Chapter Text
Prelude
“Ge,” Xue Meng calls out to his cousin, who was suspiciously slightly hunched inwards, instead of walking with his usual easy-going, confident gait.
Mo Ran flinches and doesn’t make a move for a good few seconds, before quickly turning around and trying and failing to surreptitiously hide something behind him.
“Mengmeng!” Mo Ran acknowledges Xue Meng with a loud voice, “How did the meeting go?”
Xue Meng sighs with no small amount of exasperation and annoyance, leveling his errant cousin with an irritated look, “You mean the one you just missed? Where the hell were you?”
“What trouble did you bring with you now?” Xue Meng continues his interrogation, cutting off whatever bullshit his cousin was going to say.
Something behind Mo Ran shifts, which he tries to keep still behind him, but then a head pokes out to the side, and Xue Meng’s met with the most intensely piercing eyes glaring straight at him.
Xue Meng wasn’t someone who was intimidated easily, even when he was young—none of the Elders in Sisheng Peak had intimidated him even when he was young, the only person he had properly been cowed by was his mother.
When he was younger, it was due to childish arrogance and entitlement he thought he was owed—although he had long since learned humility the hard way ever since he became the Sect Leader, that trait of his had remained.
So it was a definite shock to realize how difficult it was to keep eye contact with the stranger behind his cousin. The sharp coldness of his gaze cut straight through his core like an icicle.
The Sect Leader of Sisheng Peak, cowed by a kid probably no older than 16.
Xue Meng refused to lose to a random grubby kid his cousin brought. He glares back just as hard. Maybe leaks out the slightest bit of killing intent. He’s totally not overcompensating for his earlier reaction.
“Xue Meng,” Mo Ran moves to fully cover the kid again, “What do you think you’re doing?”
The uncharacteristic frigidity and undercurrent danger in his cousin’s voice sobers him like being dunked in a freezing river.
“So who is this?” Xue Meng would rather move along and pretend the last minute didn’t happen, and directs them back to his earlier point, “I told you, you can’t just pick up every stray you pass by! And of course you just have to take it a step up and bring a whole-ass kid with you, huh, ge?”
The tension disperses, and Mo Ran steers the figure behind him to move in front of him, both his hands on the kid’s shoulders, “...This is…well.”
“I actually don’t know his name,” Xue Meng’s cousin laughs haltingly, “He…doesn’t like talking. But remember the last mission where I almost died? He’s the one who found me after and saved me!”
Xue Meng takes in the boy’s appearance properly. Although his robes were slightly worn and dirty due to the trek to Sisheng, everything else about his appearance was neat and orderly. He was clutching a black qin close to his chest, which was longer than even his torso.
“Chu Wanning,” the scary boy says in an equally scary tone, leveling Xue Meng with an even scarier stare. Xue Meng shivers internally. Why was this kid way more terrifying than the Upper Cultivation’s sect leaders? His stare made Xue Meng feel like an unruly child being scolded by a strict shizun he never had.
“Oh now you say your name?” Mo Ran fearlessly ruffles the kid’s hair, who turns his piercing stare towards Mo Ran, somehow even more intensified, “It’s a good name, but can I call you A-Ning instead? Such a cute kid like you should have an equally cute nickname, don’t you think so too, Mengmeng?”
Xue Meng refused to be dragged into this. Mo Ran can die at this kid’s hands on his own, thank you very much.
The kid makes an abrupt movement, stretching his right arm out and his hand making a motion as if about to grab something—
But as soon as he made the movement, he swiftly covers it up and clenches his fist instead, before stomping his heel right on Mo Ran’s foot. Mo Ran just smiles wider, as if finding the action more adorable than anything.
“No,” Xue Meng has never heard that single word drip so much venom and be uttered with such finality.
“Right. So,” As annoying as his cousin was sometimes, Xue Meng didn’t want him murdered in broad daylight, so he interjects before Mo Ran can say anything worse, “What did you bring Chu Wanning here for? Is he from another sect? Tell me you didn’t steal someone else’s disciple.”
