Chapter Text
Shen Yuan opened his eyes. His heart beat wildly in his chest as he sat up, gasping for air. Blankets pooled around his waist as he stared at the opposite wall with its grand display of folding fans. He saw none of that. Dreams replayed in his mind.
Chaotic nothingness. Binghe, standing there, alone. Calling out for his shizun in relief.
A much too young, too small Binghe, curled up in a protective ball as other children beat him. Binghe’s mother, wasting away as her young son desperately tried to help her.
Shen Yuan, forced to wrestle his sweet disciple to the ground to keep him from hurting himself by attacking his own dreamscape.
Binghe, declaring loyally that he would not let such a thing happen again.
The Elder Dream Demon. Meng Mo.
Passing out inside the dream – falling into memories of his childhood, playing with Qing-ge and Li-mei in the estate gardens before it twisted into staring helplessly at a young Shen Jiu as he struggled to survive on the streets, then was abused in the Qiu Estate.
And now, he was awake.
Flinging himself out of his bed, Shen Yuan shoved his feet into the boots standing by the door and grabbed an outer robe. He was running before they were even fully on, his night braid whipping behind him as he slammed the door of the Luduan House closed behind him. Xiao Mei, bleary and alarmed, only just slipped out behind him, following. The Three-Headed Shadow Crane’s wings beat steadily behind him as she searched for the threat.
Zhen Cha Peak was cold tonight. The air was damp and carried the scent of pine needles. Crickets sang in the grass, accompanied by the calls of the assortment of nocturnal animals and beasts residing in the peak’s forests or on its pastures. Shen Yuan noticed none of this as his feet ran quietly, steadily, over the wet, paved paths. The moon sat high in the clear skies, washing it all with white light.
The disciples on patrol startled violently, watching with wide eyes as their peak lord rushed past them. He only barely had the presence of mind to gesture at them, to keep them from following, weapons drawn.
The junior dormitories stood at the edge of a stable’s courtyard. It was a long building, dozens upon dozens of rooms, divided into a girls’ section and a boys’ section with separate entrances. The doors were heavily warded to keep anyone from the wrong gender to enter. Shen Yuan, as peak lord, could come and go as he pleased, though he never entered the dormitories unless it was an emergency.
He slammed the boys’ door open. Doors, doors, doors- There. Shen Yuan nearly tore the door of its hinges as he burst in, clutching his half-open over-robe closed over his chest. The six sleeping boys woke up – no, only five of them. One was already wide awake, staring at Shen Yuan from his bed with frightened eyes.
“Binghe,” Shen Yuan breathed softly, voice thick with relief. The other boys stared with sleep-muddled eyes, clearly wondering if they were dreaming as they saw their mostly undressed peak lord in their dorm in the middle of the night. Shen Yuan couldn’t even bring himself to do more than wave it off when one of them tried to stumble to his feet to bow as he stepped up to Binghe’s bed. All six of them were lined up neatly along the wall, each with a shelf and a chest to keep their belongings.
The boy – a teenager, now – kept staring up at him. His fluffy curls were a mess where so much of it had escaped its sleeping braids. “Shizun,” Binghe whispered, voice hoarse.
Xiao Mei stepped in behind him, craning her three necks to watch the room, and her master. Her red eyes glowed softly in the dark room, and she followed Shen Yuan’s gaze toward the boy. Then, she shrank into a crow’s size and flew up to settle on Shen Yuan’s shoulder, pressing her warm body against him reassuringly.
Shen Yuan sat down on the bed, the mattress bending beneath him. He gently took Binghe’s arm, pressing his fingers to his wrist. Qi pulsed slowly, steadily, through his meridians. Not an issue in sight. “Come on, Binghe,” he murmured. “Get dressed.”
Binghe stumbled out of bed, obedient as ever, and hurried to pull on his disciple uniform even as his gaze kept flicking nervously toward Shen Yuan. Once he was done, Shen Yuan told the other boys to go back to bed, and put a steady hand on Binghe’s shoulder as he guided him out of the dormitories. He didn’t feel steady at all, but he was the adult here, the master, and it was his duty to be what Binghe needed him to be right now. They walked in silence back to the Luduan House. Shen Yuan took the opportunity to fix his robes.
When they entered, he gestured Binghe toward the tea table. “Sit,” he said, gentle but firm, and went to make tea. Xiao Mei settled into Binghe’s lap, and his hands instinctually went to stroke her, like he knew she liked. She didn’t stretch out, though, and instead remained watchful, one set of eyes on the door Shen Yuan went through and two sets on Binghe.
