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Chapter Text

Shen Yuan had died as Shen QingQiu and burst from the ground in his Sun Dew Mushroom body. Fully grown and completely unclothed.

At least there was no one watching. He hoped. His thin face would never have been able to take it.

And that’s right, he and Shang QingHua had chosen a clearing far from Cang Qiong with a small clear pond. Shen Yuan made sure to take full advantage of it, as he was awfully grimy from his trip from below the surface.

After cleaning himself off, Shen Yuan looked at his reflection. Oh, that was him. What Shen Yuan would have looked like if he were not confined to a hospital bed as a young child. But wait, he blinked. Those eyes were not his original eyes. They were Shen QingQiu’s bamboo green eyes. No matter. He could see perfectly through these eyes and didn’t need any glasses. That was enough for him.

In fact, he breathed in. It didn’t hurt to breathe. He channeled his qi.

It still worked. Much better than Shen QingQiu's body was afflicted with Without a Cure. In fact, much better than any time he had been Shen Qing Qiu. He felt like a whole new person…And that’s right, he was, in fact, a whole new mushroom, plant-person. Shen Yuan smiled somewhat bitterly. He wishes it didn’t have to take expired yogurt, a System, and a detonated core for him to actually have a healthy, functioning body.

___

[System? Hello?] No response. No chimes, no system boxes, nothing. Good. Shen Yuan was rid of that entity that has caused him so much grief.

He felt shaky and weak, but he felt free for the first time since waking up in Proud Immortal Demon Way. No System. No strangers waiting at his bedside. Nothing but the chirping of Jewel Embossed Sparrows. He caught glimpses of the sun reflecting off the jems on their wings. The iridescence of their jeweled wings flashing onto the surface of the pond made the water glitter like the water itself held untold treasures. The clearing really was as pretty as he remember.

He didn’t know when he was in the timeline, but he hoped it was long enough that everyone had put thoughts of the scum villain behind them. That Yue QingYuan was not thinking of a Shen Jiu who would never return. That Mu QingFang had someone else to drink tea with when he wasn’t treating wayward disciples. That Liu QingGe still had someone to exchange fans with. That his little sheep was free of Xin Mo’s insidious influence and found someone to love that he didn’t need to papapa to suppress dark energy of the demon sword.

Shen Yuan took stock of himself. Mushroom body: check. Revitalized meridians: check. Qiankun bag containing some sets of basic peasant clothes and a set of cultivator’s essentials like talisman paper, cinnabar, ink, and paper: check. Five fans: Absolutely. Ohhh, some books he’d never seen before: check check check. A bag of sunflower seeds: ok?

Shen Yuan paused, rifled through the bag, took everything out, and turned the bag inside out. Nothing else. Shit. No money.

Shen Yuan wanted to cry.

No, he wanted to beat that hack author over the head then cry.

When Shen Yuan planted the Sun Dew Mushrooms, he’d asked the hamster to make sure to prepare a go bag for him if he died early than expected. Which he did. Looks like Airplane prepared his go bags like he wrote Proud Immortal Demon Way, all fluff and no substance.

Shen Yuan sighed.

He had followed the System’s instructions and done everything it wanted him to. He had changed the plot for the better all while clinging to the thighs of his white sheep disciple. He saved Liu QingGe and sort of made nice with Yue QingYuan. But the System had forced him to throw his adorable disciple into the Abyss, and somehow his white sheep came back a deep opaque grey. He’d needed to self-detonate his core to keep Xin Mo contained.

He didn’t want to go back to the sect. Qing Jing could run without him, as he’d designated a stand-in in case of emergencies. In fact, Shen Yuan had created a whole protocol that he had given to Ming Fan that he had emphasized was to be used if anything were to happen to him.

He’d lived as Shen Qing Qiu for years and never felt more like an imposter. He wanted to live freely.

Before Shen QingQiu, he was Shen Yuan, a sickly, often hospitalized young master, who was sheltered and coddled by his family. He’d pushed so hard to live by himself because he wanted to be more independent. He just didn’t realize that it would lead to his eating of the expired yogurt that killed him.

He didn’t want that imposter syndrome or the isolation for himself anymore.

He wanted to be free. Free to be Shen Yuan and not chained down by sect obligations and a lecherous reputation. Free from a sickly body and overprotective family.

(He tried not to think about the twinge his heart gave when he remembered the love his parents and siblings showered on him as Shen Yuan. It didn’t hurt to remember them. Really it didn’t. If he repeated it enough times, it should become reality and stick, right?)

___

Shen Yuan didn’t want to think about tomorrow. He’d harvested some Dewy Inkflowers and fallen feathers from Silver Feathered Hawks to sell to the closest bookstore.

(Also, common misconception that Silver Feathered Hawk feathers were 100% silver. They weren’t. Only the shafts were, but that made them perfect for wealthy nobles to use a quills).

His harvest had been just enough to pay for a night at the local inn. It wasn’t clean or quiet, but it was a place to lay his head down and think about his next steps. Because Shen Yuan hadn’t thought that far. All he knew was that he didn’t want to associate with anyone from his old life anymore. He was tired.

He wanted to go forth as Shen Yuan, but when he spoke to people, he found himself grabbing for a fan in his sleeve to hold in front of his face and speaking like a lofty immortal. He’d inevitably picked up habits from being Shen QingQiu. Shen Yuan needed to revisit his habits. He couldn’t continue on like this if he wanted to avoid his past.

Shen Yuan’s eyes were drawn to the books in his qiankun bag. He might as well get some light reading in before he turned in. He’d think about his future later…after he read the first chapter.

Chapter Text

“Preposterous! An abomination! What kind of moronic tripe is this supposed to be!? The author deserves to be publicly shamed for peddling such offensive nonsense! And the sheer audacity! What girl with even an ounce of self-worth would ever forgive this cheating, lying scumbag?! This book is an absolute stain on literature!”  Shen Yuan shrieked, flinging the book across the bed like it was a Stinging Nettle Viper…then sheepishly reached over to retrieve it, dusting it off with a grimace.

He needed to see if Yang MingLan would slap that first her cheating boyfriend then that white lotus before running off into the sunset with her enemies-to-best friends sect sister. Her sect sister had misunderstood Minglan to be a haughty mistress, when her prickly personality was actually a way to mask the hurt from her childhood.

Shen Yuan paused, what a familiar sentiment. He supposed he had probably read about it somewhere in another book, so he continued reading.

___

Shen Yuan stared the first of the books he’d found in his qiankun go bag. His hard-earned coins from his harvest had stretched to three days if he practiced inedia and he passed up on that skewer of tanghulu. He could thus afford to take a break and continue reading. But money was the least of his issues.

The sheer contrivance of the ending of White Lotus on the Battlefield left Shen Yuan appalled. He could find no other outlet for his rage but to scream not so silently into the void of his absolutely un-soundproofed in room. Minglan, Minglan! – she actually went back to that spineless, cheating fiancé? All because her sect sister was actually her cousin, and the fiancé was just pretending to be with the white lotus to protect her. And then, the author's grand solution? Kill off the cousin, and have the happy couple papapa the grief away. What insanity was this? Was the author mainlining stereotypical K-drama tropes into their veins??

He looked at the other two books in his possession. If they were from the same author, Flying Crane, he didn’t think he’d be able to read them without getting kicked out of the inn.

Speaking of authors, he wondered how that hack author was doing.

___

Shang QingHua wanted to tear his hair out. The last three yellow books —his own creations penned under the pseudonym Flying Crane—were gone. Vanished. And to top it off, his precious, recently acquired stash of cumin-seasoned sunflower seeds was also missing. This was a problem. Where on earth could he have left them? If Qi QingQi happened upon the books or worse, his adorable disciples picked one up, he’d never hear the end of it.

He tried to retrace his steps. Last he remembered, Mobei-jun had yanked him through a portal mid-work session, unceremoniously dumping him at his exclusive corner desk in the demon's office after a mild beatdown. Had he been holding his books then?

Mobei-jun had grunted at him to “organize the next Eastern Demon Territory campaign,” and Shang QingHua had quivered in his corner and worked on the documents as the demon had glared (rather sexily) at him.

