Chapter Text
“Fight me!”
Shen Qingqiu gripped his fan tightly, the veins on his hand accentuated by his rage.
“Another spar?” He gritted out, looking calm as he turned around to meet Liu Qingge’s form, his sword already extended towards him. He looked calm for someone who was boiling on the inside. A true testament to how far he’s gotten with the art of faking. “Liu-shidi, wasn’t it just yesterday that you asked for a spar? Are you so similar to a mindless demon dog that you cannot spend even a kè still?”
Liu Qingge only stared at him intensely, his jaw tight with barely hidden pain. Finding that Liu Qingge would say no response but only indulge him with pitiful expressions, Shen Qingqiu spread his arms out to the beauty of the bamboo forest near his bamboo cottage, which he was in, his dark green sleeves billowing out against the quite strong wind. “Dear shidi, this place isn’t somewhere we can spar. Kindly, if you would, escort yourself elsewhere, so that you may leave this master alone with his… duties, and not waste his time.”
Shen Qingqiu spoke each word smoothly, his venomous tongue rolling on the syllables of Liu Qingge’s martial address saccharinely. Feeling a bit mischevious, he let Liu Qingge see a flash of cold amusement before covering it with a fan beautifully painted with cranes. Liu Qingge’s eyebrows furrowed, his pretty eyes narrowing at Shen Qingqiu as if trying to see something deep in his core. In response, he fanned himself lightly, annoyed.
Lately, Liu Qingge always seemed to look at him intensely, like trying to find something lodged deep in Shen Qingqiu’s soul. It made him uncomfortable. His entire body burst into goosebumps, and a shiver ran through his spine. Unable to take it anymore, he called for his sword Xiu Ya.
“Just,” Liu Qingge spoke softly, like it wasn’t meant to be said out loud, blending with the rustling of the bamboo leaves around them. “Spend some time with me.”
Shen Qingqiu’s breath faltered, his heartbeat stuttered, his blood went cold, and then it began to boil with rage. Shen Qingqiu, spend time with him? Him? The very man who has been on the front lines of his slow but sure reputational downfall! Before, he didn’t want to even glimpse Liu Qingge’s face, especially now in a moment where he was so vulnerable, just barely recovering from yet another hidden qi deviation, but the rage was suddenly unable to be restrained, and with quick movements, Xiu Ya was summoned into his slender scholar hand.
Did Liu Qingge hit his head or something?
“Well,” Shen Qingqiu said tightly, spinning the tassel on his sword around his index finger in an attempt to hide the shaking of his hand. “This one would be a bad shixiong if I didn’t fulfill my shidi’s wishes, wouldn’t I?”
Liu Qingge let out a choked sound, his mouth turning into a snarl as he lunged and swung his sword at Shen Qingqiu with a laugh.
“You? A good shixiong?” Liu Qingge mocked as Xiu Ya and Cheng Luan met in a show of green and blue sword glares. “Shen Qingqiu, a good shixiong? Don’t make me laugh at the idiocy of those words!”
Shen Qingqiu faltered slightly at those words, his eyes narrowing in confusion. This was the first time Liu Qingge had said anything other than a couple of words about how much he fought like a dirty street rat. His heartbeat, already tachycardic from the unfamiliar excretion of what was just supposed to be a simple spar, only sped up more, his eyesight suddenly becoming blurred and his breaths louder in his ears. “You dare!”
“I dare what? I dare tell you how hypocritical you are?” Liu Qingge responded, his face suddenly passive as he swung Cheng Luan almost carelessly against the smooth blade of Xiu Ya, forcing Xiu Ya from Shen Qingqiu’s grasp. It rammed straight into the bark of a lone bamboo tree with an ear-piercing shriek. With a soft yelp, Shen Qingqiu quickly jumped up and away from Liu Qingge, forming a talisman with a hidden hand as his other hand snapped his fan open to his face.
