Chapter Text
I would rather see her lovely step
and the motion of light on her face
than chariots of Lydians or ranks
of footsoldiers in arms
-sappho, excerpt of fragment 16
Liu Qingge was not, despite common assumption, a man who cared only for violence. War God of Bai Zhan as he was, it was not his only motivation. Violence for violence’s sake, after all, was the way of beasts and demons.
Still, he will not deny that a not-insignificant portion of his life revolves around such things. He fights often and viciously, seeking to improve himself even after exceeding the skill of perhaps the entirety of Cang Qiong and beyond — Yue Qingyuan, he speculates, could best him, but the sect leader has made it clear through the years that the full breadth of his strength will only ever be brought to show if absolutely necessary.
He is accustomed to blood and viscera, to the movements of battle, to endless hours of training. Without noticing, his life had become rather consumed by such things. It was an easy cycle of hunting quarry, defeating the opponent, and returning to clean his hands of the gore (not that he was often dirtied, in his hunts. He had long since adjusted his techniques to be as clean and precise as possible — at least until the encounters became truly challenging). He does not mind this cycle. There is time for leisure in the evenings, when he is at the sect. Frequently, he uses the time to meditate or go through sword forms. Sometimes, more rarely, he will settle to read.
His life has settled into a comfortable rhythm, one which he has no desire to change. Bai Zhan is his life, now, and he has no regrets in the loss of potential lives outside it. Since his establishment as Bai Zhan’s succeeding disciple those years ago, he has been able to see the course of his life spread out before him. That vision has yet to waver.
There are, of course, aspects of his life which change throughout the years. Most of these have little bearing on the greater path of his future – change, after all, is to be expected in the lifespan of an immortal. Shen Qingqiu, despite this, was a change he had never anticipated.
He finishes his forms, focus fading back into full consciousness instead of the hazier form it took during route exercises – it is near the hour of the snake, now, and Shen Qingqiu should be done with his own morning routines. And there is a lesser chance of the man forgetting his meridian cleansing, if Liu Qingge catches him before he becomes caught up in something-or-other. He summons Cheng Luan; it will be faster to fly to Qing Jing, than to take the Rainbow Bridge.
Shen Qingqiu’s favored disciple receives him at the door of the bamboo house. As usual, the boy eyes him with something he cannot quite place, and then bows just enough to be respectful but not as far as he truly should. Liu Qingge cannot recall any way in which he has slighted the boy, besides perhaps being blunt and dismissive; but he is a Peak Lord, and above that the Lord of Bai Zhan, and it his nature and within his rights to act in such a manner towards his subordinates. If the boy is so deeply offended by this, then Liu Qingge pities him for how these small grudges will hold him back from his obvious potential.
“Ah, Liu-shidi! Is it time for this shixiong’s meridian cleansing already…?”
Shen Qingqiu peers up at him from his desk, brush hovering above the paper as if he has been caught mid stroke.
“Mn.”
Although his face is mostly the impassive, jade-like mask the Qing Jing Peak Lord is known to affect, his eyes are ever-so-slightly widened, a note of surprise, and they are bright with something pleased. Pleased because of him . The knowledge of that makes him oddly pleased in turn.
“Come, come, sit, Shidi. Allow this shixiong just a moment to clean up.”
Liu Qingge does so, watching as Shen Qingqiu methodically cleans his brush and sets aside his work, gently waving the paper through the air to dry it as he stands.
“Binghe, would you prepare some tea for this teacher and his guest?”
“Yes, Shizun! This disciple will do as he has been asked to,” Luo Binghe chirps, disappearing from where he’d been hovering by the doorway. Shen Qingqiu shakes his head as he settles opposite him, fan held idly in his hand.
“That boy… Why he insists on waiting on this old man instead of spending time with his martial siblings, I will never understand.”
Liu Qingge raises an eyebrow but doesn’t respond – surely, Shen Qingqiu realizes how much the boy adores him (it is, of course, a result of his doting, but it is not his place to comment on).
“How have you fared since the last time we had tea, Liu-shidi? I had heard you had set out from the sect to hunt down a frostbitten plague stag…?”
