Chapter Text
In the cultivation world everyone knew, there was something strange about Shen Qingqiu.
It was the way he’d be too composed, too proper, some would say. Or the way being around him was ever so slightly uncomfortable, utterly unnerving in ways hardly described easily, others would speculate. Maybe it was the way the shadows around him and Qing Jing were just ever too long, the winters too long and the morning frost too persistent, or how people always felt watched around him and his peak.
His natural beauty only enhanced the effects of his presence. Long, carefully cared for hair fell over his shoulders and back in rivers of black, framing a face so sharp it looked like it was carved out of white jade. Obsidian, swirling pools watched your every step, phoenix eyes sharp and oh so observant. Dark teal robes covered his body, the fabric expensive and carefully embroidered with the bamboo motif of Qing Jing Peak. His very being exuded an air of carefully crafted arrogance, lips and eyebrows stuck in a downwards tilt. In short, he was mesmerizing - if only he didn’t scowl so much, some would add.
His aura was mystical and unnerving, yet it felt as if he was actually suppressing far more terrifying energy. He would glide seamlessly and soundlessly between the shadows, appearing when you least expect him - he had scared many of Qing Jing’s disciples and hallmasters that way. His voice would occasionally drag and pull into the ether, reverberating in space and nothingness. His eyes would watch you, even when he wasn’t looking your way. He was always observing, in an entirely intangible way.
His attitude was too calm, too composed, yet too angry beyond words. The shadows were longer whenever Zhangmen-shixiong stayed too long in his presence. When in a spar with Liu-shixiong, it seemed as though he was letting him win - when limbs seemed to break, they rearranged themselves in the next moment, but a blink and the grave injury had never existed in the first place. He was a lot of things, yet he wasn’t - a conundrum of the incomprehensible.
The other peak lords felt paranoia and fear the longer they spent with him. It got so far that they allowed him to excuse himself early from the room, especially during peak lord meetings. A collective sigh of relief would wash over the assembled martial siblings, as if an invisible pressure had suddenly lifted - the room seemingly much brighter too. With Shen Qingqiu, the cold also left a place.
There were only few who disagreed - Mu Qingfang one of them. He would sigh out of loss whenever his shixiong drifted out of a room they had shared, a weird sense of longing left behind. The wish to drown in darkness anew, to grasp the frigid cold to soothe his burning core. The doctor was unsure why, but where others felt fear he merely felt thrill and comfort - the comfort of home, familiarity. A feeling of understanding, without knowing what was truly understood. When others would flee the bamboo house as quickly as possible once their business there concluded, he was all too willing to stay for a few more hours, discussing plants and his new findings. He really did not understand why everyone was so opposed - Shen Qingqiu was wonderful company.
The man’s energy felt so familiar, so welcoming in a world where no one seemed to share the pits of qi he had. No one but Shen Qingqiu. So he willingly sought him out - over and over again.
For a brief moment each time he could pretend he saw the man’s lips tick upwards whenever he stepped close after a peak lord meeting. Much better though were his private smiles, saved all for Mu Qingfang’s greedy eyes.
The others had warned him of stepping close to Shen Qingqiu, of trying to approach someone so acerbic and peculiar. The healer ignored their advice anew every time he obtained an invitation for tea, each time he sought out the scholar on his own. His shadows and eyes bearing down upon him were a welcome hug, his cold hands so soft and soothing in his own. So what if Mu Qingfang was selfish, just for once, to seek company and comfort where others insisted he shouldn’t? Had he not given enough, was it so strange to want to share his life with another?
One would think it was for how Liu Qingge had attempted to stop him time and time again, staring at him angrily from a distance as he dared not approach the healer who had thrown him a withering glare. For how Wei Qingwei threw him concerned glances, for how Qi Qingqi scrunched her nose at him, saying she would expect better of him. The Ku Xing peak lord had at least given up to stop him from seeking out Shen Qingqiu, after all, who was he to deny Mu Qingfang the right to go after his patients, the healer would argue. Shang Qinghua clearly wanted to say something but hardly had the nerve to - he was most afraid of their shixiong’s oddities.
Only Yue Qingyuan hardly questioned it, but threw him a look that screamed of endless bouts of guilt, and a touch of jealousy whenever the doctor would inch close enough to Shen Qingqiu to grab his hand. When he felt particularly upset by Zhangmen-Shixiong or particularly daring, he would even give his beloved a kiss on the cheek, watching that jealousy flame up higher and higher. Whatever was burdening their relationship was none of his business. Shen Qingqiu undoubtedly had uncovered what he sought in Zhangmen-Shixiong with his eyes, as much as the other fled them with all his might. It was his choice and his choice alone what to do about it.
And uncovered they would have, for he felt those eyes, probing and invading his mind. Where others got scared, he had learned to simply allow them to see to their fill. After all, he had nothing to hide from Shen-Shixiong, not even his most impulsive thoughts of keeping him to himself, for himself, away from prying eyes of others. But really, why would he, when the strangeness that was Shen Qingqiu was so much more fascinating to watch roam free? Making others squirm with his presence alone.
Eventually word began to spread, Mu Qingfang must be haunted - why else would the shadows extend around him, the cold creating condensation around his burning core. Why else would he seek the tendrils of dark, let them into his home and heart? And perhaps he was bewitched - even if he was he wouldn’t have it any other way.
A look at pitch black orbs told him his dearest felt the same.