Chapter Text
Shen Jiu had reached the limit of his endurance. The air on Qing Jing Peak felt stagnant, thick with the suffocating incense of false piety and the grating sound of disciples reciting verses they didn't understand. Every "Shizun" directed his way felt like a hidden barb, and every smile from his sect siblings felt like a thin veil over their shared contempt. He was tired of being the villain in their story while they played the saints in his.
He donned his outer robes with sharp, mechanical movements, the heavy silk providing a meager shield against the biting January chill. It was the third week of the month, and Winter was screaming across the mountain peaks, coating the world in a jagged, unforgiving white.
Yet, as he prepared to go down the moutain, he thought of the Warm Red Pavilion. He had personally installed heating talismans there three winters ago—carving the arrays into the floorboards himself so the girls wouldn't have to shiver in their thin silks. At least there, his "wicked" cultivation served a purpose that didn't involve drawing blood.
He checked his qiankun pouch, feeling the weight of the currency. He intended to buy the girls a feast tonight—real food, wine, and perhaps a few trinkets. Spending time with them was the only way to drown out the constant, thrumming stress of his "work."
He pushed open his door, only to find the one person he wanted to see least.
“Xiao Jiu, can we have a talk?”
Yue Qingyuan stood there, looking like a portrait of tragic patience. He wore that unbearable smile—the one that reached his eyes but never seemed to touch the guilt beneath. Shen Jiu felt a familiar, violent urge to rip that expression off his face.
“This Shidi is busy, Zhangmen-shixiong," Shen Jiu spat, the titles tasting like ash. "I have matters to attend to down the mountain. Now, if you could please let this Shidi get going, I’d be very grateful.”
He tried to brush past, refusing to even acknowledge the height or the presence of the Sect Leader. But a hand clamped firmly around his wrist, jerking him to a halt. Shen Jiu was forced to turn, coming face-to-face with an expression of profound disappointment.
It was a look Shen Jiu knew well. It was the same disappointment he had felt decades ago, waiting on a dark room for a savior who never returned.
“Shidi must know that visits outside the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect are to be informed to the Sect Leader,” Yue Qingyuan said softly, his voice a heavy weight.
“We agreed on two visits a month, did we not?” Shen Jiu yanked his wrist back with a snarl. This time, the Sect Leader let go. “Goodbye, Shixiong. Don’t wait up.”
He didn't wait to hear the soft, pleading words that followed. He walked until the path cleared, then unsheathed his sword and took to the sky. He flew for nearly an hour, the freezing wind whipping his hair into a frenzy, until the distant, glowing lights of the city began to flicker through the winter haze.
When he landed in the main street, he didn't bother with a graceful, "immortal" entrance. He stepped off his sword with a tired thud, his face a mask of exhaustion. He didn't care if the commoners stared or whispered. Here, he wasn't a Peak Lord. He was just a man looking for a place to hide.
He reached the heavy doors of the Warm Red Pavilion and knocked with a rhythmic familiarity. He expected the usual greeting from one of the sisters, but when the door swung open, a stranger stood there.
The man was young, painfully skinny, and strikingly pretty in a way that felt out of place. His hair was a wild silk curtain, unstyled and falling over his eyes. He looked at Shen Jiu with wide, skittish eyes, his fingers nervously twisting the hem of a light blue robe that looked too delicate for the season.
“Um... hello,” the man whispered. He seemed frozen by Shen Jiu’s intense gaze. “I’ll... I’ll call Lady Mei Jing for you. Wait a second!”
Shen Jiu watched him scurry away, his movements lacking the practiced grace of the other residents. He stood in the entryway, the scent of jasmine and sandalwood beginning to rise as the heating talismans did their work.
“Welcome to the Warm Red Pavilion! How may this lowly one serve—” Mei Jing’s voice cut off as she rounded the corner. Her eyes softened instantly. “A-Jiu! It’s been so long. Come in, come in! The girls have been asking after you.”
She caught his arm, pulling him into the warmth. For the first time that day, the tension in Shen Jiu’s shoulders eased. “Yes, Jiejie. I’ve missed you as well.”
