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Chapter Text

    Ming Fan slammed his head into the table, letting the rush of pain push him back into full consciousness. It perhaps wasn't the best way to make himself stay awake, but it seemed to be doing its job. He stared at the stack of essays and questioned if they were illegible due to his vision being blurred by exhaustion or because the handwriting was so horrendous. He slapped his cheeks hard and took a large swig of black tea before looking them over again, squinting his eyes if needed.

    Shizun needed these essays graded by dawn. He had to complete his task. He couldn't fail something so easy so early on in his tenure as head disciple. He'd be replaced.

    Well…probably not.

    There wasn't really anyone else to take his place at this stage. He was the eldest of the group and the only one who hadn't tried to set the Qing Jing Music Hall on fire. Shizun would most likely keep Ming Fan as the head disciple until someone better came along, but Ming Fan would still have to deal with the fact that he disappointed him.

    Due to this, Ming Fan sat through the mess of words that was Xue Zhen's essay on cave-dwelling snake-tongued tarantulas and whatever Mo Yingjie was trying to say about red-breasted hornet-herons. At least Ru Guiren's essay on the musicality of silver moon-tailed swallows was half decent. It helped cool his anger at the blank scroll Ning Yingying had submitted with the note 'if you fail me, Shizun will kill you' on it. Jokes on her, Shizun didn't trust him enough to have him decide the final grades himself. 

    She'd probably be let off anyway, though. She was Shizun’s favorite. If Ming Fan tried such a thing, he'd probably have to do handstands until his arms fell off. It's not like he didn't already have to do them often. Shizun was very exacting on the few disciples he had. Nothing less than perfection would do and Ming Fan was quite far from perfection.

    He’d learned early on that expecting Shizun to like him was not something based in reality. The man was his saviour, his master, and yet he seemed to detest any student besides Yingying. It would cause an ache in his chest if he wasn’t so dulled to the feeling of rejection. At least he was given a place to stay. At least he was seen as competent enough to be a stand-in perhaps until Yingying would be old enough to take his place.

    She was smart, far smarter than she pretended to be. It was her cutesy act that drove others to want to help her and allowed her to manipulate them for her amusement. Ming Fan had seen through it early on. After all, he was Shizun’s first disciple. He met Ning Yingying when she was nothing but a smaller brat than she is now. Her tricks didn’t work on Shizun even though he indulged her like a father would to their daughter. Due to this, Ming Fan learned early to see through the same acts.

    Of course, he didn’t like her right now due to her blank essay. Letting out a sigh, Ming Fan rose from his seat with creaky joints, grabbing a few scrolls from his personal shelf. Laying them out, he got to work at writing an essay for her, making sure to leave minor mistakes because he was petty. There was no way he’d craft an essay that would give her a perfect score. He couldn’t anyway. No matter how much time he spent on an essay himself, Shizun always found a thousand things wrong with it.

    It took quite a while to finish his tasks, but he finished in just enough time that as the sun rose in the sky, he was able to hand the essays off to Shizun. The man barely spared him a glance, shutting the door in his face and leaving Ming Fan to move on to morning training with Hallmaster Kou, the strict old woman that seemed to be on the peak long before even the Ming generation of peak lords was.

~*~

    Ming Fan struggled not to slip into the pocket dimension of bliss that was dissociation. His triceps and biceps quivered from the strain of his weight, shoulders long past the stage of agony. Even so, he kept himself perfectly in form, not wavering or wobbling a bit. Perhaps he could say that dissociative state was meditation and have an excuse for becoming entirely unresponsive. That may cause him to fall asleep and go toppling to the ground, though.

    “Is Da-shixiong even human?” Xia Lu whispered, adjusting his position. “I don’t think he’s even breathing.”

    “Shh,” Ciu Rong hissed. “He’ll hear you.”

    “No one should be able to hold a handstand for that long,” Xia Lu said. Ming Fan could hear the boy pouting like a child. Wait, he still was a child. Sometimes Ming Fan forgot how young those around him were. “Xue-shijie said that he’s secretly a ghost of a past disciple. She heard from Li-shijie that no one even knows when he arrived. He was just always on the peak.”

    If Ming Fan had a sense of humour, he would’ve laughed at that statement.

    “I heard Da-shixiong doesn’t even sleep,” Ye Mei chimed in, as if all of them were unaware that he could hear them. “Mo-shixiong says the light of his study is on all night whenever he does lantern duty.”

    “Gu-shixiong says he doesn’t eat either,” Xia Lu stated. “You’ve seen him only pick at his congee in the morning if he even goes to breakfast.”

    “Mei-shimei from Bai Zhan said that he was like that when they first met him. Apparently he scared Zhu-shixiong!” Sun Wu added, not even bothering to whisper.

    “Quiet down!” Ciu Rong shouted. “He’ll make us run laps.”

    “Come on, he’s not some nascent level cultivator,” Xia Lu said. “I’m sure he’s meditating or something.”

    “Laps are a wonderful idea, Ciu-shidi,” Ming Fan slipped out of his handstand position, startling the four. Ciu Rong’s face drained to a sickly white, eyes widening in horror. Changing position suddenly sent a rush of blood to Ming Fan’s head, causing him to become dizzy. He powered through it, looking down at the four who wobbled and fell over onto the dirt courtyard. The rest of the disciples let out loud complaints.

    “Come on, Da-shixiong, you expect us to run now?” Xue Zhen whined, sitting cross-legged on the ground. “We just did handstands for almost half a shichen!”

    “After exercising the upper body, one should exercise the lower body,” Ming Fan replied with a flat tone. “Do the appropriate stretches and then we will do five laps around the peak.”

    “Is Da-shixiong going to join us in the run or simply supervise like Kou-shigu?” Ru Guiren asked. Ming Fan didn’t quite know how to interpret his expression or his tone.

    “This one has never not completed exercise with his shidi and shimei,” Ming Fan replied, internally furrowing his brow in confusion. “You have two more fen to complete your stretches before we begin.”

    “You’re worse than Shifu,” Rong Rulan groaned.

    “Don’t say that, Rong-shijie,” Ning Yingying said. She then turned to meet Ming Fan’s gaze, a dark glimmer in her eyes. “That is an insult to both Shizun and Da-shixiong. All Da-shixiong wants is for us to be as good as Shizun desires. Don’t you want to make Shizun proud?”

    “Shizun will never be proud of us,” Xue Zhen snorted. “He’s not even proud of Da-shixiong, his perfect little disciple.”

    A feeling almost like hurt lanced its way through Ming Fan’s chest. He twitched slightly, trying not to show any outward expression of displeasure. Instead, he took off to begin the laps, causing the others to squawk in surprise and race to catch up to him.

    The exhaustion of running through the craggy terrain of Qing Jing dulled the thoughts in Ming Fan’s brain to a light buzz. It mixed with his already prevalent fatigue, granting him a respite from any thought or feeling that could carve its way into his brain. The others shouted after him, but they felt so far away. Perhaps they actually were. He had started off pretty fast.

    As he reached the boundary where the rainbow bridge connected Qing Jing to Bai Zhan, he was suddenly skidding into the rocky dirt face first. The pain shot through him for a moment before fading to the background of his senses. He picked himself up into a sitting position, looking up at the disciples in sets of white Bai Zhan robes. Among them stood a particular disciple whose robes were accented with silver and blue. Zhu Zhangwei stared down at him, showing yet another expression that Ming Fan did not know how to read.

    “He really ate shit,” one laughed. “I thought Ming-shixiong was supposed to have superhuman reflexes even for a cultivator.”

    “Looks like he’s just human after all,” another snickered.

    “Shifu was right when he said he was weak,” a third commented while Zhu Zhangwei stood there as a silent onlooker.

    “Just as weak as his crazy master…”

   Ming Fan steadied himself on his feet, staring at the little child that dared insult his master. The rest of the boy’s sentence had died on his tongue, his eyes widening slightly as he watched Ming Fan.

    “Leave my peak,” Ming Fan stated, hearing the other Qing Jing disciples come skidding to a halt behind him.

    “He wants to play at being a tough guy after crashing and burning like that?” the first laughed with false bravado, a discomfort causing him to shift uneasily.

    “You insulted your own martial uncle,” Ming Fan stated. “I will report this not only to your master, but to Zhangmen-shibo as well. How unfilial are you to slander your own elders?”

    “You think a threat of tattling will scare us?” one said. “You Qing Jing folk are really all bark and no bite. I bet you’re scared to fight because you know Da-shixiong will beat you.”

    "Just like how Shifu always beat Shen-shibo," the first said. "How could we ever respect a martial uncle so much weaker than our Shifu?"

    That statement snapped some piece of self control in Ming Fan’s brain. For some reason he rushed forward, his fist connecting with the boy's face to create a satisfying crunch. Once the thrill started, he couldn't stop, nearly tossing the boy off the peak through sheer arm strength alone. He let out a pitiful shriek that brought a sadistic grin to Ming Fan’s face.

    He advanced on the others, flexing his fingers like a jungle cat would their claws. The others that had spoken cowered, eyes flicking from the sight of their fallen martial brother to Ming Fan’s approaching form. As he reeled back to punch, Zhu Zhangwei caught his hand.

    "Ming-shixiong, collect yourself," he stated.

    "So now you speak?" Ming Fan asked coolly, tilting his head. His vision was swimming slightly, the features of Zhu Zhangwei’s face slipping in and out of focus. "Once you fear the safety of your own, you step in like some shining hero. It doesn't matter if someone else is hurt, just those you consider your own. How righteous, Zhu-shidi."

    "Stop this," Zhu Zhangwei said. Ming Fan could no longer read his expression and any rational thought he had was long gone.

    "I'm simply doing the same as you," Ming Fan stated, brain going fuzzy. "Let your shidi and shimei insult my A-die again and I will make them regret even knowing how to speak."

    Ming Fan’s vision focused again for just enough time to see Zhu Zhangwei’s face scrunched. After that, he passed out from exhaustion.

Chapter Text

   Ming Fan jolted to awareness suddenly, staring up at the ceiling of…somewhere. He blinked a few times, trying to get his vision to focus on his surroundings. Eventually, the bitter scent of herbs clued him in to the fact that he must be on Qian Cao. How did he even end up here?

   It didn't really matter. All that mattered was that he had to leave. He had chores to do back on Qing Jing before sundown.

   "This Master suggests you don't get up just yet, Ming-shizhi," Ming Fan glanced over, making eye contact with Mu Qingfang. The man smiled at him warmly, a thin veneer of geniality. "Zhu-shizhi had to carry you here. Don't let his efforts go to waste."

   "This one is fine, Mu-shishu," Ming Fan replied, sitting up fully anyway. "This one has duties to complete for his Shizun and must leave."

   "Ming-shizhi should know that exhausting his body also exhausts his meridians," Mu Qingfang stated, pushing Ming Fan to lay back down. "Would your Shizun wish for you to cripple your cultivation for the sake of chores?"

   "This one is Shizun’s head disciple," Ming Fan replied calmly, glaring at Mu Qingfang's annoying grin. "This disciple has duties to complete as part of his position. Does Mu-shishu neglect his duties due to mere fatigue?"

   Mu Qingfang let out a sigh, the smile finally slipping from his face to reveal his true, irritated expression of exasperation. "You passed out, Ming-shizhi," he stated. "That is not mere fatigue. Have you not been sleeping at all? Does Shen-shibo know that he has given you too much work?"

   "Shizun has not given me too much work," Ming Fan replied, gently removing Mu Qingfang’s hand from his chest. "I am fine. Mu-shishu is far too concerned for this disciple’s wellbeing. One would think I was his precious disciple rather than Shizun’s. Should this one call you Mu-shifu rather than Mu-shishu?"

