Chapter Text
Shen Qingqiu had been meditating in the Lingxi caves for just a day when he heard it — a strange scraping noise, followed by someone wheezing painfully.
In another, faraway universe, he would have chosen not to investigate the noise disrupting his cultivation, having had all his focus on cultivating, sparing no time to help whoever made a blunder. But in this one, he did. He had only been cultivating for a short while and whoever it was was close by. It cost him nothing, and thus he decided to take a look — if only out of spite, to severely lecture and punish the reckless individual.
Some senior disciple must have pushed their cultivation too much again, it wasn’t that uncommon or serious. Serves them right. Shen Qingqiu hoped they would learn their lesson after suffering this experience.
Following the noises that grew increasingly violent and pained, Shen Qingqiu turned a corner into another cave, not far from his own. He had just peeked his head inside when the spiritual disturbance fluctuated. A flash of light was his only warning to the object sent hurtling his way. He rapidly stepped to the side, and felt a rush of air as a sword rammed itself into the wall where his face had been millisecond ago.
Noting the way in which the sword had taken off a good chunk of the wall, Shen Qingqiu turned his full attention to his opponent.
This may be more of a hassle than he had anticipated.
There was no spiritual energy coursing through the sword, that had been thrown by brute strength alone. The cave itself, however, had it in abundance. And not in a good way. Spiritual energy burst from an individual standing in the centre of the cave, fluctuating in great amounts and threatening to blow Shen Qingqiu off his feet with its magnitude.
The person seemed to be glowing, the pulsating light reflected off pools of fresh blood, shimmering in their wetness and casting dancing shadows across the walls and ceilings. An overpowering smell of iron assaulted his nostrils, and he scrunched up his face in a vain attempt to drive away the stench. But it clung on to him relentlessly, drowning him in a smell he probably would not be able to wash off for weeks to come. Deep, sweeping gouges marred across stone walls, twisting light in unnatural ways that made it seem like the jaws of a beast, waiting to enclose upon its prey.
If that wasn’t bad enough, his mood soured even more as he recognised the white-robed individual.
Liu shidi!
Frankly, he could not think of a worse person to have had a potentially fatal qi deviation and cultivated to madness alone in the spirit caves.
A thousand curses ran through his mind at that moment. If Liu Qingge had been conscious then, he would have seen his shixiong’s aloof mask break for the first time in years, and a single, scandalous word spill from his lips. If Liu Qingge had heard it, he would have surely stopped his attack, out of sheer shock and confusion.
But instead he lunged forward. His shixiong was slow to react, having not expected the sudden attack, and his palm slammed into the scholar’s chest, sending him flying across the cave and into the stone wall with a resounding crash, leaving a Shen Qingqiu-shaped indent.
He quickly recovered though, wiping the blood threatening to spill from his lips as he ducked under. An explosion above him informed him as Liu Qingge’s fist bashed the hole even deeper.
Unsheathing Xiu Ya with a flick of his wrist, he rolled to the side and swiftly back onto his feet before beginning his own attack. His sword worked to parry the war god’s punches while he used his free hand to pin the rampaging Liu Qingge onto the ground. The war god struggled, but each flailing punch only met the unyielding metal flat of Xiu Ya.
Just as he thought he had succeeded in his endeavour, Liu Qingge threw himself to the side, his chest slicing open on the sword which Shen Qingqiu held out in an attempt to restrain him. If it had hurt, Liu Qingge gave no indication of it as he drove himself deeper into the sword.
Shen Qingqiu immediately retracted his sword at the sight of fresh blood pouring from the gash across the war god’s chest, but that allowed Liu Qingge to reach further, pulling Cheng Luan from the cave wall where it had been embedded.
Seeing this, he quickly raised Xiu Ya to block the oncoming blow, the resounding clang sending shockwaves all throughout his body. Not good. Shen Qingqiu was quick to retreat further into the cave, mentally recalibrating his next course of action. He tries to remain calm as he takes in every detail of the battle with unwavering focus: the heavy rise and fall of the war god’s chest, the small twitches of his muscles as he swung his sword.
