Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

As an extremely knowledgeable and wise thirteen-year-old, Shen Yuan’s remedy to a particularly shitty day at school was one that he quite recommended to anyone who suffered from a similar plight. It was a very simple process, too; in fact, all it involved was clicking into the forums at the speed of a seasoned expert and preparing a metaphorical red pen with all the harshness of a parent “helping” with homework.

The amateur independent writer forums, of course, were the best for this kind of stress-relief. After all, what was the fun in trawling through published writing? They’d already had the best parts picked away by editors like vultures on roadkill! These message boards were where they had the real good stuff, garbage and hidden gems alike.

It’s one such afternoon when Shen Yuan is lounging in his desk chair, crunching on chips he’d found at the back of the cabinet, that he gets a new update on a thread he’d marked for later. It’s titled “Proud Immortal Demon Way - Idea?” and it’d been a particularly interesting read when he’d first stumbled upon it a few weeks ago.

Written by user Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, it had been shaping up to be an interesting, if not particularly well-executed, rough outline of a xianxia tale about a young boy who had suffered and suffered. Of course, as per genre convention, this young boy would surely surpass everyone else in the world. Until then, however, Shen Yuan had been intrigued by this protagonist who was pure, sweet, and had nothing but aspirations of being a diligent student and making his (washerwoman!) mother proud.

“Not very xianxia power fantasy of you, Binghe,” he mutters, wiping his greasy hands off before furiously pounding away at his keyboard. On-screen, his cursor blinks: How nice is this guy?! To just keep accepting such behavior from scum like him…Airplane, there’s a thin line between writing a character to be filial and writing a character to be a total masochist. You haven’t just crossed the line, you’ve leapt across it!

He’s practically an expert at this by now, even reading and leaving comments as he eats. “Stupid,” he says to himself through a mouthful of chips, scrolling to the second page of the newest update. Luo Binghe’s scum shizun, Shen Qingqiu, gets more comically evil and less interesting with every sentence. It must be a new record. “Luo Binghe stumbles to his shijie’s waiting arms, bleeding from the Bai Zhan peak disciple’s assault…Seriously? Inter-peak fighting is so cheap,” he reads aloud, eyes narrowing in disdain.

It only gets worse as he reads on. “Unfortunately for Luo Binghe, Shen Qingqiu hadn’t been far behind his favored disciple. ‘It stands to reason a beast like you should know no sense,’ his shizun says, expression coldly furious, ‘but should you have no propriety as well? Take your hands off your shijie.’...Of course that Airplane has no subtlety,” Shen Yuan says. “Of course, the villain should also be creepy about his female disciple, too! It’s not enough that he beats children, no!”

“Ning Yingying cries out, ‘But Shizun! Those Bai Zhan disciples were beating on him!’ Her concern causes Binghe to flush, even as his Shizun says dismissively, ‘They’ve always been out of control. I’m sure the death of that brute hasn’t helped,’” Shen Yuan reads, then frowns and starts scrolling back up. “Whose death is he talking about?”

When he doesn’t find anything concrete, he sighs and reads further. The lack of detail is par for the course with this half-edited novel, more a rough draft than anything. He’s honestly not even sure that anyone reads besides him and three other commenters. “She whispers to him that she’d heard rumors that their shizun had killed the Bai Zhan peak lord himself, some sort of murderous rage in the Lingxi caves, but surely it couldn’t be true—not their shizun! Luo Binghe, ever loyal, just shakes his head in agreement—his shizun could never do such a thing, no matter if he was occasionally a little hard on him.”

Shen Yuan shakes his head again. “Of course he just takes it lying down,” he says, then does a double take at the supposed murder. “And of course, Airplane takes another concept with so much potential and just throws it away.” The peak lord of Bai Zhan, supposedly a battle maniac with a title of “War God” and a perfect contrast to Shen Qingqiu’s peak of scholarly study, had been little more than a throwaway introduction line that gave his name and a throwaway death that fueled a teenage romance. Shen Yuan rankles a little at the wasted narrative. Wouldn’t it have been interesting to have a character set up to constantly be clashing with Shen Qingqiu, to mirror Luo Binghe’s struggle between his scholarly aspirations and the kind of violence that came so naturally to him? Wouldn’t it be another hint at the duality within the protagonist that, despite all the faults of this story, was pretty damn interesting?