He glanced back at the young man, who was hovering in the shadows with a look of utter confusion. The youth reached out and tugged at Mei Jing’s sleeve, silently asking for an explanation.
“Oh, right! Shen Yuan, this is Shen Jiu,” she said, gesturing toward the Peak Lord. Shen Yuans face went deathly white in recognition. Whatever, he knew his reputation wasnt the best outside the sect. “He comes twice a month. He isn't a... regular customer, so don't be afraid.” She turned back to Shen Jiu. “This is Shen Yuan. He was sold to us about a month ago, right after your last visit. It’s such a pity... he’s so young.”
The youth, Shen Yuan, turned a bright shade of crimson. “Mei-jie! Don’t say things like that! I turned twenty this year. God, people in this weird world...”
The last part was a frantic mumble, but Shen Jiu’s cultivated hearing caught every word. This weird world?
“Hehe, this Jiejie is sorry. You’re just so cute, A-Yuan!” She pinched his cheek, much to his chagrin, before releasing them both. “I’ll prepare tea. Meet me in my room in half a sichen.”
Left alone with the stranger, Shen Jiu remained wary. He snapped his fan open, the silk screen providing a familiar barrier between him and the world.
“So... you’re a regular?” Shen Yuan asked, his voice regaining some confidence. He offered a small, genuine smile. “That’s nice. Mei-jie isn't that kind to just anyone.”
“This one finds comfort in sleeping here,” Shen Jiu replied curtly.
Shen Yuan’s eyes drifted to the fan. He was still nervous, but he could see how he relaxed. His gaze sharpened, moving from shy curiosity to intense, academic appreciation. A slow, excited smile spread across his face.
“Um, I’m sorry, but is the illustration on that fan a Green-Headed Demonic Bird?”
Shen Jiu paused. Most people just saw a "pretty bird" or "frightening monster."
“...Shen Yuan is correct. It is.”
The effect was instantaneous. Shen Yuan began to practically vibrate with excitement.
“Oh my god! I’ve never seen a real illustration of one! I’ve only read the descriptions, but none of the books here have drawings. I mean, the text was detailed enough to recognize the plumage patterns, but seeing the beak curvature like this... this is so cool! Why didn’t Airplane dedicate more time to this? Wasting such incredible world-building on such a shitty story...”
Shen Yuan descended into a rapid-fire rant, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke of "bestiaries" and "missed opportunities." Shen Jiu didn't understand half of the words—who was Airplane?—but he found himself closing his eyes and simply listening.
The voice was vibrant, honest, and entirely devoid of the hidden agendas he faced at the Sect. For the first time in months, Shen Jiu felt the urge to actually stay and talk.
“Shen Yuan seems to be deeply invested in bestiaries,” Shen Jiu remarked, his voice smooth but carrying a sharp edge of genuine intrigue. He snapped his fan shut, the clicking sound echoing in the hallway. “Your knowledge is unlike that of any courtesan this one has encountered. May I know why a resident of the Warm Red Pavilion spends his time memorizing the anatomy of demonic beasts?”
He was curious—dangerously so. In Shen Jiu’s experience, men were driven by two things: power or lust. But Shen Yuan looked at the illustration on his fan with a hunger that was purely intellectual, a spark of recognition that felt… familiar. It was a look Shen Jiu usually only saw in the mirror when he discovered an ancient, forgotten scroll.
“Well, you know, life in here can be pretty boring,” Shen Yuan admitted, his shoulders slumping slightly. He gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Not many customers are looking for a skinny man who talks too much. When the girls are working and the pavilion is full of… well, people I’d rather avoid, it gets lonely. I prefer it this way, though! Whenever there’s actual ‘work’ assigned to me, I just find myself wishing I could run away. Ahahaha…”
Shen Yuan looked down at the floor, his laughter trailing off into a hollow, awkward sound. He looked small in the dim light of the corridor, a fragile thing held captive by circumstances he clearly loathed.
For the first time in a very long time, Shen Jiu felt a pang of pity. He usually reserved his pity for the reflection he saw in the water, yet here was a youth who seemed just as displaced and trapped as he had once been.