Gosh, Shang QingHua really had poured every attribute of his ideal man into Mobei-jun. If only the demon would stop grunting and hitting him and actually talk. Sometimes, Shang Qinghua just wanted a simple "thank you" for his service.

And then there were his sunflower seeds. Not just any sunflower seeds – these were a hard-earned batch he'd practically had to grovel for from Shen Ding Peak, the cooking peak. An Ding had screwed up a seasoning delivery years ago, right before a major conference, and Shen Ding had held a grudge sharper than a freshly honed spirit blade. They only sent what was "required," and apparently, snacks like sunflower seeds didn't qualify. To secure this bag of sunflower seeds, he’d had to bribe them with a sack of premium, fairy-cultivated rice – the kind that sparkled with or without light and probably cost more than his last shipment of talisman ink.

And now…he couldn’t find them.

Wait. Maybe he’d tossed them into the go-bag he'd prepped for Cucumber-bro. He vaguely remembered being interrupted while packing it by a sudden invasion of Bai Zhan disciples. They'd barged in, demanding raw materials to rebuild their training grounds. With their shizun gallivanting around picking fights with Hua Huan Palace, the war peak was rapidly descending into chaos. Honestly, if they hadn’t already gone full Lord of the Flies, it was only because they hadn’t figured out how to organize a proper pig roast.

Finding time in between all his obligations was difficult, so Shang QingHua had dropped off the go bag the last time he’d fertilized Cucumber-bro’s Sun Dew Mushroom body. He knew he had it bring it while he still remembered to.

But in the absence of Cucumber-bro looking over his shoulder, he’d just haphazardly thrown the fertilizer on the plot of land and threw down a stasis ward to plop the bag next to where they’d planted to Sun Dew Mushroom.

Shang QingHua definitely needed to check that bag next time he dropped by. Those seeds were too valuable to lose

___

Shen Yuan leaned out the window of his room and relished in the sun, as he really needed to purify himself from the filth he had just read. He’d finished reading the three books from his qiankun bag, barely able to hold in his shrieks of rage the entire time regarding the absolute trash ways the author had written his FLs.

Like how could someone be so descriptive and adept at character building yet be so trash at actually carrying out an actual plot. Also, how did the author somehow manage to make a series around White Lotus on the Battlefield, where papapa seemed to have been used as filler for every plot hole?? What an absolute moron.

(Somewhere on An Ding Peak, Shang QingHua sneezed. Gosh, spring really was in full force. All that pollen in the air. He looked out his open window at the … Oh yikes, it was summer already. Not pollen then. He must be catching a cold from going to the Northern Demon Territories so much. He should beg Mobei-jun to give him a longer break…he would once he worked up the courage. For sure.)

___

Now that Shen Yuan was officially done with the books, he was free to explore the village. He’d settled in the first one he stumbled upon after dragging himself out of the forest near his clearing—a place with just the right amount of anonymity.

Fortunately for him, the village was not too small such that his sudden appearance from the forest was of any notice, but not so large that they were frequented by any cultivators from the larger sects. Geographically, it sat in a gray area between Cang Qiong Mountain Sect and Huan Hua Palace, nestled somewhere near the base of Bailu Mountain. Just obscure enough to be safe.

The village had four main districts: a restaurant quarter, an open market, a scholarly area, and—of course—a red-light district. It only took Shen Yuan a single morning to wander through the entire village. The restaurant area was vibrant, flooded with the mouthwatering scents of sizzling oil, spiced meats, and fresh-baked buns. The open market was louder than a Bai Zhan sparring match, with hawkers bellowing their wares like their lives depended on it.

The red-light district, he gave a very wide berth. He’d already suffered through the embarrassment of inheriting Shen QingQiu’s... less-than-pristine reputation. The last thing he needed was someone spotting him near a brothel and making assumptions. Nope, not happneing.

He left the scholarly district for last. It was quieter, anchored by a modest school, a compact bookstore, and what appeared to be an orphanage. Surprisingly, there weren’t many street kids hanging around, and the ones he did spot looked reasonably clean and well-fed. From the looks of it, the orphanage was doing a decent job.

There weren’t too many child beggars on the streets, and those that he could see were relatively well kept. Apparently, children without families were relegated to the village orphanage, which seemed to be upkept relatively well based on Shen Yuan’s peripheral observation.

Although thinking of child beggars, Shen Yuan’s thoughts immediately flashed towards Yue QingYuan and how he always started at Shen QingQiu with yearning. Shen Yuan didn’t have the privilege of knowing what, but he had enough self-preservation to know that it made him want to yet himself out the nearest window. He didn’t know the details behind Shen QingQiu and Yue QingYuan’s backstory (the System didn’t make him privy to the details), but he really didn’t want to know.  

His thoughts drifted to Cang Qiong. Had Yue QingYuan and Liu QingGe recovered from his unfortunate self-detonation? He hoped for their sake that they had and that they knew he hadn’t done it just for his beloved disciple.

___

Shen Yuan’s meandering through the village ended at the bookstore. Truly nothing held his interest like books. He’d been browsing in the bookstore for a while, enjoying the subtle scent of parchment and paper.

Some huge idiot in the corner was cooing over yellow books without regard for the general public. How tasteless. His curly hair looked familiar, but not familiar enough for Shen Yuan to care.

Shen Yuan’s priority was to try and trade in the absolute trash that he had just read for something a bit more palatable. For example, a bestiary or a literary transcript. Anything to cleanse his mind before he returned reading more yellow books.

Shen Yuan didn’t quite understand it himself. He’d read all 6,666 chapters of Proud Immortal Demon Way and basically memorized the entirety of the lengthy webnovel minus the papapa. However, after spending so many years as Shen QingQiu, Shen Yuan had found himself craving a diversified mix of trash fiction and expository nonfiction. Had to do a literary detox after intaking garbage fiction.

He looked up, ohhhh, that was the the botanical field guide from Li YiTing that he had been looking while he was still Shen QingQiu. He’d asked Shang QingHua to procure it, but the hamster had been utterly overwhelmed by his duties as An Ding Peak Lord and Mobei-jun’s lackey; thus, Shen QingQiu never had the chance to read it before his self-detonation at Jin Lan city.

He reached up.

Ah, he might not be tall enough to reach it.

Annnnnd he really wasn’t tall enough.

He pouted to himself. As Shen QingQiu, he’d been at least tall enough to look over crowds when he descended his peak to night hunt. But this new mushroom body? Didn’t get the memo. Shen Yuan was probably what Shang QingHua would call pocket-sized. He didn’t even think he would be taller than the youngest of his disciples. Fairness really had fled the scene when his mushroom body populated.

Just as he was contemplating whether he should look for a ladder, someone reached over him and plucked the book from the shelf.

He blinked up. A well-dressed elderly gentleman handed it to him with a mild smile.

Shen Yuan opened his mouth to thank him—then paused.

The man was holding White Lotus on the Battlefield.

Shen Yuan couldn’t help but snort before thanking the man.

The gentleman paused and turned around. “Young man, what exactly are you snorting at me for?”

Shen Yuan couldn’t help but snort again ungracefully. “Sir, that book is absolute trash! I don’t understand what benefit you would gain from reading it, unless you’re trying to waste your time on purpose. It’s a masterpiece in only one genre: contrived rage bait. The characters? Flat. The plot? Potholes everywhere. The drama? So forced it should be arrested for coercion.”

His hands full of books gestured wildly with every exclamation Shen Yuan made.

The man blinked, then gave a surprisingly hearty laugh. “Would you be able to summarize the plot and write a review for me? I’ll pay you for it.”

Shen Yuan would loved to have said he didn’t need the money…but he really did. He swallowed his pride and accepted the offer.

He didn’t think this random rant at a stranger would turn into a career for him, but even without the System (and the cursed Scenario Pusher) his life still managed to be interesting.

Chapter Text

It had been three months since Shen Yuan started moonlighting as Wang LiQing’s book critic. His criticisms dotted the shelves of that first bookstore he’d visited after his rebirth.