“No, of course this Bai Zhan peak lord dies because of Binghe’s scum shizun, and of course the story is just more misery jerk-off bullshit!” he exclaims. Unfortunately for Shen Yuan, age thirteen and not particularly careful about his eating habits, the breath of air he takes in after his impassioned rant is particularly deep. Even more unfortunately for Shen Yuan, a chip immediately lodges itself in his airway, triggering a fit of choking and an increasingly narrowing field of vision. When he finally runs out of oxygen, chip still firmly stuck, the last thing he sees is the mocking blink of his cursor—still positioned at the Bai Zhan peak lord’s unfortunate death announcement.

—

The first thing Shen Yuan notices after waking up: the sun is bright, far too bright for a shut-in like himself. The second thing he notices is just how loud everything is, people bustling left and right and asking him questions. The third thing, which in hindsight he should’ve noticed far earlier, is that he’s in the middle of a traditional Chinese-styled courtyard, and everyone else around him is dressed in the kind of robes he’d only seen on TV dramas. “What?” he gets out, before the people huddled around him explode in a cacophony of sound. “Hello?”

“Young man, do you know where you are?” a particularly beautiful woman asks him, face severe and angular. “What is your name?”

Internally, Shen Yuan panics. Of course he doesn’t know where he is! Not even five minutes ago, he’d been sitting in his comfortably air-conditioned room, choking on his chips! He shakes his head mutely, and the woman seemingly takes that as an invitation to drag him to his feet. “Up,” she barks, tugging him to a standing pose.

As she frog-marches him to what seems to be an even fancier building, Shen Yuan mentally catalogs his surroundings. Ancient-Chinese aesthetics, ambiguously fancy environment, life-threatening situation…No way, don’t tell me I transmigrated?!

It’s a realization that nearly has him falling over, heels digging into the ground. The woman glances back at him, clearly annoyed, but he’s too busy trying not to totally lose his mind. It’s a scenario that had only existed in his shitty webnovels, but…how else could he explain such a drastic change? Outfits, buildings…even the air itself seemed cleaner.

His death knell comes in the form of a chime ringing in his head, loudly enough to cause him to flinch. Welcome! comes a tinny automated voice, and he thinks wildly for a second that he really has gone crazy. New User, welcome to this world!

What the hell, he thinks, head darting around to try to find the source of the sound. What is this?

User, this is the system, the voice recites, clean and precise. Through the use of commands, the User is able to access information about anything native to this world. The System hopes this is of use in the User’s journey.

Who—whatever, who cares about that! Shen Yuan’s still being dragged to an unknown location, and as he stares at the building looming above him, he shivers in fear. What system?! Did I die?!

The System is an automated user-specific internal database, similar to an encyclopedia, the voice chirps. Would User like additional information about anything?

Shen Yuan’s not stupid, he knows the drill with these transmigration novels. System, he snaps mentally, what is that plant growing over there.

That is bluebell-grass, it says. A common weed, it often grows in qi-rich areas. It’s said to be useful in a pinch for detoxification.

Okay, good, he thinks, now why am I here in this world?

There’s a moment before the answer comes, almost sullen. …If User felt strongly enough about this story that he felt the need to die over it, then User should do something about it.

No fucking way I’m in the world of that shitty Proud Immortal Demon Way novel right now, Shen Yuan yells to himself, then shuts up abruptly as he’s dragged in front of an extremely important-looking man. Save the processing for later! Save the breakdown for later! A scary man is standing right in front of him, and his prospects don’t look good!

“Young man,” the important-looking man says, “State your name and your intentions.”

Shen Yuan gulps. “I—I’m…I don’t really remember much of anything about myself, I…” When in doubt, use the amnesia excuse. He doesn’t remember anything, totally. Any weirdness can be explained away in an instant.

“...An amnesiac, getting past our compound’s wards? Young man, honesty is a virtue. I would advise you to tell the truth,” he says. He cuts a severe figure in fancy xianxia robes and a furrowed brow.

“I really have no clue, sir,” Shen Yuan stammers, hands sweaty. He resists the urge to wipe them on his unfamiliar robes. “I know nothing of myself.” He gets it, security issue and everything, but surely a thirteen year old couldn’t pose any real threat?

“Fine,” the man waves his hand dismissively. “A truth test isn’t too complex to perform. Young man, do you understand?” It’s cold, but not cruel. Shen Yuan, however, starts sweating profusely at his words.