Liu Qingge was saying something, but he couldn’t tell what. His ears were flooded with the sound of his rushing blood. He couldn’t even bother trying to read his lips; his vision darkened and undarkened. His qi stuttered as it passed through his spiritual veins, and he felt the urge to vomit blood, but he swallowed it thickly, the inside of his mouth sticky.
“Just shut up!” Shen Qingqiu screamed. His senses were too weak now; he wasn’t even sure if he was standing up straight, if he was still keeping his facade on. He had to-
Fwip!
Liu Qingge let out a sharp hiss of pain, his hand instinctively clasping over the source of the pain. He felt a warm liquid seep through his fingers. Blood. Wait, blood?
“Shen Qingqiu, you-!” He shouted, but before he could get another word out, he felt another sharp pain pass straight through his bicep. And another. And another. Now Liu Qingge began to look around his surroundings, trying to see where the pain was coming from, and suddenly he felt a quick, unstable burst of qi coming from Shen Qingqiu, and he recognized the signs almost immediately.
Qi deviation.
He lifted his hand from his wound, revealing a small, sharpened bamboo leaf jammed straight through his skin, cutting through the strong fabric of his white Peak Lord uniform.
Fwip!
Fwip!
Fwip!
Shen Qingqiu knew pretty damn well that he couldn’t possibly attack Liu Qingge in such a weak, pathetic state. His Xiu Ya was too far for him to call in his recovery state, and his senses were hindered. So his still sharp mind thought of another way to combat him, even if it was a way in which a street child would fight.
Bamboo leaves.
Shen Qingqiu had used Plucking Leaves, Flying Flowers plenty of times before. He first used the technique against some street bullies during his apprenticeship under Wu Yanzi. They were ganging up on him, towering way above his body on the ground, jeering and laughing at his pathetic state. He was so deep in his fight-or-flight mode that he didn’t realize what was going on around him until Wu Yanzi yanked his collar up with enough force to choke him back to the present, sneering into his face about how stupid he was to get himself caught up in an avoidable mess like so. Shen Jiu only murmured a “What?” for Wu Yanzi to spin him around on his feet, showing the tons of sharpened bamboo leaves on the ground around them, each stained with blood.
“You happened,” He said, leaving Shen Jiu to stay steady on his two weak legs as he picked up a sharpened bamboo leaf, his malicious smile widening.
After that, Wu Yanzi beseeched Shen Jiu to recreate it, but Shen Jiu kept using the same excuse: Sorry, I was too unstable to remember what I did, better ask next time!
Eventually, Wu Yanzi forgot, and later on, Shen Jiu did as well, until the fateful Immortal Alliance Conference that broke the chains he had with Wu Yanzi and led him to a mess reunion with Yue Qingyuan, when he “accidentally” killed a nameless disciple that seemed like a slight threat to his secretive presence with the dull leaves around them. It was a painful process at first, but the more Shen Jiu got accustomed to the horrible feeling, each dull leaf stabbed at the disciple with a sharper tip than the previous one, until the disciple’s skin was ribbons, his muscles a bright red mixed with the chlorophyll green of the leaves.
Later on, during his discipleship at Qing Jing Peak, he learned that the technique in which he had confided to protect him in extremely vulnerable times was more of a demonstrative spell in Cang Qiong Mountain Sect than anything remotely for martial arts, made to look good rather than anything else.
Let everyone use it for decorative reasons, Shen Jiu thought while spending another night in the woodshed. I’ll use it differently.
Because this was a pretty Cang Qiong spell, Liu Qingge recognized it almost immediately as a spell used by young silly Qing Ding and Xuan Shu disciples for playful reasons; even his sister, Liu Mingyan, liked to play around with Plucking Leaves, Flying Flowers when she was younger.
But he had never seen it used like this before.
How this spell was being used was already dangerous in itself, and combined with the madness of someone suffering through a qi deviation, it posed a serious threat to Liu Qingge’s life. Liu Qingge, a genius in combat, could tell that Shen Qingqiu had experience with this. Even with his shaking limbs and unfocused emerald eyes, each leaf was delivered to its intended target with accurate precision.