Shen Qingqiu eases him into conversation, eeking out the details of his latest conquest with a practiced tongue. It had been disconcerting the first few times he had noticed it happening: how easily his guard began to drop, and he was drawn into pleasant conversation with the man he had spent decades at odds with. When Luo Binghe returns with a tray, tea and snacks piled on top, he is barely acknowledged beyond a, ‘Thank you, Binghe,’ by his teacher, whom he sends a wounded look. Shen Qingqiu insists on them having tea before allowing Liu Qingge to cleanse his meridians, and Liu Qingge would be a fool if he tried to deny that he did not mind such antics.
“What do you think, Shidi? I thought this new blend might suit your tastes.”
Shen Qingqiu peers at him over the top of his teacup, head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side. Obligingly, he takes a sip. He does not care too much for tea – he has his favorites, and will enjoy a cup in the evening on occasion, when the mood takes him – but he is pleasantly surprised to find that he rather enjoys what Shen Qingqiu has served today.
“It is good,” he offers, and Shen Qingqiu lights up on the other side of the table. He does not smile, but his eyes squint half-way closed, pleased.
“Ah! Finally! I will make sure to have some on hand for when you visit in the future, then, Shidi.”
He is still not entirely sure that Shen Qingqiu is possessed, if he is honest with himself. Hong Jing had not reacted, perhaps, but… he cannot imagine Shen Qingqiu ever keeping tea specially for his visits, before. He cannot imagine them talking , before. And when he is honest with himself, he finds that he doesn’t entirely care if Shen Qingqiu is no longer the original Shen Qingqiu.
“There is no need,” he demurs politely – again, an act that would have never occurred not all that long ago – and Shen Qingqiu sniffs.
“Of course there is; what kind of shixiong would I be, if I spent all this time trying to find a tea Shidi actually enjoyed and then never served it again?”
The implications of that trigger a strange stirring in his gut. He thinks back on the last several months; Shen Qingqiu had first served him something herbal and far too sweet for his tastes, clearly what the man had on hand for himself. After that, though, each visit had introduced a different blend, and Shen Qingqiu asking for his opinion. He realizes now that it had been done with intention, an act of care directed towards him.
He remembers himself momentarily, opening his mouth to respond. Shen Qingqiu peers at him, amused once more, and he has to look away in an attempt to quell the fluttering feeling he can’t quite tamp down. He clears his throat.
“Do as you will.”
“Mn. This shixiong will order a sufficient amount.”
Shen Qingqiu begins to tell an anecdote about one of his classes while they drink the tea, and Liu Qingge listens attentively. It is good, in any case, to set aside his thoughts before they stray too far into uncharted territory.
(Lately, there has been something at the edge of his awareness, growing more and more insistent with each passing day. He prides himself on having a handle on his thoughts and emotions, but these new feelings, he knows, will change things).
“Ah, Liu-shidi, this shixiong has heard rumors of a demonic qilin in the far north. Perhaps Shidi would like to test his strength against it?”
Liu Qingge does not brighten at the mention of such a rare beast, but it is a near thing. Shen Qingqiu raises his fan, hiding what Liu Qingge is sure is a smile.
“How about this: This shixiong will write down all the information he has, in exchange for Shidi bringing back the corpse for this teacher to study, hm? All the parts will, of course, belong to Shidi, and he can do with them as he pleases once I take detailed notes.”
“Of course,” Liu Qingge says. It is truly a trivial trade – Shen Qingqiu would not have needed to bargain, as he would have brought the demonic qilin back regardless. But it is worth it for the way Shen Qingqiu lights up, delighted, his smile surely broadened behind his fan.
“Ah, you really are too good to this shixiong!”
Faintly embarrassed, he finishes off his tea in a quick swig, setting it down and rising to his feet.
“I should cleanse your meridians, now that we are done with tea,” he says, and Shen Qingqiu acquiesces with that same amusement still on his face. He stands, robes fluttering around him. As impractical as the robes are for combat, they really do make Shen Qingqiu seem otherworldly – ethereal, even – at times.
Shen Qingqiu catches him by the shoulder as he goes to move around the table, lips curled into a small smile.
“It is a rather pleasant day, no? Perhaps we will go outside, if Shidi is amenable?”