Apparently, people had begun visiting from nearby villages just to read the scathing reviews Shen Yuan had been writing under the pseudonym Veridian Brush. What masochists. They knew they were consuming literary garbage, and somehow, his gleeful skewering of said garbage only made them more willing to consume it. As if his rage was a seasoning and they were here to eat humble pie.

Shen Yuan still wasn’t sure whether to be proud or deeply concerned.

What started as one offhand rant in a dusty bookstore had ballooned into a full-on part-time job. Wang LiQing now had to reorder certain titles just to keep up with demand—and not just because people actually wanted to read them. No, they just wanted to compare their notes with whatever new creative insult Veridian Brush had come up with that week. Apparently calling a cultivation romance “the literary equivalent of being repeatedly slapped with a rotten fish” had really struck a chord.

And the weirdest part? He was getting paid for it.

Actual coin. For something he’d basically done for free as Peerless Cucumber in the online PIDW forums and comment threads of his previous life. He’d just optimized the formula: the same biting commentary, now monetized and really in demand. All without the oversight of the System or the cursed Scenario Pusher nagging him.

___

Shen Yuan had finally made enough from both his critic gig at the bookstore and his foraging of rare materials in the forest to purchase a tiny, long-abandoned courtyard near the village orphanage. It was a far cry from the bamboo pavilion Shen QingQiu once occupied on Qing Jing Peak—but oddly enough, Shen Yuan felt more at home here than he ever had during all those years at Cang Qiong.

No yandere sect leaders looking for any inkling of affection from a childhood sweetheart.

No taciturn war gods demanding the barest minimum of human interaction.

No disciples to babysit.

And, most importantly, no protagonist to dote on.

(And no authors to bitch-slap into next week.)

The courtyard came with a small house and a rounded ginkgo tree whose broad branches shaded the east-facing windows. The tree was old, thick-trunked, and already heavy with bright yellow fruit. A rudimentary swing hung from one of its boughs, and, as soon as he fully settled into the courtyard, Shen Yuan often found himself reading there in the mornings, legs dangling as the swing creaked in the breeze and breathing in the earthy scent of his tea of the day.

The previous owner had left behind enough agarwood frames and fixtures to give the place a lingering, comforting fragrance. All Shen Yuan needed to do was hang some curtains and spread some blankets and pillows to soften the space.

Unfortunately, the fussy, high-maintenance aesthetic sense he’d inherited from years as Shen QingQiu still lingered—he couldn’t bring himself to buy the inferior already processed textiles at the market. No, if he wanted quality décor, he’d just have to embroider it himself. (He was a man of taste, thank you.)

Shen Yuan couldn’t deny that fixing up the courtyard took a little bit of work, but really, it was worth it.

Because for him, the courtyard—it was magical. And freeing. And best of all, it was his.

Here, he didn’t need to be Shen QingQiu. He could be short, stubby mushroom Shen Yuan, known only as Veridian Brush, resident book-snob and part-time forest gremlin. And that, really, was enough.

___

Shen Yuan was walking past the orphanage on his way back from town when he noticed two boys—familiar little rascals he’d seen around the orphanage—army-crawling into his courtyard.
He crouched down behind them, peering around to see what exactly had possessed them to attempt such a covert operation.
Ah. It seemed the children had been following a Winged Brownie Cat, which had slinked through his courtyard gate and was now napping peacefully on his swing.

Old habits die hard. Channeling every ounce of exasperated peak lord energy, Shen Yuan pulled out his trusty fan and gave each of them a gentle bop on the head before clearing his throat.

The children froze on the spot like guilty puppets caught mid-act. The cat, sensing the boys’ impending doom, darted through one of his broken windows and into the house proper.

(He really needed to find a carpenter to fix those windows. Thankfully, it was late spring and the weather was divine, but still—top priority. Right after he read that next book on his list. What was it again? Ah. Lotus Flowers After Midnight. What a trash heap of a title. He couldn’t wait.)

“Children,” Shen Yuan said in his best authoritative voice, “you know you’re not supposed to enter a stranger’s courtyard.”

Not that he cared all that much. It wasn’t like he had anything worth stealing. But if there was one thing he’d learned from wrangling Qing Jing Peak’s cheeky, wayward disciples, it was that if you didn’t set boundaries early, they’d take a mile before you could blink.
Today it was cat-chasing. Tomorrow it’d be sweet potato roasting under his ginkgo tree.

“Even more importantly,” he continued, “you shouldn’t go chasing after unfamiliar spiritual beasts. Some of them bite.”

“But Gege, the cat! It was so cute! We just wanted to play!” they whined.

Yes, yes. Winged Brownie Cats were adorable—round faces, stubby feathered wings, and the annoying tendency to knock things over just to watch them fall. Sweet-tempered but mischievous, they were known to bond with households and bring good luck if treated well. In fact, a more accurate label for the cat would be ‘fairy’ rather than ‘beast.’

Still. Not the point.

Shen Yuan narrowed his eyes. “You came into my courtyard before noon. In pursuit of a beast that may or may not be dangerous. This one highly doubts that ‘play’ was your only foolish ambition today. Shouldn’t you be in school?”

The boys drooped. “We’re orphans,” one mumbled. “The orphanage doesn’t have enough money to send us to school. And the village head doesn’t want his kids studying with us.”

Shen Yuan’s smile thinned.

He hated inequality. Always had, even when he was bound by the System’s OOC limits. And now that he was free of that script?

“Well,” he said, tone brisk, “this one will be visiting the orphanage tomorrow morning with supplies. We’ll see just how much learning you and your peers already have. Inform the caretaker that I will arrive at Chen Shi.”

Both boys lit up like lanterns. “We will! Thank you, LaoShi!”

As they scampered off to who knows where, Shen Yuan stepped into his courtyard and shut the door behind him with a sigh.

He really was a sucker for downtrodden children. And look how well that turned out. Cough. Luo BingHe. His white lotus, now blackened like no other.

Shen Yuan looked over his house. Well. He wasn’t involved with anyone from the cultivation world anymore. There was no way the protagonist would come anywhere near this area.

…At least, not until chapter 556, when he met wife #387—a flower dryad whose copse had been poisoned by a spider yao. She was dying and ran into the protagonist, and they papapa’d the poison away before killing the yao. Then she offered her hand in marriage and followed him back to his harem, probably leaving her copse to die in the process.

(Airplane really didn’t think that plotline through. Shitty author).

Looked like he was going to be a teacher again. He hadn’t exactly planned on it…but somehow, it felt a little less like a burden this time.
At least he wasn’t restricted by the System.

“Meow~”

He blinked.

Wait.

The Winged Brownie Cat.

___

Shen Yuan munched his way through a tanghulu, multitasking as he shoved five additional sticks of the hawthorn treat into his qiankun bag. He needed to clarify that only three were for him to eat later. The other two were for Mao-jun, the Winged Brownie Cat who had deigned to adopt him after the fiasco with the orphanage children three weeks ago.

He needed to present a worthy offering—especially after the fairy cat had its tail yanked by one of the kids he was now teaching under the ginkgo tree in his courtyard. He’d set up low desks for the ten children who stopped by each morning for lessons. They were clever. He could already tell they’d go far in life, even without his help.

Among them, he’d identified five with promising spiritual roots. And he knew, deep down, that if he didn’t help them cultivate and realize at least some of their potential, he’d never forgive himself. So they got extra lessons in the afternoon.

Shen Yuan found his days full—but oh, so fulfilling.

He even had enough time to expand the reviews he was writing for Wang LiQing. Now, in addition to roasting yellow books alive, he was also critiquing literary works and poetry. Of course, he gave praise when it was due... but that was few and far between. There was so much trash being published that honestly, he understood why students struggled to learn.

Between dumpster fire yellow books and wildly inaccurate, outdated nonfiction, Wang LiQing’s bookstore was probably 70% scrap-worthy paper. Of which Shen Yuan had already consumed—regrettably—20%.

Speaking of the bookstore—Shen Yuan bit off the last hawthorn chunk from his tanghulu, shoved the stick into his qiankun bag, wiped his hands on a handkerchief, and stepped inside.

He greeted his enabler—cough, benefactor—and was quickly pointed toward the new shipment of yellow books that had arrived since his last visit three days ago.