   Mu Qingfang’s eye twitched and Ming Fan almost felt like he was going to smirk from the reaction. He slipped off the medical cot, taking a moment to acclimate to the standing position. Sure, his qi was a bit more sluggish than normal and he felt a bit light headed still, but it would pass. Shizun would be disappointed if he couldn't keep up with the meager work of being head disciple. He's seen the amount of work Shizun does and it makes Ming Fan’s duties pale in comparison.

   "You're just like your master," Mu Qingfang mumbled. Why did everyone act like his hearing wasn't that good? People always said things around him, expecting him not to hear it.

   "This one thanks Mu-shishu for the compliment as he knows of no one better than his Shizun," Ming Fan replied. "Now, this disciple must return to his peak, thanking Mu-shishu for his aid."

   Ming Fan bowed and promptly ran out the door. Qian Cao was a peak further from Qing Jing so he'd have to hurry to have enough time to finish his chores. He sprinted past Du Cheng who stared openly at him as if he had never learned etiquette. The boy always did the same during head disciple meetings. So rude for a young master.

   "Ming-shixiong–" he began to call out, but Ming Fan ignored him in favour of sprinting away. He had no desired to deal with more uncomfortable interactions with people who did not actually wish to speak with him.

   By the time he made it back to Qing Jing, it was already past midday. If he had the ability to be improper, he would have sworn at his luck. Instead, he went to work at chopping firewood. Of course, the sharp pain in his shoulders from the morning exercises did not help. It seemed to be getting worse, the pain traveling into the center of his back to create a more pronounced ache. He tried to push it to the back of his mind as he continued his duties. Eventually, he got into a rhythm, his brain going entirely blank.

   "Da-shixiong?" He turned at the calling of his name, unsure of how much time had passed. His juniors stared back at him.

   "You're alive!" Ning Yingying shrieked, rushing forward to crash into him and knock out his breath. She wrapped her arms around his torso and began blubbering loudly. "I thought you died! You suddenly went all pale and fell to the ground!"

   "Zhu-shixiong panicked so bad," Sun Wu cried. He was only a few months older than Yingying, still such a little baby. His eyes were watery and his cheeks were red as he sniffled. "He smacked you in the face to try and wake you."

   Ah. That explains why his face hurts.

   "This one is fine," Ming Fan stated, prying Ning Yingying off of him as she attempted to crush his ribs like a vice. "Has everyone completed their chores and lessons? There's another essay due tomorrow."

   "Who cares? You almost died!" Sun Wu shouted.

   "I told you he wouldn't die," Xia Lu said. "A spirit can't die a second time."

   That statement earned Xia Lu an elbow in the ribs from Ciu Rong. In retaliation, Xia Lu kicked Ciu Rong in the shin. Within the time it took to blink, the two were wrestling in the dirt. No one tried to break them apart, far too used to their little squabbles. Ming Fan sighed internally at their lack of grace for fighting like rabid street dogs. They could at least use proper form.

   Xue Zhen side stepped them to approach Ming Fan. "So, is what you said true?" She asked. Ming Fan furrowed his brows and waited for her to elaborate. She seemed to not notice his confusion in the slightest as she just continued waiting for an answer.

   "Was what true, Xue-shimei?" He finally asked.

   "What you said to Zhu-shixiong," Xue Zhen replied as if that helped jog his memory at all. "You know, you called Shizun 'a-die'."

   Ming Fan blinked at her, his mind taking a second to process those words. He blinked again, still not understanding. She continued to stare at him as if what she just said made any sense.

   "What?" He finally asked with as much eloquence as he could muster.

   "Everyone heard it," Xue Zhen said, a grin painting her face. "You called Shizun 'a-die' and then passed out. Zhu-shixiong's face was hilarious."

   The noise that came out of Ming Fan’s mouth was some kind of almost silent scream that rose from the back of his throat due to animalistic terror.

   "It explains why you like Shizun so much," Mo Yingjie added, as if such a statement could possibly be true. "It's also kind of sad, though."

   "Are you a bastard searching for favour?" Xue Zhen asked. "It's…sad that he doesn't care for you enough to let you take his name. Wait, does he even know?"

   "Sh…shimei…" he croaked, only to he cut off by a barrage of increasingly preposterous questions. He could do nothing but watch her mouth move as the sound of her voice slowly became one high pitched buzzing sound, the words mixing together into nothingness. The others joined in and he just stared at them too, too many people surrounding him for him to be able to understand. The overwhelming noise was beginning to cause a pressure in his skull. He couldn't focus on any one person to read their expressions.

   In his chest, his heart was beating like a jackrabbit from sheer panic.

   How could he mess up this stupendously? Shizun would surely kick him off the peak. Where would he go? He had nowhere else to go to.

   His breathing felt strange, almost constricted. The pressure in his chest made it feel as if there was water in his lungs. He didn't know how to respond. Opening his mouth only made him notice how tight his throat was. No noise could escape.

   "Ming Fan," the sound of his Shizun’s voice was deafening compared to that of the others. He looked up to see the man standing behind the disciples, green eyes staring down at him above the fan that covered the lower half of his face.

   Ming Fan hated that fan, hated that he couldn't read Shizun’s expressions. All he could see was the slight downturn of the man's sword brows that made the panic occurring in his thoracic cavity even worse. He bowed as low as possible, a sickening feeling rising from his stomach.

   "This disciple greets Shizun," his own voice sounded weird in his ears, distorted in a way he couldn't understand. What was wrong with him?

   "Come with this master," Shizun said.

   "Yes, Shizun," Ming Fan rose from his bow, following Shizun to his impending death.

Chapter Text

   Ming Fan stared blankly at his reflection in his Baozhong tea. He made quite a sight with the bruises and scrapes all over his face from the morning. He didn’t dare look up at Shizun or anywhere else in the Bamboo house, a jitteriness overcoming him. The sun was setting so he definitely hadn’t finished his chores in time. He stalled too long by doing irrelevant things.

   “This master heard from Mu-shidi that Disciple Ming was brought to his peak earlier today,” Shizun finally spoke, his tone as cool as ice. He never really showed any feeling in his tone, always trying to stay flat and neutral. It was his face, supposedly, that betrayed his feelings which caused him to hide behind his paper fans. Due to this, Ming Fan did not know how Shizun felt about the situation which only exacerbated the feeling in his chest that hadn’t faded from earlier. “Would Disciple Ming like to tell this master what happened?”

   “This disciple was taking his juniors on a morning run around the peak,” he replied, trying his best to replicate Shizun’s tone. He still couldn’t look up at him, talking directly to his tea cup. “Some Bai Zhan disciples alongside Zhu-shidi came to the peak. When trying to get them to leave, this disciple…fainted.”

   “Fainted?” Shizun repeated.

   “This disciple is fine now,” Ming Fan assured. “He simply was overtaken by fatigue for a moment.”

   “And why should Disciple Ming be fatigued?” the question jolted through Ming Fan.

   “This disciple will strive to do better,” Ming Fan bowed his head more, nearly face planting into his tea cup, the tip of his ponytail dipping into the liquid. That…was less than elegant.

   “Is that all Disciple Ming has to tell this master?” Shizun asked and dread filled Ming Fan’s stomach. Of course he heard the disciples talking. Of course he knew about Ming Fan’s slip up. There was an odd burning behind Ming Fan’s eyes and his breath stuttered for a moment.

   “This disciple made a mistake,” he whispered, hands clenching in his lap. “Begging Shizun’s forgiveness and asking for punishment.”

   There was a snort. It was barely noticeable, but it was there.

   “A mistake?” Shizun echoed, the flutter of his fan coming to a halt.

   “It was not this disciple’s intention to create such an error,” he continued, unsure of what Shizun wanted him to say. Perhaps he would just be kicked off the mountain. Perhaps it didn’t matter what he said. “Nor for it to spread across the sect. It was a slip-up.”

   “One must be careful with their words and know when to hold their tongue,” Shizun said. “It is when one is hasty that they make grave errors. Does Disciple Ming see himself as a good head disciple even when making such mistakes?”

   Ming Fan let out a shaky breath, watching ripples form in his Baozhong tea. “No, Shizun,” he said, voice breaking. “This disciple does not deserve his position.”

   Before Shizun could respond to his pitiful display, there was a loud bang and crack as the front door was kicked in. “Shen Qingqiu!” the sonorous roar of Liu Qingge’s voice echoed through the peak. “You have a son?!”

   “You utter brute,” Shizun hissed, the slightest shift in his voice that always occurred when he spoke with the fool that was his junior brother. Ming Fan looked up automatically, turning to see Liu Qingge standing in the doorway.

   The war god stared back, brows furrowing into a harsh crease that ruined the delicate beauty of his features. Realizing why, Ming Fan rushed to wipe away the scandalizing tears on his cheeks, wincing when he touched the bruise on his cheek from Zhu Zhangwei’s slap. He bowed slightly in greeting, trying to not seem so unprofessional in appearance.

   “What did you do to him?” Liu Qingge asked. “Did you hit him?”

   “How dare you?” Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrowed in response, a blazing fury burning in them. “Does the great War God of Bai Zhan truly listen to such preposterous gossip?”

   “I knew you’d sire a bastard eventually,” Liu Qingge stated nonchalantly, causing Shen Qingqiu to almost let out a guffaw at his complete insanity. “What with your lecherous habits. Who knew you already had. I should have expected you to be as cruel a father as you are a man.”

   “He is not my son,” Shen Qingqiu growled, startling Ming Fan with how angry he sounded. This was all his fault. Gods, he was as good as dead for his mistakes. “And you are a complete idiot with nothing going on in your head. I wouldn’t be surprised if when I hit your skull, it makes a hollow sound.”

   “You expect me to believe you?” Liu Qingge asked. “I should have known based on how much you act alike. He even looks like you.”

   …

   What the hell? No he doesn’t. Ming Fan couldn’t possibly compare to Shizun’s handsomeness and grace. Truly, Liu-shishu was soft in the head.

   “Liu-shishu,” Ming Fan said. “This one truly isn’t Shizun’s son. It was a mistake.”

   Liu Qingge’s face softened when he looked at Ming Fan before hardening again when he addressed Shen Qingqiu. “Is that why you were hitting him?” he asked. “To threaten him to retract his statement? Truly, I didn’t expect—”

   “Get out of my house!” Shen Qingqiu roared, causing Ming Fan to flinch. Was he hallucinating? Was this a dream? When had Shizun ever yelled at someone? He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of this whole situation.

   “I can’t let you—”

   “If you don’t leave, you insufferable beast, then I will–”

   “I lied!” Ming Fan yelled to break up the fight out of sheer desperation for this all to end. “I said he was my father because I wish Shizun was my father.”

   Liu Qingge’s defensive posture slackened as he simply blinked at Ming Fan. He let out a laugh that was mixed with a scoff. “Why would you ever want him to be your father?” he said, looking at Ming Fan as if he was insane. “Such a vile man would never be the desired parent of anyone.”

   “Isn’t it better than not having one at all?” Ming Fan replied, his mouth no longer connected to his brain. Truly, his entire mind was on fire. He could feel himself shutting down, entering that dark place he had promised to stay away from. “Or having one that you wish did not exist? There are far worse people in this world, Liu-shishu, than a cold man who wishes simply to do his job. If I were him and truly as cruel as you think him to be, then your head would long ago have been separated from its shoulders.”

   Ming Fan laughed out a harsh bark. “Does a pompous young master from a renowned family truly know what evil and scum are?” he asked, the sound of his heartbeat reverberating inside his skull. It was a hypocritical question, but it rang true nonetheless. The man knew nothing. “You fear someone slightly different when you know nothing about what should truly be feared. If you–”

   “Ming Fan,” a hand pressed down on his shoulder, halting his words. Shen Qingqiu’s delicate fingers dug into the meat of his shoulder. “Breathe.”

   Ming Fan did as he said, gulping up air like a fish out of water. His thoughts were bouncing off his skull, causing an ache that throbbed. Liu Qingge was staring at him oddly, an expression of some akin to horror on his face. Ming Fan almost laughed at it, but he was trying to pull himself back together and didn’t.

