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When Xiao Jiu, battered and dirty, saw Qi-ge for the first time since the Qiu, he felt nothing. Why would he? He wanted Qi-ge happy, safe, and well-cared for. And he was. He was.
It showed in the freshly pressed disciple robes, how his long hair wasn’t matted and dirtied in clumps for the first time in forever. It showed in how his back stood straight as a guqin string instead of the familiar pleading bow. It showed in his hands, callouses of hard labour and collecting scraps replaced by those that helped him wield his sword.
Or maybe he was imagining things.
Maybe he was, because
his
Qi-ge would have that same surprised expression, whenever Xiao Jiu did something unexpected, which he’d quickly school back to a mask of calm.
His
Qi-ge would always look only at him.
And then, the rage and pain and betrayal, all mixed together, aching in a way his mangled meridians would when Wu Yanzi used him, reared their ugly heads. He didn’t remember what he yelled, what words left his sullied mouth. He didn’t remember if he felt anything other than this when he killed Wu Yanzi, nor when Yue Qi took him to see his shizun. He didn’t remember. That was fine. He didn’t remember most things these days.
When the ache settled and the numbness returned, his mind went straight to putting everything he remembered in place. Seeing Qi-ge, acceptance, seeing Yue Qi, rage, ache, heartache, why didn’t you save me, why didn’t you come back-
No matter. This was that. Xiao Jiu was never the master of his fate. Maybe Shen Jiu could be.
<<•●•>>
How naïve. Shen Jiu wanted to laugh at this childish idiocy he once held. His shizun, that foul man, of course he was a man, what other monster-
Shen Jiu knelt on the wooden floors, cleaning up the spilt tea as it dripped down his hair.
“Learn to make it right next time, Shen Jiu. I expect only the best from my disciples,” his shizun said before leaving him kowtowing in the room. And he knew Shen Jiu would. This man… unnerved Shen Jiu. He knew too much, even if he didn’t say it. His eyes lingered, not in the lecherous ways Xiao Jiu was used to, but in the calculating, cold gaze Shen Jiu learnt from travelling with Wu Yanzi. He knew.
What
he knew was another matter completely.
Shen Jiu scrubbed his hands raw against the wood with the rag, soaking up the puddle before hurrying out. It would be pitiable to be seen like this. He grabbed his spare robes and moved to the seclusion of the healing spring. He washed slowly, taking his time.
He wondered if his younger self would kill for a bath like this. He decided he wouldn’t. Not until he left the Qiu, that is. He was much too weak back then.
His mind drifted to Qi-ge. They saw each other during head disciple meetings. They were ridiculous, Shen Jiu found. None of these lordlings and ladies knew what they were saying, what a farce! If only they’d listened to him before the last mission instead of spitting poison, An Ding wouldn’t need to order more wood for repairs and Qian Cao wouldn’t be spilling with wilting disciples. But they didn’t. They wouldn’t, of course.
Shen Jiu sighed, opening his fan. “Liu-shidi, if your martial siblings just stopped butting in without thinking-”
“Shen Jiu, you bastard!” The boy stood up from his seat, agitated. “Is it so important to get the last word in, ha!?”
“Shidi, please.” Yue Qi calmed. Shen Jiu hated this fake smile. His Qi-ge’s smiles were rare but treasured. Honest and wild. Not this game of pretend for the sake of pleasantries.
And the meeting continued. And it ended. And nothing changed. Shen Jiu scoffed. He felt Qi-ge’s eyes on the back of his head. He didn’t approach.
<<•●•>>
“Did you know!?” Shen Qingqiu asked Yue Qingyuan after the names chosen for their generation by the previous peak lords were revealed. “Yue Qingyuan, do not avoid me! Did you know?” This accursed character, haunting him all his life, branded in his skin, was now branded in his name. His shizun knew. He got his last laugh.