He doesn’t quite startle at the touch, but he blinks and fixes his eyes on the man’s face, taken off-guard by the smile being openly shared. It’s a very small thing, barely more than an upwards tick at the corners of his mouth, but it is soft and – dare he believe it – fond. Even there is layers of fabric between them, Shen Qingqiu’s hand seems to burn where it rests on his shoulder. Like he has gotten too close to a fire, seeking its warmth beyond what is reasonable.
He dips his head wordlessly after a moment and Shen Qingqiu’s smile broadens just-so in the moment before he drops his hand. He opens the door, ushering him out with a gentle wave of his hand, and falls into step beside him with an ease that does nothing to rid him of the warmth painted across his skin. Shen Qingqiu leads him back into the bamboo groves, following a winding path through the slender stalks. The sunlight filters through, subdued, and casts a warm glow over the foliage. It is, as most things are on Qing Jing Peak, the carefully cultivated epitome of peace and tranquility. After a brief walk, they come to a little koi pond, where Shen Qingqiu settles cross-legged on a wide, flat stone by the water’s edge.
Liu Qingge pauses, for a moment. He has not spent much time in the forests of Qing Jing – what reason would he have to? – and has never seen this particular clearing. It is small and set aside from the main pathways that cut through the bamboo, but well tended to, and he inanely wonders if it is a place Shen Qingqiu frequents.
“Liu-shidi?”
He blinks, striding over to join his shixiong.
Shen Qingqiu divests himself of his outer robes, letting them pool around his waist and over his forearms. He bares his back, covered only by thin inner robes, now; Liu Qingge settles his palms against the planes of his shoulder blades, the silk of his robes cool against his skin. Shen Qingqiu hums, adjusting himself, and the muscles of his back shift beneath his hands.
He is used to the meridian cleansings, by now. It has been over a year of these monthly appointments, nearing two, now, and the cool yin of Shen Qingqiu’s qi has become familiar. He sends a thread of his qi into the other man’s spirit veins, probing, and slowly begins the process of mapping them out in search of blockages built up since their last cleansing. Shen Qingqiu – impossibly, it sometimes still feels like – sits complacently under his touch.
Perhaps it is the change in environment that allows for his thoughts to wander, or maybe it is the familiarity of these actions, now, no longer needing such focused thought to complete. Regardless, he finds himself studying the man before him. His hair is swept aside, painted warm by the midday sunlight that filters through the foliage above. He fans himself idly. The gentle breeze from his fan occasionally stirs Liu Qingge’s own hair with how closely they are sitting. The silk of his inner robes is fine, perfectly white and smooth, pressed flush to his skin. With how fine the silk is, though, it provides only a fine barrier between Liu Qingge’s hands and his bare skin – he can feel each minute shift of his lithe muscles, even without the added sensitivity of their qi intermingling.
He cycles his qi through Shen Qingqiu’s meridians, fixated on the curve of his shoulder and the way his robes drape over his arms. He knew, of course, that the Qing Jing Peak Lord’s image was carefully maintained, but he thinks absently that it is effortless, in moments like this.
Shen Qingqiu, suddenly, gives a low, pleased hum, startling him from his musings. He startles so badly that the steady thread of qi he had been feeding the other man jumps, and he yanks his hands back.
“Liu-shidi?” Shen Qingqiu asks, his voice low and drowsy, twisting to look at him over his shoulder. He flushes, wide-eyed, and opens his mouth to give an explanation without really thinking about it.
“The silk tickled me,” he says foolishly, and immediately wonders in what world that would be a passable excuse. But he cannot say that the noise Shen Qingqiu made had been-
“Oh? Shidi should have said something earlier. This shixiong will take care of it.”
Perhaps he should have gone with the truth, as embarrassing as it was, because before he has a grasp on what’s happening Shen Qingqiu is shrugging his inner robes from his shoulders. His skin, pale and jade-smooth, is bared without a second thought. Bizarrely, in the midst of his sudden lack of coherent thought, he notes that the man has a mole at the top of his shoulder blade, dark against the otherwise unblemished skin of his shoulders.
“Liu-shidi?” Shen Qingqiu calls again, and he hastily replaces his hands on his back, face burning. Skin-on-skin contact was, of course, the recommended method for qi transfer. Mu Qingfang and he had come to a quiet agreement that the thin layer of an inner robe would not cause much issue, though, and save face for the notoriously thin-faced Qing Jing Peak Lord. But now, Shen Qingqiu has stripped so easily – surely, that is why Liu Qingge is so… shocked.