“Shen Qingqiu!” Liu Qingge called to him, taking a step forward, ignoring the sharp pain that rippled through his nervous system as each bamboo leaf stabbed deep into his skin.
But Shen Qingqiu wasn’t paying attention. He was on his knees now, the blow of his fall bruising his knees. But even the pain of his thin knees colliding against the harsh ground of the forest floor couldn’t arouse him from his stupor. He continued to accurately shoot bamboo leaf after bamboo leaf in Liu Qingge’s direction, until something suddenly collided against his chest, a palm maybe, and suddenly Shen Qingqiu could properly breathe, and his qi no longer stuttered.
He couldn’t tell what was going on around him afterward. He felt only the distant warmth of someone, and could slightly feel the trembling of their muscles as cool qi tried to flow through his clogged spiritual veins. He heard a “stay with me,” maybe. He was pushing weakly against this person; he was on his elbows, throwing something warm up, and he was heaving and sweating profusely, maybe. He felt the stranger's cold qi try to pass through him as he lost his balance and fell onto the pool of something under him, maybe. “Stay with me, please,” he distantly heard, before everything went dark.
____
“…-shixiong.”
“..Shen-….”
“Wake…-“
“……this.”
It took quite a bit to coax Shen Qingqiu out of his unconsciousness.
Shen Qingqiu’s shot went wide open. Something was being pushed down his throat, a disgustingly sour liquid that made his face scrunch up in disgust. He clamped his mouth down on the spoon used to feed him the horrible concoction, but a soft voice and fingers on his jaw forced him to reopen his mouth and swallow the liquid.
Shen Jiu groaned as consciousness prickled at the edges of his mind, the sharp scent of bitter herbs invading his nose. He lazily moved his gaze to the sight of a porcelain spoon hovering precariously close to his lips.
"Why isn't there honey?" he protested weakly, his voice scratchy and raw.
Mu Qingfang's calm gaze met his, the corners of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly. "I had to wake you up somehow, he said, his tone carrying the weight of both reprimand and playfulness. “There’s still more, Shen-shixiong,” Mu Qingfang said calmly, leaning the bowl slightly down so Shen Qingqiu could see the contents inside, just enough that it wouldn’t spill all over him.
“Mu-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu groaned softly, his eyes shutting in childish rebellion. “This one asks you to at least add a drop of honey to it.”
“Is it too bitter?” Mu Qingfang asked, his face almost empathetic as he watched Shen Qingqiu pathetically fall deeper into the cushions around him. It was common knowledge in Qian Cao that Shen Qingqiu, a cold and aloof immortal of Qing Jing Peak, absolutely hated anything bitter. It was one of the first things taught to new disciples of Qian Cao: Shen Qingqiu despises bitter medicine with a passion. Please add an unhealthy amount of honey to every single medicine that is to be given to him, please! Mu Qingfang learned this the hard way. The first time he treated Shen Qingqiu for a qi deviation during their disciple days, it almost marked the end of his head disciple-ship.
Head Disciple Shen Qingqiu had less control over his venomous tongue than Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu, Mu Qingfang mused as he saw the edges of Shen Qingqiu’s mouth twitch, probably holding back a scalding insult.
“Yes, Mu-shidi, if it wasn’t so obvious,” Shen Qingqiu gritted out, his fine eyebrows twitching in annoyance or disgust, Mu Qingfang couldn’t quite tell.
The healer sighed, lifting the spoon back up to Shen Qingqiu’s shut lips. “Apologies, shixiong. I fear that if I add honey, it might reduce the effectiveness of the medicine.”
Lies, all lies!
Mu Qingfang cackled internally as he saw distrust and confusion paint his shixiong’s features. But after a second, the glee of gaining an upper hand over his silly shixiong quickly faded; distrust was to be expected, after all, Mu Qingfang was lying. But confusion? Over what?