“Nephew, I heard Flying Crane released some new books last month,” someone whispered conspiratorially nearby. “I can’t wait to read about his latest love stories. They’re just so romantic!”

Shen Yuan heard “Flying Crane” and “romantic” in the same breath, and his head turned so fast his neck audibly cracked.

He was in disbelief until he saw the speaker.

The same odd, curly-haired giant he saw far too frequently—at the bookstore, at the market, loitering near the yellow book section like some cursed Parasitic Spiny Moth.

Shen Yuan took a closer look at him, realizing that he was accompanied by another quieter, more demure man who was always at his side.

Usually, Shen Yuan’s eyes slid over the duo on instinct. Not because he wasn’t curious, but because he knew himself. The raging literary critic in him would overtake his introvert self and explode if he ever took longer than ten seconds to listen to the simpering cooing that the man lavished on the yellow book section.

And he really practiced what he taught his students. But in this case, patience was not key.

Shen Yuan’s ears caught the phrase “Yang MingLan’s heaving bosoms” from the pervert and he couldn’t anymore. What a classless man. He marched straight up to the idiot to give it to him straight.

“You tit. Clearly your skull must be stuffed with cotton if all you took away from White Lotus on the Battlefield was romance. That book has nothing romantic about it—just misery and misogyny, wrapped in pretty words with a subpar female lead and an even shittier male lead.

No woman should be reduced to her ‘heaving bosoms,’ and Flying Crane is nothing more than a quack author.”

(Somewhere on An Ding Peak, Shang QingHua sneezed. Again. Wow. He’d been sneezing more in the past two weeks than in the entire span of his immortal life. He really needed to start wearing more layers. Maybe get some supplements from Qian Cao Peak. Or a blessing. Or a talisman. Or a full body purification ritual.)

___

Tianlang-jun had been frequenting a human village close to Bailu Mountain for a while now.

It really wasn’t difficult. After snatching Xin Mo back from his son following their messy confrontation at Jinlan City, he could tear rifts wherever he pleased. Boundaries, human or demon alike, meant little when you had a sword that cleaved open reality.

Even after Su Xiyan’s betrayal—and the sects’ attempt to seal him beneath HuaYu Mountain— he still found humans endlessly fascinating. Their fanciful stories, frivolous plays, and melodramatic romances… so different from the constant scheming and blood-stained politics of the demon realm.

He’d taken a particular liking to a quaint little bookstore that posted illustrated summaries and reviews of its newest arrivals. The art was charming, yes, but it was the reviews that hooked him, so biting, scathing, absurdly specific.

They amused him in a way nothing had since… well. Since Su Xiyan.

Not even Zhuzhi-lang’s awkward stammering could draw a smile from him these days. But those reviews? They prompted the occasional chuckle.

He didn’t know who wrote them, but the mysterious critic clearly had Opinions about what qualified as decent literature. Tianlang-jun didn’t particularly care about the substance of their judgments. He just appreciated something interesting to pass the time, and these reviews had managed to grab his attention, which was no easy feat these days.

He remembered, distantly, laughing with Su Xiyan as Zhuzhi-lang ran after them through some poor village’s market stalls, trying (and failing) to contain their chaos. For all her cold, aloof reputation, she’d always gone along with his worst ideas.

But those memories sat behind a veil now. Faded. Blurred.

As for their child…

Luo Binghe was already grown and completely unwilling to embrace anything about his demon heritage aside from weaponizing it to raise hell against his previous sect. After the whole issue that resulted in the implosion of Peak Lord Shen and the subsequent confrontation in Jinlan City (including the theft of XinMo, yeah, not the best timing), his son was completely unwilling to see him. Fine. He didn’t want to see BingHe either.

His son was so dramatic. He really couldn’t tell who he’d inherited it from.

Lately, though, another curiosity had emerged.

Tianlang-jun had also been observing an odd little scholar frequenting the bookstore—clearly a man of learning, who was simultaneously indulging his lowest instincts: yellow books.

The man was always dressed impeccably in embroidered robes of pale green. And every time he passed, a subtle scent—fresh grass after rain—would drift into Tianlang-jun’s nose.

He barely reached Tianlang-jun’s chest even with his guan in, and judging by the snippets of conversation Tianlang-jun overheard, the little scholar was definitely the type who would be fun to tease.

Still, Tianlang-jun had only ever formed a vague impression of him. He’d never looked too closely at the man’s face. Or his aura.

But today.

Today, he’d happened to casually mention to Zhuzhi-lang his excitement about a new Flying Crane release. Out loud.

And from nowhere, the little scholar had materialized in a storm of righteous indignation and flailing outrage, denouncing Flying Crane as the literary equivalent of a war crime.

He spoke passionately on the dangers of “heaving bosoms,” the pitfalls of bad romance arcs, and the structural failures of modern literature.

It was… oddly adorable, especially with how he had to lean pretty far back to look Tianlang-jun in the eyes.

And it was then—only then—that Tianlang-jun really looked.

Spirit veins.

Familiar ones.

Ones he hadn’t seen since Jinlan City.

He blinked once. Then smiled.

“My good man,” Tianlang-jun said smoothly, “I’d love to hear more. Let’s take a walk.”

___

Zhuzhi-lang was confused, but he followed along anyway, trailing behind his uncle as Tianlang-jun enthusiastically chatted up the tiny green gremlin.

They were strolling through the village marketplace now—if one could call Tianlang-jun’s pace strolling, and the gremlin’s ranting chatting..

After breaking his uncle from HuaYu Mountain and helping him develop a viable body that would rot from the heavenly demon energy like the Sun Dew Mushroom body, ZhuZhi-lang had helped his uncle reconquer his territory, killing off any opposition and reestablishing his rule over the warring demon tribes before the Su XiYan Incident (Read Betrayal).

The whole confrontation after Jinlan City after Peak Lord Shen’s death had really wrecked any chance of a meaningful relationship between the father and son, and since then, Tianlang-jun was just drifting through his days.

So really, he was thankful that the little scholar was able to catch his uncle’s interest.

He just wished they didn’t make such a public scene.

Zhuzhi-lang liked to think he had developed a thick enough skin after years of enduring his uncle’s shameless behavior. But if he had to listen to them debate the literary merits of “conqueror harems” versus “voluptuous beauties” one more time in front of a vegetable stall, he was going to scream.

(He wouldn’t, of course. But a man could dream.)

He tugged his hood further over his head, as they passed another startled stall keeper. The man spoke familiarly, but Zhuzhi-lang’s top priority was escaping the marketplace before they collected any more judgmental stares.

___

“You don’t seem to understand. Flying Crane peddles trash words on scrap paper.”

Shen Yuan gestured wildly, his hands slicing the air like he was personally exorcising literary demons. “There is nothing about the filth he writes that resembles actual romance! Not in this world or any other.”

He drew a deep breath, preparing to continue his righteous tirade but was cut off.

“Are you going to let us in, Peak Lord Shen?”

Tianlang-jun’s voice was smooth.

Shen Yuan froze.

Peak Lord Shen?

Shit.

Shen Yuan looked up.

Oh no. They’d been standing in front of his courtyard gate.

For over ten minutes.

Double shit.

In his blind fury over Flying Crane’s crimes against storytelling, he’d unconsciously led them straight home. From the bookstore. To his front door. Without noticing.

“Peak Lord? This one does not see any peak lords?”

He waved at himself in disbelief. “Look at me! Does this” he gestured up and down at his tiny mushroom frame “scream immortal peak lord to you?!”

He needed help. Fast.

“Meow~”

Shen Yuan’s household fairy guardian had spoken.

He sighed.

“…Fine. You can come in. But don’t touch anything.

Chapter Text

“Come in. Sit down, Tianlang-jun, Xizhi-lang.”

Zhuzhi-lang started. “Peak Lord Shen, this one…”

From somewhere deeper in his house, a languid “Meow~” echoed.

“Yes, yes. That is Mao-jun, the guardian of this courtyard. He is pleased to meet you too-as long as you don’t cause any trouble.”