His skin is cool, a contrast to his suddenly sweaty palms, but he can feel the tell-tale warmth of life even then. Shen Qingqiu is not, contrary to some rumors, an emotionless being carved of jade. Though he supposes it has been the months of getting to know the man – of seeing his hidden smiles and gentle teasing and genuine, insatiable interest in the world around him – that have truly dispelled the thought in his mind, rather than this foreign touch.
“Oh,” Shen Qingqiu says. “This feels much more… clear, than before. Why had I kept my inner robes on?”
Liu Qingge cannot bring himself to answer, instead only humming in acknowledgement. It does feel clearer, as if he had been trying to look through a silk screen, before. Shen Qingqiu’s qi is cool where it slides against his own and he shudders involuntarily. He had felt it before, of course, but it is particularly potent, like this. Like laying in a cool creek, water washing around him, stirring through his hair and brushing against his skin. Even restricted as it is by Without-a-Cure, he can feel just how strong Shen Qingqiu’s spiritual energy is. If his foundation wasn’t fractured, and were he not afflicted with Without-a-Cure… Liu Qingge has no doubt he would be far, far more powerful. It is a strangely upsetting thought.
He becomes strangely immersed in the cycle of their qi, threading together, intertwining… it washes in and out in time with their breath, like waves against the shore, a gentle pulsing. It is strange: where before sharing his qi had felt nice, perhaps like a soak in the cold springs, it now feels… pleasurable. Despite himself, his breath hitches.
A bit over a year ago, he would have torn himself away. Would have insisted on a barrier between them, would have believed that it was some ploy of Shen Qingqiu’s to weaken him. But now, he…
Oh, he thinks all at once. He wants this. Wants more. Wants Shen Qingqiu .
The moment Shen Qingqiu’s meridians are clear, the Bai Zhan War God flees.
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It takes many days for him to sort out his feelings. To come to terms, to understand, to accept. He mediates under one of Bai Zhan’s waterfalls for the rest of that first day, calming the suddenly untamable flames that dance beneath his skin – it is very frantic meditation, really, and he is ashamed of himself. The moment it no longer feels like his chest is collapsing, though, he goes straight to Cang Qiong and Zhangmeng-shixiong.
“I’m going to track a demonic qilin in the north,” he says bluntly, and the sect leader blinks at him.
“Ah, is Liu-shidi certain? He only just returned to the sect…”
“I am.”
“Have you seen to Qingqiu-shidi?”
He scowls.
“Of course. He was the one who told me about the demonic qilin.”
Yue Qingyuan frowns slightly, but dips his head after a few moments.
“I will approve it, then. Be safe.”
He leaves without a further word, mounting Cheng Luan and taking off as fast as he possibly can.
Tracking the beast helps. At least, in any case, it gives him something to occupy himself with. He had left without any of the further information Shen Qingqiu had offered to provide, and he is sure the man would have given him a more exact location besides ‘north’, had he waited, but he does not think he can look him in the eyes at the minute. He is forced to ask around the villages, a task he avoids as much as possible, normally. It takes a few days to get far enough north to start hearing useful information, but it is worth it for the ensuing fight.
As he flies on Cheng Luan, he is able to think more objectively. Flying had always lulled him into a meditative-like state – he remained, of course, entirely aware of his surroundings – and it makes it easier to parse out his thoughts and emotions.
Shen Qingqiu had changed. Of that much, he was certain. No longer was the man cruel and bitter – aloof, at times, and sarcastic, yes, but no longer spiteful. He was gentler, now. More approachable. He gossiped with Qi Qingqi, shared notes and research with Mu Qingfang, and doted on his disciples. It was, as many of their martial siblings had noted, as if he were an entirely different person.
He knows – and has known – that he no longer resents the man. It was as if with the changing of his personality, Shen Qingqiu had washed away the past of their bitter relationship. He rather enjoys his time with Shen Qingqiu, now. He likes this Shen Qingqiu – if not romantically, then at least as a person, and tentatively, a friend. This, he had been sure of for months, now.
