Work Text:
Time had lost all meaning a long, long time ago.
And Yue Qi had lost all senses.
Perhaps there was a ceiling above him. He imagined the Ling Xi caves as they had seemed to him once, crystalline and serene, dripping with moss like a jeweled crown, ringing with the gentle tone of wind, fluttering through the paths. It was an ancient place, dug out by water long ago and sense abandoned.
It should be beautiful.
It would be, perhaps, if he could see any of it. But the way was sealed, and with it, the gentle, dappled sunlight. And he had scratched his fingers across the smooth stone, until its watery surface was as rough as splintered wood, splattered with the same blood that had eventually congealed on his hands and head.
Even Xuan Su had no glow, when he had returned it to its sheathe.
Now there was only this terrible game of waiting.
He wondered if, waiting here, he was becoming part of the earth. If his body would slowly begin to decay despite the life that trembled, momentarily, inside of it. Perhaps in this ancient darkness, a little spark like him would snuff out. His skin would rot, his flesh would shoot through with mold. He imagined himself becoming nothing but earth. Dirt for the moss to climb over, for Cang Qiong disciples to sit and meditate upon, for roots to burrow through, to forever nourish the earth that Xiao Jiu would walk upon. Finally, a use.
Finally, he could rest.
And then his shizun opened the cave and spread a shaft of light into the cave, so bright that it burned, and he pulled that clump of earth back to the world by the hair. And it seemed that perhaps it could look for Xiao Jiu, but then it seemed that Xiao Jiu was dead, but then he was found again.
And so time passed. Resigned to its uselessness, the earth did its best as Sect Leader to care and nourish for Xiao Jiu, the way it might have in the ground. And it stood strong, and tall, and was revered by all. And so that nobody could ever tell it was actually just a bit of earth from the Ling Xi Caves, shaped into a man named Yue Qingyuan, it made sure that nobody ever touched it.
And so time passed. Xiao Jiu became Shen Qingqiu, and he was not to be called Xiao Jiu. And he was very beautiful. His pale fingers would flutter across the guqin like dragonflies over water. But they would also tense, in anger. The bit of earth would watch them, wondering what they felt like.
And one day, he learned.
It was entirely unintentional. Shen Qingqiu was having some argument or another with Liu Qingge, as often happened. And it appeared to be about to come to blows. This would not do, not at all. Just as Shen Qingqiu lifted his arm to slap Liu Qingge’s face, the bit of earth threw itself between them.
A slap rang out. Shen Qingqiu’s face contorted from rage into incredulity. His palm left a pink mark across the dirt’s face; it felt the force shudder through it, leaving an odd tingling behind, like a seed buried in the earth. It should have felt like pain. It should have made the thing ache.
Instead, the bit of earth shivered, and touched its face. Nobody had touched it before. The feeling of Shen Qingqiu’s palm was as sweet as honey. It was water in the desert. Food to an empty stomach.
Liu Qingge began to yell something else, but the figure made of earth paid no attention. It was too busy pressing its misshapen, scarred fingers to its throbbing cheek.
It seemed that flowers had taken root there, the stinging giving way to the itch of the roots, flowing through its skin like water digging a cave.
“Zhangmen-shixiong,” Shen Qingqiu murmured. “Your face.”
The thing that was Zhangmen-shixiong wrapped a careful finger and thumb about one of the flower stems and pulled. There was a choked little noise from Shen Qingqiu, who turned to Liu Qingge.
“Go get Mu-shidi. Now.”
For once, Liu Qingge obeyed.
Zhangmen-shixiong examined the flower and root in its finger. The petals were a deep, wedding red, trembling over green stems. The roots dripped with bloody flesh. Had that come from Zhangmen-shixiong? How strange. It was a being of earth, not flesh.
Curious, it impulsively picked at another.
“Don’t do that,” ordered Shen Qingqiu. His delicate hand struck out, wrapping about Zhangmen-shixiong’s wrist.
There was, again, an odd tingling. This time, without any pain at all. Shen Qingqiu’s hand was so very warm, and soft. Zhangmen-shixiong’s earthen heart trembled. Red-tinged flowers sprouted where Shen Qingqiu had touched. When he drew his hand away, they chased after it, as though turning to light.
Touch me again, Zhangmen-shixiong wanted to say. What a strange thing, to want. When had it last wanted? When had it last desired to be anything but a little dirt.
