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Joint missions among peak lords isn't uncommon, since certain travels and ventures require multiple people with masteries of different skills. Peak lords are generally paired with the same person or people, similar to how students would pair for group projects. 

In this case, Shang Qinghua, being the peak lord of An Ding, doesn't normally go on missions with one of his martial siblings unless there's some sort of sampling that necessitates their skills (or personal opinion, but that’s even rarer). That, or he's invited to one, and no one would do that. Unless he requests one of his wayward siblings—which he wouldn’t, either—there’s simply no reason for anything other than solo travels. 

Which makes it even more surprising when he’s sought for a joint mission, much less by Shen Qingqiu.

He approached him some weeks ago wanting to accompany him to survey a new provider for their paints. Apparently, there was an issue and he was personally going to see to it that the supplier would be up to his standards. Shang Qinghua offered to bring him samples himself, but Shen Qingqiu insisted , and this particular martial brother's insistence is less of a choice and more of an obligation. Not wishing to earn more of his distaste, Shang Qinghua agreed. It’s why he's in this situation now.

Given the infinite amount of plants in this world and their various properties, it isn’t shocking that one has the ability to turn an adult into a child. In fact, Shang Qinghua's certain that there're multiple plants that can do this, and he's also certain that Shen Qingqiu would know each of them by heart. Except, evidently, he doesn't, because he's currently knee-level compared to Shang Qinghua. 

Of course, Shang Qinghua knew who Shen Qingqiu was before he arrived at the sect, so he shouldn’t be startled at the ragged robes and thin stature. The whip mark across his cheek shouldn't be there, either, because Shen Qingqiu—no, Shen Jiu—can't be older than five right now. The implications settle in his stomach like hot lead, and he summons up his years of experience to hold down the nausea. 

Shen Jiu glances up at him, his eyes too dull for a child, yet bright at the same time. He quickly looks away. 

Shang Qinghua bends down slowly, gauging for a reaction. Shen Jiu doesn't move, but he doesn't acknowledge him either. This close, he can see the trembling in his small body, and assumes Shen Jiu’s trying to minimize it. Vaguely, Shang Qinghua wonders what he'll remember when he returns to his original state. The exact plant that caused this he's unsure of, but some gut intuition lets him know that this is all temporary. He hopes it's right. He doesn’t have any cure-alls, and without knowing what did it, he can’t exactly make an antidote, either. 

"Hey," he says, low and controlled, forcing softness on the edges. Startling Shen Jiu is the last thing he wants, especially if his shixiong recalls these interactions when he grows older. 

Shen Jiu glances at him, something flicking in his eyes. Little brows furrow, pale lips twitch, but he gazes determinantly at Shang Qinghua. It's as familiar as it is foreign. "What?" The word cracks around his dried throat, and Shang Qinghua inwardly curses everything in this world. 

How does he approach a de-aged shixiong, whose past he is versed in yet is not supposed to know, when there’s a chance said shixiong will remember every action said and done once properly aged? Without stirring distrust in their much smaller, much weaker young counterpart while managing their trip? He doesn’t believe there’s a how-to for that. Could he market one? That may be a niche he can profit off of—and he’s trying to escape the situation, isn’t he?

First, Shang Qinghua pulls out water from his qiankun pouch. His mind belts through ideas and suggestions just as fast as he tosses them out. One sticks to his brain, though, and it carries through to his mouth: "I have water...if you want some." He offers the pouch to him, a good distance away from Shen Jiu, but close enough that if he takes a step forward he'll be able to reach it.

Instead, Shen Jiu eyes him like he’ll pounce. His dirtied hands twitch at his sides, as though he wants to accept, yet his stance resolutely remains unmoving. "Why are you giving it to me?"

"Because it sounds like you're thirsty?" Shang Qinghua tries. "Also, I'm not very thirsty, and I don't want to waste the water, and there's no one else here besides you. I haven't drank from it, so you should have it instead. You don't have to drink from it if you don't want to, you can just hold onto it." 

For a moment, he doesn't think he'll accept. Then, small fingers wrap around the leathery canteen and bring it down. Shen Jiu doesn't stop looking at Shang Qinghua, but the movement causes the too-big robes to slide down further. His ordinarily perfectly sized clothes  now drape over the body of a five-year-old. There's going to be soil woven into the fabric, with how much it drags on the road. Its white hue doesn't help, either. 

"I was thinking we could get you some better clothes." When Shen Jiu squints his eyes, he hastens to continue. "It's just that, those robes are really too big for you. It's probably hard to move around in them without them falling off, right? They're very nice looking robes, but they don't fit very well. There's a town where we can get some that fit better." The outermost robe slowly sags down his shoulder, and Shang Qinghua fights the urge to move it back. "Until then, can I fix these up for you? At least so that they don't fall off anymore?"

