, and Liu Qingge had the frustrated face of someone who wanted to say something but didn’t trust his own words. As a result, these interactions would end with a heavy, uncomfortable feeling between them. 

On a spring morning that was surprisingly warm, Shen Qingqiu was struck with the urge to feel sunlight on his face. He had begun spending weeks at a time meditating–just breathing, existing, for as long as inedia would sustain him, and sometimes he would go beyond that, too, until it was impossible to concentrate through his sandpaper throat and aching stomach. But the outside world called to him that day, igniting a longing for fresh air, so he threw on his outer robe and shoes and bustled through the door. 

He had grown used to the different noises the birds made, so he jolted a little at a new sound–very high pitched chirps from a nearby tree, the one that held Huajuan and Meimei’s nest. Shen Qingqiu felt his heart soar.

Parents! My bird neighbors are parents! Congrats, you two!

That alone was enough to wipe some of the cobwebs from his brain. Shen Qingqiu wondered how many eggs Huajuan and Meimei had–and had they all hatched now? He hoped so! Shen Qingqiu couldn’t see them from this angle, but he was certain they would be as adorable as their parents. When they were big and feathery enough to try flying, Shen Qingqiu would have to give them names. He was already looking forward to it!

A few sparrows had fluttered to the ground and began chirping curiously. Shen Qingqiu hadn’t been outside recently to feed them, but he was happy that the sparrows still seemed to recognise him even if it was only as a source of food.

Well, he didn’t want to disappoint his little friends! He fetched a bag of seeds and grains from the wooden house and began spreading a handful on the ground–the birds were immediately interested.

This is nice, Shen Qingqiu thought. A rare peaceful fog settled over his brain, while a breeze tickled his face and brought the scent of spring flowers. The sun’s warmth was pleasant. 

Perhaps he needed to meditate outside more. The wooden house gave him shelter from the elements, sure, but nature embraced him in a way he had clearly missed out on in the past year. He didn’t need to sit upright–he could lie on the earth and just let time flow past him. If he waited long enough, the grass would start growing to surround his limbs. Maybe there would even be moss on his skin. He could watch the sun crawl across the sky every day, like a blinding cockroach on someone’s wall. And if he waited long enough, the birds would find his body and nip at his cold flesh, and then they could stab at his open eyeballs until they were red and gooey. 

Shen Qingqiu snapped back to reality with a firm and emphatic, “What the fuck is wrong with me?” 

Why was he thinking of such disturbing things? He didn’t want birds to peck out his eyes, and besides, Luo Binghe was supposed to pull out one of his eyeballs anyway! That meant his eyes and any torture inflicted on them were reserved for Luo Binghe alone. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t let some sparrows get in the way of satisfying the protagonist!

He tossed another handful of seeds.

“You won’t touch my eyes, right? We need to save my eyes for Luo Binghe, right? Yes we do.” Shen Qingqiu’s was practically baby-talking the birds now. “Luo Binghe’s going to come take my limbs, isn’t he? And he’s going to look really cool, isn’t he? Yes, yes, oh, and you can’t forget the tongue, the tongue’s got to go, too, yes it does…”

He continued like that for some time, prattling to the sparrows the way one might talk to a puppy, until he realised someone was watching him. 

Fuck. Was it Liu Qingge? Had Liu Qingge been watching him talk to birds this entire time?

“Ah… Shen-shidi, I did not mean to interrupt.”

Is that Yue Qingyuan?! Fuck, fuck, that’s worse, that’s so much worse, the sect leader saw me rambling like a madman!

“Oh, Zhangmen-shixiong?” he asked casually, turning to face him. Yue Qingyuan was gazing at him with a frustratingly concerned look. “This old man wasn’t expecting guests today. My hospitality may not be up to a sect leader’s standards.”

“I only wanted to speak with you. I will not disturb Shidi for long.” Yue Qingyuan waited for a moment, as if giving Shen Qingqiu a chance to chase him off or otherwise shut down the conversation. “...It has been a little more than a year since you left. Your presence is missed–your disciples and your fellow peak lords would like to see you again. I… We are all worried for you.”

Shen Qingqiu focused on suppressing the little pang in his heart. What was he supposed to do here? Brushing off Liu Qingge hadn’t been too difficult, as he was a prickly man who seemed allergic to vulnerable emotions. Yue Qingyuan, however, carried the energy of a sad mother hen who just wanted one of her chicks to come back to the nest. Looking him in the eye dealt immediate psychic damage.

He considered trying to push the sect leader away a little more strongly, maybe by acting like the scum villain he was meant to be. But, unfortunately, Yue Qingyuan had always been soft on the original goods. Perhaps replicating that sort of behavior would deter Yue Qingyuan momentarily, but it wouldn’t be a permanent solution, and it would just make Shen Qingqiu feel guilty. 

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Shen Qingqiu said tiredly. “I know what the sect thinks of all of this. I’m just mad with grief, right? Tell me, why does everyone need to make such a big deal out of this? Some cultivators will meditate in complete isolation for ten years or even longer. I have been gone for a single year, and you can barely call this isolation when there is a village right there in plain view.”

Yue Qingyuan shook his head. It was a gentle movement, like he was trying to coax a sulking child. 

“But Shidi… This isn’t about cultivation, is it? You are just punishing yourself.”

Shen Qingqiu went rigid. 

“I don’t know what really happened between you and Luo Binghe–”

“Yes, you do. I pushed him into the Endless Abyss.”

“–but your disciple cared about you dearly, just as you cared for him.”

“Shixiong, I pushed him. It’s my fault he’s gone.”

“Would he really want you to torment yourself like this?”

“Yes! He would! You don’t understand. You don’t know what you’re talking about–!”

“Xiao-Jiu!” 

The name caught Shen Qingqiu off guard, because it was a name he hadn’t heard before. He looked at Yue Qingyuan blankly. Yue Qingyuan’s expression, a worried but collected mask, seemed to crack. 

“...I apologise, Shidi. Even if you don’t remember anymore… I shouldn’t use the name you hated so much.

Shen Qingqiu suddenly felt like an eavesdropper, because this was a conversation that had nothing to do with Shen Yuan. 

With the silence growing awkward, Shen Qingqiu tried to make his thoughts known one more time.

“I will not be returning, Zhangmen-shixiong. Please, just find a new peak lord for Qing Jing Peak and leave me in peace.”

Yue Qingyuan smiled, but his eyes were far too sad. “Cang Qiong Mountain will never turn its back on you, Shidi.”

It took everything in Shen Qingqiu’s power to hold back a laugh, low and rueful.