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Qiu Haitang, a hallmaster of a minor sect that quietly keeps to itself, doesn’t like to interact with the wider cultivation world often. In fact, she prefers to leave the shelter of Yin Cang sect as little as possible. The world is big and harsh and cruel, senseless of who it hurts. To find a small, hidden shelter to nestle inside is the closest one can come to safety.
But this is a time when their reclusive sect is being forced to interact with others, called to a conference held by the Great Four that insists on even the smallest sect attending. When giants make a decree, what choice do ants have but to obey? Qiu Haitang was chosen as one of their representatives, as an older and more cautious voice to balance out her younger and rasher sect sisters.
Three days into the conference, and her skin itches with irritation and anxiety. She doesn’t like being surrounded by so many strangers, all with their own ulterior motives and looking to squeeze as much use out of anyone they can get their hands on. They smile warmly and speak pleasant words, but their eyes are cold and hard, and she knows they aren’t to be trusted.
The list of people Qiu Haitang trusts is very, very short.
After much lecturing, arguing, and jockeying (the larger sects always winning out, of course), there are festivities - like dessert after the meal, a prize for holding out for so long. Qiu Haitang can’t help but see it as merely showing off their wealth and largesse to their lessers, however.
She keeps her negative opinions to herself, instead quietly watching her shimeis gasping at the pretty little illusions decorating the garden - fairies coyly fluttering in and out of tree branches, shadow figures dancing around the lanterns, the suggestion of a mermaid’s tail flicking within a fountain. There was a time when she would’ve been innocently in awe of all of this, not cynically looking for the poison in the cup. It makes her feel tender for her shimeis, as well as bitterly envious. The least she can do is keep her mouth shut and not spoil their fun. Their innocence should last for as long as it can.
Like this, Qiu Haitang fades into the background, only quietly looking over her charges to make sure that no one takes advantage of them. No one pays much attention to her. She’d been considered beautiful once (my pretty Tang-er, no one’s cuter than you), but that time has long since passed. Age and bitterness have both taken their toll, leaving her mouth perpetually downturned at the corners and her brow furrowed, premature gray lacing her hair. Qiu-shijie always looks so serious, her sect siblings whisper about her. Given the option between conversing with a faded beauty like her, or flirting with a fresh flower, the choice is obvious.
That is how she spots him before he sees her.
There is a faint stir first, heads turning like flowers towards the sun - she recognizes the signs of an Important Person entering the room. A person to be feared and courted, someone you want on your side because they can hurt you. A sect leader of one of the larger sects, most likely - and Qiu Haitang turns her head to follow the stir, and sees him.
It’s Shen Jiu. She recognizes him instantly. There is not a single moment of confusion or doubt; it’s just him.
He has grown. No longer the rangy youth she’d known in the midst of a growth spurt, his limbs are now long and slender, his form elegant. Dressed in expensive, dark green brocade and silks, a gleaming silver crown upon his head, his expression is cool and aloof. There are no bitter lines carved into his face, no gray in his hair. He is as flawless as white jade, untouched and unmarred by the cruel world.
Whispers bloom in his wake, people murmuring as they point him out.
“It’s the fearsome Xiu Ya Sword--”
“--the refined Qing Peak Lord--”
“--second only to his Sect Leader--”
“--of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.”
“Shen Qingqiu.”
Qiu Haitang stares at him, feeling numb and cold as recognition distantly washes over her. Shen Qingqiu; of course. Even she, hidden in her out of the way corner of the world, has heard that name before. One of the famous Peak Lords of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, known for his elegance and refinement. Without even knowing it, Qiu Haitang had heard confirmation that Shen Jiu was still alive years and years ago. He hadn’t been dead in some ditch due to his own misdeeds, or skulking in the shadows committing further atrocities. All this time, he had been living at the very top of the cultivation world in fame and honor while it was Qiu Haitang who’d been curling up like an insect in the dirt to fearfully hide away from any notice.