System! he cries. Can they find out?

Rest assured, User, it chimes soothingly, any answers that threaten User’s status in this world will be redirected.

It’s an extremely vague response, but it’s not like he has much choice—he puts his hand on the strange metal device that one of the servants brings out, and the adult puts his hand on the other side.

“Young man,” he asks first, “where do you hail from?”

Shen Yuan’s mouth opens, and he starts spilling out words he’d never even thought to say. “I truly do not remember,” it says, as he mentally flounders. “If my birthplace is in this world, I do not know its name any longer.”

The man squints at him, and continues asking questions. “Do you intend anyone here harm?” More words pour out from him, smooth and assuring him that he means no harm, he’s just an amnesiac. It’s another long few minutes of questioning before the other man seemingly gives up on trying to prove that he’s an assassin or something else equally scary, and asks him a question he can actually answer. “What is your name, young man?”

“Shen Yuan,” he replies, confidently. Shit, wait, it was probably a mistake to give out his real name, he realizes a split second after he says it, but the man’s expression doesn’t change. It’s probably fine, then.

“Shen Yuan,” the man says, finally removing his hand from the metal, “As it seems you truly meant no harm, our conversation is concluded. Will you be needing directions to the nearby city, then?”

His question is casual, but Shen Yuan has a panicked realization: There is absolutely no way that he, as a thirteen year old who’s never worked a day in his life, can make it in the city on his own. Matter of fact, was he even allowed to work? Did child labor laws exist in this dogshit novel? Of course not, Airplane would definitely never think of that sort of thing. Binghe had suffered so much in this novel, there 100% wouldn’t be any!

“Sir, please, let me stay here!” he says. He’d do whatever he had to so he didn’t die of malnutrition at thirteen, and nowhere were his prospects better at this moment than in this compound. He’d noticed a crest earlier with the same symbol described as being part of Liu Mingyan’s clothing; while admittedly extremely lacking in characterization, her and her brother’s clan had always been described as “noble and righteous,” of course to contrast with Shen Qingqiu’s own villainy. “I—I can—” He hesitates for a second as he tries to figure out what he could offer a clearly wealthy man, before he remembers his (dogshit, awful) System. “I can—provide you with useful information about this world!”

The man’s eyebrow raises slightly, and that’s his cue to start talking about whatever he can think of. The plant growing in a crack over there? Supposedly good for cultivation, if you managed to steep it under a new moon for thirty years. A great beast, whose head was mounted on the walls? Its weak point lay in its poison glands, which had supposedly never developed to avoid backflow into its own throat. In this manner, Shen Yuan spills as much information as he possibly can, regurgitating the System’s facts like they’re his own.

“Stop,” the man says, holding his hand up. Shen Yuan waits on bated breath—wouldn’t it just be too much of an injustice to transmigrate and immediately die?! “Clearly, your declaration wasn’t just for show.” He studies Shen Yuan for a long moment, sharp gaze pinning him to the ground, before closing his eyes and seemingly coming to a decision. “...You will stay, then.” He waves his hand in a clear dismissal, while Shen Yuan struggles to get any words out.

“As—As what, sir?” Shen Yuan swallows. It’d be better if he didn’t have to do manual labor, but maybe the Liu family had a great retirement package.

“A consultant-in-training. You will be expected to provide relevant knowledge on various topics, and aid us in obtaining some of these rare compounds you have described,” he says, already turning away. “Young man. We do expect to see results.”

“Yes, I understand,” Shen Yuan says politely, mentally pumping his fists as he’s ushered out of the hall. “I definitely will deliver, sir.”

—

The first thing Shen Yuan has to get used to, which he absolutely bemoans, is straightforward: no internet. No internet, no easy entertainment, not even anything from his System besides the encyclopedia it’d mentioned initially. It makes for a long few hours when he’s not given any tasks, as busy as everyone around him seems to be. It’s not long before he, bored to tears, manages to at least procure a brush and some paper from a harried-looking passerby.

“Well!” he says out loud to himself, voice echoing off of the walls of his cramped but comfortable room. “Might as well start writing stuff down now!”

Shen Yuan might have only been thirteen, but he understood the concept of investment. If the Liu compound didn’t get any benefit out of keeping him here…well, he’d be homeless soon enough. He had had plenty of anti-fans harangue him on the forums, not knowing he was thirteen, saying that he critiqued them so thoroughly he must surely not have a job; surely, he’d have the last laugh now, having to produce these inane details as his job!