Shen Jiu stares, stares, and stares. The canteen is clutched between his grimy fingers, and his throat bobs with his swallows. "Why?" He asks, and it's so tiny compared to his usual steady voice that Shang Qinghua's stomach churns. It's a simple question, a simple word, but the vulnerability behind it overpowers its plainness. 

Suddenly, harshly, Shang Qinghua understands he needs to answer this carefully. Something warns him it's the qualifier for their immediate future. He decides the best choice here is to be honest (even if that’s something he hardly remembers how to do, anymore). "Because it's uncomfortable for you if it stays like that." 

Though nothing outwardly changes, there's a shift in his stance, the way he attentively documents Shang Qinghua's presence. He pulls the inside of his bottom lip between his teeth, and slowly takes a step forward. Shang Qinghua remains perfectly still, letting him approach at his own pace. When he's a few steps in front of him, but close enough to touch, Shang Qinghua reaches forward. He pointedly ignores how Shen Jiu tenses, focusing first on folding the robes up to his wrists, then cinching them with a piece of thread kept in his qiankun pouch. One can never be too prepared in this world, evidently. He hates this place. He hates it so much.

After securing both sides, he gestures to the hems of the robes, pooling around him like a river of pale greens and orchid whites. "I'm going to fold these up, too, that way you don't trip on them," he announces, and waits a moment for a subtle nod before he does just that. While holding the fabric up, he arranges the collar to cover the entirety of Shen Jiu’s chest, then ties them together. "There. Tell me if I need to loosen or tighten anything, or if they need to be moved again, okay?" He receives another nod, and smiles. If Shen Jiu stands a little closer to him, he doesn't verbally acknowledge it. 

He glances over to the carriage, where the horse flips its tail and snorts slightly. The nearest town would be the one they just left, and returning there would garner them suspicion—well, more suspicion—being that there were two immortal cultivators and now there's one and a child wearing the clothes of the other. Shang Qinghua grimaces at the imagined reactions, the gossip. The other would be a town further away, but one they luckily have yet to visit. 

Technically, this sampling trip is scheduled to be no longer than ten days, as they were to sample paints from three different suppliers of similar high quality. They completed the mission quicker than expected, given that Shen Qingqiu has little patience for items and people he deems unworthy of his attention. That also means only one of the craftsman's goods met his standards, and that was after he criticized all the shortcomings of the products. Shang Qinghua only knows he found them agreeable because his scathing remarks were less frequent than those before. Two boxes of paints currently sit in the carriage, in the storage space underneath Shen Qingqiu's expensively cushioned seats.

Traveling to the untouched town would take around a shichen, given that it's a more rural settlement. He knows from experience that it's a homely town. 

"It's going to take a little while to get to the town, but once we do, it shouldn't take too long to get new robes," he explains, gesturing to the carriage. Shen Jiu tentatively follows his line of sight. Judging from his expression, he's never been in a carriage. Shen Jiu tenses again. 

Shang Qinghua stands up, just as slow as he bent down. He picks up the hairpiece and ribbon that fell to the ground and starts walking. He doesn't have to turn to know Shen Jiu follows. "The road here is a little bumpy, but you shouldn't notice anything. I'm pretty good at driving these," he gives a small smile. Shen Jiu's utterly unimpressed look is so similar to his older self that Shang Qinghua almost laughs. "Okay, okay, don't look at me like that!" 

He digs into his qiankun pouch once more, procuring a talisman. He settles on his haunches, almost eye level with Shen Jiu. His cautious green eyes lock onto the paper, curiosity fluttering across his features. Shen Jiu leans forward slightly, not enough for a step, but enough that it's noticeable. 

Shang Qinghua holds the talisman flat on his palm, extended between them to give a clear view. The characters light up, and he hears a sharp inhale. Instead of backing away, Shen Jiu narrows his vision down to the paper. A plate appears in its stead, full of preservable fruits. 

"I'm pretty hungry," Shang Qinghua starts out sheepishly, rubbing his cheek with his free hand. "Where do you want to sit? In the back here, or up front with me?" he asks. 

Shen Jiu glances at him, to the open carriage door, then to the front—which is blocked by the wooden exterior, but the gesture remains. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't look away, either. 

"Alright, there's plenty of space up there." Shang Qinghua notes. He's never been more grateful that their designated driver ate something bad and had to stay at an inn to recover. Granted, Shen Qingqiu did not take to the news well and Shang Qinghua had to steer the horse the rest of the trip, but now it feels like a miracle. 