“Bestiaries are good,” Shen Yuan continued, his eyes lighting up again as he found his footing. “They entertain me, and they’re the only way I get to know anything about the outside world. You know, when I was a kid, I wanted to be a cultivator more than anything. But it was impossible for me because of my world—I mean, because of my family! Then one day, I just… woke up, and I was being sold here.”
He paused, catching himself, and looked at Shen Jiu with wide, apologetic eyes while scratching the nape of his neck. “Sorry, did I talk too much? I know I’m rambling. Not many customers come here to have tea and talk… it’s… it’s really nice.”
Shen Yuan offered a small, hesitant smile. It wasn't the practiced, flirtatious smirk of a professional, nor was it the suffocatingly pitying smile of Yue Qingyuan. It was a simple, honest expression of gratitude.
Shen Jiu felt the tension that had been coiled in his chest since he left the mountain finally begin to unspool. He liked that smile. More than that, he felt a strange, possessive instinct flare up—a sudden, sharp desire to ensure that this particular smile wasn't extinguished by the grime of the world.
“Shen Yuan should not worry,” Shen Jiu said, his tone softening to a degree that would have shocked his disciples. “This one does not mind listening to you. In fact, it is a refreshing change from the mindless drivel I am usually forced to endure.”
As they began walking toward the main living area, Shen Jiu found himself drifting closer to the younger man. The usual barrier of coldness he maintained around others felt unnecessary here. They settled onto a pair of plush, low-set couches, the silk cushions hissing under their weight.
Shen Jiu sat back, folding his hands over his lap, and simply listened. Shen Yuan spoke of the "absurdity" of certain beast classifications and the "papapa plants" in common folklore. It was a pleasing activity; Shen Yuan clearly possessed more than a single brain cell and knew how to keep a conversation interesting, unlike other brutes.
The half-sichen passed in what felt like a heartbeat. The silence of the winter night outside was forgotten in the warmth of their debate over the nesting habits of Nine-Headed Serpents.
The heavy silk curtains parted, and Mei Jing stepped in, her eyes dancing with amusement as she took in the scene of the cold, untouchable Peak Lord leaning in to hear what the new boy had to say.
“A-Jiu, A-Yuan,” she chirped, a tray of steaming tea in her hands. “I see you two have found plenty to discuss. I almost felt bad interrupting.”
Shen Jiu straightened his robes, his mask of indifference sliding back into place, though his eyes remained on Shen Yuan for a moment longer than necessary.
“Mei-jie, yes, we’re coming now!”
Shen Yuan turned toward Shen Jiu, a playful, almost smug smile dancing on his lips. Before Shen Jiu could react, the younger man reached out and snagged his wrist, tugging him upward to his feet.
Shen Jiu froze for a fraction of a second, his gaze dropping to the slender fingers wrapped around his skin. What was it with everyone grabbing his wrist today? First the suffocating, heavy grip of Yue Qingyuan, and now this light, impulsive pull from a boy he’d known for less than an hour. Yet, strangely, he didn’t feel the immediate urge to snap his fan across Shen Yuan’s knuckles. The touch lacked the weight of expectations; it was merely a tether of excitement.
They followed Mei Jing up the winding wooden staircase, the floorboards groaning softly under the thick carpets. Her private quarters were as lavish as one would expect of the Pavilion’s head—spacious, scented with expensive incense, and filled with mahogany furniture that gleamed in the candlelight. It was designed to host the city's elite, but tonight, the air felt uncharacteristically somber.
Mei Jing let out a long, weary sigh as she set the tea tray down on a low table, her shoulders dropping.
“A-Jiu, I have to apologize,” she began, her eyes closing briefly in frustration. “I just spoke with the girls. It’s a busy night—half the local gentry decided to celebrate the New Year late—and every private room is occupied. I asked around for a place for you to rest, but the girls are all… indisposed.”
She looked at him with genuine regret. “I am truly sorry for making you travel all this way in the cold only to fail you. If you could return tomorrow evening, I promise the best suite will be yours, but for tonight…”
Shen Jiu’s brow furrowed. The thought of flying back to the cold, lonely peak or checking into a drafty, impersonal inn made his stomach turn. He was exhausted down to his very marrow. He needed the familiarity of this building, the specific warmth he had helped create here.