Shen Qingqiu’s brows were furrowed. With a curious look in his eye, he dragged his free hand down Zhangmen-shixiong’s arm, beneath his sleeve, and watched flowers bloom.
“Where else will they grow?” Zhangmen-shixiong asked.
Shen Qingqiu hummed. “We ought to be careful. There shouldn’t be roots in your neck.”
Privately, Zhangmen-shixiong thought that might feel rather good.
Shen Qingqiu was silent, a moment. “Do they... hurt?”
In truth, Zhangmen-shixiong was not entirely certain if they did? Could this body feel pain anymore? Was that this odd tingling? It did not feel like it hurt, but what exactly did it mean to hurt, anyway? It remembered once that it had felt pain; in the Ling Xi caves, it’s body had ached. Had it ever stopped? Perhaps in becoming part of the earth, it could no longer feel. Or perhaps it had felt pain for so long, it had forgotten what the absence felt like.
But now it was becoming a garden, under Shen Qingqiu’s gentle fingers.
“I do not know,” answered the garden. “Perhaps you ought to plant more.”
“Plant?” Shen Qingqiu raised a perfect eyebrow. What a lovely gardener, who dug his fingers into the earth so sweetly. “Yue Qingyuan, why would I plant more? I think it would be dangerous for you. I will not touch you again until Mu-shidi arrives with answers.”
He removed his hand from Yue Qingyuan’s arm. The absence of it was so sudden and awful that every flower wilted and trembled and strained to reach him. Yue Qingyuan felt a sudden twist, a longing in his heart, and his lips parted. For a moment, he reached.
Shen Qingqiu stared at him in a quizzical quiet. “What’s the problem?”
The garden wilted. It could not speak.
“We must have Mu-shidi examine us both,” Shen Qingqiu continued. “There could be something wrong with me, that I am planting flowers on people. It’s dangerous for us to touch.”
“Only me,” the garden said. “It is just me, that this will happen to.”
Shen Qingqiu crossed his arms, drawing his hands even further away.
“And why is that? Is there something you haven’t told me? Even now, Zhangmen-shixiong feels he cannot trust his chief strategist.”
The garden shook its head. “No. Nobody knows about this.”
“About what?”
Shen Qingqiu grabbed Yue Qingyuan’s shoulder. Flowers sprouted through the cloth of his uniform.
“I... was remade, once.” Yue Qingyuan leaned into the touch, grounding himself. It was so, so warm. He felt like a flower all on his own, being coaxed from seed to bloom, by Shen Qingqiu’s gentle hands. “I... drew a sword that was too strong for me, and was broken into piece, and locked away beneath the earth by my shizun for years. And in that place, I must have become it. That’s all I am, Qingqiu-shidi. Just a bit of earth.”
Shen Qingqiu’s lips drew into a thin line. “A bit of earth? You feel like flesh to me.”
“I feel like flesh when you touch me,” Yue Qingyuan said. “Otherwise I am mud. Or a garden.”
Would Shen Qingqiu leave him again? It was what Yue Qingyuan deserved.
“Why?” Shen Qingqiu asked, and the hand on Yue Qingyuan’s shoulder was firm. And now he could not refuse to part his lips.
“Then at least... if I could not reach you in time, then I could become the earth beneath your feet. And you could plant a garden in me, perhaps a tree, or flowers, and it would grow out of love for you. Even if you were far and distant. Even though I trapped myself, impulsively trying to save you, and failed you so utterly.”
Shen Qingqiu blinked. “And if I did this?”
He pressed a kiss to the underside of Yue Qingyuan’s jaw, so hot it seemed to burn. A flower sprouted a moment later. “I would. Like that.”
“And this?” Another kiss, singeing his cheek. Another flower blooming. “Stop. You are no garden, Yue Qingyuan. If you truly want to be of use to me, then stop being earth right now, and be my Qi-ge instead.”
“I’m not sure if I can.”
“We’ll work on it. Now hold my hand, and let’s wait for Mu-shidi. I want to see if we can pick these flowers without plucking off your flesh.”
“But it’s only earth,” Yue Qingyuan protested.
“It’s flesh,” Xiao Jiu growled. “Flesh, Qi-ge. You are a being of flesh.” He drew his hand downward and laced his fingers into Yue Qi’s. Flowers sprouted and began to climb, like ivy, up Xiao Jiu’s wrist.
“It loves you,” said Yue Qi. “The garden loves you.”
“No,” said Xiao Jiu, his voice oddly quiet. “You love me.”