Chapter Text
At the first disciple selection after the ascension there is a woman far too old to start learning cultivation, kneeling in the dirt beside a child far too young.
Neither of them are digging.
Shen Qingqiu - Qingqiu, now, not Jiu, and it’s a relief to finally shed that name - finds his interest piqued. He was only there because he had to be, with no interest in picking any potential disciples, but it would be prudent to see why those two climbed all those stairs if not to join Cang Qiong.
With a snap of his fan, he begins to walk towards them, ignoring the curious glances from his marital siblings and the hopeful-turning-disappointed glances from everyone he passes on the way.
The woman looks up at him only once he comes to a stop.
“Immortal Master,” she offers him a slightly-incorrect bow.
“You can’t expect to be accepted as a disciple,” he says without preamble. “Nor can you believe your offspring is of an appropriate age to join. Why are you here?”
“I’m looking for Shen Jiu.” He can’t help but stiffen at the name, opening his fan to hide behind it once more. He’s only just left it behind-! Why was his past chasing him now? “I have a letter to deliver. As well as…”
She trails off as she looks over at the baby. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t dare drop his guard, but he assumes he can guess what this farce is about. Thankfully, he knows for a fact there can’t be an offspring of his running around, and certainly not one within this age range. No matter what some might think about him and his frequent visits to the Warm Red Pavillon, he’s never come anywhere close to siring a child.
And yet-
“You’ve found him.”
-it would be strategic to know who’s trying to catch him in such a lie, wouldn’t it?
He accepts the proffered note, baulking at the length of it before recognizing the words. More, he recognizes the handwriting.
Shen Jiu, you were right, on all counts but one. I’m sorry.
There’s no signature, but he doesn’t need one. In fact, if his suspicions are true, it’s better that she hasn’t included one.
After all, the Old Palace Master always had an uncanny ability to get his sticky fingers on anything that bore Su Xiyan’s name.
He tucks the note into his sleeve and hides his fan away before kneeling beside the basket, turning it to see the child better. There is no resemblance to Su Xiyan, but why should there be? He’s only met her once they were both disciples, and babies are rather misshapen besides.
When he reaches out his hand to attempt checking the baby’s spiritual energy, however feeble and underdeveloped it might yet be, the child grabs onto his finger with more strength than Shen Qingqiu expects.
It works just as well; And there's an undeniable connection to what he remembers of Su Xiyan.
It’s true, as much as he hates that fact.
“...What do you expect to happen?” He directs at the woman. “You’ve gone through much effort to bring the child here. Surely, there’s something you want.”
“I just wish for him to grow up well,” she doesn’t even rise to the bait, her words measured. “I’m a simple washerwoman. I’ll raise him myself, if I must, but the Immortal Master would be able to provide much better life for Luo Binghe than I-”
“Su,” he interrupts, words escaping him before he can hold them in. “His mother’s name. If he’s to be acknowledged as her son, it’ll be as Su Binghe.”
The child babbles nonsense at that, waving with Shen Qingqiu’s finger still stuck in his grasp. Trying to free the finger would be a pointless endeavor, so he doesn’t try. When he turns back towards the washerwoman, she’s smiling at him knowingly.
He bristles, but says nothing. He’s already shown his hand.
Quite literally, in this case.
***
On all counts but one, Su Xiyan wrote. It was oblique, as it had to be in order to make it into Shen Qingqiu’s hands.
But he can guess well enough what he was mistaken about. And if his suspicions are true, then Tianlang-Jun has been imprisoned underneath a mountain for no reason at all. Other than humanity’s hatred of demons in all forms, of course.
He can almost hear Su Xiyan’s words in regards to that. Even dead, her stubbornness keeps haunting Shen Qingqiu’s actions.
So after the very next Peak Lords meeting, he remains seated until everyone but Qi-ge leaves, skin itching underneath their curiosity.
It itches more under Qi-ge’s hopeful gaze.
“Zhangmen-shixiong,” he begins, just to nail that in. “You were a major participant in Tianlang-Jun’s defeat; Do you know where he had been sealed?”
Qi-ge blinks, expression turning baffled. He tries a couple times before he manages to form any words.
“...Yes?” He says eventually. “The Bai Lu Mountain, though the exact spot has been kept from all but those who handled the bindings. But, shidi, why-?”
“Is that all you know on the topic?”
Qi-ge doesn’t answer for a moment, watching him with his forehead scrunched in confusion. Shen Qingqiu takes it as an answer, moving to stand.
“I know he’s bound with chains stronger than even the Immortal Binding Cables,” he volunteers then, in a rush, as if trying to keep Shen Qingqiu near for just a moment longer. “Twelve of them, connected in a circle around him. He can never escape them on his own. It would take insane amounts of qi to break them.”
That’s not great news; Shen Qingqiu barely has enough qi to serve his role as a Peak Lord, his damaged meridians unable to hold much more. But it’s information, and information brings power.
He nods in acknowledgment. He considers thanking Qi-ge; Decides not to. Sharing some information, no matter how useful, cannot erase the pain of their history. This isn’t the secret Shen Qingqiu wants Yue Qingyuan to reveal.
Qi-ge doesn’t speak again when Shen Qingqiu leaves.