The outrageous unfairness of that contrast blooms inside of her like blood falling into water, followed by disgusted realization at her own cowardice, her inaction.
And then comes the fear.
For decades, she has had nightmares nearly every single night about that day. The screams and the smoke, the terrible heat, running and confusion and then - seeing him. Her dear A-Jiu, soaked in blood and smiling horribly as he massacred his way through her household, as he murdered her life. Ice had flooded her veins at the sight, and has never fully left her since.
She has comforted herself many times over the years by imagining getting her revenge on him, getting justice for her murdered brother. The sweet burn of her anger had been easier to clutch onto than that cold, helpless terror. She would think about the things she would say to him, how loudly her accusations would ring out, and how people would take her side because she was telling the truth. She thought about him being put to death with a grim satisfaction, and finally, finally getting to feel safe again. Getting to let go of this festering bitterness inside of her chest, poisoning her from the inside out. She would become her old self again, innocent and happy.
But now, faced with him, that comforting rage escapes her as she realizes the sheer disparity in their positions, their power. She is nobody, a mere carp. Shen Qingqiu, meanwhile, has grown up into a dragon large enough to swallow her in a single bite.
If he sees her, then she will be dead. She is utterly convinced of it.
One of her sect sisters turns around, an enthusiastic smile on her face. “Qiu-shijie, isn’t that cultivator so…”
But she trails off into silence, met with only a blank wall. Qiu Haitang has left.
Back in the rooms assigned to her sect, Qiu Haitang is tearing through their possessions. On her knees and flinging things blindly to the floor, her hands are clumsy and frantic. Terror and fury pound inside of her chest in equal measure, mixing into a crystalline hatred. Shen Qingqiu, Shen Qingqiu, Shen Qingqiu…! So admired, so successful, so untouched by any of his sins! No, the only one left with the scars from that night are her. Bitter, unhappy, unable to trust others, unable to move on - how dare he grow up into such a magnificent person?
She absolutely has to correct this mistake.
Yin Cang is a small sect with little influence, wealth, or power. That is why they must come when called by the Great Four, like a dog heeding its master. Any of those sects could crush them like a bug if they willed it, and there could come a time when their sect's continued existence might depend on their charity. But that doesn’t mean that their sect is entirely without resources; far from it. They have a few priceless treasures, kept utterly secret from the outside world so that no one might try to steal or bully them out of their hands.
And Qiu Haitang has been entrusted to keep one of said treasures closely underneath her guard. Triumphantly, she finally unearths the special box it is sealed inside of, hidden at the very bottom of her luggage. Gracelessly slicing her thumb open with the edge of her sword, she quickly smears blood across it and undoes the lock. Forcibly steadying herself, she takes out her prize: The Truth-Revealing Scroll.
Shen Qingqiu has gained status and power since they last saw each other, to the point that he towers over Qiu Haitang. If she makes an accusation with nothing to back up her word, then it will all merely be quietly swept aside - and she will likely be quietly swept aside as well, as soon as eyes are off of her. Shen Qingqiu is a monster; he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her, knowing that she’s still alive and hasn’t forgotten him.
So she needs proof first. Tonight, she’s going to get it.
She waits until late in the night, when all of her sect sisters have safely returned and gone to bed, before she quietly slips out of their rooms. There is still the sound of revelry in the distance, people determined to stay up until the break of dawn, and so she doesn’t stand out too terribly. Attempting not to look too suspicious, she enters the portion of this fine and glittering palace where the Cang Qiong delegation has been put up - she notes, with a familiar, sour bitterness that it is much finer than the dusty, out of the way corner that her own sect has been put up in.
Resentment comes to her so much more easily than it used to, when she was a child. It’s all his fault. Holding her hatred close to her chest for strength, she searches for Shen Qingqiu’s rooms.
It is difficult - she cannot just pick the largest and finest room, as she is fairly certain there are multiple Peak Lords in attendance. Lingering uncertainly in the hallways, she catches the attention of some lower Cang Qiong disciple who heads over to her.