When Shen Yuan settled all three of them at the table and served his guests tea and some jelly, he hadn’t been expecting to say much. Probably something along the lines of, “Please don’t tell anyone and I’d really like it if you both left me alone, even if it is nice to have someone to rant to.”

But the moment he opened his mouth, it all spilled out.

Shen Yuan wasn’t sure how he got through explaining everything to Tianlang-jun and Zhuzhi-lang.

The System. The restrictions. The story he wasn’t allowed to change.

Somehow, his mushroom body had blessedly not come with the System, so he wasn’t restricted in what he revealed to the Heavenly Demons.

He’d even apologized to the heavenly demon for initially mistreating his son and pushing Luo Binghe into the Abyss, although the man blankly looked at him and asked why. It’s not like he had a choice.

For all his shamelessness, Tianlang-jun was oddly insightful.

But after the observation was made, Shen Yuan had fully blanked out at this point. No one, not even Airplane, had ever acknowledged just how helpless he was in many of the actions he took as Shen QingQiu. For all the System had preached at him to fix the story, it really had restricted him in doing the things that mattered to him.

It had been awful.

There were times he couldn’t even tell where Shen Yuan ended and Shen QingQiu began. He wasn’t free to say what he wanted to say, interact how he wanted to without the fear of points deductions or death hanging over his head.

The tears wouldn’t stop. The two Heavenly Demons could only hover beside him, awkwardly patting his back.

So he wailed.

Because, for once, he was free to cry.

Even in death, the System hadn’t let him mourn. It had thrown him into someone else’s body before he could breathe.

If Shen Yuan had to admit, he’d never really had the chance to think about the trauma of his death and subsequent body restrictions that were so contrary to his own personality.

Then he’d died again.

___

Tianlang-Jun was panicking.

He hadn’t been expecting the tiny body containing Shen QingQiu’s spirit to emote so very much. Based on what he’d heard about the peak lord from teahouses and rogue cultivators, he was a stoic, scholarly man.

Although this new version of the scholar was awfully cute.

So cute he could rival baby Zhuzhi-lang.

He’d only revealed he knew Shen Yuan’s identity so he could fish for more details about his son—and what kind of life Luo Binghe had led on Qing Jing Peak. He didn’t even know that the boy had been thrown into the Endless Abyss.

He’d heard, during the farce of a trial at Jinlan City, that Luo Binghe’s Shizun had thrown him into the Abyss. But now? Now he knew the truth.

Most of the accusations levied against Shen QingQiu from Hua Huan Palace were obviously bogus.

Now knowing that Shen QingQiu, no, Shen Yuan, had been controlled by an external force to mistreat his son and throw him into the Abyss during the Immortal Alliance Conference, he felt pity for both the man in front of him and for his son. Honestly, he felt more pity for Shen Yuan than for his own son.

After all, he’d only known Luo Binghe for less than two shichen. Yes, he’d observed his son’s actions during the Jinlan City fiasco, but for him, Luo Binghe was more of a concept for him than a tangible son.

Perhaps Zhuzhi-lang’s soft spot for the peak lord had rubbed off on him too.

He observed the scholar.

Shen Yuan had sobbed enough that he had fallen asleep on his fairy cat, who was eyeing the two Heavenly Demons invading its territory. It chuffed and tapped its paw on the closest teacup. Tianlang-jun’s. The cup was full.

The cat tapped the cup again.

The two demons froze.

Quick as lightning, the cat’s paw swept out – sending all three teacups crashing off the table.

All three cups of lukewarm tea impressively splashing onto Zhuzhi-lang.

Tianlang-jun was genuinely impressed.

Shen Yuan snuffled in the background. Everyone froze, but the scholar quickly settled again.

Tianlang-jun smiled. It looked like he’d found a new reason to visit the human realm. And it wasn’t just for the bookstore.

___

Gongyi Xiao had been wandering the countryside for a while, taking every side road he could to avoid Huan Hua Palace cultivators. The end of his engagement to the Little Palace Mistress barely crossed his mind. It had started on her whim and ended on hers—an empty gesture, easily discarded.

He actually was grateful that Luo Binghe had him thrown out of Hua Huan Palace.

Gongyi Xiao had worn the mask of a genial fiancé, a seamless performance he kept until Luo BingHe had kicked him out of Hua Huan Palace. He didn't truly grasp human emotions; they were concepts he observed, not felt.

When the young Little Palace Mistress had singled him out, begging for coins on the street, he registered no gratefulness that her attendants had told him he should feel. He simply followed her; her every request met with a hollow compliance that mimicked affection.

In fact, letting Peak Lord Shen out of the water dungeon was done on a whim. Luo Binghe seemed so invested in his former Shizun, and really, everyone knew that the trial the immortal was awaiting was a farce. Gonyi Xiao knew that if he were to let the man go, he could maintain his sweet, naïve persona.

So release the man he did.

That decision earned him a brutal beating from Luo Binghe—after his former Shizun had imploded his own core to save him on Maigu Ridge. The Heavenly Demon had carried the immortal’s dead body and sequestered it in one of the most beautiful rooms in Hua Huan Palace like doing so would absolve him of his sins against his Shizun.

Gongyi Xiao hadn’t understood his pain. If anything, he’d felt mildly annoyed by the Heavenly Demon’s dramatics. What did he expect, after turning half the cultivation world against Peak Lord Shen?

One look at the greed in the Old Palace Master’s eyes should have been telling. Street urchin to street urchin—he should have known. The old man wore the mask of a venerable master, but he radiated the same rot as the “gentlemen” who haunted brothels and left the jiejie crying and broken.

Gongyi Xiao had seen it enough on the dusty streets near the Hua Huan Palace. He’d only stuck with his cultivation sect because he felt obligation towards the Young Palace Mistress and he wanted to make sure to keep his young sect brothers and sisters away from the grabby eyes and hands of the Palace Master. He didn’t care about the children, not really. But he’d seen what happened to kids who crossed paths with men like that. That was enough.

Gongyi Xiao looked around. He was somewhere near the feet of the Bailu Mountain range. It seems as though he had happened upon a bustling town that seemed to be kept well by its occupants.

The buildings were well-maintained, and the occupants seemed decently educated with many of the people passing carrying various books.

He drifted with the current of people through the village, letting their momentum carry him to its edge. He’d only been expecting to pass through the village but came upon a class being taught outside, the children rapt with attention. The teacher was not conventionally handsome, but Gongyi Xiao could attest based on what his former sect sisters had gossiped about the man was conventionally adorable. The fairy cat perched on his shoulders and his light green eyes would have had them squealing in adoration.

Oddly enough, the stern, yet gentle manner the man spoke in as very familiar. He’d heard it many years ago in Jinlan City.

But looks really didn’t mean anything if what was being taught was useless.

He paused to listen, not expecting much but the topic caught his attention.

“While Smoke-Footed Deer sometimes indicate the presence of clean water, students should not rely on animal sightings alone. It’s best to boil water before drinking—just to be safe.”

Oh, that was actually useful.

___

Shen Yuan had been wrapping up a lesson on outdoor survival skills (as requested by the children, who were more motivated by real-life survival tactics than the Six Arts), when he noticed a familiar figure hovering at the edge of his lesson grounds.

Oh, that was an unexpected face. In Proud Immortal Demon Way, Gongyi Xiao had been killed in Luo Binghe’s whole upheaval of Hua Huan Palace.

Shen Yuan—then still acting as Shen Qingqiu—had been impressed by how the boy handled Hua Huan’s head disciple after releasing him from the Water Prison. But something about his expression had felt... off. Just enough to set off a flag. So he'd thanked him and moved on, hurrying to Maigu Ridge to intercept Luo Binghe.

However, something about his expressions just landed oddly with Shen Yuan, which is why he just thanked the boy and proceeded to Maigu Ridge to intercept Luo Binghe.

He took a closer look. Gongyi Xiao seems to have been living the rough life. He was clad in brown plain linen clothes that were a far step from his previous obnoxious Hua Huan disciple attire. Perhaps his worries had come to fruition, and the boy had been ejected from his sect.

He dismissed the children and stood up, Mao-jun leaping from his shoulders and padded over to Hua Huan’s former head disciple.