Shen Jiu presses his lips tightly together, nods, and follows Shang Qinghua up to the front. Shang Qinghua sets the plate on the horse's back, who doesn't react at all, and earns him a quick but confused look from Shen Jiu. "She's a pretty good horse. She won't eat them, don't worry." 

The joke falls flat for obvious reasons, but Shen Jiu's face loosens a bit. Only for it to tighten once more at the endeavor of climbing onto the driver's seat. Shang Qinghua panics for a moment, caught between wanting to let Shen Jiu do it himself so as to not incite dislike, or wanting to help so as to not incite dislike. 

Awkward silence sits between them before Shang Qinghua offers, "Do you want help?"

"Yes," Shen Jiu answers, and it's felt like ages since he's spoken last. 

Smiling, Shang Qinghua reaches down. He isn't prepared to feel how light he is, how even through the layers of bunched robes he can feel ribs poking through skin. How it makes his heart sear before dropping to his gut, like a plane crashing. He quickly sets Shen Jiu on the boards, letting him get comfortable while he gathers his own wits. 

He grabs the plate and rounds the horse before stepping onto his side, placing the food between them. He pops a pitted lychee into his mouth, ignores the pop of the lid of the water canteen opening, and sets toward the town. 

When he described this town as homely, he meant it in both a good and bad sense. The atmosphere is warm and the people kind, and its small population means that things get done with relative ease. That also means that it's close-knit, and anything and everything that happens within its perimeters is documented and shared among its people. Which also means they will talk about the cultivator and the small child with him. Especially if they find out the cultivator is the An Ding Peak Lord and the small child is the Qing Jing Peak Lord. 

He keeps this in mind while he's searching for a tailor's shop, hoping to get Shen Jiu fitted for robes his size. Shang Qinghua notices throughout this that Shen Jiu, despite silently following him, stays quite close to his side. A few times he's had to abruptly pitch his foot in a different spot in order to avoid hitting him. Whenever that happens, Shen Jiu pauses, and he swears he looks a little embarrassed, but he returns to his spot right next to him afterward. 

It's not uncomfortable, definitely not. Shang Qinghua—if he didn't think he'd get his tongue sliced clean off—would find this cute, if concerning, considering his past. Honestly, Shang Qinghua isn't sure when Shen Jiu became a slave, only that he was a young child. He wasn't expecting the phrase young child to be vague enough to mean any age younger than ten—half that, apparently. It makes his stomach sick—a pooling, hot thing that he has to carefully breath through. 

Shen Jiu notices this, and for a moment, his lips purse. The center of his mouth pinches in a familiar way, and Shang Qinghua anticipates a roundabout question before he can remember his shixiong is missing about three decades, give or take a few years. "Your face is white," Shen Jiu finally notes, in a childish voice both what Shang Qinghua was expecting and not what he was expecting at all. 

"I'm alright," Shang Qinghua assures, swallowing heavily. He suspects the thickness of his voice bleeds through, because Shen Jiu scrunches his face.

At first, Shang Qinghua can't believe what he's seeing—that Shen Jiu will allow such pointed transparency, even with his present age. Then he thinks, and thinks some more, and realizes that the wrinkle at the bridge of his nose, and the curl of his lip is exactly the look Shen Qingqiu would give someone blatantly lying to his face. It startles a laugh out of him, short but hearable. 

"Okay, maybe not. But it doesn't matter, really! I think I see the tailor's shop, we should go there—" he pauses when he realizes Shen Jiu isn't following him anymore. 

He turns to find him looking off into the distance, the canteen of water gripped between his fingers and offered out toward him. 

A smile passes over Shang Qinghua's lips, and he finds it one of the easiest he's given. "Thank you." 

Shen Jiu nods, still not meeting his gaze. Shang Qinghua takes a sip, and genuinely does feel better as the cool water slides down his throat. It might target the headache he's been sporting since the beginning of this entire trip, but he highly doubts it. Either way, it makes Shen Jiu feel more comfortable about approaching him, which is about all he can ask for at this point.

"Do you want to hang onto it for me again?" Shang Qinghua asks, capping the canteen. A flitter of shock crosses Shen Jiu's eyes before he holds out his hands, nodding once more. Seeing the grime under his nails, he frenziedly remembers that Shen Jiu isn't in his most crisp of forms. The oversized robes, the marks on his cheeks and hands, the dirt. Then, he also remembers that people are looking , and he wants to beat himself up.

He will not let this show to Shen Jiu, who he believes already knows this—children know much more than they let ons—and he sighs. Tailor's shop, then the rest. 

Inside, the tailor gives them one look. Shang Qinghua gives him another. "Good evening, sir. Do you have robes that will fit him?" he asks gently, motioning to Shen Jiu. 