“Can this one help you? Are you lost?” they ask kindly, and Qiu Haitang looks away from them, thinking quickly. Gritting her teeth and affecting an air of embarrassment, she’s fairly certain that the angry blush on her cheeks lends her credence.
“This one was looking f-for… Shen Qingqiu’s rooms. He said to meet him there for-- for a conversation, but now I can’t find…”
Understanding washes over their face, and they quickly stammer out directions for her. She takes them instantly, and does her best to hide her humiliated anger at the way they do a doubletake at her as she leaves. It’s fine. If people are going to assume that she’s some dalliance of Shen Qingqiu’s, then she doesn’t care so long as she achieves her goals.
Slipping through the indicated door, she finds that just Shen Qingqiu’s accommodations are larger than those afforded to her entire delegation, half a dozen women all forced to share the same room. It is also dark and quiet, and she holds her breath as she carefully walks further into the room, willing herself to be as silent as possible as her vision adjusts to the darkness. Either Shen Qingqiu is still out at the party, or…
There in the large bed at the center of the room, there is a slight form lying still in the center. Somehow, she is unsurprised - vindicated. It feels right that Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t want to stay out amongst strangers for too long, that he’d want to retreat to his private rooms to rest as soon as he could. He’d always been shy around strangers, talking very little and almost hiding behind her until they’d leave.
Grief lances through her like a knife. She bites her lower lip harshly. Shen Qingqiu… She has no idea what sort of person he actually is. She thought she’d known him, but he’d proven her wrong there, hadn’t he? She can’t act like the A-Jiu she got to know is the real person. That had all been a lie.
Gathering her composure, she makes her soundless way over to his bed. His features become clearer, his pale face slack with sleep. She takes a moment to really study them. Sharp and fine boned - like a bird, she used to think. Something fragile and delicate. But that’s not true; he’s more like a snake, something venomous and dangerous. She hates how beautiful he is, how effectively his face hides his true rotten nature. It’s like he took all of his cruelty and resentment and made Qiu Haitang carry it for him instead, letting it twist her up.
She could kill him right now, she realizes. Take her sword out and stab him in his bed, never even letting him wake. That thought nearly overwhelms her with terrified longing for a moment - but then it washes away, abating. No. She doesn’t just want Shen Qingqiu dead. She wants him to face justice. People need to know what he did to h-- what he’s done.
And so instead she takes the precious Truth-Revealing Scroll out from where she’d hidden at her waist, hesitating for just a moment. She’s never used this scroll on an unwilling person before, but it should still work the same--
As she leans over him, Shen Qingqiu’s eyes snap open. Having those dark, straight eyes fix themselves unerringly on her is like being hit by a lightning bolt.
“A-Jiu,” she somehow finds the breath to say, “it’s been too long.”
Using that moment of shock and recognition, she places the scroll against his chest and activates it with a pulse of qi. It immediately comes to life, wrapping itself around him - Shen Qingqiu moves to tear it off of himself, and she lunges down to pin his wrists to the bed. The scroll slithers around his chest, throat, and lower face like a snake, and Shen Qingqiu’s widened eyes roll in their sockets, trying to track it. She has to use all of her weight to keep him pinned down, and she’s fairly certain she only manages at all because he’s still disoriented. Somehow, she had thought she’d be able to do this without waking him up, but what had she been thinking? It’s so much more violent than she’d imagined--
The scroll releases him, neatly rolling itself up so quickly that it bounces with the force of it. Letting go of him, she snatches it out of the air and pushes herself away. Shen Qingqiu half scrambles out of the bed, gasping for air, staring at her.
“Hai--” he starts, and doesn’t get the name out.
“Qiu Haitang,” she corrects him, clutching the scroll tightly to her chest. They’re all alone in his room - he could kill her right now. She took him by surprise, but he’s stronger than her. Terror and fury pound through her, and she draws herself up as tall and righteous as she can. “Are you surprised to see me? Did you think I’d just lay down and die?”
