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To have one’s soul forcibly ejected from his body and replaced with another could certainly be deemed an unnatural death.
Shen Qingqiu had little doubt about it.
He had been caught amidst the throes of qi deviation at the time, fever raging like wildfire through him, and indeed his soul had left his body at some point, but whether or not he had truly died was something he wasn’t so sure about. And neither were the ghost guards, nor the underworld officials— because his body was still very much alive and walking about in the mortal world.
This was a complicated situation, and one which made Shen Qingqiu, who was sequestered in a sort of holding area in the underworld while the whole mess was being sorted out, especially unhappy. He’d have much preferred to get on with the reincarnation cycle already, wanting nothing more than to take a long drink of Meng Po’s five flavor soup and forget all about that worthless life of his.
It turned out, however, that it was not the work of a ghost, nor was it any other kind of “normal” possession. On the contrary, it seemed that this impostor truly was, for all intents and purposes “Shen Qingqiu.”
Shen Qingqiu, that is, Shen Jiu, was absolutely livid about this.
Because that was not him.
He was even more livid when he learned that the impostor was spending his days having pleasant conversation with Yue Qingyuan. Among others, of course— but the idea that someone was walking around in his body, talking to someone who had no idea that he wasn’t speaking to an old “friend,” made him feel particularly nauseous.
It was at that point that Shen Jiu insisted Yue Qingyuan be told about what had happened— told that the “Shen Qingqiu” who was now using that body was no longer him.
With some effort, he managed to work out a deal— he would drink half a bowl of Meng Po’s soup, then return to life. Until he reached maturity, he would not know anything about his past life, but once he was grown, he would remember who he was and what he had happened. If Shen Jiu managed to survive long enough to find Yue Qingyuan, then he would be able to tell him about the impostor, and live however he pleased afterwards.
This all suited his goals well enough— and so, Shen Jiu was reincarnated.
Many short lifetimes passed after that, ended in a matter of days or weeks.
This was, of course, because the earliest of his incarnations happened to be the lives of various insects and small animals, which could be snuffed out in an instant for almost any reason whatsoever. Many times, his fortune was just about as bad as it had been in his life as “Shen Jiu,” if not worse, and he ended up dying shortly after hatching. Each time he was escorted back to the underworld, his memory returned— and each time, he demanded to be sent back right away.
Sooner or later, it had to work out right— and eventually, it did. He managed to reach adulthood, to crack open his cocoon and unfurl wings of pale green with long rosy-tipped tails— and also to regain the memories of his former life and his mission without having to meet the Heibai Wuchang again.
He was also fortunate enough to have hatched upon the slopes of Cang Qiong Mountain, amid Qian Cao Peak’s groves of trees. It was only a short flight through the night air up to Yue Qingyuan’s sky house— and at long last, Shen Jiu was able to see him again, sitting at his desk and mulling over some papers, with an inkstone and brush set to the side.
Shen Jiu fluttered in through the window— and only then did he realize that there really wasn’t much of a way for a luna moth to communicate with a human.
He attempted to land one of his wing-tails into the inkstone so that he could write a message, but Yue Qingyuan noticed him before that, and he found himself clasped ever-so-gently inside a pair of large hands. It was frightening, at first, and he was incredibly aware of his own fragility— but the gentleness with which he was held soon chased away his fear, soothing him enough that he rested within that warm palm and found himself feeling drowsy. Then, he realized that Yue Qingyuan had placed him outside.
Frustrated now, he flew back in, and actually managed to dip his wing-tail into the ink and attempt to write a stroke— an effort that just about failed miserably, and ended with Yue Qingyuan carefully placing him outside once again.
This went on for a little while longer, until Shen Jiu just decided to wait until he was asleep.
Yue Qingyuan did not sleep that night.
The following morning, Shen Jiu was too drowsy to do much, but once Yue Qingyuan had gone out to do one thing or another, he managed to sluggishly flutter into the house and nestle himself atop the canopy of Yue Qingyuan’s bed. There he stayed for awhile.