With this knowledge, it is easier to open himself to the prospect of his… interest. It is a tender thing to prod at, like an unnoticed bruise. Shen Qingqiu is, objectively, well-blessed in appearance. Before, it had been a cold, untouchable sort of beauty – one he thought marred by the man’s unsavory personality. Now, though, it is still refined and untouchable, but undeniably warm . Long, slender hands and hidden smiles, hair set aglow by sunlight and eyes dancing with life. The curve of a cheekbone in three-quarter profile, a glimpse of lips quirking upwards before being hidden away by a fan…
It is a habitual scowl that twists his face with the realization. He had not planned for this – not for romance, and certainly not for Shen Qingqiu. But the feelings are there, obvious now that he has given them thought, and he is not one to back away from any sort of challenge. He will accept them for what they are, regardless of the past. What he will do about these feelings, though – that can wait until he has defeated the demonic qilin.
The demonic qilin is a rare beast, as is its non-demonic counterpart. Shen Qingqiu would know more, of course, but the extent of Liu Qingge’s knowledge is that it is a formidable foe, more intelligent than the average beast and with a hide that was nigh-impossible to pierce. He wonders if he can keep its hide pristine enough to use for fashioning armor from. An added challenge, perhaps. The mountain he had been pointed to is a rugged peak, flanks of sheer cliff and tall enough that there is still snow atop it.
The demonic qilin is a brilliant adversary. It’s less like a horse and more like a lion in form, heavily muscled and stout despite its length. Its six legs are practically thick as trees, and he expects it to be a great, lumbering thing. The tail is thick as well but narrows out into something closer to a whip, and the jagged barbs at its end glint in the sunlight. The horns, of course, are wicked things, curling backwards over its head and antler-like, all ending in deadly points. The entire thing is covered in dark scales that flash in the light, an iridescent blue-green that calls to mind deep water.
He descends on it from above, and upon finding no visible weak spots sends out a wave of spiritual energy to catch its attention. It rises into the air, killing intent palpable the instant it is made aware of Liu Qingge’s presence. From there, it is a matter of assessment – he does not truly attack, at first, hanging back and baiting the beast with feints and well-timed dodges. With it up in the air, he is able to quickly call Cheng Luan from under his feet, blind it with a sword glare, and drop to the ground to view it from below. It really is formidable; the muscles of its legs and flanks ripple as it leaps above the sword glare, tail whipping behind after it – he wonders if its fur would make good brushes, in an idle moment.
The demonic qilin’s maw is small and only open for moments at a time, thereby preventing any attack to the soft flesh of its insides – unlike its noble counterpart, it does not seem to be able to breathe fire – and it is too smart to turn its back to him for long enough for that to be a viable option either. But as it passes overhead, he notices the tuft of fur beneath its jaw. Unprotected by scale or bone – that is his entry point.
He is given little time to analyze the beast. It is relentless in its attacks. At first, it largely attempts to clobber him with its hooves, but he is too fast for it to even land a glancing blow. He is distantly delighted to see the calculation in its eyes as it changes tactics, leaping out of range of his sword. It is viscous enough that he works up a sweat with the constant movement, robes clinging to his shoulders and hair to his face.
It realizes quickly that Liu Qingge cannot follow it into the air if he wants to make any sort of truly threatening attack. His sword, afterall, cannot be in two places at once. It circles him on the ground a few times, snow crunching underfoot, and lashes out with its long, barbed tail, whip-like in its speed. Carefully, he draws closer, contorting wildly to dodge blows and returning with just enough effort that the beast will not suspect. There, a flash of triumph in its eyes when Liu Qingge draws within easy striking range. It rears up on its hindlegs, muscles coiling as it prepares to leap – Liu Qingge darts forward and thrusts Cheng Luan straight upwards. The blade sinks into the soft flesh under the beast’s jaw with little resistance, and the jump is half-aborted in its shock. It happens too quickly for Liu Qingge to react fully – the demonic qilin surges forward, and Cheng Luan catches on bone instead of sliding out and moves forward with it. Liu Qingge, still holding its hilt, bites down on his tongue as he is wrenched forwards, shoulder coming from its socket. Caught beneath the beast’s hooves, he catches a wild kick to the chest and the wind is knocked from him with the tell-tale crack of what he believes is several ribs.