“Of course I didn’t!” Mo Ran insists, “He’s not even a cultivator. I think.”
“You think?” Xue Meng smacks his forehead, “You didn’t even ask or check? Then why did you bring him here?! Even if he has the potential to, it’s way too late for him to try to cultivate a golden core. Not everyone’s like you, you know!”
“He’s staying here, golden core or no golden core,” Mo Ran responds in a furious tone, “I told you, I owe A-Ning my life. This is the very least I can do to repay him.”
“Ge, you know the sect’s rules,” Xue Meng tries to patiently remind his cousin, “We can’t just take in commoners. Why not just get him settled in Wuchang Village if you really insist on having him close?”
“No. Besides, if anyone else can form a golden core at a late age, it would be him,” Mo Ran stubbornly insists, “A-Ning, come on, give me your wrist. Let me check right now.”
Chu Wanning ducks out of the way with surprising grace—surprising since Xue Meng has never seen anyone untrained move like that…but somehow, the fluidity fit the strange kid’s image.
“Do not touch me,” Chu Wanning bites out harshly, glaring at the both of them like a cornered cat.
“I will take my leave, if my presence is unwelcome,” Chu Wanning continues in a neutral tone, before bowing at the both of them and making to move towards Sisheng Peak’s gates. Somehow even the way he bows made Xue Meng feel less respected and more like a young master being humored.
Mo Ran grabs the kid’s arm before Xue Meng could even blink, “No, stay! Just ignore Mengmeng, who cares what he says? Come on, I’ll show you where we’re staying.”
“I’m literally the Sect Leader—” Xue Meng interjects indignantly, but his cousin was already dragging Chu Wanning away towards the Red Lotus Pavilion, not even acknowledging him.
Xue Meng sighs explosively, before throwing his head back and groaning, “Ugh, whatever. I don’t care.”
Cleaning
“A-Ning…” Mo Ran mulls over how to nicely tell him to please cease further attempts at ‘cleaning’, “I told you, I didn’t bring you here to serve me. You don’t have to—”
“I refuse to sit idly and be a leech,” sharp phoenix eyes raise to meet Mo Ran’s, being unfairly intimidating on such an adorable face, “I will work to earn my keep.”
Mo Ran thinks A-Ning would help more by not trying to, but that was a bit mean. He was trying his best. Mo Ran lets him be, and smiles indulgently at A-Ning’s clumsy attempts at cleaning the floor. Mo Ran would have to redo it later…probably. But he doesn’t mind. He just thinks A-Ning deserved to do what he actually wants to do, instead of the misguided sense that he has to work to stay here.
Despite the oddly sheltered aura the young man sometimes projected, Mo Ran had witnessed first-hand how A-Ning had struggled to earn to survive. Doing various odd jobs not excluding manual labor, although he projected the aura of someone who’s never done anything but scholarly work.
It made him feel worse and simultaneously touched how much A-Ning must have spent on him, a complete stranger, to care for his wounds and nurse him to recovery. Not even including how he had to feed himself and a grown man when he probably barely earned enough for himself.
Mo Ran’s never experienced such an unprompted, selfless kindness before. Especially from a complete stranger. He knows A-Ning would have done it for literally anyone else too…but that only made it even more precious.
It felt like a non-repayable debt, somehow. This kind gesture Mo Ran has been shown for the first time in the two and a half decades of his life. Anything he could do to try to repay it felt…artificial, in a way.
It was an odd position to be in. Mo Ran was used to people showing him conditional generosity. As much as he loved the Xues, how they had grown to be his family…it was only because his uncle believed Mo Ran was his dead brother’s son that he was taken in to Sisheng in the first place.
The Elders in Sisheng were much the same; he doubted they would have shown him the same affection or tolerance if he came to Sisheng without the facade of being Xue Zhengyong’s nephew.
Mo Ran knew how to deal with that sort of generosity; they were the sort done with a motive, even if the reason wasn’t malicious. Still, he wasn’t someone who liked to owe anyone debts, and he always worked to keep track and repay the debt he earned with others.
