Chapter Text
No more waiting.
The blood was drying on Shen Jiu’s skin. Cracking with every shift and expression of his face as he watched Qiu Manor burn down. The white-hot flames seemed to lick against his skin even at a safe distance, mirrored in his own black eyes. The sky was pitch dark, the exact same shade. His mouth tasted like copper – for once, not his own blood. Screams echoed from the town as crowds gathered, starting to form human chains for water to stop the fire. It would be too late to save the building. Maybe they could save the town.
Shen Jiu did not give a single fuck if it all burned to the ground. If every one of them died painfully.
The previously decorative sword hung heavy in his hand, tip against the grass. If he closed his eyes, he could still see it: himself pulling it off the wall. Qiu Jianluo’s bravado. A mocking expression to hide his fear as he said Xiao Jiu, put that down, we both know you’re too cowardly to do anything with it.
The rage and desperation as the sword pierced Qiu Jianluo’s insides. The gurgling as he tried, and failed, to get enough air to call for the guard. Now, hot satisfaction burned in him as he thought of it. Then, there had been nothing but the need to get away from him.
In the back of his head, he also saw Qiu Haitang’s wide eyes as he stalked through the hallways, covered in blood. That of her brother, and of the guards, and anyone else who got in his way. The fear, when she realized. Perhaps he should feel bad for her. That’s probably what a proper person would do. A real human, someone who wasn’t as thoroughly rotten as him. Shen Jiu felt nothing. Qiu Haitang had been a safe harbour; his sole source of comfort since Qi-ge left. She had also been naïve, and stupid, and so close to locking him into this family forever by marriage. To her, he had been treasured property, but property nevertheless. Even after his official manumission. There had never truly been a question of what he wanted.
There had never been.
A heavy, calloused hand settled on his shoulder. Wu Yanzi looked down at him, and grinned. “Good work, boy. You’ve proved yourself.”
Even now, Shen Jiu was not free. Shen Jiu was, it seemed, not meant to be free. But at least this time, he had chosen his own master. He met Wu Yanzi’s dark gaze straight on – and what a horrid luxury, to do such a thing without fear of a beating for daring to look at his betters – and wiped the blood off his face with his sleeve. “Thank you, master.”
“We’d better be off, before those townsfolk come snooping about. Wouldn’t want them to realize it was a filthy little slave who did this, now would we?”
“No,” he agreed. The description just slipped right through him, where it once would have enraged him. He was a filthy slave. Had always been. Rotten, cruel, and obstinate. Now, he was also a murderer, and a runaway. The truths had settled into his skin. “I’ll kill them all if I have to, but it seems an unnecessary risk.”
Wu Yanzi snorted, pushing his shoulder to turn him away from the burning building. Only the husk remained – there would be no more survivors. Then he stopped. Something shot through the sky, too dark to make out. It seemed to freeze, mid-air. A keening, animalistic sound echoed through the night. The thing dropped, almost tumbling down. Shen Jiu watched with wide eyes as it only just seemed to catch itself before it hit the ground. A loud thud sounded as it – they, it was a person, a cultivator – slipped onto their knees.
Muttering a swear, and something about righteous cultivators, Wu Yanzi’s aborted push turned more insistent, and Shen Jiu obeyed without resistance. If there were proper cultivators here now, they had to leave. His heart beat in his ears. Fuck. Fuck. He was so close to getting away. Grasping his stolen sword harder, he got half a step into a run before:
“Xiao Jiu.”
He froze.
The words weren’t directed at him, he could tell that much. It was- The cultivator, he had called it out. The words in his throat like they hurt to say. When Shen Jiu looked over his shoulder, the cultivator had started shaking. Just sitting there, in the dirt. Doing not a single thing to help put out the fire. Not very righteous, that’s for sure.
“Go,” Wu Yanzi hissed, brows furrowed in anger. He pushed, again, and Shen Jiu stumbled forward. Only habit kept him on his feet. Well used to being shoved.
“I was too late.” The cultivator’s words were quiet, but sound carried better during night than the day. The tone of grief was new. The voice was not. Shen Jiu’s heart jumped. No. It couldn’t be. “I’m so sorry, Xiao Jiu.”
“Qi-ge?” The words were out before he even consciously could think them. Wu Yanzi stiffened behind him, and the hand on his shoulder squeezed harder. The old whipping scars smarted, but he barely noticed it. Twisting around to try to get a better look at the cultivator. The cultivator, whose hair was dark brown, not black like most people’s. Longer than he had ever seen it, and silkier too. But familiar. Familiar enough to make it hard to breathe, as the air burned in his throat.
The cultivator froze. He twisted around so fast he was almost a blur. And oh. The face was older. Mature now. Almost adult. What little baby fat had managed to cling to an emaciated slave’s face was lost, replaced by refined cheekbones and healthy skin. He had to be eighteen or nineteen now, or even twenty. At least by their best approximation of their ages, with no one to tell them. His hair was tied back by a simple ribbon, but the robes were black and clean, and so clearly tailored to fit him.
He looked nothing like the slave boy Yue Qi. And yet.
His hair was messy from flight, and there was dirt on his face. His hands looked scraped raw.