He made one more attempt to write something, but decided in the end that a luna moth’s wing-tail was not at all an ideal writing brush. If he wished to tell Yue Qingyuan the truth, he would need to cultivate a human form. While he’d never actually heard of something like that happening in reality, there were plenty of rumors and legends— and he was already here on Cang Qiong Mountain. If he could manage to get inside the Ling Xi Caves, he might actually be able to succeed.
Unfortunately, Yue Qingyuan did not visit the Ling Xi Caves, save on very rare occasions.
And the lifespan of a luna moth was not nearly enough to cultivate a human form otherwise.
Before long, Shen Jiu was tossed into the next lifetime.
This one was far more promising— he was born into the body of a crane, with long legs and an elegant neck, snow-white feathers crowned by a flash of red atop his head. A long-lived creature and an auspicious one too. Should this life go well, he might be able to succeed.
Except now he had been hatched far from the mountain, and had no idea where he was or how to get there. He spent years wandering, flying across the sky in search of Cang Qiong Mountain, or any of his former sect’s people that he might be able to follow back, but had no luck in his search.
It didn’t help that as the seasons passed, he was driven by instinct to migrate, often having to give up the search for such journeys.
At last, though, he had a bit of luck— quite a lot of it, actually. While flying between mountain peaks, he caught sight of a man dressed in black below, traveling alone along a narrow path. It was none other than the very person he was searching for, likely out on some mission or expedition.
Recalling his experience in his last life, Shen Jiu followed at a distance.
He might be able to create some sort of writing in this form, but he wondered if it might be better to simply wait until he had cultivated a human form for himself to speak to Yue Qingyuan about the nature of the impostor. He had time, now, and with his memories, it shouldn’t be too difficult to accomplish if he were able to dwell on Cang Qiong Mountain— which, fortunately, he was able to follow Yue Qingyuan to find.
He made his abode on Qiong Ding Peak, spending his days in cultivation and watching over Yue Qingyuan from the mountain peaks. It was rare that he let the man out of his sight— though when the sect leader went to visit Qing Jing Peak, he was always torn between following and remaining behind. It wasn’t because he thought that Yue Qingyuan was safer on Qing Jing Peak than other places… it was just that he found it very difficult to see that impostor without giving in to the urge to fly down and peck out his own old body’s eyes.
All in all, Shen Jiu adapted to this new body well enough, he supposed, though the lack of human speech was still annoying. It was only a matter of time, he thought, though.
And then, once again, that misfortune that always haunted him managed to catch up.
Yue Qingyuan left the mountain for some errand or meeting— and Shen Jiu followed him. At a distance, as usual, since the sect leader was accompanied by the imposter that wore his face. A few times, it had seemed uncannily like that strange person was looking directly at him, and Shen Jiu had begun to worry that his identity may have been discovered— even though it was nigh impossible, unless the impostor had a gift for seeing souls or reading thoughts or fates. Still, he couldn’t be too cautious, especially as he wasn’t sure about the true intentions of that person, whoever he was.
He would keep out of sight as much as possible, going ahead or falling behind the traveling peak lords to keep from being too obvious. This time, though, they passed through a place near where hunters were gathered.
Shen Jiu was too focused on the peak lords to notice that there were others around.
He died with a poacher’s arrow through his heart, to be plundered for his feathers.
How ironic.
By now, he’d gotten rather used to dying. After all, when he regained his memories, he recalled everything from the early days of his life as Shen Jiu— every ignominious death he suffered over the course of his reincarnations included. That didn’t necessarily make it easier, though— and he was just as angry now as he had been the first time.
Hadn’t he had enough difficulties? Years had already gone by, with the impostor living in his body, wearing his face, laying more and more claim to his life.
Did Yue Qingyuan prefer the impostor to him?