Trying to repay A-Ning in the same way felt ingenuine, in a way…almost distasteful. A-Ning had taken him in, only seeing that he was someone on the brink of death, despite not knowing anything about him, and nursed him back to health.
He had looked at Mo Ran and saw someone deserving kindness, and had unhesitatingly extended his helping hand. Never even asked or hinted at wanting something in return—he didn't even know of Sisheng Peak—waving off Mo Ran's attempts at thanking him.
It soothed a part of him, the younger him, who when he wasn’t raging at the selfishness and cruelty of other people and injustices towards impoverished people like him, was then gnawed at with guilt over what he had done in order to survive.
Anyone else would say he was exaggerating, but to Mo Ran…being shown such kindness reminded him of his humanity. That someone had looked at him and saw that he was a person like them, and therefore worth helping, worth saving.
Still, despite all of that, Mo Ran thinks he would rather find A-Ning something else to do…his poor home really can’t handle another round of A-Ning’s ‘cleaning’ and ‘organizing’.
—
Laundering
Shi Mei went to the Red Lotus Pavilion to borrow some scrolls from Mo Ran, who had rushed out just as he got there, apparently forgetting he had a meeting with the Sect Leader. Again.
As he’s walking to head back out after gathering the scrolls, the rain starts pouring. Cursing internally, Shi Mei makes to head back towards the house, clutching the scrolls close.
Suddenly, the droplets cease. Shi Mei looks up to find an umbrella over his head. The handle is pushed towards him, which he instinctively takes.
“Oh, thank you,” Shi Mei says softly, before looking to see who had given him the umbrella, “You’re the boy that A-Ran brought in, right? Chu Wanning, was it?”
Brown eyes tinted slightly golden blink up towards Shi Mei, their gaze meeting. The young man bows—or tries to while holding a basket of laundry, anyway.
“Please, there’s no need for that,” Shi Mei says mildly, “Are you going to the stream nearby to wash those?”
Shi Mei gets a nod in reply.
Ah. Mo Ran wasn’t kidding when he said this kid didn’t like to talk.
The young man had the bearing of someone who hasn’t done a single housework in his life, though Shi Mei knows that technically he was staying in Sisheng as Mo Ran’s servant. Officially speaking, since they weren’t allowed to take in non-cultivators otherwise.
Still, Shi Mei was admittedly more than a bit curious. He didn’t particularly care when he first heard of him—but after meeting Chu Wanning, his interest was piqued.
Shi Mei walks placidly beside Chu Wanning, holding the umbrella over the both of them, who gives him a wary look, but doesn’t say anything to shoo him away.
“Are you still going to wash those? The rain doesn’t look like it’s going to stop soon,” Shi Mei comments, looking at the basket.
Chu Wanning only looks at him uncomprehendingly, but doesn’t say anything.
…Maybe Shi Mei’s first impression was right, “Do you know how to wash clothes?”
The confused stare narrows into something sharper, “It’s just washing clothes. How complicated could it be?”
That was a no, then.
Shi Mei doesn’t know what madness overtakes him to suddenly offer his help, “How about I teach you when the rain lets up? Let’s go back inside for now, we can’t do anything in this weather.”
What did he even have to gain, teaching this boy a basic chore? Still, he looked slightly pitiful. Though Shi Mei was never one to be moved to action by something as paltry as pity.
"The clothes are going to be washed anyway…" Chu Wanning says, tone filled with confusion.
Somehow, Shi Mei felt an odd patience that wasn't even feigned, "It's better to work without the rain. We can hang the clothes to dry right after too, so it won't end up smelling."
Chu Wanning gives a stilted nod, before turning around to walk back. Shi Mei takes it in stride and walks beside him, mildly amused.
When Chu Wanning comes to an abrupt stop, Shi Mei asks him if something was wrong.
Instead of replying, the boy sets the basket down and kneels down, before…gently cupping an earthworm in his hands from the stone path back towards the soil.
When Chu Wanning glances back and catches Shi Mei staring, he huffs out and looks away, muttering, "It was in the way."