The tailor casts his gaze over to Shen Jiu, who—Shang Qinghua remembers, again , doesn't like men—steps further behind his legs. Despite this, Shang Qinghua feels the glare little Shen Jiu sends the man. He covers his amusement in turn for regarding the tailor with the same, customer service look. 

"Give me a moment," the tailor says, stepping into a closed off area. He returns with a set of dark gray robes and a sage sash, handing them off to Shang Qinghua. 

"Oh, great, thank you!" Shang Qinghua takes them, considering the softness of the fabric. It shouldn't be too expensive, and he has money on him. Shang Qinghua gives him a piece of decently sized gold, to which the man's eyes widen almost comically. "Do you know where I can pay for a night's stay, and a bath, by any chance?"

The man swallows, still dazed, and he tells them the directions. Shang Qinghua smiles, thanking him once more before leading Shen Jiu off to one of the two fitting rooms provided in the shop. Stopping before the door, Shang Qinghua bends down. "Do you want to put them on yourself?" 

The middle of Shen Jiu's lips cinch again, his fingers clenching into his robes. 

"I can help, if you want," Shang Qinghua motions, "but if you want to do it yourself, that's fine too. And if you want to go yourself and find you need help, I'll be right here."

"I can do it," Shen Jiu confirms. He doesn't reach out for the robes, and if he's listening closely, then the confirmation sounds more akin to a question. 

Shang Qinghua hands him the robes regardless. "Okay, then. I'll wait for you here."

Shen Jiu nods once more and enters the room, and Shang Qinghua forces down the noise in his throat after comparing his height to the door. He's barely a quarter in length to it. The rustling of robes fills the silence, along with the patters from the tailor at the counter. Shang Qinghua ruffles around in one of his qiankun pouches, procuring a fresh ribbon to tie Shen Jiu's hair up with. 

More than a few minutes pass, and Shang Qinghua gets restless. The noise from behind the door hasn't ceased, but it's gotten sporadic. Eventually, the door slides open, and Shen Jiu emerges. There’s a folding attempt obvious in the old robes, loose and lopsided, and the belt over Shen Jiu’s waist isn't nearly tied correctly. Shang Qinghua keeps all this behind closed teeth, and takes the dirty clothes from Shen Jiu to slide into a qiankun pouch. 

"All done?" Shang Qinghua presses, encouraging, and Shen Jiu furrows his brows. 

"I can't..." he starts, hands fiddling with his belt. 

"Would you like me to do it?" 

"Yes." 

Shang Qinghua settles to his knees, though raises himself as high as he can go, keeping Shen Jiu inside the changing room while having the door rest against his own hip. Swiftly, he untangles the knot—how he got it like that is beyond him—and rearranges the robes to fit him better before retying the belt. The robes being the appropriate size, it's easier to feel the bones resting underneath Shen Jiu's skin. His stomach twists, and he swallows. "Better?"

"Mn."

"Good!" Shang Qinghua holds out the ribbon, a silky, gossamer yellow. They're his peak's color, true, but it's also all he has besides the one that fell on to the ground. The amount of dirt accumulated on that ribbon is barely enough to call dirty in the first place, but even still, handing it off to Shen Jiu feels viscerally wrong. Enough so that he almost cringes at the mere thought of giving him something like that. It's better off being cleaned first, and this fresh one will fit him better anyway. 

"What's it for?" Shen Jiu asks skeptically. 

Shang Qinghua signals with his hands. "Your hair. That way it's not all in your face, and you can see better." He waits. "If you don't want it, though, that's alright, too. Whichever way is better for you." 

Shen Jiu's brows furrow again, and he reaches up to his hair. The front falls into his vision whenever he moves, and the rest brushes down his shoulders and back. While it's not enough to hinder him, it's tangled form can't be comfortable. He imagines its unhygienic state itches, which is all the more reason to tie it up and away until they can get him cleaned. 

"Okay."

"Hm?" 

Shen Jiu looks up, and a familiar, unimpressed look falls upon his face. "The ribbon." 

"Ah, right, okay," Shang Qinghua starts, and his arms spasm and he smiles. "Can you turn around for me?"

He takes the ribbon in one hand, gently tugging and gathering Shen Jiu’s hair in the other. Feeling it gives him goosebumps, its texture rough, laden with tangles and literal clumps of dirt. His throat burns. He's five. He's five. He wills the tremble in his fingers to level out, and breathes silently and slowly through his nose. 

"Alright? Not too tight?" Shang Qinghua asks once he's finished. It's a simple bun, for Shen Jiu has just enough hair for it, and it conceals most of the grime and mats. He distantly wonders how he'll get to detangling it while preventing pain. 

"It's fine."

"There's a difference between fine and good." Shen Jiu gives him a look. "Is it really okay, or should I change it?"