The demonic qilin lets out a gurgling cry, whipping around to face him, where he has fallen on the ground. He gasps for breath, hair plastered to his neck like ropes twining around his neck and giving the uncomfortable illusion of being choked. Cheng Luan is still sunk into its flesh, though, and he narrows his eyes in anticipation for the final exchange even as he barely manages to choke down air. The demonic qilin, injured but not dead, gives another gurgling, angry noise, blood dripping down its bared teeth. It will charge him, aiming to trample – as vicious as its teeth are, the wound will likely keep its mouth closed even at close range, now. From the ground, he draws his hands up and casts a sword seal. The demonic qilin barrels towards him, snow doing little to slow it. At the very last moment, he throws himself aside, sword seal complete; there is a terrible, wet scream that chokes off abruptly, masking the sound of crunching bone as his leg is pulverized. He gasps, air punched out of him once more by the sudden pain. This battle is not quite over, though; he grits his teeth and pushes through the white-hot burn of pain as best he is able.
The demonic qilin crashes to the ground above him, gurgling and hissing as the blood loss leaves it in its death throes, and Liu Qingge tilts his head back to assess its state. As intended, the thing is incapacitated, now, and he relaxes into the cool press of the snow below him. It cools his sweat quickly, leaving it sticky and irritating against his skin.
He lays there until the demonic qilin stops making noise, catching his breath and circulating his qi to take care of the surface wounds he has. From past experience, he’ll leave his broken bones alone for Mu Qingfang to set properly upon his return. The shoulder he can push back into place; it is painful, but his tendons are fine and circulating his qi will get rid of the lingering inflammation. His leg he will need to splint – the entire lower half of it seems to be shattered, and Mu Qingfang will berate him if he moves it too much. Not that he wants to move it, with how potent the pain is even in response to minute movements.
Grimacing, he sits up – the feeling of his ribs moving about freely was never a pleasant one, and he strengthens the muscle there to hold them in place for the time being. From his sleeve, he pulls the qiankun pouch he keeps medical and survival supplies in – it rarely saw use anymore, and he smiles at the novelty.
Setting his leg is irritating, like this. Had it been a clean break, it would have been much simpler, but now he has to attach the splint to the bottom of his boot instead of his ankle to avoid irritating the bone too much. It also takes far more padding than he would prefer, but it was a several day flight back and he would be carrying the demonic qilin as well. He tightens it as much as he can and pushes himself to his feet awkwardly, careful to keep his leg straight as he does, and tests it gingerly. Satisfied, he calls Cheng Luan to hand and flicks the still-wet blood from its blade, wiping the rest with the bottom of his robes.
The demonic qilin is a heavy, hulking figure, dark against the white snow. As he rounds it, he sees a spill of vibrant crimson across the white, blood still flowing sluggishly from its throat. He crouches next to it, using a bit of qi to cauterize the wound, and then turns it over onto its side to assess. He is rather surprised by how soft the fur is when he touches it – he rather expected it to be coarse, outside of the shorter lengths, but instead it is silky all over.
It is a fine specimen, and the parts he can harvest from it will be worth quite a lot – especially with how pristine he had managed to keep its coat. He settles a hand on its flank, supporting himself as he settles into the aftermath of a battle well-fought. Coming down from the tunnel-vision of battle, his first thought is of Shen Qingqiu. He can picture the way his shixiong’s face would light up in his mind’s eye, delighted at being able to examine a rare beast; and then how he would remember himself and look up at Liu Qingge, face unguarded, and would praise him for such a clean kill, and for his talents in bringing down such a formidable foe.
He flushes darkly at the thought, skin tingling, and makes up his mind. The demonic qilin will be a gift to Shen Qingqiu, one worthy of starting the process of asking for his hand. A strong one, furthermore, to establish himself as a worthwhile contender. He will continue to hunt rare beasts for him, should this first gift be accepted – it will be difficult, considering that he has technically skipped a few stages in presenting such a difficult-to-hunt beast for his first gift, but it is a challenge he will undertake gladly. Afterall, he thinks with sudden clarity, Shen Qingqiu would deserve nothing less. Despite everything, he had found his way into Liu Qingge’s heart, and he does not see himself ever coming to want another person quite like this again.
He hoists the carcass over his shoulders, grunting a little with effort, and calls Cheng Luan to begin the trip back to Cang Qiong.