   “Liu-shidi,” the address was polite and the tone calm. “Leave my peak now and take your insipid thoughts with you.”

   Liu Qingge seemed to try and find something in Shen Qingqiu’s stony expression. When it seemed he wouldn’t find what he was searching for, he turned around and left, leaving the duo standing before the wreckage he had caused.

   “So Disciple Ming wishes this master were his father?” Shen Qingqiu broke the silence, removing his hand from Ming Fan’s shoulder.

   “This disciple hoped it would fix the gossip that he caused,” Ming Fan replied. “Shizun may do with this disciple as he pleases for his error.”

   “So Disciple Ming lied?” Shen Qingqiu asked. “Good. This master was beginning to question his disciple’s sanity. One would not call this master fatherly or warm. It would be foolish to seek such things from him.”

   “This disciple knows,” Ming Fan replied.

   “Well, since Disciple Ming attempted to fix his error, this master will be benevolent,” Shen Qingqiu said. “Go to the punishment hall and write The Treatise of Etiquette one hundred times while doing a handstand. Finish before sunset tomorrow.”

   “Yes, Shizun,” Ming Fan bowed, nearly wanting to collapse with relief.

Chapter Text

   A cramp spasmed through Ming Fan’s hand as he finished his fiftieth copy. He set down the brush for a moment, trying to stretch out his hand so the cramp would disappear. It caused the ache to grow more pronounced before disappearing completely so that he could pick up the brush again.

   “Why are you being punished?” Ming Fan ignored the question and continued writing. “Ming-shixiong.”

   “You aren’t allowed in the Qing Jing punishment hall, Zhu-shidi,” Ming Fan replied. Instead of leaving at that statement, Zhu Zhangwei approached him.

   “You were injured earlier and now you’re being punished,” Zhu Zhangwei stated the obvious. He was as slow in the head as his master. He looked the part of a warrior, the rough training of Bai Zhan building muscle on his broad form. He had sharply cut features and deep set eyes to accompany his grimacing mouth. “Why? Did Shen-shibo get mad? Is…is what you said true?”

   “You truly are just like your master,” Ming Fan replied without elaboration as he continued copying. Zhu Zhangwei sat down in front of him, picking up a part of his writing.

   “Is this how Shen-shibo punishes his disciples?” Zhu Zhangwei asked. “Shifu just beats us and is done with it. This seems more cruel.”

   “Why are you here, Zhu-shidi?” Ming Fan asked in turn.

   “Do you like it here?” Zhu Zhangwei set the paper back down. “Do you like being the head disciple of Qing Jing?”

   “What kind of question is that?”

   “You just…” Zhu Zhangwei let out a sigh. “You never seem very happy. Qin-shijie thinks it’s just the set of your features, but I think you’re…sad. Have you been searching for his favour all this time?”

   “His favour isn’t something I should expect,” Ming Fan replied. “He’s not my father, Zhu-shidi. Drop it before you get me kicked out of the sect.”

   “Would he really kick you out for such a thing?” Zhu Zhangwei asked. “Why do you defend him so much? What is so great about Shen-shibo that he has your undying devotion? It seems you would even let yourself die for him.”

   “What is so special about Liu-shishu and your martial brothers that you only defend them and not others?” Ming Fan countered. “They are all vapid fools that only care about picking on others for the sake of winning unfair fights. Do you really see something glorious to praise in those around you? Is the man who constantly disrespects his shixiong the one you strive to be like? Would you slander those around you with no basis of truth? I see nothing good in those you defend so what do you expect me to say? ‘You’re right, Zhu-shidi, my Shizun is such a horrid man based on made up rumours not based in reality. You’re my saviour.’ Would it make you feel good and righteous? Just tell me what I have to say to make you leave.”

   “I don’t understand you!” he yelled. “You make no sense, Ming-shixiong. Who cares what I want you to say?”

   “You do,” Ming Fan replied. “Until I ‘see the light’ and abandon my Shizun like you wish for me, you will continue to pester me like a buzzing fly. Go back to your peak and roll in the dirt with the other brutes like you. I have a punishment to complete.”

   “Is this really the relationship you want between us?” Zhu Zhangwei asked, rising to his feet to tower over Ming Fan’s upside-down form.

   “Do I have a choice?” Ming Fan asked. “I refuse to change my opinion of my Shizun. Leave my peak before I call for Hallmaster Kou.”

   Zhu Zhangwei’s grimace deepened. “You’re such a fool,” he said. “He’ll never love you, Ming-shixiong. Your desire to gain his admiration will be fruitless.”

   “I don’t need love or admiration,” Ming Fan replied. “I’m repaying a debt.”

~*~

   “Shit!” Xue Zhen shouted as she skidded across the dirt. She landed hard on her shoulder with a yelp.

   “A-Zhen!” Ru Guiren shouted, running over to her.

   “Da-shixiong, what the hell?” Xue Zhen cried, tears streaming down her face.

   “A-ah my apologies, Xue-shimei,” Ming Fan said. “I was distracted.”

   “I think you broke my shoulder,” she heaved out, face twisted in an obvious expression of rage and hurt. “Being distracted doesn’t do that!”

   “I truly didn’t mean to–”

   “Is it because we got you in trouble with Shifu?” Ru Guiren asked. “Are you taking it out on us?”

   “You’re the one who said it, it’s not our fault,” Xue Zhen said, cradling her arm as Ru Guiren supported her. “You’ve been pushing us like crazy all week!”

   “It wasn’t my intention–”

   “Why can’t you be like the other head disciples?” Mo Yingjie said. “I heard Liu-shijie takes her juniors on fun trips and is always nice and smiling.”

   “She wears a veil—”

   “You can see it in her eyes!” he yelled.

   “And Qin-shijie individually grades and corrects her juniors nicely and teaches each one at a time on how to improve,” Ru Guiren added. “She’s patient and kind.”

   “Li-shijie takes the brunt of the hard work from her juniors and takes all the hardest transport missions. She also orders them all small things as gifts when she goes out on trades,” Rong Rulan said.

   “Bao-shijie cooks special things for her juniors and on holidays she makes them all their favourite dishes,” Xue Zhen stated.

   “All you ever do is run us into the ground!” Mo Yingjie yelled. “Unlike you, we’re human beings!”

   Ming Fan wanted to respond, but his mouth wouldn’t open. He felt oddly mute staring down at them. When he stepped closer, they flinched, Xue Zhen shifting further into Ru Guiren’s hold despite the strain it put on her injured shoulder. He almost wanted to laugh. Did…did she think he would hurt her more intentionally?

   “Don’t be mean to Da-shixiong, guys,” Ning Yingying said. “It’s not his fault—”

   “It’s not his fault he’s his father’s son,” Xue Zhen spat and Ming Fan’s brain went blank.

   A numbness spread through his fingers, climbing up his limbs. He stared blindly out at them, seeing someone else far more terrifying.

   “Ming-san-gongzi resembles his fuqin so much.”

   “He’s the spitting image of his fuqin. Hopefully his character will be just as similar.”

   “It’s so unfortunate he didn’t get Master Ming’s eyes. Back in the day, that was what everyone gushed about.”

   “Monster.”

   “Why do you look like him?”

   “Why do you wear his face?”

   “Da…Da-shixiong,” Ning Yingying tugged on the sleeve of his robe. He looked down at her, studying the widening of her eyes and the dilation of her pupils. He pulled her hand off his robe and turned to leave.

   No one bothered to follow.

   He crouched down in a clearing somewhere in the bamboo forest, staring at his face in the pond. He was no longer that much of a child. As he moved further along in years, his face continued to resemble his father’s more and more. It caused an itching under his skin, a desire to rip his face off. Looking at himself, at the curve of his brows and the slope of his nose, he didn’t see the person he was.

   “I heard Liu-shijie takes her juniors on fun trips and is always nice and smiling.”

   Ming Fan tried it, tried to make his lips curve up into a grin, tried to crinkle his eyes. Instead of looking amiable though, it felt wrong. Fake. He could never get it to look right no matter how many times he tried. He smacked the water to get rid of the view of his horrid expression and pressed his face into his knees.

   “Just like your Fuqin. No matter how hard you try, you’re just like your Fuqin.”

   He dug his nails into his scalp, pressing his palms over his ears. He scraped hard enough that he probably drew blood. He pressed his face harder into his knees, letting them dig into his eye sockets to bring starbursts of pain.

   A hand wrenched him from his curled up position, startling him back into awareness.

   “What is Disciple Ming doing behaving so self-destructively?” Shizun’s voice filtered into his ears. He looked up to see the man standing over him, his hand around Ming Fan’s wrist like a vice.

   Ming Fan stared at him, unsure of how to respond. He had no excuse and he was too tired to make up one. “How do you prevent yourself from becoming a monster?” he asked. Something shifted behind Shizun’s eyes as he released Ming Fan’s wrist.

   “You can’t,” he replied. “If one is meant to be a beast, then they will be. If one is meant to be scum then no matter how much they try to clean themselves, the truth will remain. Is Disciple Ming a monster?”

   “Shizun knows the answer,” Ming Fan said, laying in the grass. The canopy of leaves was beautiful, reflecting the summer sun in a kaleidoscope of colours.

   “Does this master really?” Shizun tilted his head slightly, hiding behind his fan. “Perhaps Disciple Ming should explain the reason for his sudden discovery.”

   “This disciple injured Xue-shimei on accident,” Ming Fan said, knowing that Shizun would punish him. Even with how much he detested everyone, he still favoured Ming Fan’s shimei over any other disciples. “This one’s juniors enlightened him in response.”

   “Words said in anger and in pain often serve the purpose of inflicting just as much pain on someone else,” Shizun stated. “Perhaps Disciple Ming should take some time to meditate on it. Go into closed cultivation for a week. That will allow Disciple Ming to return before the next monthly meeting. Disciple Ru can take over head disciple duties until Disciple Ming returns.”

   Ah. A test run to be replaced. He expected it eventually, just not yet.

   “Yes, Shizun,” Ming Fan whispered.

Chapter Text

   “Honestly, those cultivators and their disciples are such fools,” Shen Qingqiu swirled his tea, taking a sip and savouring the sweet flavour on his tongue. “To believe something so inconceivable.”

   “It truly does seem that Jiu-er’s martial brothers and sisters are quite foolish,” Wang Liu chuckled.

   “But…the boy,” Bao Yanlin said hesitantly, her fingers carding through Shen Qingqiu’s hair to massage his scalp. “Is he the one you brought once? After a mission?”

   “My head disciple,” Shen Qingqiu replied, letting his eyes flutter shut. “I found him that day.”

   “Is he alright?” she asked, pausing in her ministrations. “He seemed so…delicate.”

   Shen Qingqiu snorted. “Him? Delicate?” he laughed. “Meimei truly sees the best in others.”

   “Don’t tease me, Jiu-ge,” she swatted at him lightly. “I’m serious.”

   “The boy has a low amount of empathy,” he said. “The blood of a beast runs through him. He probably sees it as nothing more than a nuisance. I gave him time to recuperate since he was obviously overworking himself, but he does not seem particularly affected.”

   “But what if he’s actually affected?” she asked, always so softhearted. “He’s a boy, isn’t he? Just a child?”

   “Age means nothing,” Shen Qingqiu replied. “A monster is a monster at any age.”

   “And he’s a monster?” Wang Liu asked.

   “His father was,” Shen Qingqiu sighed. “And he believes himself to be one. Inevitably that is what he’ll become.”

   “Are you speaking from experience?” Wang Liu asked softly, placing a hand on his knee. Her eyes burned into him. “Jiu-er, you’re not—”

   “You don’t know what I’ve done,” Shen Qingqiu replied. “You don’t know what I am. This is all you see of me, this little piece of weakness that remains in me. Do not presume to—”

   “I know who you were before,” she pulled him into her embrace, carding her fingers through his loose hair. “You were not born a monster. You are not a cruel man. If you believe such things, haven’t your tormentors won? Haven’t they accomplished exactly what they desired to by ruining you with these thoughts?”