Of course he would… from all Shen Jiu had observed, this person was much more pleasant. He’d managed to gain the friendship and trust of the other peak lords— something Shen Jiu had failed at miserably each time he tried until he had just stopped trying altogether. For the impostor, it had been almost effortless.
Even his old disciples seemed to like this “new” Shen Qingqiu better— though he wasn’t particularly surprised at that. Most of them hadn’t liked him much at all, aside from Ning Yingying, and to a lesser degree Ming Fan. He hadn’t spent a lot of time around Qing Jing Peak in his latest incarnation, lest he be filled with anger and that strange, sickening grief he felt every time he thought too hard about his body being snatched, but it seemed from what he had observed that everyone was quite different than he remembered.
There was little doubt about it… this world was better off without him in it.
It wasn’t a very surprising thought. Shen Jiu hated everyone, and everyone hated him— so of course they’d be happier without him. Still, he was somewhat depressed by it all, and began to contemplate the idea of drinking down the entire bowl of soup this time and just going on into some new life, leaving all of that behind.
Yue Qingyuan was perfectly happy with the “him” who was not “him.”
Just like everyone else, he certainly must prefer the impostor.
The impostor actually spoke to him.
It hurt, thinking about this. Shen Jiu actually began to wish he’d spent more time with Yue Qingyuan back in his human life, instead of wallowing in his resentment and bitterness. And yet he still felt resentful, he still felt bitter— this time, about the idea that Yue Qingyuan had so easily forgotten him, so easily replaced him with some fake.
After that, Shen Jiu stopped thinking about moving on.
If not to warn Yue Qingyuan,then at least to make sure he learned the truth for the sake of revenge.
Shen Jiu moved on to his next life.
This time, when his memories resurfaced, he was in the body of a white-furred cat, small and a little fluffy, with large, round, green-blue eyes and a long tail that was nearly constantly, and involuntarily, swishing this way and that in annoyance.
His mother had been the pet of a well-off family in Yin Huai Village at the foot of Cang Qiong Mountain. He was one of a litter of three, and mingled within his own memories was the feeling of nestling up against his siblings, the gentle brush of his mother’s tongue against the fur of his head, the feeling of comfort and security…
It was a strange feeling for Shen Jiu, who had known none of those things in his own human lifetime, whose own mother had sold him for ten copper coins when he was too young to even remember her face. It made him feel soft inside, like those sharpened, broken edges had been sanded down, just a bit. A part of him wondered if he just should have drank the full serving and lived without the burden of his past… but an even greater part of him couldn’t help but think of Qi-ge, the one consistent source of such comfort he had when he was a child. Curling his head up against Qi-ge’s chest, huddling for warmth beneath a thin blanket… though the situation wasn’t comfortable, and though they were often— if not always— afraid for their very lives, he had still felt oddly safe with the older boy’s arms wrapped around him.
Only now was Shen Jiu tired enough, strained enough, and distant enough from all that pain in his past to admit that he truly, deeply longed to feel that once again.
So, one day, he left behind his feline family and climbed through the window, hitching a ride to the top of the mountain by nestling within a supply crate that was being carried up to Qiong Ding Peak.
Yue Qingyuan would open the crate, and find him there— he’d always had a fondness for little creatures… perhaps Shen Jiu could endear himself enough to the sect leader that he would find a place curled up in his lap until he managed to cultivate a human form… but even that, now, was secondary.
If he could be by Yue Qingyuan’s side, that would be enough.
The impostor didn’t seem like he meant any harm, and he was doing far more and far better with Shen Jiu’s life than Shen Jiu himself had done… this way, things could be peaceful. He could still keep a watch over Yue Qingyuan, but in a way that their fraught past wouldn’t come between them. In a way that Yue Qingyuan wouldn’t feel obligated to treat him well out of shame or to repay a debt, but simply because he wanted to. In a way that they wouldn’t have to speak of such things, that they could just exist as they were…
Yes, he would be content to live his life this way. Perhaps if he did find a way to cultivate, he would just live by Yue Qingyuan’s side as an immortal cat.