“Xiao- Shen-shidi. No, I did not.” Yue Qingyuan answered calmly. There was no anger on his behalf, no despair. That made Shen Jiu feel worse. Yue Qingyuan knew so why wouldn’t he even validate this? This anger, that same one from the fateful Immortal Alliance all those years ago resurfaced, refined over the years into a cold blade instead of a boiling kettle.
“...would you have told me if you knew? Would you have spoken up, would you have told him ? Would you have cared enough?” Shen Qingqiu spat out viciously.
“Shen-shidi-”
“Would you?” Shen Qingqiu asked coldly.
“...I don’t think shibo meant to offend-” Shen QIngqiu couldn’t even find it in himself to be disappointed.
“...Zhangmen-shixiong is right. How… foolish of me to ask.” He retreated into his shizun’s chambers. His chambers. He tore down the old paintings and broke the teapot. He revelled in the way the expensive porcelain crunched under his feet.
Shen Jiu allowed himself to break right by its side, if only for a moment, in the quiet of the bamboo house. He mourned his beloved freedom, the one he had remained loyal to, the one believed to be just an arm’s length away.
A runaway slave was always going to remain a slave. Only his master had ever changed.
<<•●•>>
Shen Qingqiu didn’t even have his poisonous tongue left to spit venom at this demonic beast. Every time Luo Binghe arrived, the bastard would take another piece of Shen Qingqiu. He felt sick to his stomach, looking at the demon lord. There was taunting, asking for answers even he didn’t have, pleading, and yelling. The beast did it all. Shen Qingqiu preferred it to the silence that crawled out of the shadows every time Luo Binghe would leave.
“...Yue Qingyuan enjoyed my gift, I believe. Your leg quite pleased him.” Luo Binghe cackled loudly. “I’d invited him, you know? Shizun, you’ll like this part.” The heavenly demon smiled, his teeth sharp in an unnaturally twisted pull.
“He came right into my trap, see? What desperation… We’re lost past this point, right? So long… I’d have thought he’d be smarter. Well, doesn’t matter.” Luo Binghe shrugged. Shen Qingqiu wanted to say something along the lines of: why should I care? Or stop spitting, you foul beast! But his tongue had been ripped off and his vocal cords exhausted from disuse.
“Shizun, he came for you and died, and you don’t even care?” Luo Binghe hummed. “How cold! So you really don’t care for anyone!” Died? Yue Qingyuan, dead? He supposed it was a matter of time before his stupid Qi-ge got into trouble he couldn’t get out of. It was to be expected. Luo Binghe would ruin everyone he perceived to have wronged him, of course. Why would Yue Qingyuan not be there? He did not partake directly, but he was the sect leader.
It didn’t make sense. Yue Qingyuan didn’t care for Shen Qingqiu. He’d cared for Xiao Jiu, once. He’d maybe respected him sometimes. But he did not care. He didn’t protest when Qiu Haitang showed up, he didn’t challenge Luo Binghe. Not like Shen Qingqiu expected him to do so. He didn’t. He accepted it, had accepted that he’d never know true peace, that he’d die imprisoned.
His heart ached something fierce. Still. Even still. Even if Yue Qingyuan was not his Qi-ge, even if he hadn’t been in a long time, he still came. He knew it was a trap, he must have. He was too clever to not know, as much as it pained Shen Qingqiu to admit.
What would have pushed him to do this? Was it guilt? Possibly. Some other sense of duty? Maybe he regretted letting one of his martial siblings be taken. Or maybe his leg was so gruesome a sight that it motivated him enough to try and take Luo Binghe down off his tyrannical throne. It didn’t matter. He was dead. Yue Qingyuan was dead. Yue Qi was dead. Qi-ge was dead-
Shen Qingqiu looked straight at Luo Binghe. Shen Jiu pretended he didn’t see the shards of his brother’s shattered sword. Xiao Jiu let the tears flow once Luo Binghe had left and locked the door, leaving him in darkness.