Shen Qingqiu doesn’t blink as he takes her in. The sword at her side, her sect’s insignia hanging from a token at her belt.
“You became a cultivator…” he says numbly, like he can’t believe it. “I thought, your family--”
Pain and grief burn bitterly inside of her chest, filling her with acrid smoke and soot. She makes a disdainful noise that hardly sounds like her own voice.
“Did you think they’d take me in? The ones you didn’t kill, that is? They didn’t.” Her mother’s side of the family hadn’t wanted to take on a charity case; her father’s side had all apparently been on bad terms with him. The day her home burned down, all the kindness in the world perished along with it. “I only survived thanks to the generosity of a wandering cultivator who took me back to her sect. It’s like fate guided me to you, Shen Qingqiu.”
Without them ever even getting married, he still ended up taking her name. The irony of that only just now dawns on her, and it tastes like ash.
Shen Qingqiu opens his mouth to say more; but nothing comes out. She keeps waiting for that crazed, murderous smile he’d worn as he slaughtered his way through her household to come back, or for fury or anger to flare, but it never does. He just looks pale and silent, dumbstruck. He had thought her as good as dead and gone, forever out of his life, his sins permanently buried. Her return has stunned him.
She needs to take advantage of that while it lasts. Still, she can’t resist the urge to say one last thing.
“Even if I’d died that night, I still would have crawled out of my grave just to get revenge on you. Touch me, and I’ll scream,” she threatens, and makes to leave.
He doesn’t take a single step to follow her. Still, she breaks out into a run as soon as she’s left his room, her heart in her throat. She sprints aimlessly, almost stumbling in her panic, and darts into the first empty looking room she can find, using a talisman to seal the door behind her. These seals are only as strong as the door they’re attached to, of course, but it will have to do. With clumsy, desperate hands she unwinds the scroll to see-- yes. Previously blank, it is now covered in writing from top to bottom. It worked. It worked! She finally has evidence of Shen Qingqiu’s crimes, proof of what he did to her. Burning her home down, slaughtering her household, murdering her brother--
(Tang-er, be nice to A-Jiu, alright? We’re his family now.)
--after everything he did for him! She takes a breath, and then another as she realizes she’s not getting enough air. Her fingers are trembling, her entire body shaking. She feels terrifyingly out of control, and has to take a moment to gather herself.
She avoids thinking about Qiu Jianluo whenever she can. She’s bad at it. It hurts too much, makes her heart ache too painfully. The unfairness of it, the grief, the loneliness. She hasn’t felt truly loved since the day he died, and Shen Jiu revealed himself to be a monster. She lost them both on the same day, her two most beloved people.
Why couldn’t Qiu Jianluo have lived?
Why couldn’t Shen Jiu have been innocent?
Why couldn’t they both have died in the fire, so she could have mourned them normally?
Instead, she lives in the worst of all worlds. Dully, she looks down at the scroll before her. This… this will fix things. This will untwist her, make her be able to look beyond the wreckage of her childhood. She’ll be able to show this to others, and they’ll understand.
… and perhaps it will finally give her understanding as well. Maybe it can finally make her understand why. Why did Shen Jiu decide to run away, to kill them all, to apprentice himself to a murderer rather than stay with their happy, loving family? She’s never truly been able to answer those questions, besides repeating to herself that Shen Jiu must truly be heartless, selfish, and despicable.
Maybe she won’t find an answer more satisfying than that. But still, she begins to read the scroll. Her gaze travels across the page, and the magic almost immediately drags her in and under the way that it’s supposed to. She lets it.
“--going to trample them!”