He chews on the end of the brush idly, screwing up his face in thought. Easy to obtain and useful…it’s easier said than done, with the danger level of the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way. The first thing he can think of is the Ever-Blooming Lotus, touted to have regenerative capabilities that could even extend to a limb—as long as it could be picked, of course. With a stem like the hardest steel, the only thing possible of cutting it was a cord braided from the intestines of a lamb. Representing the strength of innocence, or something like that? Airplane had never been great about mixing his religious metaphors.

“System,” he mutters, “Can I get anything else similar to that level of usefulness?”

“Certainly, User,” it chimes. “Similar to the Ever-Blooming Lotus: The horns of the Five-Tongued Skink, the sacred water of the Beauty In Moonlight Spring, the hair of a Fleet-Footed Horse—Please also see ‘Fleet-Footed Cow’—”

“Enough, enough,” he cries. The brush glides across the paper, way easier than he’d expected. Maybe transmigrating had come with some pre-loaded perks, since he couldn’t just type anymore? “Let me copy those down first!” It wouldn’t do to use up his entire stock of knowledge too fast, after all.

It’s not long before he finishes and calls a houseservant over, blowing on the ink to dry it. “Could you let me know where I should leave this? It’s for the leaders to see,” he says, and the other boy nods in the direction of the main hall. There’s a convenient-looking basket, and he slips it in with a furtive glance, hoping nobody will call him out. “Guess I might as well get used to putting on these robes,” he sighs after returning to his room, and spends the next couple of hours doing just that with only the System’s auto-reader for company.

—

Shen Yuan’s bustling around the courtyard one day, running this and that between various heads of the family, when he finally spots someone around his age clad with the Liu crest. That fact by itself is enough to give him pause. He’d rarely seen anyone around the complex around his age, after all; despite all the different branches of the Liu family, there were surprisingly very few teenagers. The boy looks a little younger than him, maybe, but Shen Yuan isn’t too well-versed with child development—at least old enough to practice with a real sword, considering the nasty-looking one he had in his hands!

Curious, he lingers, stacking and restacking the papers in his arms. The sword is beautiful, as are the clean lines the other boy is cutting through the air; it seems like a fairly standard set of stances, but as Shen Yuan continues to watch, he can’t help but frown.

“That’s a waste of your time, you know,” he calls. It’s unacknowledged by the younger boy, who’s making it his personal mission to deforest the three-meter wide space he’s swinging a sword in. The gravel crunches underneath his sandals as he makes his way to the clearing that the other boy is training on, and Shen Yuan winces at the slipperiness of the stones from the moisture settling in the air. “Are you even listening? Hey!”

His voice hasn’t quite settled yet in the way it’s supposed to, squeaking a little on the “hey,” but the boy finally puts down his sword. “What do you want,” the boy says, more of a statement than a question. Shen Yuan sighs. So rude! The boy was clearly younger than him, too, so what was with the disrespect?

“I’m just saying,” Shen Yuan huffs. “Swinging it around like that isn’t going to do much for you. Not like that, anyways.” He’d tried to bite his tongue, since judging by the clothing the young boy was clearly a kid of import, but—this kind of inefficiency was really too much, for someone like him to stand.

“What would you know,” the boy grumbles, looking half-ready to start up his wild swinging again.

“I’d know plenty, thanks for asking,” Shen Yuan says. He’s annoyed by the insinuation, voice taking on an edge. The whole reason he’d been taken in by this kid’s clan had been because of his so-called cultivation knowledge, after all. “First off, that sword’s much too large for you. It’ll only teach you bad habits if you train with that thing. You’re, what, ten? Way too young to be using that kind of sword.”

“I’m eleven,” the boy grits out, clearly offended. Shen Yuan takes it in stride. So what if he had gotten his age wrong? So what if he was only a year younger than him? The boy was short for his age, it was a perfectly reasonable assumption to make.

“Even so! It’s best to use a sword that’s correctly sized, and make sure you’re utilizing your strengths,” he says. Undeterred by the boy’s fierce glare, he squints his eyes and recalls his lithe form sweeping through stances. “You’re really agile, so it’d be better if you made use of that and focused on mobility over raw power.”

“...Nobody wants to teach me anything,” the boy mutters, lips pursing in a pout. It’s a little cute on such a serious face. “They all just say to wait until I start at Cang Qiong. But I don’t want to wait.”