“Mew~” The fairy cat circled Gongyi Xiao’s feet, leaving a circle of cat fur clearly visible on his dark robes. The young man glanced down, utterly blank. Any normal person would have flinched, smiled, or given some sort of reaction to the cat’s mischief, but Gongyi Xiao remained a steel fortress. No reaction.

Odd.

Shen Yuan cringed. That fur wasn’t going to be easy to remove. “This one apologizes for his guardian. May I ask who this gentleman is?”

Gongyi Xiao started but responded gracefully. “This one is Gongyi Xiao. A wandering cultivator.”

“This one asks what Cultivator Gongyi Xiao is doing here.” Shen Yuan wanted to leave. Immediately. He really didn’t want to interact with anyone from the cultivation world. It was already bad enough that Tianlang-jun had become a regular visitor to his little courtyard.

In fact.

The grass rustled. Iridescent snake scales caught the sunlight. Xizhi-lang.

Nononono.

He lifted Mao-jun, made eye contact with his fairy guardian, looked pointedly at the snake in the grass, plopped the cat down and hoped for the best.

He then spoke aloud for everyone in the clearing, “This one would be honored to share a cup of tea with Gongzi.” He gestured stiffly towards the table where he’d been teaching just moments before. “Please. Sit.”

___

Gongyi Xiao hadn’t expected to be invited to an impromptu tea session with the village teacher, but the man was surprisingly pleasant to talk to.

He introduced himself as “Shen Yuan,” and there was something… eerily familiar about him. Something about his gestures scratched at his brain, but he couldn’t place it.

He walked through the basic motions of courtesy but soon Gongyi Xiao found himself drawn into a surprisingly spirited conversation about some of the book titles he’d seen the villagers carrying on his way to the lesson grounds.

He didn’t know there were so many creative ways to eviscerate a book to the point that resuscitation would probably fail to save it.

But it was the moment that man pulled out a beautifully painted fan from his sleeve and used it to cover the lower half of his face when Gongyi Xiao realized it.

“Peak Lord Shen, this one is pleased to see you again.”

The man froze then fumbled his teacup.

At that same moment, the winged cat jumped on the table with a dead(?) snake dangling from its mouth and smacked Gongyi Xiao directly in the face with its tail.

“Of course not!” Shen Yuan squeaked, voice cracking.

Gongyi Xiao raised an eyebrow.

“This one is now Shen Yuan.” The scholar insisted, nervously fluttering his fan.

“I see.” He did not see, but the former peak lord’s soul was now clearly in a completely different body.

He settled down with his tea and looked up at Shen Yuan.

“Tell me more, Shen Laoshi.”

Chapter Text

Shen Yuan had at first been somewhat terrified that Gongyi Xiao would go straight to Hua Huan Palace with his location, but after haplessly staring at Hua Huan’s former head disciple for longer than he really should have been, Mao Jun jumped on the table and smacked his fluffy tail right in Shen Yuan’s face. He then pointedly loafed on the table, making it clear that he would support Shen Yuan and that he would take no shit from either Shen Yuan or this intruder.

Sort of comforting.

But did it help Shen Yuan formulate thoughts on how to explain his situation?

Absolutely not.

He’d already struggled so much explaining the System and his mushroom state to Tianlang Jun. He was mentally pulling his hair out at this point. Why did the darnedest things just have to happen to him? It was so much easier writing book reviews and teaching illiterate children than explaining his mushroom situation to Gonyi Xiao.

He…probably didn’t need to go into that much detail with Gongyi Xiao. Didn’t need to mention the System or the fact that he’d transmigrated into the scum villain’s body.

Also, based on his previous interactions with the boy, he thought the boy was a good child. Ah, well, a man now. Still just a sprout compared to Shen Qingqiu’s lifetime, but maybe technically a gege compared to Shen Yuan—after all, he’d just spent the last three years underground as a mushroom pod.

Shen Yuan didn’t need to say much. He really didn’t think the former Hua Huan disciple cared much and just wanted to press Shen Yuan’s buttons.

When Gongyi Xiao had smiled an empty smile before releasing Shen QingQiu from the Water Prison, Shen Yuan really had been so distracted that he just scooted by with a brief thank you to GongYi Xiao. Thinking back now, that smile really was just this side of eerie.

Rabbit hole alert. Shen Yuan really needed to stop getting sidetracked and handle the situation at hand.

Wait, the snake.

Xizhi-lang could handle this. Surely, he could revert to his humanoid form and alleviate Shen Yuan’s problem.

…except the snake was playing dead under Mao-Jun’s tail.

“This one will prepare some tea for our conversation.” He, rather subtly in his opinion, scooped up the limp body, sticking the maybe carcass in his sleeve, and hustled his way to the tables to the side of the learning area…ah, he could have just used a talisman for both sourcing the water and boiling it.

He busied himself with the teapot and whispered at Xizhi-lang, “Can you aid this one with the explanation?”

No movement. The snake continued to play dead.

Damn.

No assist.

He turned around and glided over to the table to sit in front of Gongyi Xiao.

“This one will—ah—explain. Somehow.”

___

Gongyi Xiao listened intently to Shen Yuan’s explanation, told over the winged cat and empty teacups. (The man was so preoccupied with his explanation that he forgot about the tea).

A soul in a mushroom body—he’d never once come across such an oddity in all the Hua Huan Palace libraries.

Gongyi Xiao couldn’t imagine what Shen QingQiu’s former disciple would do to him, and he didn’t really care what consequences the man might reap if he returned. But former Peak Lord Shen was certainly valid for not returning to Qing Jing Peak.

As he pondered the situation at hand, he was startled by a soft paw to the face. “Mao-jun,” as Shen Yuan had introduced, mewed and maintained eye contact with Gongyi Xiao as he flipped back onto the table. He pawed at Gongyi Xiao’s hand, pulling it towards his wide-open belly.

Gongyi Xiao followed through the motion and rubbed the cat’s belly. A mistake. Claws raked across his hand a heartbeat later.

 Valid but what a tease. He narrowed his eyes at the cat.

The cat’s claws retracted, but the silent battle of wills continued—until Shen Yuan’s nervous voice cut through. “This one would like to ask what Gongyi Xiao plans to do going forward.”

Gongyi Xiao’s staring match with the winged cat was interrupted by Shen Yuan’s nervous query, and Hua Hua’s former head disciple realized he never responded to Shen Yuan’s story.

“This one has heard your story, and…”

He trailed off, not sure what he should do, but he had been drifting apart from the cultivation world for so long without purpose. He straightened up, realizing that even sitting he had to curve his neck down to make eye contact with Shen Yuan.

His shimei would probably call the eyes Shen Yuan was leveling at him “puppy eyes,” but Gongyi Xiao remained unmoved.

“This one believes that he will need to stay longer to surveil this village and learn from Peak Lord Shen, as this one’s education was halted with my departure from Hua Huan Palace.”

Shen Yuan’s forehead hit the table with a hollow thunk - right as a giant oaf burst through the door, bellowing, “Xiao Shen! Have you read the latest book from Flying Crane???”

Even more interesting. Definitely worth it to stay in this village a little longer.

___

Shang QingHua had been puzzled about something for some time (Cucumber Bro would probably argue that he was in a perpetual state of confusion. Which, rude. Valid but rude).

His publisher had dropped a bomb on him: apparently those three books he hadn’t even managed to review had turned into some of his bestselling series.

Even weirder, a bookstore near the Bailu Mountains was selling his books by the wagonload. Wagonload!

Shang Qinghua hadn’t even known there were enough literate villagers in that region to buy books, let alone his books. But hey, he wasn’t complaining—cash was cash.

And he needed it. Badly. Sunflower seeds, ink, paper—those weren’t indulgences, they were life necessities. He’d probably go into withdrawal if anyone tried to cut him off.

Meanwhile, back at Cang Qiong, he’d been exhausted by his current situation.

He'd been juggling his duties to Mobei-jun and Cang Qiong Sect over the past couple years and still had not managed to find a good rhythm. He’d had to take over the accounting for the sect (thankless role), and ensure sect ran seamlessly.