“--Qi-ge, don’t go, stupid--”
“--insolent! Who dares harm my--”
“--all my loyalty in this life, it belongs to--”
“--I’ll definitely come back--”
“--beg for forgiveness, and I might stop--”
“--it weren’t for Haitang, I would have whipped you to death--”
“--such an ugly little thing, grovel--”
“--dare to breathe a word of this to Haitang, I’ll string you--”
“--got your dirty blood on my boots, beast--”
“--don’t let Haitang know.”
The Truth-Revealing Scroll does exactly what it’s named for. Not only will it deliver a written confession even if the hand is unwilling, but it doesn’t allow a single drop of falsehood to be written down. Reading any confession it creates leaves no doubt behind of its veracity, because the reader will be dragged into the actual memories of the confession.
People often willingly offer themselves up to the Truth-Revealing Scroll, when they have been the victim of some crime and want to prove it. Qiu Haitang could have used it on herself, but… she had seen so very little of that night, even if what she’d seen had been damning. She’d been afraid all along that it wouldn’t be enough, and so had instead used it on Shen Qingqiu.
And now, she is trapped in hell. She can’t get out until it’s over. Memory after memory crashes over her like waves, and she is helpless to do anything but withstand it. She feels like she’s losing her mind, her sanity splintering underneath the onslaught. Her big brother, her beloved gege - stop making her look at his face twisted up in that sadistic smile! That’s not him, that’s not the person she remembers, who doted on her and never let her be lonely or unhappy, it’s not--
The mockery of Qiu Jianluo’s smile fades, and she’s left to tremble and hope that it’s finally over.
But no. Another memory, her surroundings shadowed and moonlit - with a distant start, she recognizes her childhood bedroom as if from a hundred li away. There she is, her cherubic childhood self sleeping innocently in her bed. Even in sleep, there’s a faint smile on her face, as if she’s having a good dream. Qiu Haitang stares at that content face with a bereft desperation, wanting so badly to be that person again that it claws something open inside of her chest. She wants to go back, wants to not know these things, to be as happy--
The door to her bedroom slowly creaks open. Qiu Haitang freezes, staring as Shen Jiu creeps inside like a sneaking mouse. He’s-- what is he doing here, sneaking into her bedroom at night? She tenses up, even though this all happened years and years ago. What is he going to do to her--
But he does nothing. After creeping inside of her room, Shen Jiu - so young and small, thin and pale - takes a look at her sleeping form before slowly curling up on the floor, reminding her of nothing so much as an old cat struggling against aching joints. Like his bones hurt him. As she watches, he closes his eyes and goes to sleep just like that on the floor of her childhood bedroom, her sleeping self blissfully ignorant of his presence.
He only came here to sleep.
Something splintering and aching inside of Qiu Haitang finally breaks completely, and when she comes back to herself she’s on her knees and pulling violently at her hair. Her forehead is pressed into the floor, and her throat is raw - has she been screaming? She’s talking.
“--didn’t know, didn’t know!” she hears herself babbling, as if from a long distance away. Her face burns, like when you’ve wept so much that it’s begun to irritate your skin. “It’s not my fault! How could I have known!?”
She slams her head against the floor, a violent, blunt impact. The storm inside of her body is so large and turbulent that it feels like she has to match it on the outside in order to stay afloat at all. Maybe if she hurts herself badly enough, it will make this crushing feeling small enough that she can breathe--
“Qiu Haitang,” a deep voice says urgently.
“It’s not f-fair,” she gasps out, but it comes out hardly comprehensible. She has no control over her breathing, it keeps sucking in against her will, light and wheezing. She’s leaking snot. “Why, why does this have to happen? What did I do? What did I do!?”
The enormity of what she’s seen is too large for her to take in at once. All of the implications, all of the meaning. Just how fucking hollow her entire life has been, all of her deepest fury and grief misdirected from the start. The brother she’s mourned so painfully never existed; the grudge she nursed so bitterly was never deserved.
How could Shen Jiu have betrayed them, if he’d been nothing but their family’s plaything all along?
She screams her anger so loudly that her throat aches and slams her head back down into the floor. Her anger-- none of her anger has vanished, instead it’s been doubled, tripled-- will she never be free? Will she never--
“Haitang!”