Shi Mei's so surprised by the ridiculous excuse that he startles out a laugh.
"It's only going to go squirming back out again later, you know. The soil gets stifling for them when it rains."
"Oh. I didn't know that," Chu Wanning's sword-straight brows furrow slightly. Still, Chu Wanning kept casually ‘removing’ creatures 'blocking' his path.
What a silly kid. An uncommonly kind one, but still silly.
—
Cooking
“Madam Wang—” a young disciple—one of Ran-er’s, if Wang Chuqing recalled correctly—rushes out, “Would you mind—that is…you know that boy that shizun—Elder Mo—brought?”
That catches her attention fully, and she turns away from the plants she’s cultivating to face the disciple, “Yes, did something happen?”
The boy that Ran-er brought…Chu Wanning, if she recalled correctly. He seemed like a nice enough young man, though distant. He didn’t seem like the type to be troublesome, but then again appearances can be deceiving. Still, Ran-er said the boy had saved his life, so they owed him at least the benefit of the doubt.
The disciple cringes, takes a few moments to gather his words before saying, “Well, shizun assigned him to help with the kitchen today…but the cooks really want him out since he’s…well, he’s not very good at cooking, apparently—but they didn’t want to offend shizun. So they made one of us try to drag him out but…well, A-Ning’s stubborn. Really stubborn. And kinda scary.”
Wang Chuqing reprimands the disciple mildly, “None of you can handle a boy who’s not even a cultivator?”
Wang Chuqing’s already walking towards Mengpo Hall, however, with Ran-er’s disciple walking behind her. Really, everyone seemed to be making such a big deal out of this. How much damage could one kid do in the kitchen that the cooks would risk the wrath of their favorite Elder?
“...A-Ning is…” the young man mutters, “He’s really scary. One of my shixiongs tried to tease him when shizun introduced him to us, and he kicked him behind the knees—shixiong fell after one blow. Shizun seemed really happy about it though. I think he cheered.”
The situation was oddly amusing, and mildly embarrassing. Was it a failure of Sisheng’s teachings, or was the kid Ran-er brought the strange one?
After reaching Mengpo Hall, a group of her nephew’s disciples rush towards her. Faintly, she thinks she can smell a mild burning scent coming from the kitchen.
“Madam Wang!”
“Please, would the madam mind helping us? Before A-Ning burns down the kitchen—”
“We’re so hungry, please!”
Wang Chuqing raises a hand to cut off the noise, “Yes, calm down, I’m headed there right now.”
She actually starts to worry when she sees the smoke coming from the kitchen. Wang Chuqing runs straight inside, and immediately sees the pot boiling over with…a goopy, almost black substance.
The cooks seem to have just put out the fire beneath it that must have been the source of the smoke, wiping the sweat off their brows and sighing out sounding heavily aggrieved.
One of them opens their eyes and spots her, who immediately walks briskly towards her.
“Madam,” the cook whispers, voice sounding strangely shaken, “Please, take that boy out of here. He’s not listening to any of us, he insists he was assigned here to cook, specifically, and that he can’t abandon his duties. But lunch is never going to get served at this rate, or ever if he stays here any longer!”
Wang Chuqing subtly raises a finger to her lips, not wanting the boy to overhear. As horrifying as the state of the kitchen admittedly was, she didn’t want him to misunderstand and feel unwelcomed. Ran-er has mentioned that the boy had trouble fitting in, even with the disciples his age. She gathered, from what her nephew had told them, that the boy had wanted to be of use to the sect, not wanting to ‘take advantage’ of them.
Wang Chuqing walks cautiously towards Chu Wanning, coming to a stop beside him. His head was down, and his hands were bundled into fists, clutching at the front of his robes.
“A-Ning,” she says in a soothing tone, “Do you remember me? I’m Ran-er’s aunt.”
The boy nods, not even looking up, before moving to bow to her, “This one respectfully greets the madam.”
“Are you busy? Do you mind helping me in the garden?” Wang Chuqing carefully steers clear of mentioning the still bubbling concoction behind them, “I could use another hand.”