“Then you won’t have to,” he says, amused. “My name is Shen Yuan. Newly hired, I guess, by the Liu family? I can try to guide you, if you help me learn how to actually execute some of the sword forms.”

“It’s a deal,” the boy says. He crosses his arms over his chest, with an expression much too serious for his youthful face. “Don’t back out.”

“I won’t, Liu-di,” Shen Yuan says flippantly. He really means to put his best effort into the whole thing, he swears! He’s fully aware that all his theoretical knowledge means nothing if he dies to the first monster he sees! “I’ll be here the same time tomorrow, if you want to go over some more forms.”

“I’ll see you here,” the boy states (again, too intense!). “Don’t be late.”

—

It becomes a regular occurrence, to take his lunch break just a little early to meet up with the Liu boy. It’s not as if it’s any hardship, after all. To Shen Yuan, bursting with cultivation facts but not nearly enough physical prowess to execute them, the boy is an interesting case study and a quick study to boot. He’d asked, once, whether he could do the same: System, can I develop a golden core? It would just be unfair if he couldn’t, despite transmigrating into this whole mess. He’d received a quick reply: Possible, possible! As long as Host works hard!

The same as every damn question he’d asked. What was the point in putting in back-breaking work with no guidance, when he could have this boy do it for him if he wanted to test all his cool cultivation knowledge? “Liu-di,” he calls from his comfortable position perched on the walkway, “See if you can move from your third form into your sixth form.”

“Why?” comes the immediate response, eyes narrowed. Shen Yuan bristles a little at the insinuation—so he was fine to take guidance from, but the boy refused to trust what he was saying? He was the premier expert on this world, he’d have him know!

“It’s not done usually, but the momentum will make your fourth form more powerful,” he states confidently as he can with the expertise of the System and his long hours reading cultivation novels backing him up. Sure, it could be bullshit, but he’d noticed something about this world—Generally, if he said it, it was mostly true. “With an author that lax, of course he’d steal from other novels,” he mutters unpleasantly, then flaps his hand when the Liu boy looks up quizzically at the sound of his voice. “Nothing! Keep practicing!”

—

Of course, it isn’t all easy work. Not every day is just experimenting with his own personal lab rat, after all. “Liu-di,” he moans, stretched out on the grass, “Kill me now.”

“You were the one who wanted this,” the boy says. “Get up.”

“I said I wanted training, not physical torture!” he wails, but hauls himself up.

“Again,” the boy calls. They move into another set of stances, Shen Yuan’s hands sweat where they’re gripping the practice sword. Muscles he didn’t even know he had ache. He’d been a spoiled kid in his previous life, of course he wasn’t prepared for this kind of exercise! “Watch me,” he says sharply, then sweeps through the stances in movements so graceful Shen Yuan has to fight the urge to say something petty and sulking. “You’re separating the steps too much, so they don’t flow into one full set.”

“Alright, alright,” he sighs, running through them one more time. That time earns a squint and an approving nod, and Shen Yuan flops over again, staring up at the brilliantly blue sky. “Ugh. Is there even a point to doing all this?”

The boy’s face appears in the corner of his vision as he leans over Shen Yuan, hair falling into his face. It’s a little longer than shoulder-length now, long enough that he’d had to find a tie to bind it back while he practiced. “Are you set on a sword for cultivation?” he asks, features interestingly upside-down from Shen Yuan’s point of view.

“What?” Shen Yuan asks, confused. Wasn’t that the only option for cultivators? Sure, there were some in his novels who had wielded spears and whips, but he can’t imagine he’d be any better at them. Weren’t they harder to use anyways?

“You do better detached from the action,” the boy observes, tipping his head this way and that. “You’re much better at coaching me than coaching yourself.”

“You think I’m good at coaching you?” Shen Yuan teases, snickering at the flush that quickly spreads blotchy over the boy’s cheeks.

“Irrelevant,” he grouses, then tugs him upright. “Try a bow.”

“You have those?” Shen Yuan asks, curiosity piqued. “I thought people didn’t use them for cultivation.”

“I have an uncle who does,” the boy shrugs. “He’s good.”

“...Huh,” Shen Yuan ponders. If he was far enough away…

“I’ll bring one tomorrow,” the boy says, and that’s that.