"It's good," Shen Jiu amends, quieter, but actually looking at him this time. 

Shang Qinghua smiles then, resisting the urge to pat him on the head or shoulder. Not that he believes Shen Jiu will do anything, but there's the possibility of Shen Qingqiu remembering when this is reversed. There's also the matter of touching in general, which Shen Jiu doesn't seem completely averse to, but enough that Shang Qinghua can tell. It aches to witness, more so to realize it was his hand that decreed it. 

"Let's go, then." Shang Qinghua rises, stepping aside to let Shen Jiu through before softly closing the door. 

He thanks the tailor once more and makes his way toward the directed inn. As before, Shen Jiu stays close to his legs, but this time Shang Qinghua's prepared for it. The villagers don't gaze upon them as curiously as before, though intrigue lingers in their eyes in the way they glance at them surreptitiously from stalls and patios. The shadow of regret trails after him, imposing and dark. It's one he's used to ignoring, but with the huddled presence of Shen Jiu at his sides, he finds it penetrating his built indifference. 

The inn reflects the village—cozy, firelit, warm. The scent of cedarwood diffuses from incense, the golden flame of the fire illuminates the worn, soft furniture. The innkeeper regards them with polite interest, mirrored in the lilt of her voice when welcoming them.

"Do you have a room with two beds?" Shang Qinghua asks, fishing out his qiankun pouch. 

"Yes, we do." She confirms, leaning her hands on the counter. She glances down at Shen Jiu, who doesn't glance away, but does step closer to Shang Qinghua. He feels her question rattle his bones, regardless of the fact that it remains respectfully unspoken.  

"Here," he lays out two gold. "Can we have a bath brought up?" He looks down at Shen Jiu. "And meals? Is there a schedule for that?" 

She lays out the timings of the meals and that a warm bath will be given to them. He thanks her, then goes up the stairs to their room. As promised, there's two beds—one resting along a window, and the other two arm lengths away from it. The bedding appears comfortable, if a little used. He's sure Shen Jiu won't mind, given that these are real beds. Not the ground or some crude copy. 

"Which one do you want?" He asks an attentive Shen Jiu, who scans the room with what he can only describe as wondrous eyes. 

Shen Jiu startles at his address, like he's waking from a daydream. He clasps his hands in his robes, then points to the bed farthest from the window. "That one."

"Okay, sure!" 

He gets them settled in, lighting candles with simple arrays that capture young Shen Jiu's attention. He doesn't speak, save for when Shang Qinghua asked if he thinks the room is lit enough, to which he answers a simple affirmative. As Shang Qinghua takes out the qiankun pouch that contains three other qiankun pouches—don’t judge him—one for food, one for clothes, and one for miscellaneous belongings, they're alerted that the bath is prepared. 

Shang Qinghua takes the third pouch and takes out soap and oil that Shen Jiu typically orders, a mellow blend of floral and herbal scents delicate on the nose. He glances at Shen Jiu, who eats a heated bun on the floor next to him. The way his cheeks swell before he swallows, the way he clutches at the bread with both hands and still has room for more has Shang Qinghua internally screaming. The inspection has him noticing the specks of who-knows-what on Shen Jiu’s skin. He fishes out the scrub.  

He lets Shen Jiu finish his meal before asking, tentatively, "Are you ready for a bath?"

Expectedly, Shen Jiu freezes. Enough to where his muscles tremble with how taut he is. 

Shang Qinghua scrambles to soothe them. "You can take one by yourself, if that's what you're more comfortable with. Or I can help you. Either way, it's probably bothering you, right? Even I can't go too long without a bath before I start feeling icky." He dramatically grimaces, shivering. It makes Shen Jiu loosen a little. "What do you say?"

"I want a bath." Shen Jiu cinches the center of his lips again. Shang Qinghua ignores the urge to pull his cheeks. "...Can...I don't know...."

"How about this,” he carefully interrupts, “you leave on your pants and I'll roll them up, and I'll help you. Is that okay?"

Shen Jiu nods, and Shang Qinghua grins wide. Shang Qinghua goes to grab the vials, but small fingers beat him to it, and Shen Jiu gathers them in his arms. He refuses to meet his eyes, but he's standing as close as he was in the street. Once more, the urge to hold him grips Shang Qinghua, and he has to fight it back. Though, it doesn't stop him from running a hand through his hair on the way to the bath. 

He should have known that feeding into the want only makes it worse.

The bath is still warm, but to ensure that it stays that way he draws up a stasis array on the wooden side. 

"What is that?" Shen Jiu asks, in reference to the glowing characters.

"A stasis array. It'll keep the water warm for us for a long time." 

"Oh." A rustle of robes. "Does it work on people?"