He kept half an eye on the exit, looking for an opportunity to escape, to get backup, to ask for help. Even without channeling spiritual energy into his blows, Liu Qingge proved a difficult opponent; more so now that he was no longer in the right state of mind.
But Liu Qingge stood firmly blocking the cave’s only exit, and Shen Qingqiu had no choice but to continue defending, weaving between strikes with calculated grace that was getting harder to upkeep with each passing moment. Every heavy blow could only be described as pure, unadulterated violence, as it seemed to reverberate right through him. His arm was quickly becoming numb.
This brainless, reckless brute.
There was no way to beat the war god if this fight drew on. Shen Qingqiu would eventually tire, but a qi deviated beast surely wouldn’t. In what may have been a last ditch attempt to disarm the brute, he swings Xiu Ya in a wide arc, redirecting Cheng Luan as it was thrust towards his face.
Liu Qingge stumbles, his arms thrown open and, just for a second, Shen Qingqiu thought he saw what must have been surprise on the stoic war god’s face. Adrenaline coursed through his own body, as in the heat of battle, he triumphantly raises Xiu Ya to Liu Qingge’s exposed neck.
Wait.
What did he think he was doing? Killing a martial sibling?
Perhaps in that faraway world, he would have surely and unflinchingly plunged his blade into Liu Qingge’s neck. But in this one, at the very last moment, he hesitates.
That hesitation proved to be his undoing.
Because in the next instant, he felt cold, hard metal pierce his abdomen.
…
Shen Qingqiu looked disbelievingly at the sword that had been plunged right through his stomach, before he was hit by a wave of sheer, fiery agony. His throat constricted and he hurriedly bit his lip as he fought back a scream, barely registering as Xiu Ya fell from his hands.
He couldn’t think straight, his hands instinctively gripped the blade of the sword to prevent it from being pulled out. It cut into his palms, but he only held on tighter. Liu Qingge pulled and twisted in an attempt to remove Cheng Luan, and Shen Qingqiu spat out a mouthful of blood at the movement. He was definitely pouring blood right now, a river of scarlet turning his robes more red than green.
Since it had already come to this, he might as well…
He wasn’t sure how much longer he could remain conscious anyway.
In a moment of firm conviction, Shen Qingqiu released his hold on the blade, only to immediately grab Liu Qingge by the shoulders and pull. This closed the distance between him and the war god, and drove himself further up the sword, until he felt its cold hilt pressing against his abdomen. Fuck. It hurt. It hurt so much. The war god’s eyes widened as Shen Qingqiu practically draped himself over the larger man, pushing until they both tumbled onto the stone floor.
Liu Qingge thrashed and struggled like his life depended on it, one hand still holding Cheng Luan while the other punched out in an attempt to dislodge the weight on him.
Shen Qingqiu gritted his teeth, holding on for dear life as he forced his own unsettled qi through Liu Qingge’s damaged meridians, soothing the worst of the damage and redirecting qi until it flowed mostly smoothly.
Eventually, the light surrounding the war god died, and the punching slowed, before coming to a halt entirely. Liu Qingge must have fallen unconscious, which was unsurprising considering the severity of this deviation.
Shen Qingqiu continued transferring qi until he realized he couldn’t. Then he lay and listened to his own stuttering breaths, hitched on the blade that never moved from its place in his stomach.
His vision was growing blurry now, and the pain was subsiding. Did he succeed? He thinks of what he would tell Liu Qingge after he wakes up — perhaps he would actually kill the man for his stupidity, or yell at him and ban him from his peak..
It didn’t actually hurt anymore, he just feels cold and strangely numb. He thinks he’s falling, but he doesn’t really know where or how. He hears the screeching of metal, the sound of Xiu Ya shattering. But even that seemed distant as Shen Qingqiu felt his eyelids slowly close.
And then he felt nothing.