   “It’s almost sad…” Shen Qingqiu laughed, breathing in the incense that permeated the room. “The boy said he wished I was his father. He retracted the statement, said it was a lie, but I know it wasn’t. The child is so desperate for love that he wants it from me and all I can do is turn him away with nothing. Won’t that make him bitter? Won’t I just let him become just like me? The others already say he is.”

   “Perhaps there is a kinship between you,” JuJu stated, sitting down with a plate of snacks to set on the nearby table. “Would it be so bad to create bond with a disciple beside Yingying?”

   “He’ll grow into a man,” Shen Qingqiu spat. “He already nearly resembles one. When he does, he'll probably come for me. A cruel teacher does nothing but create cruel students. He will learn to resent me.”

   “Well, it seems he is quite a bit like you,” she popped a jelly into her mouth. “Could he really be so bad?”

   “If he is like me, he’d be better off dying now than growing into a bitter and horrid man,” Shen Qingqiu replied.

   “Don’t say that, JiuJiu!” A-Hui squished his face between her palms, face scrunched up with fury. “JiuJiu musn’t disparage himself in this jiejie’s presence!”

   He couldn’t help but laugh at her, pulling her hands away from his face. “Of course, Hui-jie,” he said softly to placate her. “I suppose if any good has come out of this little scandal, it’s that the brute has been leaving me alone.”

   “Aish, such good looks are wasted on such a stupid man,” Bao Yanlin stated. “Jiu-ge is truly the most handsome, brains and all.”

Chapter Text

   Ming Fan was honestly surprised when Shizun asked him to accompany him to the peak lord meeting. He had been so sure that Shizun was replacing him for good with Ru-shidi. Perhaps…perhaps Shizun was giving him a final chance. Based on the glares from his older shidi and shimei and the timid looks of the youngest, he was still disliked. Would Shizun really keep him in this position when everyone hates him? Maybe…maybe that was part of proving he deserves the position. Maybe he had to make them like him to prove to Shizun that he’ll be a good head disciple.

   After all, what was he if he wasn’t the head disciple of Qing Jing? Sure, he knows someone better will take the position eventually and he’ll fade away into nothing, but he doesn’t want to lose it just yet. He just gained it.

   He can do it, can’t he?

   “Disciple Ming,” Shizun called out to him.

   “Ah, yes, Shizun?” he asked back, startled out of his thoughts.

   Shizun stared at him for a few moments, his blank face revealing none of his thoughts as he fluttered his fan. “Disciple Ming should make sure to conduct himself appropriately at his meeting,” he finally said.

   “Yes, Shizun,” so he was right. This was all a test. Did…did Shizun expect him to fail? Why wouldn’t he? “This disciple will follow Shizun’s advice.”

   Shizun let out a hum before continuing on his way to the meeting hall. Ming Fan stood there watching his back retreat for a few moments before he followed the opposite path to the flowering pavilion that rested in the center of Qiong Ding. It was the meeting place arranged for the head disciples to conduct their mock meetings as if they would all one day be succeeding disciples and then peak lords. As he approached the pavilion, he tried his best to put a smile on his face.

   He’d been practicing all week.

   “Ming-shixiong, you’re alive,” Bao Guiying of Zui Xian called out when she spotted him. She had a youtiao stuffed in her mouth causing her to look more like a squirrel than a person. “I thought you died!”

   “It was such a shock to see Ru-shidi come instead of you to deliver Shen-shibo’s supply order,” Li Hai added with a laugh. She wouldn’t make eye contact with him, face tilted down to focus on her fingertips as they pulled on the blue-grey fabric of her sleeves. “You disappeared off the face of the earth. Ru-shidi wouldn’t even say what happened.”

   “Is Ming-shidi alright?” Qin Huizhen asked as Ming Fan took his seat on her right. She gave him an odd expression, face scrunched almost in…disgust.

   The smile failed. He still couldn’t do it properly.

   “This one is fine,” he replied, trying to let the fake grin naturally fall from his face. “Shizun asked this one to enter secluded cultivation for a week.”

   “Is Ming-shixiong near a breakthrough?” Du Cheng asked. He…seemed to not remember when Ming Fan ran away from him. He had his usual soft smile that seemed to melt the rest of his features like wax into a gooey mess of geniality.  “This one doesn’t remember Ming-shixiong having any breakthroughs before.”

   That caused Zheng Zhihao to snicker into his hand, turning to whisper to Du Cheng. Ming Fan watched it all feeling oddly detached to the situation.

   “It’s not like he was chosen for his cultivation. Shen-shibo was desperate to have a head disciple with a pulse and he even may have failed to acquire that.”

   “Zheng-shidi!” Du Cheng hissed, placing a hand over his mouth. Ming Fan just continued staring straight ahead.

   “Are you…really alright?” Zhu Zhangwei asked, a furrow to his brows. Concern or whatever it was was not a good expression on him. It twisted his features ugily. “Shen-shibo punished you really hard and then you were sent into seclusion. Did he…hurt you?”

   “This one’s Shizun would never harm him,” Ming Fan replied. “Zhu-shidi should stop suggesting such a thing. If he brings up such a notion again, this one will be less civil.”

   “He’s just worried about you for some odd reason,” Hua Juan said, not looking up from where she was fiddling with an array. “No need to be rude, Ming-shixiong.”

   “Shen-shibo surely wouldn’t harm his disciples, though,” Liu Mingyan stated. Unlike her elder brother, she seemed to not be nearly as hostile towards Shen Qingqiu. Ming Fan sometimes thought he saw her looking at him with a dreamy look in her eyes. "Especially not Ming-shixiong."

   "I think the opposite," Zheng Zhihao replied. "If the bastard you never wanted, that you threw in the trash, showed up one day, you'd probably beat them close to death. A perfect punching bag."

   "Shen-shibo made Ming-shixiong his head disciple, though," Wen Min said.

   "Probably because Ming-shixiong is a loyal dog," Zheng Zhihao stated. "After all, he wants to prove himself to his dear, illustrious a-die, even if the man is really a rotting sack of trash."

   "Perhaps that's why Ming-shixiong is so weird," he laughed. "Trash and scum runs through his veins. It's honestly disgusting that he pretended to be some young master. Say, Ming-shixiong, is your mother one of the Warm Red Pavilion whores? That would make you cursed on both sides. Too bad you didn’t get her good looks or you’d be able to make a living there when Shen-shibo finally kicks you out.”

   “Zheng-shidi!” Qin Huizhen yelled, rising to her feet. “He is–”

   “He has been pretending to be one of us this whole time!” Zheng Zhihao shouted back. “When he is really nothing but the bastard son of a common whore!”

   “Zheng-shidi—”

   “You can’t really—”

   “It’s kind of sad, really,” Zheng Zhihao grinned. “You’re so obsessed with imitating filth. You slowly become just like him and yet that makes you worse than a dirty street rat. A monster pretending to be noble is far worse than your true, disgusting nature.”

   “There’s not a trace of your mother in you. You’ve been made entirely in my image if only for those disgusting eyes.”

   “I even heard that Shen-shibo used to dabble in demonic cultivation,” Zheng Zhihao said. “That's why his cultivation is so bad. Perhaps dear Ming-shixiong has been following the same path.”

   “You’ll be just like me, inheriting my legacy. It’s the reason I made you. Your brothers are too much like their mother to truly be of use, but you are perfect. You’re just like me.”

   “He’s just as weak as his father—”

   “The best way to grow strong is to take from others, A’Fan. Suck them dry until there’s nothing left. The feeling is glorious as you watch their light flicker out.”

   “Ming-shixiong, stop!” there were arms around his waist and the sounds of screams.

   Monster.

   You share his face. You bear his blood.

   Why sheath your claws and pretend when you’ll always be a beast?

   “Ming Fan!” he stared down at Zheng Zhihao, his eyes blown wide in terror, face bruised and bloody. The pulsing of spiritual energy at his fingertips caused an ache in his bones. He prepared to strike, to stop the boy’s breath, an empty hole in his chest aching to be filled.

   “Ming-shixiong!” they were far too weak to pull him away. As he stared down at the terror in his martial brother’s eyes, he saw his reflection in his pupils. It brought a grin to his lips, stretching his cheeks taut.

   Just like your Fuqin.

   A hand wrapped around his wrist, yanking him back effortlessly. When a foot replaced the hand, crushing his wrist into the floor, he didn’t even scream. He simply stared up at his Shizun feeling oddly tired.

   “What the hell was that?” he could hear Liu-shishu yelling, but it felt far away. He laid there on the cool ground, a numbness spreading over his body. His restraint was gone so he started to laugh.

   “Shit,” a hand was pressed to his forehead. “Ming Fan!”

   “Ming-san-gongzi is just like his fuqin! He’ll never be anything but just like his fuqin!” he shrieked in response.

   “Mu-shidi–”

   “He wears his fuqin’s face, he has his fuqin’s blood. A monster hiding in human skin,” he giggled, a gurgling sound coming out of his throat.

   “Ming Fan,” hands cupped his face. “You’re not–”

   “A walking corpse that should’ve died with his fuqin,” Ming Fan grinned, blood seeping through gaps between his teeth. “What use is there to try and tame a beast? Demons should be killed on sight.”

   “He’s not going to calm down,” a voice filtered in.

   “What do we do?”

   “I have to sedate him,” Ming Fan processed those words and twisted away from the hand that reached out to touch his forehead. He bit the ankle on his wrist, letting out a pulse of qi to try and push them away. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted away.

   “Ming Fan!” his Shizun called after him, but he didn’t listen. He only kept running.

~*~

   “What kind of thing did you bring into our sect, Shen Qingqiu?” Liu Qingge grabbed Shen Qingqiu by the front of his robes. “What the hell is he?”

   “A human,” Shen Qingqiu replied, removing Liu Qingge’s hand. “It’s not his fault, really, that he is the child of a monster. It’s not his fault that people continued to speak of rumours of his parentage until he finally broke down. Didn’t I tell you all to squash those insipid rumours before someone was hurt?”

   “We thought—”

   “He is not my son!” Shen Qingqiu yelled. “He is a child who was abused and mistreated by his shitstain of a father and you decided it would be fun to tell him over and over how much he is like his sire! The boy already thinks he is just like his father and you all have made it infinitely worse.”

   “Who is his father then?” Liu Qingge asked.

   “Ming Jiahao,” Shen Qingqiu spat. “You’d think the illustrious young master of the Liu family would know as much.”

   “That entire family is dead,” Liu Qingge stated.

   “Apparently not,” Shen Qingqiu snarled. “Get away from me. I’m going after my disciple.”

   “You willingly took in the child of a demonic cultivator?” Liu Qingge asked, grabbing him by the wrist. “And now that he’s shown himself to be just like his father, you still want him? Shen Qingqiu–”

   “He’s not his father,” Shen Qingqiu smacked Liu Qingge’s hand with his fan, causing the man to recoil. “He was qi deviating. Focus on Gao-shimei’s little brat if you wish. I’m going after my disciple.”

   “Ah, Xiao Jiu—” Yue Qingyuan began only to be met with a venomous glare. “Shen-shidi, that sounds far too dangerous. I can accompany—”

   “Zhangmen-shixiong has little faith in this master if he thinks he’ll be overcome by a child who may be an amateur demonic cultivator at best and an untrained righteous disciple at worst,” Shen Qingqiu scoffed. “This master has no desire to take aid from such unfaithful martial siblings. If you all truly gave a shit, this would have never happened.”

   Shen Qingqiu wanted to laugh at the surprised and offended expressions that painted their faces. He ignored the hurt and unease lining Yue Qingyuan’s fading smile.