That might not be so bad at all.
Having come to this conclusion, however, he was unpleasantly surprised to find that the one who opened up the crate was not Yue Qingyuan, but one of his disciples of whom Shen Jiu wouldn’t have been able to remember the name even if he hadn’t touched a single bowl of forgetfulness soup. As soon as he realized the hands lifting the lid weren’t the sect leader’s, he bolted out through the gap in a flash of white toward the sky house.
The crate had been opened up in Qiong Ding Hall, and the stairs leading up were no small obstacle for a cat only as tall as each step to climb. Though he could gain some momentum by leaping and bounding, by the time he reached the top, he was rather tired.
For a moment, he waited outside the door, wondering if he could just scratch at it and be let in. Then he wondered if he should instead climb through the window and curl up on Yue Qingyuan’s bed himself. He couldn’t hear the sect leader moving around inside, nor could he smell him, and so he thought that he was most likely not there… maybe he would just wait on the porch for the sect leader to arrive.
He went with that option in the end, but it was winter and cold outside, and even though his fur coat was quite sleek and dense, it was still somewhat chilly in the mountain breeze, so when night fell he crawled through the window anyway and lay down on the bed. It was comfortable and the blankets were soft, but Qi-ge’s smell was fainter than he would have thought… maybe he just didn’t sleep much.
Shen Jiu, for his part, had had a very tiring day, and curled into a circle to fall fast asleep in all but an instant.
Unfortunately, though he had slept well during his whole life as a kitten, when his memories came back so too came the nightmares. His sleep was restless, paws and tail twitching, every sound stirring him half to wakefulness. By morning, Yue Qingyuan still hadn’t returned. A little while later, he heard a pair of footsteps approaching, and voices speaking. He woke up with a jolt— it wasn’t Qi-ge.
As the door to the sky house opened, Shen Jiu darted underneath the bed. It was a pair of disciples, coming to clean the dust from the house’s interior. He listened closely to their conversation. Most of it was banal, mundane chatter— but finally, he heard something interesting.
“How long do you think Shizun will be in seclusion for?”
“I’m not sure… it’s been awhile though.”
Seclusion… that was strange.
Yue Qingyuan never cultivated in seclusion. He hardly dared to step inside the Ling Xi Caves at all. Why would that change now?
Shen Jiu crept forward so he could see the disciples’ feet from under the bed and listen better.
“I’m a little worried,” admitted the first one, “Ever since Shen Qingqiu died, he has been depressed, and now he’s gone off into the spirit caves without telling anyone how long he would be there…”
Wait… what?
Shen Qingqiu was dead?
The impostor had died?
Their conversation moved on to a different topic after that, and Shen Jiu was no longer interested. Instead, he waited until their backs were turned before hopping out the window again and bounding along down the path again.
“Shen Qingqiu” had gotten himself killed, and then Yue Qingyuan went into indefinite seclusion in the Ling Xi Caves? That didn’t sound good at all. That sounded like something reckless and impulsive, and Shen Jiu had a bad feeling about it.
Usually, one could only enter the spirit caves with the sect leader’s permission. But Shen Jiu knew where he kept the tokens that allowed access, and it was a rather pressing situation. He made it back to Qiong Ding Hall and slipped in alongside a few disciples going here and there, then made his way to Yue Qingyuan’s study and with much effort, managed to open up the little chest where he kept the tokens. Seizing one between his teeth, Shen Jiu then left, heading to the back of the mountain, where he entered easily. The Ling Xi Caves were a winding labyrinth, but luckily Shen Jiu had a cat’s heightened senses on his side now— he could smell Yue Qi.
Along with the scent of blood.
And fear.