And with Shen Yuan gone, Qing Jing Peak had not been fulfilling its tactical and strategic duties, making Shang QingHua really putting in a lot of effort to keep the cogs of Cang Qiong running.

Yue QingYuan was still functionally useless and grieving even after 3 years (he really wanted to say something about Shen Yuan’s mushroom body and the fact that he wasn’t dead, but he didn’t want to be skewered by Cucumber Bro), and Liu QingGe caused more problems than he resolved as War God.

If he could throw in the towel and resign, he would have so many years ago. The System had damned him in every interaction he’d taken. Even after Shen Yuan’s death, every move he made still felt like it had invisible strings attached.

He’d picked up writing to serve as a release from the pressures exerted by all the duties he was beholden to. Writing under the pseudonym Flying Crane was a way for him to let free. Similar to when he was writing as Airplane Flying in the Sky, he just wrote whatever sold and let the sales figures and the trolls online validate him.

Cucumber Bro probably didn’t know it, but his comments really were motivation for Shang QingHua to write more for PIDW. (if he told him that, Shen Yuan would probably blow a gasket and skewer him twice over).

Returning to the stats from his editor though, he really wanted to check out what was going with that golden goose village. Maybe he’d find a muse that would spur on more content.

Mobei-jun’s pecs had already carried five novels. He could definitely squeeze out a few more, but variety was the spice of life. He’d save those images in the back of his mind for a rainy day and start on a new series to drive some more anticipation for his existing series.

In fact, he’d seen a recent mission requesting a peak lord to check out the forests near that village. A snake demon had been sighted, and the village head was taking a better safe than sorry approach.

The tone of the request was more performative and rather resigned like he didn’t expect anyone from Cang Qing actually coming to help, but Shang Qinghua figured a chance to sneak away from the sect, snoop on his mysterious golden goose village, and technically count it as mission work? Perfect. Kill two birds with one sunflower seed.

Looks like he’d be taking a quick trip to Bailu Mountains.

___

Shang Qinghua had been tromping through the forests near Bailu Mountains for longer than he’d like to admit. No snake demon sightings, not even a snake skin. He was sweaty (even immortals sweat!), cranky, and ready to throw in the towel. He’d luckily not reported to the village head before he set out, so he might call this trip a wash and – more importantly - check out that bookstore.

The moment he reached the village proper, Shang Qinghua blinked. Books. Everywhere. Villagers strolled with books tucked under arms, books balanced in baskets, even kids flipping through pages while walking. What kind of rustic village was this? A surprisingly literate one, apparently.

At the bookstore front, he even spotted a handsome youth who looked suspiciously like Gongyi Xiao. But since the boy wasn’t dressed in those obnoxious golden Hua Huan robes, Shang Qinghua assumed it was just a lookalike. Doppelgangers happened, right?

The shelves were even stranger. There were labels on most of the books that appeared to be showing the summaries of each book. How cute. Then he took a closer look.

Flaming pile of trash. Whatever dumpster this ML climbed out of, he should return right back. Worth reading only when you need righteous rage to fuel you as you sit atop a toilet to take a shit.

He paused. That book was a part of his Yang Minglan series. This was no summary. This critic had killed his book dead and took no hostages. He apprehensively glanced over at the book next to his books.

Read at your own peril and only if you like brain-dead protagonists. Pretty? Maybe to their mother. Not worth your time.

Shang felt faint. The tone was so familiar. The only other time he’d seen such ruthless dismemberment was back when he was Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, scrolling Cucumber Bro’s vitriol on a computer screen.

Cucumber-Bro!

Looks like his mushroom boy had come to life.

He ran to the bookstore’s proprietor.

“Sir! This one would like to inquire as to the writer of the reviews in your store. I-I very much admire his insight regarding your inventory.”

The store owner laughed, “Our reviewer, Veridian Brush, has drawn many a curious admirer with his scathing writing. Unfortunately, this one will not be able to provide you with his information. You can leave a letter directed to him, and this one will be sure that he receives it.”

Damn. He didn’t have that much time in this village. What to do?

“Peak Lord Shang?”

He turned around to look at who called his title. Oh, that boy wasn’t a Gongyi Xiao doppelganger. It really was him.

The boy smiled at him politely. Too politely. “This one believes he knows who you are searching for.”

Damn. His eyes weren’t smiling. Shang QingHua looked down. Gongyi Xiao’s hands were empty. Thank goodness. But he had a sword at his waist! Was he going to get murdered in broad daylight?

Too much. His hyperactive brain was giving himself whiplash.

“Is the writer a type of Shen*?”

The boy cocked his head at him and responded, “If we are talking about the same Shen, then please, follow me.”

Wow, not subtle at all.

Gongyi Xiao led him to a well-maintained courtyard. As the boy pushed open the heavy wooden door, yelling immediately spilled out.

“In what world does a female lead fall in love with her mark after seducing him for information? She then has unprotected sex with him, gets pregnant, and we’re supposed to call it romance? Only the naïve and foolish would buy into that delusion!”

Shang Qinghua’s stomach dropped. That seemed to be commentary about his newest book. He’d based it off the love story between Tianlang-jun and Su Xiyan. He’d always thought it was awfully romantic and his fans seemed to agree, as the book sold out the first week after it was released.

Inside the courtyard, he nearly tripped at the sight: a smaller, cuter, more animated version of Shen Qingqiu was brandishing a fan, chasing a huge man with flowing hair and a glowing forehead sigil. The man laughed as he dodged away.

Oh no. He wasn’t about to be murdered by Gongyi Xiao after all. He was about to be murdered by Cucumber Bro.

“Shen Laoshi,” Gongyi Xiao called.

The little mushroom man turned, spotted Shang Qinghua—and froze.

“You.”

The quiet rage packed in that single syllable said everything Shang Qinghua needed to hear.

He bolted.

He had all the time in this village. In fact, he could just return to Cang Qiong, take some time off before returning. Maybe Cucumber Bro will have cooled off by then.

He tripped on something that caused him to tumble like a slapstick extra in a cheap drama. He was feeling everything but funny.

He looked back at what tripped him.

“Snake demon!”

Something landed on his head with a thump.

“Meow!”

A tail smacked his face, as Shen Yuan tripped and landed on his back.

“Got you, you hack author!”

Chapter Text

Shen Yuan’s courtyard was overflowing with people, noise, and life.

It was so different from his little apartment, where he’d stayed in the last few years of his life, rage spamming online webnovels, where he was only occasionally visited by his family.

His parents and siblings loved him. He knew they loved him so much, but they had their own lives outside of him. Da Ge had taken over the family’s company, Er Ge was on the second leg of his classical music tour, and Shen Yue, his darling little sister, was opening her own bakery-slash-art shop.

And him? Shen Yuan, was the sickly fu er dai stuck at home. He couldn’t hold a consistent job due to his health condition frequently but unexpectedly flaring up, and his family insisted that he needn’t go out into the world to make money.

Remaining at home left him lonely and heavily reliant on the questionable internet for any humanly interaction.

Now, though, things were different. He had Mao-jun purring up a storm on his shoulders The damn hack author was being eyed curiously by Tianlang-jun. Gongyi Xiao was brewing tea under the watchful gaze of a snake perched among the bookshelves (ever since their first tea session, Gongyi Xiao had taken it upon himself to keep Shen Yuan supplied). And over all that bustle—someone knocked at his door.

He walked over and opened the door, finding Wang LiQing, his bookstore employer, before him.

Ah. That’s right. His next book review was due today.

He grinned sheepishly. While he’d read the book and been vaguely impressed by the absence of most red flags in the plot line, he’d been so preoccupied by Gongyi Xiao’s arrival that he’d forgotten about his deadline.

He was usually on time! It was only that once when he’d been so preoccupied with the blooming Fanged Vampiric Wombat Flowers that only bloomed once every 50 years (seriously, hack author, how many descriptors did you need for a mystical plant?), that he’d forgotten to meet his deadline.

“This one will have the book review ready by sun rise tomorrow,” he promised.

Wang LiQing sighed. Shen Yuan was reliably unreliable with the heedless curiosity of a spoiled young master. The townspeople had already rescued him from his absentminded curiosity multiple times. Honestly, that winged cat of his probably had more survival instincts than his owner.