   “What do you mean?” Liu Qingge shouted. “You’re the one who–”

   “When did you ever even try to understand me, Liu-shidi?” Shen Qingqiu hissed. “Do not act as if I am to blame for everything when you have done nothing to try to compromise. I am sick of you making me the root of all evil in our sect. All of you are fools.”

~*~

   Ming Fan collapsed after running for who knows how long. His thoughts felt stunted, everything moving strangely in a blurry daze around him. It almost overtook the overwhelming ache blooming from his chest and exploding from his throat. He threw up a mix of bile and blood on the street corner, staring up at the sky with heavy breaths rattling his lungs. He couldn’t help but stare up at the dead man hovering over him, face a reflection of his own.

   “You should have died when I wanted it,” he said, cupping Ming Fan’s face. The touch burned. “Instead you survived in my place.”

   Ming Fan laughed. “You would’ve died regardless,” he replied. “Monsters are meant to be killed.”

   “Then why do you cling to life?” he asked, nails digging harshly into Ming Fan’s cheek.

   “Ah, Xiao Xiansheng, are you alright?” smaller hands prodded at his face, obviously from a youth. “A’niang, he’s not moving!”

   “Oh my,” a warm palm pressed against his forehead accompanied by a voice that was just as warm. “Don’t worry. Binghe, go find Lao Ji. Tell him there is an injured cultivator.”

   “Yes, A’niang,” the boy shouted, running off with the sound of hurried footsteps.

   “It’ll be alright, young man,” the woman told him. “You’ll be fine.”

Chapter Text

   The smell of freshly cooked congee wafted through the room as Ming Fan stirred into awareness. He was oddly warm and comfortable laying on a bed roll in a tiny room he did not recognize. He blinked, trying to remember where he was and how he got there. His brain came up entirely blank.

   "The gongzi is finally awake," the voice that spoke was gravelly with age. Ming Fan turned his head slightly to look up at a withered old man who grabbed his wrist, checking his pulse. "You gave Lady Luo quite a scare, laying half dead in the street. How did gongzi end up there?"

   "Qi deviation…" he guessed. "May this one inquire who Xiansheng is?"

   "This old man would barely count himself as a cultivator, boy," the man sniffed, stroking his white beard. He truly did not look like a powerful cultivator based on his advanced age showing in his appearance. Even so, his ability to manipulate and use qi pointed to him having some cultivation training. "Just someone who dabbles in healing. You're lucky your meridians are quite strong and your foundation is stable or you'd probably be dead right now. I'd suggest not using qi until you get looked at by a proper healer."

   "Lao Ji, is he awake?" A boy peaked in from the doorway, face shadowed by the mess of curls he called hair. His wide eyed gaze settled on Ming Fan and he broke into a wide grin. "Xiao xiansheng is alive!"

   "Who–"

   "Binghe, don't be too hyper," a woman grabbed the boy's shoulder to prevent him from sprinting into the room. "He's recovering."

   "Sorry, A'niang," the boy pouted, puffing out his round cheeks. He was probably ten or twelve years old based on size. Shouldn't he be too old to be acting this way? When Ming Fan was that age he–

   "Now, gongzi, what happened?" She asked, stepping slowly in the room to take a seat near the bed roll he was laying on. Studying her closely, he could see the wear of time on her face meaning that she must be mortal. Even so, there was a natural beauty in the proportions and shapes of her features. Her eyes were soft but her round face was marred by hollowed cheeks from starvation. Worn robes and calloused fingers pointed to her being in the lower class. "You seemed to be quite distressed."

   "There is nothing for Luo Furen to worry about," he replied.

   "This one is no Furen," she smiled.

   "My apologies, Luo Xiaojie," he corrected. "This one is grateful for the aid Luo Xiaojie and Ji-Xiansheng have provided."

   "Just call me Lao Ji," the man said. "You're too formal for a little kid. It's weird."

   "This…this one isn't a small child," Ming Fan stated.

   The healer looked at him like he was rather stupid. It was almost offensive. He clicked his tongue in distaste. “This is why I hate those damn sects,” he grumbled. “Making children into soldiers to advance their glory just to let them die in the dirt with no real meaning or reason to the loss. It’s disgusting. You’re proof enough based on how you showed up on the street half dead.”

   “I don’t–”

   “Have you looked in the mirror?” he poked Ming Fan between the brows, startling him at the audacity.

   “I don’t particularly like mirrors,” he replied.

   “You’re nothing but a scrawny little kid with no meat on his bones. One could mistake you for a beggar on the street rather than a gongzi or disciple,” Lao Ji snorted. “Whatever distorted view you have of yourself as a big strong cultivator is false. You’ve been pushed past a point you didn’t deserve and snapped. Do you plan to return to your sect after I fix you up?”

   Ming Fan…did not know. Fragments of what happened flashed through his mind, enough to fill him with an overbearing amount of dread. He failed to show them that he wasn’t…wasn’t…

   “This one cannot return to his sect,” he whispered.

   “So they threw you out?” Lao Ji asked. “What? Were you no longer useful to them?”

   "I…made a grave mistake," Ming Fan replied. "I am not fit to be a cultivator."

   Lao Ji let out a snort at that response. "Perhaps you are not fit for it because you are merely a young boy," he stated, putting a cup of some dark liquid into Ming Fan’s hands. "Children are not prepared for such things as cultivator work. Instead of being given a chance to slowly grow and acclimate, many sects simply throw them into the fire unprepared. The amount of injured and dying children I've come across in my travels is barbaric. How old even are you, boy?"

   "Fourteen," Ming Fan replied, taking a sip of the liquid which turned out to be some medicinal concoction. "I'm not a child."

   "You have your work cut out for you with this one, Lady Luo," Lao Ji said to the woman. "I'll try and mend him as best I can, but I doubt he'll even listen."

   "You're fourteen?" The boy asked. "How long have you been cultivating for?"

   "I arrived at Cang Qiong when I was ten," Ming Fan stated.

   "That means I'm old enough to cultivate," the boy grinned. "What was it like up there? Who was your master? How strong were they?"

   "Binghe, settle down," the woman said, brushing a hand through his curls to calm the hyper energy coursing through him.

   "It is like any cultivation sect would be," Ming Fan replied. "You do chores, practice cultivation, go on nighthunts, and study the four arts. Shizun was very powerful as the second in command. He was a great tactician and gifted in the four arts."

   "What about fighting?" The boy asked. "I heard the War God of Bai Zhan is super strong. Have you met him?"

   Ming Fan restrained the desire to roll his eyes. "Physical strength is not everything," he replied. "It is better to resolve a conflict with words than with fists. Liu-shishu greatly lacked such an ability."

   "You're definitely from Qing Jing," Lao Ji stated, stroking his beard. “Although, it seems you truly do have no desire to return. You speak of your master in past tense. It’s better than you deciding to return. I would have refused to heal you if you decided to go back to such a place.”

   “I don’t appreciate you acting as if my Shizun is some horrible master,” Ming Fan replied. “Cang Qiong is not a bad sect–”

   “Your body is barely functioning so I would refrain from trying to defend that place,” Lao Ji flicked him between the brows. “You’re sleep deprived, your qi reserves are depleted, and you are obviously malnourished. You are not at an age to be practicing inedia or to be going without sleep, especially with the past scarring in your spiritual veins.”

   “Moments ago you said my veins and my foundation were strong,” Ming Fan said.

   “They are and yet they aren’t,” he replied in the most vague way possible. “You obviously had major damage done to your meridians and diantian before. Your qi moves freely, but there are echoes of injuries all over your body. I won’t even mention what that suggests happened to you.”

   “I am fine,” Ming Fan stated. “Do whatever you must and then I will leave.”

   “But Xiao Xiansheng isn’t returning to his sect,” Binghe said. “He doesn’t have to leave, right, A’niang?”

   The woman hesitated and Ming Fan knew instantly that she was trying not to disappoint her son. She was part of the working class, obviously not able to afford another mouth to feed for very long. That was exactly why he had to leave on his own. It wasn’t like he was going to worry long about where to go. He just needed to get out of here.

   Monsters should be eradicated.

   “This one plans to travel,” he said before she could answer. “This one won’t impose too long.”

   “Well, this old man will be the judge of how long you stay,” Lao Ji stated, something knowing in his eyes. It made Ming Fan stiffen. Could the man see him? Could he see the creature hiding behind his facade? “Rest for now. I’ll visit to monitor you daily. The only cultivation you should be doing is meditation to resettle your meridians.”

   He stood, joints popping as he did so. “You’re lucky I am so generous,” he sighed.

   In response, Ming Fan slipped off his outermost robes and removed his hair crown, tying his hair up with a simple ribbon. Mo Ying was placed next to his bedroll and he grabbed it, pulling the blade out of the sheath for a moment to look at it one last time, letting his fingers trace the engravings on the hilt. After resheathing his sword, he held the items up to the healer. “Is this enough?” he asked. “You should be able to sell them for quite a few taels.”

   “Do you really want to give me your sword?” Lao Ji raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that bonded to your soul?”

   “This one won’t be needing it anymore,” Ming Fan replied. “It would be better to repay Ji-xiansheng’s kindness.”

   Lao Ji’s gaze bore into him, silent and steady. After a few moments, he reached out and took them from his hands. It was like an unspoken understanding to Ming Fan. The man could obviously tell what he was, could see how dangerous he was. He seemed to be in agreement of Ming Fan’s plan.

   “I’ll be back tomorrow,” Lao Ji stated. He gave a quick goodbye to the mother and son duo before he left.

   “Perhaps we should properly introduce ourselves,” the woman said. “This one is Luo Rui and my son is Luo Binghe. What is gongzi’s name?”

   “This one is Ming Fan,” he replied.

   “Well, Ming-gongzi,” she gave him a soft smile, holding out a bowl of congee to him. “How about you eat something? It will help you regain your strength.”

   He took it from her, dutifully taking a bite. It made her smile wider. The poor woman seemed far too kind for her own good. She was inviting calamity into her home which could endanger her and her young son. He’d ease her mind for now, let her believe that she was doing some good in the world. He might as well indulge her.

   He wouldn’t be around much longer anyway.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

   Luo Binghe couldn't help his excitement every time he saw the cultivator staying in their small home. He’d been staying in their home for four days now, not taking a step outside into town. He looked the part of a cultivator, in Binghe’s opinion, all elegant and refined even in simple robes without the extravagant jewelry and hairpieces that cultivators like to adorn. When they picked him up off the street, he had been adorned with all kinds of jewels and beautifully embroidered robes, but he gave them to Lao Ji or asked Lao Ji to sell them for him. The money he got, he gave to A’niang which meant he was a very good person.

   He was tall and willowy with a narrow face and sharp jaw that was in Lao Ji's opinion accentuated by lack of nutrition. He still had the muscle from what must've been years of hard training, but it was lean and elegant as well to fit the rest of him. Sometimes it was embarrassing, though, how much he towered over Binghe even though they were only around two or three years apart in age.

   He was doing sets in the small back courtyard of their home, moving fluidly from pose to pose. Luo Binghe tried his best to study the movements from his hiding place in hopes of being able to copy them later. Each movement caused a shift in Ming Fan’s muscles as they flexed and unflexed in succession, something that Luo Binghe tried not to stare at too much.

   "What is your point in watching me?" Ming Fan finally asked, causing Luo Binghe to startle and stumble into the open. The boy regarded him with a cool gaze, expression empty of emotion. "What do you want?"

   "I wish to be a cultivator like Xiao Xiansheng," Luo Binghe replied.

   "This one is named Ming Fan," he repeated, causing Luo Binghe’s face to flush. He kept reverting back to that informal address by accident. "If you wish to become a cultivator, enter the next disciple selection."

   "I'm not as talented as Ming-xiansheng," Luo Binghe said. "What if they don't accept me? What if I'm too dumb?"

   Ming Fan clicked his tongue. "What about you is dumb aside from your immaturity?" He asked.