When he returned, steaming pot and two cups on a tray, he sat down opposite of the boy and poured each of them a cup before pressing one into Binghe’s hands. Binghe took it, bowing politely even though he clearly was still unsettled.
“Is Binghe okay?” Shen Yuan asked once he’d taken a sip.
Binghe nodded. “Yes, shizun. I- this one is fine.”
After studying him for a moment, Shen Yuan decided to take him at his word. His qi was fine, and other than looking ruffled, he really did seem to be fine. Not in any worse condition than he would’ve been if it had been a normal nightmare, at least. Shen Yuan wouldn’t even have known it was anything but a nightmare on his own side either if he hadn’t spent so much time reading through Qing Jing’s library once he’d finished with Zhen Cha’s. There, he’d gained plenty of knowledge of the demonic arts – such as dream manipulation.
“Alright,” he said. “This master is glad. What happened after Master Meng knocked me out?”
If he wasn’t watching him so closely, he wouldn’t have seen the way Binghe swallowed and flinched slightly. The way his hands clenched around the teacup.
Shen Yuan reached out, stroking Binghe’s hair. “Whatever it was, this master will help you. Binghe is my precious disciple, and there is nothing that could change that. This one swears it.”
Looking up at him with faintly wet eyes, Binghe pulled in a shaky breath. “Shizun means it?”
He gave him the most reassuring smile he could. “Always, Binghe.”
The boy – the child – trembled faintly as he breathed in the tea fumes. It was Binghe’s favourite blend, which hadn’t been difficult to figure out even as Binghe did his best to not show such preferences in deference of his master’s own. But Shen Yuan had raised him for years by now and knew his tells. Especially the way his eyes lit up when he tasted something he really liked.
He waited patiently for him to gather himself enough to speak. And when Binghe did, he made sure to keep his expression placid.
It was difficult beyond measure, though.
“I- This disciple-” Binghe began, hands shaking. “He is… Master Meng said-” It finally came, so quietly that Shen Yuan only could hear it thanks to his cultivation. “-This disciple is part demon.”
The words rang in Shen Yuan’s head. What.
“This disciple- I didn’t know!” Binghe exclaimed, staring at Shen Yuan with desperation shining in his eyes. “I didn’t know, shizun, I promise. I would never- I wouldn’t have disgraced your peak with- I’ll work hard to be righteous, to not be like them. I’m sorry, please don’t throw me away!”
Shen Yuan’s throat was tight, and got more so as Binghe spoke. Begged. The clear self-loathing, the fear. The way he looked at Shen Yuan like he was expecting to be hurt for this. For being born. Shen Yuan stood up. Binghe flinched. Eyes flickering to the ground as he braced himself for… for being hurt? Being thrown off the mountain? Being killed?
Rounding the table, Shen Yuan dropped to his knees and pulled Binghe into his arms, pressing him against his chest. The boy stiffened before he melted into his arms. “Shizun?” Binghe whispered.
“Never, Binghe,” Shen Yuan told him, stroking the back of his head. “You’re my disciple. And most of all, you’re Luo Binghe. Even if you have demonic blood, that doesn’t change who you are. A loyal, hard-working, intelligent and kind boy. For as long as you want it, you have a place at Zhen Cha.”
Wet spots appeared on his robes, and Shen Yuan just held Luo Binghe as he cried into his chest.
This would be difficult – if there was demonic blood, and Shen Yuan had no reason to think Meng Mo would lie about this, then it would reveal itself eventually. It was an eventuality they had prepare for. The other peak lords, the other sects, would not be pleased when they found out. One day, Shen Yuan would have to fight to keep this sweet child safe.
But for now, the only thing Binghe needed from him was a warm embrace. And that was easy to supply.
The Immortal Alliance Conference had been going so well. Shen Yuan sat with his fellow peak lords and assorted sect leaders, watching the screens relaying the Spirit Eagles’ view of the proceedings. Binghe and the Huan Hua-disciple Gongyi Xiao were competing for the top spot: when one of them gained a kill, the other was quick to follow. At this point, it was really impossible to say who was going to win. Shen Yuan had no doubt about it, though. Binghe absolutely would. Binghe always did. It was like the very universe was set up to make it so. He snorted at the ridiculousness of the thought.