With a resigned sigh, Shen Qingqiu accepted the spoonful of the foul-tasting concoction. The bitterness coated his tongue and throat, and he held the urge to cough. "Swallow," The healer instructed, his hand steady and his grip on his chin firm but not painful. He obeyed, though reluctantly, his eyes watering from the sheer intensity of the flavor.
He finished it slowly. Shen Qingqiu lay back against the pillows, the weight of his exhaustion pressing down on him like an unseen force.
From his seat near Shen Qingqiu’s bedside, Mu Qingfang uncrossed his legs and laid his arms on the bed mattress, leaning towards his shixiong. But he was far from relaxed; his muscles were tight, and his nerves were on full alert. Like second nature, Mu Qingfang assumed a position of serenity.
The only way he could get his patients to talk, he learned, was to never seem on edge and defensive. Always assume body language that engages the other party to feel safe to speak.
“Shen Qingqiu,” Mu Qingfang spoke warmly, making direct eye contact with Shen Qingqiu’s tired eyes. “Do you remember how you managed to succumb to another qi deviation? I remember last visit I explained that having qi deviations lowered your defenses and strength, and explained that under no circumstances should you engage in activities that may overexert yourself.”
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw locked in position.
“Shen Qingqiu- shixiong, please,” Mu Qingfang said, now letting a hint of his worry slip through his voice. “Please tell this healer if anything-”
“Why do you call me Shen Qingqiu?”
“Eh?”
Mu Qingfang, on the outside, looked calm, not a hint of worry on his face. But on the inside, he was going absolute ape shit. This must have made Shen Qingqiu feel as if he had said something wrong because he suddenly turned away from the healer, his back facing the healer.
“Qingqiu,” Mu Qingfang called out for him, but he flinched when he pronounced the last part of his name, so Mu Qingfang stayed silent with him for a long while, the gears in his head turning until he decided Shen Qingqiu was calm enough. “Shixiong, that’s your ascending name for the new generation of peak lords.”
“Wait,” Shen Qingqiu choked out, sitting up from his bed and looking at Mu Qingfang with barely concealed shock. “Ascending name? Does that mean…”
“Yes, shixiong. You are the Qing Jing Peak Lord,” Mu Qingfang said, leaning back on the chair he was sitting on and placing his hands inside the sleeves of his zhaoshan. He regarded Shen Qingqiu for a while before continuing. “Shixiong, I have a feeling you may have some sort of amnesia. What is the most recent thing you remember?”
Shen Qingqiu stayed silent for another long while, his bottom lip protruding out as he was thinking, his eyelashes fluttering downwards. Mu Qingfang recognized this as a common habit Shen Qingqiu did during his disciple era, but it was never seen again after they ascended as Peak Lords.
“Mu-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu said slowly. “The last thing I remember was recovering from an illness shortly after a qi deviation, and Liu Qingge- that brute- bursting in my patient room with silly books. I kicked him out for that.”
“Silly books…?” Mu Qingfang repeated, already feeling a headache forming.
He scoffed. “Yes, silly books. Only illiterate brutes like him would read those books.”
Mu Qingfang shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaling deeply. “Shixiong, those weren’t books for ‘illiterate brutes.’”
Shen Qingqiu paused for a moment, then tilted his head to the side in mild confusion. “Then?”
This was going to be a long patient visit, wasn’t it? He momentarily stood up to open the window on the wall facing the end of Shen Qingqiu’s bed, letting the gentle sun’s rays slip into the cozy yet bland room, forming a qi crane with a message for his head disciple. “Prepare calming tea for Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu and me. As quickly as possible.”
“Calming tea? What for, Mu-shidi?” Shen Qingqiu bristled, making heavy eye contact with Mu Qingfang as he slowly lay back down on his bed, confusion and exhaustion shadowing his features.
Mu Qingfang only smiled. “It’s going to be a long story, what I’m going to tell you.”