   "I can't read or write," Luo Binghe replied. "The gongzis that A'niang washes clothes for call me stupid."

   "That's simple to fix," he stated. "Do you have any reading materials?"

   Luo Binghe’s eyes widened. "Will Ming-xiansheng teach me?" He asked.

   "It will be a way to repay Luo Xiaojie's hospitality," he replied. "Although, I'm not a xian–"

   Luo Binghe couldn't help it. He rushed forward and hugged Ming Fan, face squished into Ming Fan’s robes. "Thank you, Shizun!" He cried.

   "I'm not–"

   "Ming-xiansheng is teaching me, so he is my Shizun," Luo Binghe beamed. Ming Fan stared down at him, his expression as unreadable as always. It was a bit of a game for Luo Binghe to imagine what the boy was thinking.

   Right now, he'd like to imagine that Ming Fan was filled with happiness at the idea of being Luo Binghe’s Shizun, enough that he might stay. He could train Luo Binghe so that he wouldn't have to go to a sect and then they could go on nighthunts together and make a bunch of money for A'niang. Perhaps Ming Fan would start calling her A'niang too and then he'd start calling Luo Binghe didi and–

   "This one isn't your Shizun," Ming Fan said, extracting himself from Luo Binghe’s hold. "Simply someone repaying a debt. I don't let my debts go unpaid. Your mother saved my life so I owe her my loyalty."

   He picked up his outermost robe from where he set it in the dirt and slipped it on. It was a warm day and the sun beating on his back had caused him to remove it. "If you learn to read and write, you can do something more with yourself," he added. "You will be able to take care of her and give both of you a better life. That is why I am doing this for you."

   "Of course, Shizun," Luo Binghe replied with a grin. Ming Fan let out a sigh, walking into the house.

   "Where is Luo Xiaojie at this time?" Ming Fan asked.

   "A'niang is doing the laundry for Master Li," Luo Binghe replied. "I can take you to her."

   Luo Binghe grabbed his calloused hand and dragged him along before Ming Fan could even say another thing. He ran through the lively streets of town, the various venders taking time to look at Ming Fan. They must see how magnificent he is too, based on how closely they were studying him.

   “Luo Binghe, I really shouldn’t be out—” Ming Fan began.

   “You’re the little runt Cang Qiong is searching for,” Luo Binghe almost fell flat on his face from momentum when Ming Fan abruptly stopped moving behind him. He looked up to see a beefy man standing in front of them, a sword on his hip. Ming Fan let go of Luo Binghe’s hand, pushing him behind him.

   “This one doesn’t know what Xiansheng is talking about,” Ming Fan replied. “Could he explain–”

   “There’s a poster and bounty with your name on it,” the man threw a paper at Ming Fan’s face. Instead of hitting him, it simply floated to the dirt. Ming Fan looked down at it with an uninterested expression. “Who knew there was one of the Ming family still alive and kicking.”

   “Ah,” Ming Fan said. “So they really want me dead?”

   “Shizun—” Luo Binghe began, reaching out to grab Ming Fan’s sleeve.

   “Go to Luo Xiaojie,” he replied. “Now.”

   “But—”

   “Is that brat with you?” the man stepped forward, causing Ming Fan to stand up straighter to hide Luo Binghe more behind him. “Are you training him?”

   “He’s just a street rat who wanted some of my copper coins,” Ming Fan replied. “Besides, I don’t know anything to be a teacher. This one is merely a disciple—”

   “Sure you are,” the man snorted. “There wouldn’t be a bounty on your head if you didn’t know anything. I heard your family’s techniques were rather powerful.”

   “So Xiansheng is interested in forbidden arts? Perhaps he should be the one with a bounty,” Ming Fan replied.

   Whispers were beginning to fill the air as passersby stopped to watch the scene with rapt attention. Ming Fan lightly pushed Luo Binghe away again, prompting him to run. This time, Luo Binghe listened. He had to get help.

~*~

   “Will you stop following me around, brute?” Shen Qingqiu hissed, fluttering his fan against the sticky heat of the morning. “You’re only going to scare him away if we find him.”

   “I’m trying to help,” Liu Qingge replied. “I’m trying to make—”

   “You’re not helping,” Shen Qingqiu stated. “And you’re only trying to make amends so that you can feel better about yourself. You can’t feel all prideful and righteous until I forgive you, after all. Just go back to beating up your disciples and slaying monsters.”

   “Shen Qingqiu, will you let me—”

   “You called him a monster,” Shen Qingqiu said. “If you attack him, I’ll cut you down. He’s not a demonic cultivator. He’s not like his father.”

   “How do you know he’s even still in town?” Liu Qingge asked. “It’s been several days. He could be long gone by now.”

   “It seems the great tracker is not so great after all,” Shen Qingqiu stated derisively. “Ming Fan wouldn’t just run away. He’s a creature of habit and familiarity. He has to be somewhere in town.”

   “And yet your contacts haven’t seen him,” Liu Qingge replied. “The great tactician is not so great after all.”

   “You have the social intelligence of a five year old,” Shen Qingqiu said.

   “And you have the physical strength of one,” Liu Qingge sniped back, shocking an angry laugh out of Shen Qingqiu’s mouth.

   "Who knew Liu-shidi had the brain to make such remarks," he scoffed.

   "And you wonder why no one in the sect likes you," Liu Qingge grumbled, crossing his arms.

   "I thought Liu-shidi prefered directness and physical action," Shen Qingqiu said, raising an eyebrow. "Not petty, passive aggressive statements."

   "I'm trying to be on the same playing field as you," Liu Qingge replied. "All you do is fight back in petty, passive aggressive ways. I still don't understand why you like it. It doesn't bring a sense of victory to be rude and vague."

   Shen Qingqiu laughed at that and Liu Qingge let out a huff, face turning slightly red at the lack of response. "You know, if you were honest and straightforward, perhaps we wouldn't be having the problems we're having," he said.

   "Did anyone ever give me that chance before they made assumptions of my character?" Shen Qingqiu asked, rolling his eyes. "Honestly–"

   "I'm giving you a chance now!" Liu Qingge yelled. "I can tell by recent events that… something in our understanding of you is wrong. I'm sorry–"

   "I don't need an empty apology," Shen Qingqiu stated.

   "It's not empty–"

   "Pretty xianshengs!" The shout of a youthful voice broke them from their argument. The two turned to see a scrawny young boy running up to them. He was obviously from a lower social caste, his clothes dirty and threadbare. He took hold of Shen Qingqiu’s robe with grubby fingers, staining the silk with dirt. "Xiao Xiansheng is in danger! You have to help him!"

   Tears threatened to spill down the boy's round cheeks as he sniffled. Liu Qingge automatically stepped forward, crouching down to the boy's level. "Who's in danger?" He asked, a softness to his tone that was uncommon for him.

   "Shizun!" He shrieked as if it made any sense for a little street rat to have a teacher. "This man said that he had a bounty and Shizun told me to run to A'niang, but I can't let him–"

   "Where is he?" Shen Qingqiu asked.

   "The town square," he sniffed. "Xiansheng, he can't fight. He gave his sword to Lao Ji four days ago."

   "Ming Fan," Shen Qingqiu breathed. He turned to look at Liu Qingge. "Did you know about a bounty?"

   "No," Liu Qingge replied.

   They rushed forward, the boy struggling to keep up as they ran to the town square. As they approached, they could hear the sounds of screaming and panic which only worsened the jittering under Shen Qingqiu’s skin. Would Ming Fan be dead on the cobblestones? Would he be too late? Why did he even care? Ming Fan was just a stupid boy who would grow into a man that would then become a monster. Why should it matter if he lives or dies?

   Shen Qingqiu stopped in his tracks, staring at the scene they came upon. Liu Qingge stood beside him.

   "I thought you said he wasn't his father," Liu Qingge said. "That he wasn't a demonic cultivator."

   "He isn’t his father," Shen Qingqiu whispered, staring at Ming Fan’s back as he stood over his attacker. "I never said he wasn't trained."

   Shen Qingqiu said nothing more for a few moments, simply listening to the man on the ground as he screamed about not being able to feel his golden core.

Chapter Text

   There was a buzz under Ming Fan’s skin and his heart wouldn't stop racing as if it wanted to explode. The rush of qi into his system was dizzying and he nearly threw up right there in the street. The bloodloss wasn't helping either from where the cultivator had stabbed him through the chest. He stared down at the sword, some instinct telling him to pull it out. When he did, he watched with numbed fascination as his skin stitched itself back together.

   "Monster! What did you do to my core?" The man was writhing on the ground, curled in on his stomach as if that would protect what was already gone. Ming Fan hadn't taken his time like his father had with him. There were no pieces left to salvage.

   "Crawling on the ground like a worm won't help you," Ming Fan replied. "Nothing will bring it back."

   "It's a spirit!" Someone cried.

   "It's a demonic cultivator!"

   "It's Ming Jiahao!" The name rung in his head and he stiffened, turning towards them. "Look at him! It must be his resentful spirit back to kill us!"

   "Ming Fan!" Ming Fan turned to see Shizun standing in the street. Next to him was a very angry looking Liu Qingge and a wide eyed Luo Binghe.

   "Shizun, your eyes are glowing," Luo Binghe said, almost in awe.

   "Ming Fan, stand down," Shizun commanded, as if that would reverse the damage that had already been done. Ming Fan couldn't read his expression, couldn't tell if the man would cut him down at any moment.

   The glint of Cheng Luan as Liu Qingge slipped it out of its sheath was telling enough of their desired fate for him.

   "How dare you actively practice demonic cultivation." Liu Qingge said, but it sounded more like a question than a statement of rage. Ming Fan wanted to laugh at the question. Since when did the Bai Zhan War God not charge forward without a single thought?

   "Shizun of all people should know this isn’t actually demonic cultivation," Ming Fan replied, stepping away from the pitiful man on the ground. "He studied actual demonic cultivation after all. A technique does not have to be demonic to be misused."

   "Disciple Ming is right," Shizun said.

   "Does Shizun really still consider this one a disciple of his?" Ming Fan asked.

   "Disciple Ming had a qi deviation. He is not in his right mind," Shizun replied, waving his fan idly. He truly was the perfect image of a pure immortal master, everything Ming Fan wished he could achieve. That was never going to happen, though. He was too rotten to rise among his peers. Too broken to grow into a righteous man. The pieces of himself were too jagged to put together properly into an image of goodness. He did not fit within Cang Qiong. He did not fit beside his master.

   "This disciple was never in his right mind to begin with," he said. "Let this disciple go and you'll never see or hear from him again. It's a promise."

   Shizun stared at him and said nothing for a moment. “Ming Fan, stop this,” he finally stated. “You need to see a healer.”

   “Wasn’t Shizun the one who said a monster cannot be anything but a monster?” Ming Fan asked. “Why is he going back on his words? This one knows Shizun is never wrong.”

   “Disciple Ming is not a monster,” Shizun said forcibly, fan shaking in his hand.

   Ming Fan opened his mouth to speak but paused. He instead looked down at the blade piercing through his stomach from his back. Rivulets of blood dripped from the tip of the steel, falling to the earth with little splats. He turned his head, looking at some stranger’s fear-stricken face.

   “You shouldn’t have done that,” he stated, causing the man’s eyes to widen. “You should have gone for my throat instead.”

   The man stepped back, but Ming Fan grabbed hold of him first, twisting to yank the sword from his grip so he could face the man fully.

   “No…” the man cried before Ming Fan plunged his hand into his diantian, fingers grasping at the qi running through him. With that, he pulled hard, wrenching it free of his body and making the man scream. It seeped into his meridians, bringing another headrush with it as he pulled out the second sword he’d been stabbed with today. He couldn’t help the laugh that burbled up from his throat at this strange feeling. He felt alive, in a sense. When had he last felt like anything but half-dead? To think, it was so easy to regain that feeling he had lost.