The feeling is like whiplash, seeing pieces of his shixiong in Shen Jiu. "I'm not sure, I haven't tried." Shang Qinghua helps him into the bath, consciously ignoring the whip marks on his back and the white heat blinding his mind. "I'm sure it could, but you'd have to change some things first. The array is made for objects, so I don't know if that will have an effect on living, breathing beings." He sets the stool meant for holding hygienic products inside the tub, so Shen Jiu doesn't have to stand the entire time. 

"Will it hurt them?" Shen Jiu asks, sitting down with light encouragement. 

"It could," Shang Qinghua admits, and releases the ribbon from Shen Jiu's matted hair. It comes to his shoulder blades, but with the excessive tangles and knots, it only reaches the base of his neck. A sharp, stinging pain thuds in his chest at the sight. "It couldn't. I don't know, I've never tried. Since most stasis arrays are used to keep the temperature the same, it could just do that. Sometimes they're used to keep items in place, but those are usually a different design and have a few different characters."

Shen Jiu is silent, letting Shang Qinghua comb the ends of his hair. He works from the bottom to the top, making sure that it doesn't tug uncomfortably on his scalp. The first run through has strands tangling in the wooden teeth before he can even drag his hand down. This is going to take work—and patience. "So can it keep someone warm?"

Shang Qinghua sighs, more of contemplation rather than irritation. Though he knows this, he realizes that Shen Jiu doesn't , and nearly folds over in apologies when the small boy flinches and hunches in on himself. "No, no, I'm not upset! Actually, it's nice that you're asking these questions, that way it gives me something to talk about." 

He waits for him to relax again, and once he does, he runs his fingers through the smooth part of his hair. 

"I'm not sure if it can keep someone warm," he begins, picking up another section of hair. "If someone is already warm and you draw it on, then it might be able to, but that's given that the array works on people in the first place." 

While doing his hair, section by section, Shang Qinghua explains the nuances—at least, as far as he understands. Hypothetically, if it works on people, then a cultivator could sustain and lengthen its lifespan as long as they continue feeding it qi. Though, that could counterpose their original objective to stay warm, especially if the cultivator is of a higher level. 

It would imply that they are more reliant on their cultivation than their immune system and natural regulatory processes, so if they drain their meridians and overwork their golden core powering this array, they could potentially fall back to their immune system. Which, if it hasn't been used in several years, is weak from disuse. Whether or not this information is accurate would really be Mu Qingfang's area of expertise, but as he's in Cang Qiong and very unaware that Shen Qingqiu can barely reach countertops, he'll have to do with this.

Once he's done explaining his theories, most of Shen Jiu's hair is detangled. 

Shen Jiu threads his fingers through the brushed parts, as if amazed they can be that smooth. He rubs them between his index and thumb, feeling over the edges, coiling them and watching them fall back. 

It's good that he's facing the opposite direction, so that he doesn't have to witness the ridiculous grin making home on Shang Qinghua's face.

"Do you like the smell?" Shang Qinghua holds the vial of soap out. 

Shen Jiu hovers over the rim, taking in a deep breath. "Mn." 

"Me, too! It's not too strong, but it stays for two or three days," Shang Qinghua explains, dripping the contents over his scalp. "Lean back for me?"

After some maneuvering, Shen Jiu props his neck on the edge of the tub while Shang Qinghua lathers his hair. Suds spill over the side, and if he wasn't certain Shen Jiu was wholly human, he'd be sure he is purring. The fact that his hair's volume is around normal assuages some of the anger lodged in his chest, but not enough to clear it out completely. He's not a righteous cultivator, but by all means, he hopes those who are responsible for Shen Jiu's state aren't around. It's surprisingly easy to make someone disappear.

He announces every move he makes, especially when he asks him to close his eyes before he rinses out the soap. He dutifully answers all Shen Jiu’s questions. Happy to do so, if it gets him to talk. Why he's using a scrub, and what's in it that makes it work, the difference between that and regular soap. By the time Shen Jiu's out of the bath, dried and dressed, his eyes droop—even if he's trying to hide it. 

Shang Qinghua gives in to the urge to pat his head. He oils his hair, relishing in the fact that it's finally soft and his fingers don't catch. Something settles in him, knowing that Shen Jiu is now clean and fed and ready for bed. He can't place exactly what it is, only that the little alarms blaring in his mind even out into a gentle thrum, especially as he watches Shen Jiu tuck himself underneath his sheets. 

He's happy he washed his robes before going to bed, leaving them by the window to dry out. Otherwise, he'd have to trail back to the tailor's shop and ask for another set, or make Shen Jiu wear the same ones. Though, Shang Qinghua wraps a pale yellow sash around him instead, just so it doesn't look like he's donning the exact same thing. He doubts anyone would say anything, but he knows his shixiong, and even if he isn't fully himself right now, it's still him. 