He glanced over to where Yue-ge – or, rather, Zhangmen-shixiong in the official capacity that he was acting in now – spoke with the Old Palace Master, polite yet steely in keeping the horrid man from swerving over to speak with Shen Yuan or his brother. Neither of them had seen him since the whole Qiu Haitang-debacle and Yue Qingyuan was determined to keep them away from him. But Shen Yuan was watching him. Specifically, watching the way Chen-zongzhu’s gaze never left Binghe when he showed up on the screens. There was some kind of stunned recognition on his face and Shen Yuan did not like it.
Whatever designs he had on Luo Binghe, Shen Yuan was determined to keep him away from his head disciple.
“Your disciples are doing surprisingly well,” he offered to Shang Qinghua, who had been looking unsettled all day. When asked about it, he said he didn’t know, he just had a bad feeling. Admittedly, Shang Qinghua did have good instincts for danger, but he was also a paranoid little rat man, so it was usually impossible to tell whether it was justified or not before something went down. Hopefully he was just unconsciously worried about the three An Ding-disciples who had entered into the tournament.
Shang Qinghua scowled at him. “My peak does teach martial arts too, you know. We’re not only glorified servants. At least not all of us.”
Snorting, Shen Yuan patted his head, carefully avoiding Xiao Mei where she’d settled as usual. At least she had the presence of mind not to mess his very official-looking hairstyle up during an event such as this. “So it seems. Good job on those three. Not that I think you taught them a single sword stance.”
To that, Shang Qinghua could only grumble and shove more melon seeds into his mouth. It wasn’t like he could protest – Shen Yuan wasn’t wrong. For sure, An Ding had their own martial arts-styles, just like all the other peaks. And most certainly, it was an important part of their training – both as a matter of cultivation, and because they needed to be able to defend their trade caravans. Plus, of course, to bond with their swords to be able to do any advanced flying at all. But most of them – including Shang Qinghua himself – never advanced beyond that. Of course any respectable master cultivator of An Ding, including but not limited to its peak lord, would be able to hold off any minor demon or beast, but few of them ever pursued it with enough fervour to have any desire to do more than necessary, and much less to showcase it in front of the entire cultivation world.
As Shang Qinghua’s head disciple, Peng Yingyue, told him once: “If we do that, people might start expecting us to night hunt and then the sect will fall apart. We’re too busy with real work for that sort of thing.”
Shen Yuan adored her. She was perfectly polite always, but in a way that made it abundantly clear that she respected approximately three people outside of her own peak. Shen Yuan was not one of them, but Shen Qingqiu was. Apparently he always did his paperwork properly and with time to spare unlike the rest of the peak lords.
Right now, Peng Yingyue was eyeing Shen Yuan with disrespect from where she was seated behind her shifu, ready to pour tea whenever they ran out like the filial disciple that she was. Amazing.
There was some scattered applause as Binghe felled another beast on-screen, and Shen Yuan had to hold back his smug smile. This one had been a Bright-Eyed Boar-Tiger, one of the more dangerous species allowed in the arena. Binghe had taken it down like it was nothing. His sword Zheng Yang was singing in his hand – bow and arrows left behind, specialty weapons being disallowed to even the playing field.
“Quite the disciple you’ve got there, Second Peak Lord Shen,” Xia Muyao, the master of the Harvest Moon River Sect, commented. She watched the screen with calculating eyes, but did offer him a smile.
“Thank you, Xia-zongzhu,” Shen Yuan replied graciously. “He has been a pleasure to teach-”
One of the screens shattered. Silently, into a thousand iridescent pieces fading out of existence before they could hit the ground. The observation platform went quiet. Then another screen went.
The barrier around the Yue Di Gorge shimmered.
“Oh gods and buddhas,” someone said faintly, horrified, as one of the remaining screens showed an enormous Blood-Mouthed Gecko-Snake’s tongue reach out to wrap around a handful of disciples and swallowing them whole. On another screen, teenagers were running for their lives as a flock of Thousand Spike Dragon Wolves tore them to pieces. On another: a Jade-Clawed Opal Vulture swept from the sky to pull a young girl in Huan Hua-uniform into its claws and returning to the sky, tossing her up and catching her in its mouth.
And then: demons, attacking the disciples. The children.
“Lower the barrier!” someone screamed. “We have to get them out of there!”
“Do not,” Shen Qingqiu snarled, standing. His fan was clenched hard in his hand. “There are villages nearby. If we remove the barrier, these beasts will go after the mortals.”