Chu Wanning complies subduedly, and walks beside her quietly. Wang Chuqing covertly glances at the boy beside her to observe him.
She’s surprised at what she sees, and her heart twinges a bit to see that his eyes seemed reddened at the corners, his lips downturned into a sad little frown. He had seemed unflappable and aloof, when they first met. He had the sort of maturity that not even her own son and nephew had until now, and so she didn’t really perceive him as the kid he actually still was, despite what Ran-er had been telling them about the boy.
Chu Wanning had the bearing of a mature adult, and Wang Chuqing had treated him as such in her head. She forgot how he was just the same age as Ran-er was, when her nephew was first brought by her husband to Sisheng.
Wang Chuqing raises a tentative hand, and gently places a comforting hand over the boy’s shoulder, who looks up at her, mildly startled.
“Would you like to learn how to cook instead?” she smiles gently at Chu Wanning, “The plants don’t really need to be urgently attended to, so I have some spare time. I’m sure Ran-er would be happy to taste your cooking, if you’d let me teach you.”
Her heart breaks slightly at the barely-concealed hopeful look the boy sends her, who nods with a sort of childlike energy she’s witnessing for the first time from him.
It seemed her gut instinct was right. The poor boy only wanted to cook Ran-er something, but didn’t know how. She wonders if the boy had noticed her nephew’s habits that he never quite grew out of, due to the circumstances of how he grew up.
Either way, it was sweet, and not something she would have expected when she first met him. Still, she reiterates that sometimes, appearances can be deceiving.
Like how it doesn’t escape her notice now, how before he had seemed so well-put together and unbothered. But now she notices the signs of something else underneath—the tenseness she mistook for distance seemed shy and unsure, now. The way his hand would sometimes move as if to touch his chest in a habit, before catching himself and immediately lowering his hand.
Suddenly, he wasn’t at all as grown-up as he tried to project himself to be. All Wang Chuqing saw was a wary, almost terrified kid, struggling to appear like he wasn’t. It reminded her of her nephew, when he first came to Sisheng. The way they hid their burdens were as different as night and day; Ran-er hid everything behind his charming, dimpled smiles and seemingly easy laughs; Chu Wanning presented himself as an untouchable, stony figure; but it was the same, nonetheless.
Teaching him to cook could very well be one of the hardest challenges she’s encountered, and maybe their kitchen would never recover, but she thinks it was hardly a sacrifice, if it would evoke a genuine smile from the boy.
—
Socialising
After Mo Ran returns the greetings from the table where his disciples sat, he makes a beeline for the table with the figure in white sitting by his lonesome. As happy as it made him to spend time with A-Ning alone, he knows he should encourage the boy to spend more time with other people.
It was a confusing feeling, but he knows he’d be more at ease if A-Ning wasn’t alone when he had to go on longer trips or missions. It has already been a few months since A-Ning first came to Sisheng, but he still hasn’t seemed to make any friends…or even just friendly acquaintances.
“A-Ning, hey,” Mo Ran smiles beamingly at the figure in front of him.
A-Ning peers up at him slightly, before nodding a greeting. He seems to be unconsciously biting the chopsticks in his mouth. Mo Ran noticed it was a habit he had when he was either sleepy, or if he didn’t like the food and was delaying. It was unfairly cute. Mo Ran would squish his cheeks if he didn’t care for the mobility of his hands afterwards.
“Is that all you’re eating?” Mo Ran looks at the paltry dishes A-Ning had taken. A few steamed vegetables, clear soup and a bowl of rice, “You’re still growing, you should be eating three times that amount, you know.”
Mo Ran plops down a piece of beef on A-Ning’s bowl, who scrunches his nose and glares at Mo Ran, “Try it, at least. It’s not spicy, promise.”
Mo Ran had learned the hard way that A-Ning couldn’t handle even a speck of spice. A-Ning never quite trusted his offers of food after that. It made him feel guilty, but he also found it mildly hilarious. It was like a kitten with a grudge, who remembers who had made him lick a piece of lemon.