Shang Qinghua has to coerce Shen Jiu into eating breakfast, though once he does he's more comfortable than he was yesterday. He manages to find out that there's a library tucked along one of the village's corners, and decides its forested location will be perfect for them to spend their time in. 

Being mid-morning, there's many people out in the streets. There's even horses, large and imposing to a young Shen Jiu, who hovers close by his legs once more. Shang Qinghua allows himself to stroke over his head whenever he gets close enough to brush against his robes, only encouraged with how Shen Jiu's shoulders relax with each curl of his fingers. 

"Do you know how to read?" Shang Qinghua asks softly, entering the small library. The gentle scent of sandalwood diffuses from various incense, and the librarian greets them genially, if curiously. 

Shen Jiu shakes his head, though the look he wears practically challenges Shang Qinghua to comment on it. Instead, he laughs quietly, guiding them into one of the aisles. 

"It's alright. I didn't know how to read at your age, either." He fingers through the spines, some lovingly worn, others hardened and rarely touched. There's a bookshelf that mirrors a honeycomb, and instead of overflowing with honey, it’s filled with scrolls.

Shen Jiu notices, too, wandering over with quiet steps. Interest glimmers in his eyes, with how they track the cells, falling over the scrolls like they hold secrets unknown to the world. He doesn't reach out, though his arms twitch with want, and Shang Qinghua's chest tugs. He's sure Shen Jiu hasn't seen anything like this before, young and poor as he is. He wants to believe that Shen Jiu hasn't been sold into slavery yet.

That doesn't conceal the fact that he most certainly lived on the streets. 

The realization dawns on him in heated waves. The memories Shen Jiu holds are probably from his life lost on the streets—parentless, homeless, no one to protect him and no stability. Strongly, suddenly, Shang Qinghua wants to be his one constant. The one he can expect, the one he can depend on. 

He bats the thought away viciously. This is Shen Qingqiu, not some hopeless child. 

Tiny, thin hands brush against the wooden shelf, unsure of how much they're allowed to take. Unaware that they're free to do so, free of repercussion. He swallows, thick, blinking the sting away from his eyes. 

"Which one do you want?" Shang Qinghua approaches, kneeling behind him. 

Shen Jiu reacts as though caught doing something wrong. He glances away, lips pursed, and Shang Qinghua prods gently at one of the scrolls. He's quiet, then he looks up at one of the higher compartments. "That one."

It's a scroll that spills over the side, heavily rolled and bound with a thick piece of twine. There's no indication as to what it's about, but Shang Qinghua takes it without a second thought. Eager to give Shen Jiu what he wants. To show that he can have it, no matter what it is—no matter how small or how big. 

"Hm." The weight is similar to that of one of his longer reports. 

Shen Jiu shifts on his feet, his hands clenched in his robes once more. He doesn't meet his eyes, staring blankly ahead at Shang Qinghua's knees. Then his jaw relaxes in surprise, when Shang Qinghua soothes down a ruffle collecting at Shen Jiu’s shoulder. He looks up, dubiety shaded in veridian. 

"Let's go see what it's about," Shang Qinghua suggests, heading over to one of the nooks. The padded seating provides for hours of sitting and reading, a perfect way to spend the day. 

"It doesn't say?" Shen Jiu questions, voice small even in the silence. 

Shang Qinghua shakes his head, another coil unfurling in his being at the sound. "Nope, so we get to find out!" 

The bench rests along the wall, a table before it. The fit isn't tight, but snug enough to feel cozy in the golden light of the morning without feeling trapped. Due to the various shelves, books, and small spaces, the air retains warmth akin to that of waking up, wrapped in sheets and hidden from the chill of the world.

Spreading out the scroll releases the scent of old, dried ink and old parchment—something he can never get enough of. If he could find an incense that smelled of it, he would have it forever lit.

Shen Jiu focuses on the diagrams and drawings, as if attempting to absorb their story. He appears to be failing. "What does it say?" He asks after a while, the question dragging out of his throat.

"It's talking about an ancient village," Shang Qinghua explains carefully, tracing over a line of characters. The texture of it rubs pleasantly over his skin. He glances over, untensing at how Shen Jiu watches him. "Do you want me to read it for you? It's really cool."

Shen Jiu nods, sliding in a bit closer to him. Shang Qinghua can't help but smile, and starts from the beginning. 

"Did you have fun today?" Shang Qinghua asks once they're back in their room, loosening the ribbon holding his hair together. It's making his skull ache, and as if natural to him, he reaches over and undoes Shen Jiu's. The innateness of it is underscored with how Shen Jiu lets him, nibbling on a slice of apple.