   "One day you will notice there is an emptiness inside of you. A black hole you wish to fill," Fuqin said. "All you'll have to do is reach out and take. Why should they be whole when you are not? Why should they deserve it?"

   Ming Fan watched as Fuqin stepped towards the shaking man that laid tied up in their shed. He began to whimper and beg, tears spilling down his cheeks. Fuqin crouched down before him, cupping the man's face.

   "It's rather simple, Fan-er," he said, hand sliding down to the man's stomach. "You feel the strands of his qi and where it gathers. Then, you reach in and take."

   Fuqin’s hand thrust into the man's chest causing him to let out an ear piercing scream. Ming Fan covered his ears with his tiny hands, watching in horror as the man's youthful visage began to slip away and rot, the skin sagging and wrinkling as it seemed his very life force was stripped from him. He watched the minute wrinkles on his Fuqin’s face melt into nothing, the silver strands in his hair returning to raven black. Eventually, Fuqin pulled out his hand and the man's corpse fell to the floor with a dull thud, unseeing eyes facing Ming Fan.

   "It's all rather simple," Fuqin repeated, reaching out to pet Ming Fan’s hair with the hand that was just in the man’s chest. "You'll see."

   “One day you’ll do anything to fix your empty hunger and you'll become addicted to what it feels like to be full.”

   In a sense, Ming Fan was both better and worse than his Fuqin. He was not sucking out their entire lifeforce, just their qi. They could live on, feeling the torture of being mortal and trapped to a short and painful life. Wasn’t that both blessing and a curse? Death was mercy after all.

   The man collapsed, curling into himself as he sobbed and sobbed. Ming Fan stared blankly down at him, an odd fire under his skin.

   “Crying won’t fix what you’ve done and its consequences,” he stated. “If this is how you were going to react, you should not have tried stabbing me.”

   “What have you done?” Liu Qingge shouted. He tried to advance on Ming Fan, Cheng Luan at the ready, but Shizun held him back.

   “Don’t, Liu-shidi,” Shizun said. “You can’t get near him. If he touches you, you’re as good as useless.”

   “See, Shizun?” Ming Fan laughed. “Even you fear me."

   "Do you still want to bring him back to the sect?" Liu Qingge hissed, trying to push past Shizun. "Have you not seen what he just did? That shouldn't even be possible–"

   "Liu-shidi should not comment on family cultivation techniques when his own family has a special skill," Shizun replied. "Did we not just witness the same thing? Did you not just see those men stab my disciple? How would you have reacted to someone trying to kill you?"

   “You can’t be serious, Shen Qingqiu,” Liu Qingge said and once again they were at each other’s throats. “The technique he is using is dangerous and not of the righteous path. It’s only a matter of time before he does more than suck out qi. It doesn’t matter if—”

   “Who gives a damn about righteousness in the face of death?” Shen Qingqiu snarled, grabbing Liu Qingge by the lapels of his robes. It was the first time Ming Fan had truly seen him this emotional. How funny that it was over him. “Have you ever truly come close to death at any time in your pampered, sheltered life you idiotic little gongzi? You haven’t had to struggle a moment in your life or worry about the problems that face the common people. What right do you have to comment on self defense techniques? All you’ve ever done is pick on people weaker than you so that you could feel big and strong. Isn’t that why you target me, brute?”

   Liu Qingge’s face paled, his eyes going wide in a shocked, scandalized expression. “Shen—”

   “You act as if you are looking for the strongest opponent, but always settle for me,” Shen Qingqiu laughed. “You want to pretend to be righteous, to be someone who fights the strong and protects the weak, but you are by far the biggest hypocrite I have ever met. Don’t talk to me again after this. Our lives would be better with no words passed between us.”

   Shen Qingqiu pushed past Liu Qingge and approached Ming Fan, his ruffled state settling back down into a cool, complacent mask. “Ming Fan, you need to purge yourself of the qi you collected,” he stated. “Come with me to Qian Cao—”

   “You really do want me dead,” Ming Fan said. “You wish for me to give up the qi that is keeping me alive right now? At least let me die on my own terms, Shizun.”

   “Ming Fan, that qi will make you sick. It’s not yours—”

   “It is now,” Ming Fan replied.

   “You were supposed to help him, Xianshengs!” Luo Binghe yelled, running up to stand between Ming Fan and the two immortal masters.

   “Binghe!” Luo Rui cried out, held back by Lao Ji.

   Luo Binghe grabbed Ming Fan’s hand, squeezing it tight. “Let’s go, Shizun,” he said.

   “I’m not your Shizun, Luo Binghe,” Ming Fan replied, trying to pull his hand away. Luo Binghe held on even tighter, wrapping himself around Ming Fan’s arm.

   “You said you were going to leave when you recovered,” Luo Binghe stated. “Let’s go. You promised to teach me how to read, though, so you can’t leave without me.”

   “I’m not letting you leave,” Liu Qingge growled, lifting Cheng Luan as he shoved Shen Qingqiu away with enough qi that he was sent flying back into the dirt. The blade gleamed in the sunlight, shining directly into Ming Fan’s eyes.

   “You don’t want to do this, Liu-shishu,” Ming Fan said, pulling his arm away from Luo Binghe. “I have no desire to harm my former martial family.”

   “I don’t feel the same way,” Liu Qingge replied, charging forward as Shen Qingqiu rushed to catch up to him. Ming Fan let out a sigh as he tracked the qi pathways of his martial uncle.

   I’m sorry, Shizun.

   He thrust his palm out, hitting Liu Qingge in his lower diantian just as Cheng Luan sliced through his hair. The hit sent a shockwave through Liu Qingge’s meridians, aimed directly at a weak point that caused his qi flow to reverse. The man stumbled back, blood dripping from his nose as a haze grew in his eyes. The qi deviation would keep them all busy.

   Ming Fan ran.

~*~

   He didn’t know how long it was before he collapsed into the dirt, coughing up the blood pooling his throat. He heaved, gasping for air and clutching his chest.

   “You finally gave in,” Ming Fan stared at the bloodied boots in front of him. He looked up, gaze meeting his father’s.

   “Stop appearing before me,” Ming Fan croaked, still gasping. “You’re not even real.”

   “I could be,” he crouched down. “You’re close to death. That qi won’t sustain you for long. You took too many fatal wounds."

   "No," Ming Fan said.

   "Oh come now, Fan-er," he grabbed Ming Fan’s chin, startling him with how real his fingers felt. "You've made it this far. You can't reverse what you've done. If you truly wanted to let yourself die, you would've let the first man kill you. You wouldn't have given in to your nature."

   Ming Fan tried to pull away and only fell over fully onto the ground. "I don't want to be like you," he whispered.

   "I think it's too late for that, son."

Chapter Text

/

Chapter Text

   Shen Qingqiu was ready to go after Ming Fan. His hands were prepped to pull out Xiu Ya so that he could chase the boy down and bring him back. Nothing was more important than getting his head disciple back after all. Who else could fill the position without burning the peak to the ground? He needed to go after Ming Fan.

   That didn't explain why he was crossing blades with a rabid Liu Qingge instead.

   "Brute," he growled, pushing back against Liu Qingge’s oppressive strength. "Idiot!"

   The fool just growled at him like a rabid dog, lunging forward without the sharp grace that he usually exuded when he fought. His sure movements were sloppy and overdone with the amount of strength he was bearing down on Shen Qingqiu. It caused pain to shoot through his arms when he stopped a particularly powerful swing that left his heels digging into the dirt. Liu Qingge simply continued to growl and bare his teeth as blood began to drip from his eyes.

   How ironic that the brute would qi deviate from a slight upset to his meridians.

   “Liu Qingge!” Shen Qingqiu yelled, dodging a swing of Cheng Luan that sliced through the air hard enough to make a sound. It seemed there would be no appealing to him in any way. He was completely consumed by the qi deviation that was turning him into nothing but a feral dog.

   Shen Qingqiu subtly took a breath, pushing down any panic and letting the noise of the outside world fade away into quiet. He had to at least stall until someone could get here, if anyone was even noticing the permeating stink of riled qi.

   To be realistic, no one was probably noticing. Even if they were, they would probably assume it was his qi and that he would simply burn himself out and free them of the torment of having him around. 

   He needed to send a signal.

   Raising Xiu Ya in the air, he sent off a powerful burst of qi, the glow of it shooting up into the sky like a flare. He had just enough time to do this before Liu Qingge was attacking him once again.

   He swung hard with Cheng Luan, tearing through Shen Qingqiu’s robes even as the man dodged the hit. He then went for Shen Qingqiu’s legs, allowing Shen Qingqiu to step on Cheng Luan, catching it between the cobblestones and his foot. He disarmed Liu Qingge, only to be struck hard in the face with a right hook. It made a popping noise sound in his ears, the world spinning in blotches of black and flecks of light. He fell to the ground, twisting away before Liu Qingge could stomp down on his skull.

   He heaved out a breath, coughing up blood that had filled his mouth as he rose to his feet. The riled qi was getting worse and far too much blood was slipping down Liu Qingge’s face.

   He was going to die soon.

   Perhaps they both would. 

   Long before any help would even deign to arrive.

   Who would even care or listen to his distress signal anyway?

   The kick to his ribs was unexpected, sending a starburst of pain through his body that made it impossible to breath as he crashed into the side of a building. Onlookers screamed, jumping out of the way. Perhaps they feared that the brute would go after them once Shen Qingqiu was dead. Perhaps they were right.

   He had to do something now. He had to stop the qi deviation right now.

   Shen Qingqiu pushed away from the wall, tightening his grip on Xiu Ya. He was the weaker opponent. He had never beat Liu Qingge in a fight where he was playing fair and the brute didn’t give a shit about etiquette and honour in this state so it was even worse. There was no way for him to get the upper hand and beat him.

   “You better appreciate me for saving your life this time, you fool,” Shen Qingqiu laughed.

   He watched Liu Qingge pick up Cheng Luan and approach. Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes, using everything within himself to settle his qi.

   The blade sliding into his chest was a pain unimaginable to anything else he had felt before. It took the air from his lungs as Liu Qingge’s hand crushed his shoulder in tandem with the fatal sword wound. Shen Qingqiu smiled, placing his hands on Liu Qingge’s chest.

   He then released all of his qi.

   It tore out of his meridians in a tidal wave that felt like he was burning alive, searing his flesh down to the bone. Cheng Luan was twisted in his chest, creating a deep, irreparable hole. Liu Qingge fought to pull away but Shen Qingqiu held on, even as the world spun and dulled around him. Colours faded into muted grey, his vision fading as black encroached from the corners. He just had to stay awake long enough for the brute to stop fighting.

   A stillness followed after what felt like an eternity within what was perhaps only a few moments. Liu Qingge had stopped struggling, falling to his knees.

   “Shen…” it was a raspy whisper due to the amount of screaming the idiot had done. Shaking hands reached out to hold Shen Qingqiu gently by his upper arms.

   Shen Qingqiu laughed. “You owe me two life debts,” he grinned, letting the darkness consume him.

It was nice to get some rest for a change.

~*~

   "It will only hurt for a moment, Fan-er," fuqin said, wiping away a tear slipping down Ming Fan’s cheek.

   "What have you done?" Ming Fan whispered, trying to push past him. "What–"

   "Shh," fuqin pulled him into his embrace, pressing Ming Fan’s face into his chest. "Don't worry, Fan-er. Nothing will matter shortly."

   "What have you done?" Ming Fan sobbed. "You promised! You promised!"

   "You're too soft for this world," he crooned. "Your brothers didn't love you and yet you cry for them. Your mother hated you and yet you grieve. I thought you were just like me, but perhaps you're too different. I wasn't cruel. They are a part of me now, Fan-er, they'll live on as long as I do."

   "You killed them," Ming Fan tried to push away.