None of his "sisters" were available. His gaze shifted, almost of its own accord, to the skinny youth standing awkwardly by the door.
“Is Shen Yuan occupied tonight?” Shen Jiu asked, his voice steady despite the internal flicker of hesitation. “This one was wondering… if he is available, I would not mind sharing his quarters.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Mei Jing’s eyes snapped open, widening in pure shock. Beside her, Shen Yuan looked as though he had been struck by a stray lightning bolt, his mouth hanging slightly open as he processed the request.
“I… I thought you couldn't sleep with a man in the room,” Mei Jing said, her voice hovering between confusion and a growing, knowing smile. “You’ve always been so particular about your space, A-Jiu. You once threatened to set a customer on fire just for standing too close to your door.”
Shen Jiu felt a faint heat creep into his neck, which he quickly hid behind his fan. “I… find Shen Yuan’s presence tolerable. He is quiet when he isn't rambling, and I trust him not to be a nuisance. I am simply too tired tonight.”
He turned his gaze toward Shen Yuan, whose expression had shifted from shock to something more complex. Scared. “Should we go?”
Shen Yuan’s smile returned, though it was softer now, faker, tinged with a visible layer of nerves. It lacked the easy brightness from their conversation about the fan; it was a careful, guarded look—the kind of face one makes when they are trying very hard to appear professional while their heart is hammering against their ribs.
“Y… yes. We can go, Shen Jiu,” Shen Yuan stammered, smoothing out his light blue robes with trembling hands. “It’s not a grand room, but it’s quiet. Mei-jie, if you’ll excuse us…”
As they walked toward the smaller, more secluded wing of the pavilion, Shen Jiu noticed the way Shen Yuan’s pace had slowed, his earlier bravado replaced by a stiff, formal gait. Shen Jiu wondered if he had made a mistake, but the exhaustion won out. He just wanted to close his eyes in a place where no one would call him "Shizun."
The walk to the lower level courtesan's wing was quiet, the air growing cooler and thinner as they moved away from the lavish, incense-heavy main halls. Shen Yuan led the way, his back as stiff as a board, his footsteps unnaturally rhythmic against the polished wood. Every creak of the floorboards sounded like a death knell in the oppressive silence.
Inside his head, a frantic, high-pitched monologue was screaming at a volume Shen Jiu couldn’t hear.
System! System, are you seeing this?! Shen Yuan shrieked internally, his mental voice reaching a fever pitch. The original goods! The Scum Villain! THE Shen Jiu! He’s actually going to do it? I haven't even had my first physical exam in this world and I'm already being fast-tracked to the 'Bedding the Boss' trope? This wasn't in the character tags! I’m going to die. He’s going to realize I’m a total amateur, that I have zero "experience points" in this field, and then he’s going to use those high-level cultivation powers to turn me into a human rug out of pure spite!
He pushed open the door to his room with a hand that shook visibly, the hinges letting out a small, tired whine. The space was modest—little more than a narrow bed, a simple washbasin, and a precarious stack of books tucked into the corner—but it was meticulously clean and decorated. The winter moonlight filtered through a small window, casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor.
Shen Yuan stood by the door, his face a ghostly shade of pale as he watched Shen Jiu enter with the practiced grace of a predator. Panic surged. He began to unbind his sash with clumsy, trembling fingers, his eyes darting frantically to the floor, the ceiling, the wall—anywhere to avoid the piercing gaze of the Peak Lord.
"I... I'll try to be good," Shen Yuan whispered, his voice cracking painfully in the small room. "I haven't really been... trained yet, since I've only been here a month. The madams, they haven't... I mean... if Shen-xiansheng wants something specific, or if I'm doing it wrong, he'll have to... tell me..."
Shen Jiu, who had been busy undoing the heavy, silver-weighted fastenings of his outer robes, stopped mid-motion. He turned, one eyebrow arched in a look of profound, icy confusion as he watched the younger man practically vibrating with anxiety. Shen Yuan’s blue robe was already hanging precariously off one shoulder, revealing a collarbone that looked far too fragile.