Ears flattening against his head, he darted forward along the passageway, dropping the token as he went so he could run faster, until he at last came to a large chamber— it was that same chamber he’d chosen for his own seclusion all those years ago, its walls covered in old, bloody slashes.
On the stone in the center sat Yue Qingyuan, his shoulders shaking, his eyes rolled back into his head as bloodied tears ran down his cheeks, Xuan Su drawn just a half-cun from its scabbard as it lay atop the sect leader’s knees.
What… was that about?
Shen Jiu didn’t spend too much time on that thought, though. One thing was certain— Yue Qingyuan was in the midst of qi deviation— though he couldn’t tell if it had just begun or if it had already been going on for some time. He didn’t know what he could do to stop it as a cat, but if it went on like this, Yue Qingyuan might die.
That, Shen Jiu realized, was the last thing he wanted to happen.
He bolted across the chamber, leaping up and padding into Yue Qingyuan’s lap. Then, he pressed his body up against Yue Qingyuan’s dantian, purring as loudly and vigorously as he possibly could. He remembered, when he was a kitten, the feeling of his mother and brothers’ purrs would soothe him and ground him… maybe that could work here.
It didn’t seem to do much for awhile, but at long last, Yue Qingyuan’s breathing began to calm, his heartbeat slowly, slowly returning to normal.
Xuan Su’s blade was still shining, emitting a high-pitched noise that made Shen Jiu’s ears flick and lay back against his head. He couldn’t hold back a slight hiss.
Hearing that sound seemed to wake up Yue Qingyuan— and the sect leader quickly pushed the blade back into the scabbard, looking down at Shen Jiu curled in his lap with an expression of incredulous wonder. His eyes were bloodshot and a little glazed over, and still half delirious, he murmured, “Xiao-Jiu?” in a weak, slurred, questioning tone without even looking directly at the kitten-version of said person now curled in his lap.
Shen Jiu pressed his head up against Yue Qingyuan’s arm, still purring.
Why had he been thinking of “Xiao-Jiu” now? Was it really Shen Qingqiu’s death that had driven him to this kind of madness? If so… then why?
Shouldn’t he be relieved not to be so burdened anymore?
It was confusing, and it was strange to feel those fears, that resentment he’d held onto for so long that it festered a new truth into his heart, suddenly begin to fade away.
He wanted to say, I am here, right now— it’s me, the one you knew before. The one who died then wasn’t me, but he had no voice, so he could only release a soft meow and trill before curling up tightly into the crook of Yue Qingyuan’s arm.
Slowly, gently, the sect leader realized that there was a cat on his lap, and his hand came to rest just behind Shen Jiu’s ears, gently petting, then scratching slightly— which made Shen Jiu arch his back and purr even more loudly, this time involuntary.
“… how did you get here, little one?” Yue Qingyuan wondered, still in a daze. He looked around himself, then seemed to realize what had happened. “Did you… save my life?” he asked. “Why?”
Shen Jiu’s purring ceased. He looked up at Yue Qingyuan, then meowed again— this time, even more pathetically, to the point where he seemed almost desperate. Twice, three times he bumped his head vigorously against the sect leader’s frame, then latched his teeth onto Yue Qingyuan’s arm— not too hard though.
Why?
What kind of a question was that?
Why wouldn’t he try to save Yue Qingyuan’s life?
Of course he would… of course he always would, no matter what.
It turned out… he really didn’t want to see Yue Qingyuan die after all.
But he couldn’t say any of that. He could only continue purring, continue nuzzling up against Yue Qingyuan freely without the awkwardness and distance that had come between him, pressing his head into Qi-ge’s hand as it slowly regained its warmth, gently licking sandpaper tongue over him, like his cat-mother had done to him as a kitten to soothe him, until at last, his pulse evened out, and his breath became calm.
There, there… Qi-ge.
Don’t do stupid things like this again…
Shen Jiu closed his eyes, curling onto that wide, comfortable lap.
You can’t do that kind of stupid thing, not while I’m here to watch over you.