Hands wrench at her shoulders, dragging her upwards. She stares blindly in front of her, seeing-- him. Like a ghost come to haunt her, Shen Qingqiu is kneeling before her, pale faced and wide eyed.
“Stop that,” he says.
“You,” Qiu Haitang rasps, unable to muster a single logical thought. How is he here, did he follow her, how long has it been - none of these questions find a single answer inside of her mind. Instead, all she can feel is an ocean of shame pouring in to drown her. All of her righteous anger is washed away to where she can’t touch it. Desperately, she weakly swipes for it. “You - were you laughing at me, all of that time? Stupid Haitang-- s-stupid--”
Why would he be laughing? The Shen Jiu she had seen in those memories had been… miserable. Desperately defiant, but terrified out of his mind. What is she saying?
Shen Qingqiu’s gaze darts to the side - towards the scroll where it lies on the floor, discarded. His lips are pressed thin and bloodless before he speaks.
“What is that thing? What did you see?”
A sob hiccups painfully out of her chest, her face crumpling.
“You must have hated me,” she sobs. “I must have disgusted you.”
Me, me, me. Why can’t she stop thinking about herself? All of the things Shen Qingqiu has suffered at her family’s hands - and here she is as if back from the grave to grind salt into the wounds, to fling accusations and threaten him, attacking him in his bed, dragging the past behind her when he’s finally clawed his way free. With every passing second, Qiu Haitang feels dirtier and dirtier. She’s more like a ghoul than a person.
All along, she wasn’t the victim - but why then did she still lose everything? Who does she get to hate?
Qiu Jianluo, a horribly unfamiliar cruel grin on his face as he looks down at--
She flinches away. She can’t. She can’t.
“... I never hated you,” Shen Qingqiu whispers. He looks almost ashen now, as if he might become sick. He’s guessed what that scroll has shown her.
She shakes her head mindlessly, still trembling like she’s about to die from cold. She can’t calm down, can’t reach her composure. “How couldn’t you? A-after everything you went through, and I never even s-suspected--”
“I didn’t want you to know,” Shen Qingqiu says flatly. “What could you have done besides weep? There’s no telling what-- what he would have done.”
Useless. So useless. She curls in on herself, her nails digging into her face - Shen Qingqiu flinches towards her. She stops, and just hides her face in her hands instead.
“... Qiu Haitang. If I leave, will you…”
A sob wrenches its way out of her throat as she realizes his meaning. He’s asking if she’ll kill herself. Should she?
It feels like she should. Her entire life has been a sham, and what is left for her now? Less than nothing. All of her bitterness and loathing swirls directionlessly inside of her, released from their target but still trapped in her chest. She’s beginning to know where it’ll all settle, the only person left that deserves all of this hatred. So stupid, so ignorant, foolish little girl--
“Will you stop,” Shen Qingqiu says, and perhaps he means to sound frustrated but he comes across more as pleading. She looks up at him from between her fingers, her vision blurry, and sees him. She hadn’t been able to notice it earlier - hadn’t allowed herself to - but he really looks quite… scared whenever he looks at her. Back in his bedroom, he’d looked terrified of her, she just hadn’t let herself think that word.
Qiu Haitang, a hallmaster from some minor, ignoble sect, a cultivator of not much of any particular talent. And yet, the Qing Jing Peak Lord himself is scared stiff of her. She could almost laugh, except she knows that if she does then she’ll start uncontrollably sobbing again.
“Poor A-Jiu,” she says, her voice clogged with snot, tears, and exhaustion. “Torn between a monster and a fool - it must have been hard for you.”
He grimaces at her pity, looking away.
“Don’t feel too sorry for me,” he says. “You should know that I’ve grown up into a cruel, bitter person.”
“Me too,” she confesses. “You wear it better.”