He starts deboning the fish he knows A-Ning likes, but for some reason didn’t get for himself. Mo Ran knows he liked it because he accepted it easily enough when Mo Ran offered it to him before. Though he never bothers to get it for himself. Mo Ran has an inkling that this seemingly serious and uptight kid was actually too lazy to debone the fish since the bones were too small. It was a funny thought, considering how thorough he was when he washes cabbages, washing every single leaf individually.
“Why don’t we eat with the others next time?” Mo Ran tries to encourage him, “Some of them have asked after you, too. I think they’re just not sure if you want the company.”
Chu Wanning only listlessly shakes his head, “Mo-zongshi can sit with them, if he wishes. There’s no need to feel obligated to accompany me.”
“I told you to just call me Mo Ran. And I’m not sitting with you out of obligation,” Mo Ran says with barely concealed indignation, “I like spending time with you, and I like sharing my meals with you. If you’re really fine with just the two of us, then I won’t push, alright?”
Admittedly, he was happy that A-Ning even bothered to reply with more than one sentence. The boy tended to be stingy with his words. Mo Ran counted it as a win, in a different sense.
Mo Ran pushes the plate of deboned fish towards A-Ning, “I just realized I brought too much food. Won’t A-Ning help me finish these?”
Mo Ran puts more of the beef on A-Ning’s bowl, since he didn’t seem to hate it when he ate it. A-Ning just looks at him in exasperation, as if he’s the one doing Mo Ran a favor. What a little dummy.
They eat and chat; well, Mo Ran talks, anyway. He talks about nonsensical things about his day, gossips about the other Elders, whines about how his cousin was working him to the ground, who happened to pass by at that moment and yelled at Mo Ran to stop disparaging him and telling A-Ning lies.
Spending time with A-Ning, even just doing mundane everyday stuff like this, filled him with a peculiar sort of contentment. Of fulfillment. Although he rarely spoke, Mo Ran knew he listened and paid attention to everything Mo Ran said and left unsaid.
He remembers the first time they ate together in Mengpo Hall. Mo Ran had always been particularly hoarding of his food, always finishing it at a speed that was probably ill-mannered. It was even more prominent that time, after having been on the road for so long back to Sisheng Peak.
Still, it was something he never particularly learned to grow out of; it was a needed skill to survive when he was young, and even when he had lived in relative comfort in Sisheng, he never quite felt the security that he wouldn’t be left to starve on his own again.
After Mo Ran had gulped down the bowl of warm soup in one go, A-Ning had stared at the empty bowl with an unreadable expression. Mo Ran had thought he was scandalized by Mo Ran’s lack of table manners, as he did notice how A-Ning’s face twisted in disgust when someone spoke when eating.
Before he could feel indignant or ashamed, however, A-Ning had spoken to him unprompted for the first time, “Mo-zongshi seems to really like this soup?”
Mo Ran was caught off-guard by the offhand comment coming from the usually reticent boy, that he couldn’t even be offended and try to see any hint of condescension in his tone. He only nodded in response, unsure what he did to make A-Ning talk. He’d like to know so he can do a repeat performance.
A-Ning took Mo Ran’s bowl and stood up, walking away from the table. Mo Ran followed him with his eyes in a confused daze. A-Ning had come back and set the bowl back down in front of Mo Ran, and sat back down.
Mo Ran had taken a look at the bowl filled to the brim with soup, meat and vegetables, and looked back up at A-Ning, who gave him a small, soft and encouraging smile. Mo Ran wondered then for the umpteenth time how this kid was real. He remembers how his heart had burst with affection, and the stinging feeling in his eyes at the gesture.
“They still have multiple pots of this, apparently. The auntie serving the food mentioned it,” A-Ning had gone back to eating his food, unaware of the flood of emotions passing through Mo Ran’s face if he looked up, “So there’s always more if Mo-zongshi wants to eat more.”
Mo Ran had then surreptitiously wiped at the corner of his eyes with the heel of his palm, “...Thank you, A-Ning. I mean it.”