“Xiao Jiu?” the cultivator – Qi-ge – whispered, eyes wide and desperate. His gaze flickered over him, from his messy hair to his bloody clothes, and for a second Shen Jiu’s heart froze up with fear. As ill-tempered and selfish as he had been when Qi-ge left, he had not been this. Not been a mass murdering arsonist. Then, Qi-ge sprang to his feet; a movement so smooth he never would have been able to perform it before. Hurrying towards them. “Xiao Jiu! You’re alive!”
Shen Jiu staggered towards him, but a death-grip on his wrist put a stop to that. Wide-eyed, he looked up at his new master. He’d basically forgotten he was there. Stupid, he scolded himself viciously.
Qi-ge froze as well, gaze flickered to the other cultivator, as though he only just realized he was even there. Idiot, Shen Jiu almost said out of pure habit. A beggar and guttersnipe always knew to notice everything there was to see wherever they were. Surely, that applied to a cultivator too. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“I am the boy’s teacher, and we are leaving now,” Wu Yanzi said, voice heavy with threat. The blade of his sword gleamed in the flames’ light as he drew it, pointing it at Qi-ge. “You have one chance to walk away alive.”
“Not without Xiao Jiu,” Qi-ge replied, hand on his own sheathed sword. But now that Shen Jiu was watching, he noticed the tremble in his hand. The dried blood on his fingers. The exhaustion written all over his face. “He’s coming with me back to Cang Qiong. I promised.”
The threat rang in Shen Jiu’s ears. Fear clutched at his throat, as effective at strangling him as Qiu Jianluo’s hands. “No,” he said. Once again, his mouth acted faster than his brain. Both of them turned to look at him, brows furrowed. “I’ll go, master. I’ll go with you. As long as Qi-ge can go back to his sect, alive.”
A memory played in the back of his head. Of being maybe seven years old, yelling at the slavers that he was the one who stole food from them, not Qi-ge. Remembering Qi-ge’s desperate pleading that he was lying. But of course no one had believed Qi-ge; Jiu was rotten and unruly, nothing like the biddable, always-smiling Qi. The punishment had been the third whipping of his life, and he had taken it. His belly had been fuller than usual from the food Qi-ge had given him. So even as he screamed and cried from the pain, it hadn’t been so bad. Especially after, when Qi-ge had fussed over him and almost completely ignored it when the other children cried for his attention for almost a full week.
A similar feeling washed over him now. Qi-ge had come back. Almost, almost too late, but he had come back. He’d done what he could do save him – from starvation, from slavery – so it was his turn to protect him back from those who wished to break him now. That’s how it worked. He probably didn't deserve Qi-ge's protection anymore, after everything he had done. A part of him, a part that never before had been about Qi-ge, screamed at him to stop, to take everything Qi-ge had to give. That he deserved it, after everything he'd been through. Shen Jiu knew he was evil. That if it had been a question of his own survival or Qi-ge's, it wouldn't even be a question. His mind refused to acknowledge the small voice that said that even now, he'd do anything for Qi-ge. It wasn't true. Not anymore. That part of him had been beaten to death. Nothing triumphed over survival.
“Xiao Jiu, no. I can’t lose you again. Please,” Qi-ge whispered.
“Look at you, Qi-ge,” he replied, despite the dark thoughts. “You can barely stand straight. You can’t fight him.”
It wasn't a question of survival. If Qi-ge died, nothing would change. Wu Yanzi would kill Shen Jiu too, if Shen Jiu refused to go with him. He turned, holding the stolen sword with both his hands as he’d seen the Qiu Manor guards do, and bowed to Wu Yanzi. “Please allow me to say goodbye, master. Then I will come with you, just as planned.”
Wu Yanzi didn’t look pleased. The flick of his eyebrows told of annoyance and anger, and Shen Jiu was sure he would be paying for this soon enough. But that didn’t matter, because he said, “Fine. Hurry up.”
Quickly, Shen Jiu dropped the sword. Qi-ge, when he turned back to him, looked devastated. His warm brown eyes glistened, like he was fighting back tears. He’d always been weak like that. It took only a few steps before Shen Jiu reached him, falling into his chest. Not caring that he was smearing blood all over his fancy robes, and neither did Qi-ge. The warmth was foreign, now. He almost reared back.
“Xiao Jiu, please,” Qi-ge pleaded again as warm arms enveloped Shen Jiu. The only arms who had ever been able to do so without leaving him feeling trapped, angry, and helpless. They were bigger now, muscle instead of bone. It wasn’t a bad feeling. Even if he probably didn't deserve it anymore.
“Shush, Qi-ge,” he replied, loud enough for Wu Yanzi to hear. “You’re so stupid. Do as I say, like always.”
The defeated slump of Qi-ge’s shoulders told him he’d won the argument. Qi-ge was very obedient, after all. To everyone else, because he had to be; anyone who truly knew him could see the anger beneath the veneer of polite submission. But to Shen Jiu, he was obedient because he wanted to be. Because he knew Shen Jiu knew best.
Shen Jiu’s arms wrapped around his back, coming over his shoulders. A tight hug. He settled his head against Qi-ge’s surprisingly wide shoulders – another change. Without changing expression, without flinching, he grasped a few strands of hair and pulled. He didn’t as much as twitch as they left his scalp with a sting of pain. When he pulled away from Qi-ge, he squeezed his hand. Leaving them in there.
Qi-ge’s eyes were wide as he realized.
“Find me," Shen Jiu mouthed.
Then, without looking over his shoulder, he went back to his new master.