"What in the Three Realms are you doing?" Shen Jiu asked, his voice flat and entirely unimpressed.
"I'm... getting ready?" Shen Yuan squeaked, clutching the fabric of his inner robe to his chest like a shield. "Isn't that why you're here? To... utilize the service? I mean, I know I'm not a girl, and I know I’m not exactly 'top shelf' material, but Mei-jie said you asked for me specifically, so I figured we were skipping the tea and getting straight to the... point?"
Shen Jiu stared at him for a long, uncomfortable beat. The silence stretched until Shen Yuan felt like he might actually dissolve into a puddle of nerves under that cold, dark gaze. Then, Shen Jiu let out a sound that was dangerously close to a laugh—a dry, huffing noise of sheer disbelief that sounded more like a sigh of defeat. He sat down on the edge of the bed and kicked off his boots with more force than necessary, the dull thuds echoing in the cramped room.
"Shen Yuan," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off a migraine of epic proportions. "I have spent the last fourteen hours dealing with incompetent children who can't hold a sword straight, a sect full of hypocrites who breathe lies as easily as air, and a Sect Leader who thinks the word 'no' is a playful suggestion meant to be ignored. I am quite literally too exhausted to even think about 'services.' I said I wanted to sleep, and I meant exactly that. I am here for a pillow, not a performance."
Shen Yuan froze, his hands still tangled in his layers of silk, his heart still hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "Wait. You just want... to sleep? Like, eyes closed, horizontal, actual REM-cycle sleep? No extracurricular activities? No... papapa?"
Shen Jiu's eyes snapped open at the strange word, narrowing dangerously. "Ideally without the incessant chattering and whatever 'papapa' is supposed to be," he grumbled, pulling the thin but clean blanket back. He didn't wait for an invitation; he lay down, keeping his inner robes fully intact and primly fastened to the throat. He gestured vaguely to the empty space beside him, his eyes already drifting shut as the warmth of the room finally began to seep into his bones. "Lie down. You're giving me a headache just standing there looking like a cornered rabbit. If you’re so worried about 'work,' then consider it your job to stay still and be quiet."
The relief that flooded Shen Yuan was so physical he nearly collapsed onto the floor. The terrifying 'Scum Villain' wasn't here to skin him alive or defile him; he was just a very cranky, very tired man. Shen Yuan let out a long, shaky breath, his heart rate finally slowing from a frantic gallop to a steady trot. He scrambled onto the other side of the bed, keeping a very respectful, very wide distance, though the mattress was small enough that their shoulders occasionally brushed through the fabric of their robes.
"Oh. Well. That's... a lot better, actually," Shen Yuan mumbled, feeling a bit foolish but mostly just immensely grateful to have his dignity (and his life) intact. "I can do sleep. I'm an expert at sleep. I’ve had twenty years of practice, plus all that time I spent as a shut-in—er, I mean, as a dedicated scholar."
Shen Jiu didn't respond. He had already turned onto his side, his back to the youth, creating a wall of green and white silk. For the first time in years, the crushing weight on his chest felt lighter. There was no one here to judge his temperament, no one to lie to him about their loyalty, and apparently, no one to try and "fix" his broken parts. Just a strange, skinny boy who seemed more interested in the anatomy of demons than the politics of the immortal world.
"Goodnight, Shen Yuan," he murmured into the pillow, his voice losing its sharp, defensive edge and sounding human for once.
"Goodnight, Shen Jiu," Shen Yuan whispered back, staring at the ceiling in the dark. He thought to himself that, despite the terrifying reputation of the Qing Jing Peak Lord, this man just sounded... tired. Really, incredibly tired. Like a man who had been running for a long time and had finally found a place where he didn't have to keep up the pace.
He closed his eyes, the scent of sandalwood from Shen Jiu’s robes mixing with the faint jasmine of the pavilion, thinking that maybe this "scum villain" wasn't nearly as scary as the books—or the rumors—made him out to be.