“We can’t just leave them there!”
“No,” Shen Yuan agreed as Shen Qingqiu flicked the fan open: it was one of his reinforced ones. A battle fan. “If we cannot let them out, we will go in.”
The Immortal Alliance Conference descended into absolute chaos. As senior disciples and masters burst into the arena, they spread out, chasing down beasts and demons. Priority number one was to save the disciples.
Shen Yuan stood on his sword, Hao Qi, flying through the woods as his bowstring sang with each released arrow. Three at once – piercing three eyes of the Three-Eyed Harpy Beast. It dropped to the ground, dead, seconds before it had been about to attack two Tian Yi-disciples who couldn’t be older than fifteen. Their pale, frightened faces turned to relief as they saw him. One of his peak’s masters grabbed them and brought them onto her sword, rushing off to where Mu Qingfang had set up a triage centre, no doubt better and more strictly run than the imperial army itself. Then Shen Yuan was off again, half a dozen of Zhen Cha’s masters and most experienced senior disciples following him.
With every monster, every lost group of children, he lost a part of his entourage. Arrow after arrow flew from his string: when his quiver emptied, he tossed it aside, pulling his emergency arrows out of a qiankun pouch. Xiao Mei soared above them all, watching. When she saw a beast or demon, she trilled, and Shen Yuan tapped into the bond to see what she saw. See where it was – who needed saving. Her sharp eyes searched the area for disciples. It was just them now.
A Gold-Boned Lizard King. Dead. A flock Mahogny Poison Wandering Flowers. Dead. Two disciples. Sent toward rescue. A Rainbow Swan Clan Demon. Dead.
Xiao Mei screamed.
Shen Yuan sent a flash of qi down the bond. Closed his eyes. And… there, down at the meadow – a group of disciples. Almost ten. Many from Huan Hua, two from Cang Qiong, one wearing the nun’s robes of Tian Yi. Most of them girls. And… oh god. A Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python. Its head was lowered, ready to attack. And shielding the disciples, covered in blood and shaking with exhaustion…
Shen Yuan shot forward. Weaving through the trees, not even looking up as he followed Xiao Mei’s guidance. She would take him there.
They burst into the clearing, and Shen Yuan released five arrows, his last ones, at once. They shot in a sharp arc. Right past the disciples. The Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python roared as they hit. It was mostly a roar of annoyance. Only one arrow hit true. Piercing into the soft skin of its jaw. The rest bounced off it like nothing. Shen Yuan’s feet hit the ground. So did his bow. He grabbed Hao Qi from the air. A pine green sword glare burst forth.
“Shizun!” Binghe cried out in relief as Shen Yuan reached him.
There was no time to respond. He glared back at the cowering disciples. “Run.”
The children ran. All except one. Shen Yuan glared at Binghe. “I said run,” he snapped.
Binghe met his gaze steadily despite the obvious fear written on his face. “I’m not leaving shizun.”
Then there was no more time to speak. The beast attacked.
Shen Yuan lifted two fingers into a sword sigil. Hao Qi flew. The Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python roared again as its sharp edge pierced its skin. Only a bit. Shen Yuan and Binghe jumped – a second before the giant horn reached them. Hao Qi sang in the air. Binghe leapt. Zheng Yang gleamed. It sliced the beast’s leg.
There was no more time for thinking. Instinct took over. Demonic energy blazed in the air. Crackling, electric. Like a thunderstorm. Every hair on his arms stood up. Hao Qi and Zheng Yang worked together. Binghe flew, quick as a breath. Shen Yuan floated, attacking from this side – then the other, Xiao Mei allowing him to see every detail. She circled high above. Fully grown, screaming.
Nothing existed in the world outside of it. Sweat dripped down his cheek. His mouth tasted of salt. The Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python blazed, sending off another hideous wave of qi. The grass in the clearing was brown, dead, drowned by it the sheer amount. The sky had darkened with miasma.
His hands shook. The guan in his hair was knocked loose, ponytail off-centre. His robes, ripped. His muscles burned. When he dared glance at Binghe, the boy was even worse off. He’d been competing for three days while Shen Yuan had been lazing at the viewing platform.
Growling, Shen Yuan pounced again. Hao Qi shot off, and his free hand found one of the throwing knives in his boot. He flung it.
The beast blinked. The knife bounced right off its eyelid. Falling to the ground. Useless.