A-Ning must have heard how choked up Mo Ran was, as he had looked up before Mo Ran could finish speaking. But he didn’t say anything, and just nodded at Mo Ran, his ears pinkening slightly at the tips.
Mo Ran’s taken out of his reminiscence by a cold, pointed voice, “What?”
A-Ning was looking at Mo Ran, unamused, “Is there something on my face?”
Mo Ran only now realizes that his chin was propped up on his hand, his elbow over the table, probably staring at A-Ning’s face when he was thinking.
Still, Mo Ran can’t resist teasing him a bit, “Hmm…yes there is,” he makes a show of moving his finger dramatically over A-Ning’s face.
Mo Ran boops him gently on the nose, earning an indignant, incoherent noise from A-Ning, who violently swats Mo Ran’s hand away. He can’t help the sudden laugh he lets out, somehow finding everything A-Ning does adorable.
Mo Ran wonders how he could even begin to make A-Ning feel the same contentment, the feeling of being seen and accepted, the way he makes Mo Ran feel.
—
Temper
Xue Zhengyong could barely contain his excitement as he rushed through the courtyard, planning on heading straight back to his beloved wife, his Chuqing, after being away from the sect for months.
Even the sight of the gathered crowd of disciples didn’t deter him, though he knows it’s irresponsible of him to ignore it even when he wasn’t the sect leader anymore…he really just wanted to be home to his wife. Surely one of the Elders was already sent for anyway.
A frigid, cutting voice freezes him on his tracks, “Despicable. You have the nerve to call yourself a cultivator, a disciple of Sisheng Peak?”
Turning to look at where it came from, he sees a boy staring down another young man, who was a full head taller than him. Yet somehow it felt like the reverse, with how strong the boy’s righteous aura was. He was wearing pure white robes, a stark contrast amongst Sisheng’s disciples wearing blue and white ones.
The other boy seemed to have collected himself, and snapped back, “And who are you to judge me? You’re not even one of us! Don’t get cocky just because Elder Mo brought you here. You’re not special, you’re just some poor kid he took pity on—”
One of the disciples behind the boy in white interjects, “Hey, shut up, that’s not what happened. And A-Ning’s right anyway, you were breaking the sect rules, and being an asshole in general. What would your shizun say when he finds out, huh?”
“What, are you lot gonna tell on me? Fucking traitors, and here I was being nice, sharing these.”
The boy in white robes crosses his arms and glares straight at the other boy, “You will confess to your misdeeds. Or I will do it for you.”
Xue Zhengyong was really impressed with this kid’s bearing. He had that ‘do not fuck with me or you will regret it’ energy that he kinda wished he could summon up when dealing with the Upper Cultivation sects. It seemed really effective too, considering how silent the courtyard would go whenever he spoke. He didn’t even need to raise his voice.
To the other boy’s credit, he seemed to gather his courage to face the boy in white—A-Ning, Xue Zhengyong thinks, is what one of the disciples called him.
“You don’t scare me,” the other boy says in a trembling voice, “You’re not even a cultivator, there’s no way you can take me in a fight.”
The boy in white didn't even flinch, just looked unimpressed, “Would you like to try me?”
Xue Zhengyong decides to intervene before the other boy ends up peeing in fear or something. He walks towards the group, opening his fan dramatically and fanning it in front of himself slightly.
“What’s the trouble over here? Is this how you welcome your beloved founder home?” Xue Zhengyong laughs his signature booming laugh, although he was far from happy, wanting to just be with his wife.
The disciples all scurry around, greeting him out of sync. Only the boy in white doesn’t, who just blinks at him, before a disciple beside him whispers something to him that causes him to bow along with the rest.
After getting the story out and sending the older boy to Jielu Elder, which ironically was the boy’s teacher, things finally get settled, letting Xue Zhengyong free to go back to his wife. Though he was admittedly curious about the boy, the kid one of the disciples called ‘A-Ning’, he decides to ask his nephew about him later, instead. For now, he wanted to greet and hug his family who he hasn’t seen in months.