He nods, eyes fluttering a little when Shang Qinghua runs his fingers through his hair, weaving through the soft tangles until it's smoothed out. "The auntie was weird."

Shang Qinghua doesn't comment on how, in the grand picture, they're the odd ones and just agrees. No use in arguing with a five-year old, much less his shixiong. "Keep eating, I'm gonna go change real quick. Then we can get some dinner, okay?" 

"Okay."

Peeling off the layers of his robes is like stepping into another facet of himself. Honestly, these past two days felt like an entire other part of himself took control, as though it had been waiting for a moment to come out. It's foreign, unusual, but familiar in a way that keeps him somewhat sane. Each time he brushes through Shen Jiu's hair, or sees him loosen up, or watches him eat and ask questions openly all relaxes the tightness in his stomach. 

He's just arranging his sash when something loud thuds across the room, chased by shattering. Shang Qinghua stumbles out from behind the changing screen, eyes wide and attention honed in on finding Shen Jiu. When he does, something cold and hard sinks into his gut. 

The side table by Shen Jiu's bed lays on the floor, its drawer hanging, empty. The mirror set next to it is now scattered glass pieces strewn about the wood, glinting in the fading sunlight, sharp and dangerous. Shen Jiu stands in the rubble of it, and he slowly pieces together that he must have backed away from the table and knocked into the mirror. 

Horror crawls up his throat thinking that he may be hurt, what with all the hazardous shards everywhere. "Don't move!" 

He doesn't mean to yell, at least, not out of any resentment toward him. It's just his heart is thundering in his ears, his blood is pumping too quickly in his veins, his mind is reeling with the fading fear of an attacker—and through it all, he doesn't want to add any injury to anyone, especially Shen Jiu.

It matters not, though, not when his enhanced vision catches on Shen Jiu's trembling figure, how his eyes shine like the light off the glass. He purposefully trains his voice to an even, gentle sound. "Are you hurt? Did you get cut? Hit?"

There's no response. 

His heartbeat picks up. 

"Are you okay?" He tries again, inching forward, avoiding the remains of the mirror. 

"I'm sorry," Shen Jiu whispers, and Shang Qinghua's knees nearly give out when he hears the crack in his voice. "I'm sorry, I—I didn't mean to."

"Of course, you didn't mean to—"

"I'm sorry—it was an...accident." He's full out shaking now, tears streaming down his thin cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

Shang Qinghua kneels in front of him, reaching out. He's desperate to calm him, to assure him that none of it is his fault. "I'm not mad, how could I be mad? I'm worried you're hurt."

Shen Jiu doesn't appear to hear him, repeating over and over that he didn't mean to, and that he's sorry, that to please not hurt him—and it breaks him. 

"A-Jiu," he says, a plea of itself, and Shen Jiu freezes and whips his head up. Carefully, Shang Qinghua cups his cheeks, rubbing away the salty tracks. "A-Jiu, listen to me, okay? Okay, it's okay. I promise, it's okay." Shen Jiu hiccups, and he's so small in his hold. Shang Qinghua hesitates, only for a moment, before something grips him hard and he gathers Shen Jiu into his arms. 

He doesn't know if it's the right decision—he hardly ever does—but Shen Jiu slumps into him with heaving cries and he physically can't do anything else but to rub up and down his quivering back. 

"It's okay, it's okay." He tucks him closer. "I promise, I'm not mad. It was an accident."

Shen Jiu sniffles, burrowing his small hands into his loose hair. "Promise?" 

His heart clenches. "Yes, I promise. Why would I promise you something that isn't true?" 

It takes a while, but eventually Shen Jiu calms down enough to be embarrassed about his outburst. Shang Qinghua swipes away the remaining stickiness on his face with a wet cloth, offering him the canteen of water and telling him to sit on the bed while he cleans it up. Shen Jiu looks reluctant, but Shang Qinghua just ruffles his hair again and hands him another slice of fruit. 

"You need to rehydrate," Shang Qinghua tells him as he sweeps up the glass, having already righted the table. He dumps the shards in the bin and alerts one of the workers of the little accident, and he hands them payment for the replacement. 

That night, Shang Qinghua takes time to read one of the books from the library to Shen Jiu. He enjoys it, apparently, since he falls asleep fairly quickly. If Shang Qinghua removes his own blanket to tuck around him because of the cool draft, and smooths out his hair before returning to his blanket-less bed, well. Well, that's for him to know and live with. 

When Shang Qinghua wakes up, it's slow. Usually he either bounces up from bed in a panic, or blinks into the waking world—it seems this morning is the latter. He thinks there's something he's forgetting, something important, and it's only when he sits up and sees the small, gray robes folded neatly on a stool that he realizes—

"About time you woke up."