Still, everyone had noticed the odd little scholar when he moved in. He was adorable yet unexpectedly dignified, more suited to a library than crawling through forests for ink-flowers. His clever, razor-sharp reviews had brought business to the town, and for that they accepted his eccentricities.

“This one understands,” Wang LiQing said, handing him another book. “But two reviews will be due—this new volume and the one already owed—in three days’ time.”

The bookstore owner bowed and departed. He was comforted to see that Shen Yuan had people there for him.

___

Shen Yuan sighed. He was safe from deadlines - for now.

(In his delusional state, “due in 3 days” meant “start the night before”).

Mao-jun eyed him like he knew just exactly Shen Yuan was planning to do. The winged cat smacked him with a sheathed paw.

He chuckled and set the book on his desk. “This one knows and will be sure to start his work and leave enough time to spare.”

An obnoxiously familiar voice drawled over his shoulder, “And by that, you mean the morning of, right?”

Mao-jun yowled indignantly at the unexpected voice and sprung from his shoulders with enough force that Shen Yuan fell into the speaker.

Tianlang-jun boisterously laughed. “If it worked on my beloved, then it must work. Even Flying Crane’s latest book had a similar line. Proof!”

Shen Yuan pinched the top of his nose. Damn hack author. Every time Tianlang-jun quoted one of his books, he swore he could feel wrinkles forming.

(Wait, he technically was a plant, no? Could plants develop wrinkles? Definitely something to research later. After he has fixed this man’s demented understanding of human relationships).

“This one will find a way, some way or another, to teach you what a healthy relationship actually looks like. Nothing like that filth you’re stuffing into your head.” Shen Yuan waved Airplane’s book in Tianlang-jun’s face.

The oaf only laughed in his face and strolled off, utterly unbothered by Shen Yuan’s threats.

___

“This disciple reports a disturbance,” Gongyi Xiao bowed. “The townspeople speak of a water ghost drowning washerwomen. This one must depart.”

Shang Qinghua watched him go, eyebrows raised as Shen Yuan patted the boy’s head like some benevolent teacher.

“Didn’t expect you to run a house of strays here.” Shang Qinghua remarked, cracking sunflower seeds and shamelessly partaking in the delightful tea Gongyi Xiao had brewed for Shen Yuan.

Shen Yuan laughed and plopped down next to Shang Qinghua, leaning heavily against his hack author.

“Once freed from the system, it’s like every side character within three degrees of Luo Binghe migrated here.”

Shang Qinghua tilted his head. “Then no system?”

“Nope.” Shen Yuan smiled smugly. “It’s great. Super peaceful.”

“Sooooo,” Shang Qinghua drawled, “Novel critic? Seems about right for my number one hater, Peerless Cucumber.”

Shen Yuan shoved back against him until Shang Qinghua nearly toppled sideways.

A crash interrupted them. Mao-jun sat angelically on top of Zhuzhi-lang, who lay sprawled among scattered books, looking utterly defeated by life and a winged cat.

The two modern men made eye contact then burst out laughing.

The laughing, however, was quickly cut short, as a portal burst into existence in the center of the courtyard.

Shang Qinghua froze, and his breaths grew shorter and shorter.

A long leg stepped through through. Then a towering, muscular frame.

Shen Yuan rose, as Mao-jun sprung onto Shen Yuan’s shoulder, wings spread fully to seem as intimidating as possible.

A strong hand gripped Shang Qinghua’s upper arm too tightly before Shen Yuan could move further.

“You. The reports on the succubus expansion into this one’s northern territory.”

Shang Qinghua quivered at the inquiry, as he responded, “My lord, this one has not had the chance in the past two days-“

Thud. Shang Qinghua hit the hard cobblestone of Shen Yuan’s courtyard.

“M-my lord-“

Shen Yuan snapped his fan open. Blades gleamed as he leveled it at Mobei-jun’s throat, smiling faintly.

“Mao-jun, can you show Shang Shidi where he can find some of our town’s specialty sunflower seeds?”

The winged cat chuffed against Shen Yuan’s head before leaping onto Shang Qinghua and stealing his bag of sunflower seeds. The man stumbled to his feet, disheveled and clearly hurting, but hesitant to leave.

Shen Yuan smiled confidently at his friend, and his smile was enough to assure Shang Qinghua that he could handle whatever arose.

(Shang Qinghua eyed Zhuzhi-lang who was organizing whatever books were knocked askew when Mao-jun had jumped on his favorite prey. They made eye contact and Zhuzhi-lang dipped his head in assent that he would protect Shen Laoshi should any danger arise.)

Soon, the courtyard was devoid of one winged cat and author.

Mobei-jun studied the short human. Oddly enough, the man smelled of the forest rather than human.

“This one will manage his subordinates as he sees fit. That includes Peak Lord Shang.”

“No. Shang Qinghua is not built to handle whatever abuse you are inflicting on him.”

Mobei-jun blinked. “…Abuse? This one is merely demonstrating interest, as is customary in demon courting.”

Shen Yuan raised one brow. “Mobei-jun, you cannot tell this one that you thought human courting was in any way similar to demon courting?”

Mobei-jun just stared at him.

Shen Yuan tapped his fan against his lips and wrinkled his brows. “You are an ice demon, not a block of ice. Answer me.”

Mobei-jun frowned but still did not speak. (He intuitively knew that anything he answered would damn him).

“You know what? This one believes that the next course the students will be learning is on empathy and navigating relationships. If you want to continue courting Shang Shidi, you will attend. With the children.”

“In fact,” Shen Yuan snagged the fluttering sleeve of Zhuzhi-lang who was scurrying by, “Tianlang-jun will join as well. Won’t that be delightful?”

The snake demon froze, eyes darting toward Mobei-jun.

“T-this nephew cannot make d-decisions for his uncle.” Zhuzhi-lang stuttered. He didn’t quite know what was going on, but whatever Shen Laoshi was planning, he really didn’t want to get involved.

“Thank you for agreeing! We will see you in two days!” Shen Yuan smiled with murder in his eyes at both men, who could only nod in mute defeat.

___

On his throne in the demon world, Tianlang-jun endured the droning of a simpering spider demon, who was offering up his first daughter as a concubine.

The girl, however, clearly wasn’t interested. Her gaze was, instead, directed at Liu Anli, his busty righthand woman (recommended, of course, by Shen Laoshi, who had correctly assessed that Zhuzhi-lang could not keep his uncle in line and Tianlang-jun himself was far too careless to run things properly).

He scratched his ear and grinned, all teeth.

“This one has no need for a concubine, but perhaps you could direct further correspondence to Anli. This one does not believe what you have to say warrants my attention. Besides, my ear itches. Someone must be saying good things about me!”

(Meanwhile, in his little courtyard, Shen Yuan’s blood pressure spiked. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew it had everything to do with one of his idiots).

___

Of course, while Shen Yuan was buried under students, demons, and deadlines, elsewhere, his beloved sheep was unraveling.

Luo BingHe must be losing his mind.

He hadn’t meant to cause his Shizun so much suffering. But under Xin Mo’s corruption, he had condoned the unthinkable—his Shizun’s imprisonment in the Water Prison. Everything between that moment and Shizun’s self-destruction blurred into nightmare.

Somehow, he had clawed his way into power at Hua Huan Palace, displacing the Old Palace Master and locking him in the same Water Prison where Shen QingQiu had languished. He had even confined the Little Palace Mistress to her quarters for whipping his Shizun and mistreating her servants.

He’d discovered that by physically separating himself from the sword, he could force his blood mites to repair the damage done to his mind. He refrained from dual cultivation, choosing instead to meditate and practice inedia every five days to stabilize his cultivation.

But how was he to survive without his Shizun’s head pats? Without his fleeting smiles and indignant ranting about the latest scholarly publications? His heart hurt.

He’d fled with his Shizun’s body after Maigu Ridge (Despicable, he knew. But how could he come back from what he had done?)

His Liu Shishu was constantly attacking him, demanding that the body be returned to Cang Qiong Sect.

Still, he fought. Fought to keep his Shizun’s body preserved because his Shizun was coming back. He had to be.