—

As the boy had predicted, Shen Yuan’s much better with the bow. It’s his back muscles that are sore nowadays instead of his arms and legs, but it’s a satisfying burn as he starts to hit target after target. “Fire,” the Liu boy calls, and Shen Yuan looses another arrow, wincing as it wobbles a little to the left. He’d choked the bow grip a little too hard, arms unused to holding full draw for so long. “You’re off.”

“I know, I know,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. After a few months of residing in this xianxia world, his own hair had grown to chin-length. Just as he’s debating the merits of getting his own hairtie from his room, there’s a dangling string in his vision. He blinks at the Liu boy holding it up. “Oh!”

“Long hair can get tangled in the bowstring,” he says. “Take it.”

“Thanks,” he says. Maybe the boy was nice after all! He’s unused to tying his hair but tries his best to rake it back anyways, haphazardly winding the tie around it. “Does it look fine?”

“You suck at this,” he replies bluntly. Shen Yuan’s about to take back the nice things he’d thought about him when the boy takes his hair in his hands and binds it back with efficient movements in a half-up half-down style. It’s surprisingly nice when he leans over the pond to catch his reflection, and he grins.

“You’re not half bad at this, Liu-di!” he smiles, picking up his bow again. “Remind me to return the favor sometime.”

“...Sure,” the boy mumbles, his face turning charmingly pink. “You can keep it. The tie.”

What a generous person! Shen Yuan fires a few more shots, and they wobble even further to the left than before. “I think I’m done for today,” he sighs. “My arm’s shaking so bad I don’t think my shots are going to get any better.”

“My turn, then?” the boy nods, hair falling loose in his face now that his tie’s been sacrificed to Shen Yuan.

“Don’t you need a tie?” Shen Yuan questions, but the boy just shrugs. “If you say so.”

Maybe I’ll get him one as a present for finally being polite, he thinks, watching the Liu boy go through his stances. They’re as fluent and beautiful as always, and he heaves a sigh of jealousy. Hey System, how come I can’t get that good that fast? The changes Shen Yuan had suggested had long been incorporated into the routine, the boy doing a jumping kick with the sword he knew he couldn’t do in a million years.

Answering Host, we all have our different aptitudes! it chimes cheerfully, always willing to answer the question. Whether the answer was helpful would be a different matter, but at least it was prompt in its responses!

And mine isn’t physical cultivation, is that it? he grumbles, fiddling with the end of his hair.

It is a fact that nobody would be, compared to him! it chirps. Shen Yuan pauses.

What do you mean, compared to him? he asks, suspicious. He was too young to be stumbling on red flags! Was this boy doomed to be some sort of villain, cut down by Luo Binghe for his cultivation secrets? After all, nobody was allowed to be stronger than Luo Binghe! He isn’t a villain, is he?

Would Host like to see his profile? Shen Yuan nods yes, nearly spitting out the water he’s swishing around in his mouth when it finally does pop up.

Liu Qingge? he yells when he recovers, eyes wide and coughing like a maniac. Liu-di is Liu Qingge?

The system pings affirmative.

He drags a hand down his face, cursing the System, this cheap world, and every bad choice he’d ever made in his life. “Liu-di,” he says, praying to every single god he remembered that the System had made a mistake just this once, “What’s your name?”

“What?” he frowns. Shen Yuan waits on bated breath. Ignore how they’d known each other for months and Shen Yuan had never bothered to ask, please, Liu-di! This was important! “Liu Qingge. You didn’t know my name?”

“No, no, I must have been mistaken,” Shen Yuan laughs hysterically. “You’re too pretty to be Liu Qingge, absolutely no way, it must be a twin situation.”

The boy’s eyes go wide, then narrow with some unidentifiable emotion. “What do you mean. Speak plainly,” he snaps, but Shen Yuan just shakes his head again. No way a character described as the War God, master of physical cultivation and a brutal taskmaster to boot, could have ever been a willowy kid with a surprisingly delicate face. It must have been mistaken, after all—Shen Yuan hadn’t taken any liberties with someone who was at least three levels above him in the ranking! Wasn’t this like tutoring your boss’s boss’s kid? That was probably against every workplace rule ever.

“I—No, sorry, I, I have—work to do.” He leaves the poor Liu boy (Liu! Qingge!) staring after him, sword dragging in the dirt, looking lost.

In his room later at night, he tries as hard as he can to ignore the feeling that he’s making a mistake.