The beast swerved. Eyes narrowing onto him. It lowered its head. The miasma thickened. Working its way into his lungs. Breathing was heavy. Nausea and dizziness rushed into his head. He stumbled. Hit the ground.
Shen Yuan gritted his teeth.
Hao Qi was too far away.
He was unarmed.
He was too tired.
Not fast enough.
Shen Yuan closed his eyes.
Sorry, Binghe. Sorry, er-ge.
The Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python never reached him. The air exploded. Every nerve in his body screamed, and Shen Yuan went to his knees. Then – silence. Like the very air was being sucked out of the world.
He opened his eyes.
In front of him stood Binghe. Zheng Yang raised. Zheng Yang… against the beast’s horn. Holding it back… shining cracks forming on it… darkness closing in, heavy and oppressive and unlike anything Shen Yuan had ever felt in his life.
Zheng Yang shattered.
The Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python staggered back. The horn dug into the earth.
Everything trembled. The ground opened up. Demonic qi so heavy Shen Yuan almost vomited burst out of it.
And Binghe, standing in the middle of heaving, storming dark clouds, screamed. Shen Yuan screamed too as he fell to his knees, tearing at his forehead. His eyes burned red. Between his fingers, digging into his own skin, Shen Yuan saw the same shade on his forehead. A demonic huadian.
Whatever seal had been hiding Binghe’s demonic side hadn’t survived the overwhelming surges.
The ground cracked further. A ravine opened up. Anguished wailing rose from the total darkness beneath. The ravine widened. Farther away, he could see cliffs the colour of blood covered in roiling black mists. Shen Yuan’s heart dropped.
The Endless Abyss.
Binghe, still screaming in agony, was right at the edge of it. Deformed arms reached for him. Still screaming, still clawing – clawing, literally, his trimmed nails having gained a black tint and grown into sharp weapons – at his face. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
Shen Yuan forced himself to his feet. The very air was poison, but- Binghe. Binghe needed him.
The Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python stomped. The earth shivered. The edge of the ravine crumbled: Binghe let out a terrified shout as the ground disappeared beneath him. He grasped onto the ledge. Hanging. The red huadian burned bright on his forehead.
Shen Yuan cried out his name, throwing himself forward, grabbing, grabbing, grabbing. Binghe’s hand! There! He clung to it, as hard as he could. He tried to say something reassuring, tried to promise it would be alright, but the miasma choked him. Binghe’s terrified eyes stared up at him, tears streaming down his cheeks. Shen Yuan held tighter, and Binghe clutched back.
The abyssal hands clasped onto Binghe’s robes. Pulling. Shen Yuan held tighter. No. No. The hands dragged. Jerked. His arms ached. Shen Yuan was sliding. Toward the Abyss. His upper body slid over the edge. He hung by the hips. Binghe stared. The arms wrenched at him. Something – three somethings – grabbed his robes. Pulling. Wings beat heavily in the air right behind him.
Their hands were bloody. Slippery. Shen Yuan clung tighter. He wasn’t letting go. Staring at Binghe, trying to tell him just hold on.
The Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python bellowed.
The hands pulled.
Shen Yuan slid further over the edge.
Binghe’s eyes widened. A terrifying, calculating look flashed in them.
Something sharp dug into Shen Yuan’s hands, his wrists. He cried out. Fingers releasing slightly. Binghe jerked his hands out of his grip.
Shen Yuan screamed as Binghe fell. Drops of blood slid from the fresh claw marks on his skin. Down, down, down. After Luo Binghe.
Into the Abyss.
“Binghe!” he cried, throwing himself further over the edge: only the three beaks in his clothes kept him from toppling over. He didn’t care. “Binghe!”
“A-Yuan!”
Arms grabbed at him. Warm arms. Pulling. Shen Yuan fell back over the edge. Back onto stable ground. He was dragged away from it, still crying out Binghe’s name. Strong arms pressed him against bloody, green robes. Warmth. The clean scent of bamboo and agarwood incense.
“Kill it, Qi-ge!” Shen Qingqiu yelled as he clutched Shen Yuan against his chest, unyielding. Qi was rising under Shen Yuan’s skin, crackling, storming. Trying to escape. Trying to get to Binghe.
The last thing Shen Yuan saw was Yue Qingyuan, with a sword that was not Xuan Su, throwing himself at the Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python.
Then, a rush of qi, cool like a mountain stream. Everything went black.