And between the two of them, who has more of a right to be bitter and resentful over what life has dealt them? Qiu Haitang thought that she’d suffered so much, and yet it turns out it hadn’t even been a drop in the bucket compared to what Shen Jiu had gone through at the hands of her brother. The tragically lost home that had been nothing but a source of happiness and comfort to her had been his prison all along.
Qiu Haitang’s happy life deserved to be burnt to ashes. It was right and just that it was destroyed. That realization hurts even worse than the unfairness and injustice ever did.
Shen Qingqiu looks so stiff and uncomfortable here with her, and yet he’s still kneeling on the floor.
“You shouldn’t… You did nothing wrong,” Shen Qingqiu says. “Not that night, or any other. You have no reason to hate yourself.”
She barks a wet, bitter laugh.
“I did nothing,” she agrees. “I just stood aside while you were tortured, picking flowers like nothing was happening.”
God, the self disgust is so intense, so visceral. She wants to claw her own skin off, she’s so repulsed by herself. Is she always going to feel this way?
But Shen Qingqiu is shaking his head.
“You were a… a reprieve for me in that place. You weren’t nothing.”
She remembers that last memory. Shen Jiu come crawling like a beaten animal to curl up somewhere safe to hide, sleeping on the floor of her bedroom unnoticed. She makes a pained noise in the back of her throat, buckling slightly.
She’s making Shen Qingqiu comfort her, when he’s the one who’s been wronged. She has to… she needs to get it together. Taking a deep, deep breath, she forces herself to straighten, wiping roughly at the wet mess of her face with her sleeve.
“I’m fine now,” she rasps, certain that she must look and sound like a disaster. “You don’t need to worry about me, not ever again.”
Shen Qingqiu tenses. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Qiu Haitang says. “I swear to you, I won’t try to seek revenge against you any longer. Everything that happened at the Qiu Estate that night, I won’t ever breathe a word of it.”
He stares at her for a long time.
“I was a butcher that night,” he says. “I mutilated your brother’s corpse even after he died, and then slaughtered every man in that house. I was barely paying attention to whether or not I even recognized their faces. I went on to kill many others, at Wu Yanzi’s side. Innocents. Don’t think that I’m some wronged victim.”
“I don’t care,” Qiu Haitang admits. “The crimes you committed against me and my family were-- they were deserved. All of the sins you committed afterwards… I feel that my family is more responsible for your actions than you were. We tainted you with our rot. I’m sorry.”
The child she’d seen in that scroll, in the short time before Qiu Jianluo had snatched him up, had been spirited and rambunctious, loud and shameless. Nothing at all like the quiet Shen Jiu she’d come to know, so tentative and cautious. Where she’d seen shyness before, she now sees fear. But before Qiu Jianluo, Shen Qingqiu had been… he’d been rough around the edges, but… a normal child. He’d seemed to adore his older brother, fussing over and chiding him.
If any parts of Shen Qingqiu are twisted or wicked now, it’s purely because of the Qius. That crazed, blood stained smile from that night - they’d put it on his face.
“Who is ‘we?’” Shen Qingqiu asks. “Qiu Haitang, you did nothing.”
She shakes her head. “Everyone else is dead. Someone needs to bear the responsibility.”
“Dead, because I killed them. I’ve had my revenge. I don’t need more.” Abruptly, Shen Qingqiu lets go of her and stands up. “I’ll leave now. Don’t-- don’t do anything reckless.”
He sounds sincere. Qiu Haitang realizes with a sort of dismay that he’s begging her not to kill herself. It’s the only request he’s made of her, so how can she deny it?
So, she’ll just have to live with this. Alright then.
“I won’t,” she says quietly. She doesn’t get up off the floor.
Shen Qingqiu hesitates for a long time, as if wanting to say something more. But he leaves in the end, closing the door behind him. She’s left alone with the Truth-Revealing Scroll, and all the ashes of her life.
In the end, she gets nothing at all - not even the ability to hate the man who ruined her life, or to feel sorry for herself.