   "I did all this to protect you," fuqin said, cupping Ming Fan’s face. "But I've realized the only way I can do that is to carry you with me too."

   "No," Ming Fan cried, trying his best to pull away. "No, fuqin. Fuqin please–"

   "Don't worry," he smiled. "I'll make it quick."

   Fuqin’s hand thrusting into his chest did not hurt at first. Ming Fan simply stared at it in quiet shock, tears still dripping down his cheeks. Then, the burning began, surging from the center of his chest to his limbs. He screamed as feeling seeped away from his fingers and toes, any warmth of life coalescing in the area behind his sternum.

   "I was looking forward to giving you your courtesy name," fuqin said as Ming Fan gasped, bringing numb hands up to claw at his wrist. "Perhaps I still can."

   "Fuqin, please," Ming Fan gasped.

   "How about Shuchang?" Fuqin asked. “It would have been perfect for you. You’re far too sweet, too good. Goodbye, my Shuchang.”

   Fuqin pulled, causing a crack in the pressure building up in his chest. He screamed, gasping as something tore inside him, pulling away pieces of himself like an unravelling thread as the glint of a blade came swinging–

   Ming Fan’s body seized as he coughed up the clot of blood trapped in his throat, twisting to lay on his stomach.

   “Aish, don’t move,” hands pushed him to roll back onto his back. When he made contact with the ground, he found himself staring up at Lao Ji. “You’re such a little fool.”

   “You…followed me,” Ming Fan mumbled. “Why?”

   “Right, you think you’re some big bad scary monster,” Lao Ji scoffed, flicking him on the forehead. “Get over yourself, boy. Your powers are wild and untrained. Any strong opponent wouldn’t fall to you.”

   “I could have killed Liu-shishu,” Ming Fan replied with all the petulance inside himself.

   “He was holding back,” Lao Ji stated. “Look at all the good it got him. He underestimated you and didn’t wish to hurt you. You’re lucky he didn’t decide to just chop off your head instead of your hair.”

   “He’s not wrong, Fan-er,” a voice whispered in his ear. “You’re nowhere near as powerful as I was.”

   “Why are you still here?” Ming Fan asked. “You’re dead.”

   “Don’t talk to yourself like a madperson,” Lao Ji stated. “You shouldn’t have any brain damage.”

   "Don't assume things you don't know," Ming Fan replied. "Why are you helping me? I'm not exactly a righteous cultivator anymore."

   "As I said, I'm not the biggest fan of cultivators and their sects," Lao Ji said, flicking him on the forehead again. "Just because they say they're righteous, doesn't mean they are. There's prominent cultivators that have done worse than you just did. Besides, I have a debt to repay."

   "To who?" Ming Fan asked, but it came out flat rather than accusatory.

   "Your fuqin," Lao Ji stated nonchalantly, as if that statement didn't just cause Ming Fan to lose the ability to breathe.

Chapter Text

 “What do you mean that you owe my fuqin?” Ming Fan asked, eyes narrowed.

 “Exactly what I said,” Lao Ji replied as he mixed some kind of concoction together. “You may not know, but long ago your fuqin was an honourable cultivator.”

 “I thought you said you didn’t like honourable cultivators,” Ming Fan said.

 “He is proof of what honourable cultivators can become,” Lao Ji sighed. “He was already ill when he saved my life. That technique your family uses, it consumes them when misused, makes them into monsters. Your fuqin was trying to fight it, trying to stay an honourable man. I promised that I would help find a way to cure him and he promised to hold out. Both of us failed.”

 “Misused?” Ming Fan asked.

 Lao Ji laughed, grabbing Ming Fan’s face to open his mouth and force the disgusting slop he just created down Ming Fan’s throat. “You really think such a technique would be for killing people?” he asked as Ming Fan flailed and choked. “That wasn’t its original purpose. At least, that’s what your fuqin said. You’re blessed with high level qi manipulation and the ability to see qi flows in other beings. What does it sound like it should be used for?”

 Ming Fan glared at him. Lao Ji knew he couldn’t answer with the nasty liquid still being poured down his throat. He wanted to vomit it up just to make Lao Ji have to clean it up. Lao Ji just smirked at him as if he could read his thoughts.

 “It’s too bad you only learned the wrong techniques from him,” Lao Ji sighed. “Now I have to purge your body of all that bad qi before you spiral to worse things. It’s going to hurt like hell for you.”

 Ming Fan shoved the bowl away, spilling the rest of Lao Ji’s mixture on the grass. He coughed, trying to get rid of the taste on his tongue. “You’re a terrible healer if your medicines taste like this,” he stated.

 “And you’re a little asshole,” Lao Ji smacked his forehead. “You never learned manners, did you, boy?”

 “How do you expect me to respond after you tried to drown me in that slop?” Ming Fan raised a brow.

 “Aish, so rude,” Lao Ji clicked his tongue. “Here I am trying to make sure you don’t die like your master and you’re being an ungrateful brat.”

 “What did you just say?” Ming Fan stilled.

 “Ah, I shouldn’t have said that,” Lao Ji said, faking guilt. “It won’t help with your recovery to know.”

 “To know what?” Ming Fan asked.

 “That little subversion you made so that you could run away,” Lao Ji said. “You were a bit heavy handed. You sent Peak Lord Liu into a fatal qi deviation. Your master died while saving him. Or, well, he’s at least very fatally injured. Not even a cultivator can survive a giant hole in their chest.”

 Lao Ji said the whole thing nonchalantly, as if it didn’t matter at all. As if he wasn’t destroying any piece of sanity Ming Fan had left.

 He killed him. He killed Shizun.

 “Nice job, Fan-er,” fuqin’s voice hissed in his ear. “You killed your one and only saviour.”

 “What a horrid hand you were dealt,” Ming Fan’s eyelids were heavy when he tried forcing them to open. A wet cloth was being dabbed against his forehead, cooling the heat of his skin. He felt like he was burning from the inside, being cooked. “It’s laughable. A little nobleman’s son is left half dead with no family or home to return to, his tormentors dead in an estate burnt to the ground.”

 When Ming Fan could finally open his eyes, he stared up at the man sitting at his bedside. He was obviously tall and thin just by taking a glance at his form and how cinched his robes were. If anything, he looked like a stiff wind could blow him over. His skin was too pale, too sickly, his features gaunt in a way that spoke of hunger, illness, or death. There was an unnatural glow to his eyes, a bright green shining brightly in the ring of his irises, an odd colour. He had to be a cultivator for his eyes to be like that.

 Fuqin’s eyes were the same. His shifted between a pale gold and the deep red of blood.

 The man didn’t look like a cultivator aside from his eyes, though. He looked far too human, far too weary. Perhaps he was a spectre and Ming Fan had actually died by his fuqin’s hand.

 “Are you not going to say a word, boy?” the man’s tone was sharp and clipped. It held a chill that was obviously meant to mask the heavy exhaustion weighing down on him. “Have you been struck dumb by what happened? This master saved your life for nothing.”

 Ah. So he was alive.

 “Th…is…” Ming Fan cringed slightly at the lack of tact, his tongue unwilling to cooperate with sounding out syllables. “This one….this one thanks Xiansheng.”

 “So you haven’t lost your mind,” the cultivator said. There was a cold, haughty expression to his face, his voice just as icy still. He took the wet rag off of Ming Fan’s forehead, placing it somewhere out of view. "I suppose that's one good thing to come out of all of this."

 "Fuqin…?" Ming Fan couldn't finish the question, partially due to his raw throat failing him and also because he feared the answer.

 The cultivator simply stared at him with his icy eyes. What colour were they before he reached his level of cultivation? Were they a deep soulless black? A rich warm brown? A delicate amber unnatural in shade and intensity? His features would probably be softened by darker irises. "Your fuqin is dead, Ming-san-gongzi," he finally stated, staring straight into Ming Fan’s eyes as he calmly said, "I killed him."

 "Ah," was all Ming Fan could respond with. He had already known the answer in a way. How would he be alive still if fuqin was as well?

 "He nearly killed you," the cultivator continued. "If I had arrived later you'd be as dead as the rest of your clan. He did leave lasting damage. He took ahold of your innate qi and your soul. It was hard to piece you back together."

 "Xiansheng went through a great deal of effort for this one," Ming Fan croaked.

 "Yes, this master did," he said, letting out an airy laugh. "Now Ming-san-gongzi must repay his debt."

 Ming Fan just stared. How was he supposed to respond? He didn't have anything that could possibly repay this debt except for his own life. Maybe even that is undesirable now that his fuqin had corrupted him. The thought left an itchy feeling under his skin that was slowly getting stronger and stronger.

 "This Master is in need of a disciple," the cultivator said. "And Ming-san-gongzi is a decent enough candidate."

 "Who is Xiansheng?" Ming Fan asked. The man frowned at the question, a dissatisfaction at not being recognized.

 "This Master is Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu of Qing Jing, second in command of the Cang Qiong Sect," he stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "This Master is in the process of recruiting for his peak and saw Ming-san-gongzi as a possible candidate to be his first disciple."

 "First," Ming Fan echoed. "Is this one truly worthy of being Peak Lord Shen’s first disciple?"

 Shen Qingqiu let out an elegant snort. Everything about him was so very elegant. "Would this master choose someone unworthy?" he said with a slight sneer, brows turned down. He then seemed to catch himself, settling his facial features and flicking open a fan from his sleeve that he used to cover the lower half of his face.

 "This one wouldn't know," Ming Fan stated. "Since he doesn't know Peak Lord Shen."

 Shen Qingqiu let out another snort, his eyes crinoline slightly. "While Ming-san-gongzi may have lost any form of self or humanity, he seems to have somehow kept his sense of humour," he said dryly. "Will the young gongzi give this master an answer?"

 "This one agrees," Ming Fan said, finding himself uncaring of the sting of Shen Qingqiu’s barbed words. "He has a debt to repay after all."

 Ming Fan failed to repay his debt.

 He killed him.

 He killed him.

 "My little beast," fuqin began to laugh, a grin spreading across his face to show off sharpened teeth. "Shuchang-ah, you did such a good–"

 "Knock it off, would you?" Ming Fan was promptly smacked across the face, sending him tumbling onto his back. Lao Ji pressed his palm against Ming Fan’s chest, sending a shockwave of qi through his body which swiftly ended the qi deviation he was going into. "You're so dramatic for someone with no real personality."

 "I killed my Shizun," Ming Fan said. It was all his brain could formulate. Perhaps it would be the only words he could say for the rest of his life.

 "Yes, yes, we established this," Lao Ji drawled. "Happens all the time. Everyone dies eventually. Even immortals."

 "Who knew he was more cold hearted than I am," fuqin laughed.

 "Shut up. You aren't real," Ming Fan mumbled. He wanted to cry. Well, he wanted to want to cry. His eyes didn't sting, his chest didn't hurt except for the bruised sternum Lao Ji’s slap gave him, and the grief he had had subsided into a numb emptiness. He wanted to scream, to feel something real that would linger and stay. Everything always faded into apathy.

 "Monster," he said, not knowing who he was really addressing.

 Lao Ji let out a sigh, pulling Ming Fan up into a sitting position. "Once I'm done with you, you won't be," he stated. For once, it seemed like he was being kind.

~*~

 Liu Qingge was disoriented when he came back to consciousness. His head was pounding like a drum, increasing in severity when he opened his eyes. The sight that greeted him was blurry and covered in swirls of colour and flecks of black spots across his vision. He let out a groan, feeling oddly disconnected from the rest of his body as if his head had been cut off from the rest of his body.

 "Sh…" his jaw protested, throat swollen and tongue numb. He nearly choked on it, letting out a gasp. "Shen…Qing…qiu."

 They had been traveling together, searching for his disciple. Honestly, why was Shen Qingqiu even giving shelter to such a monster? If he turned out to be just as bad as his father, it would be Shen Qingqiu’s head on a spike. The man was far too smart to do something so stupid.

 "Shen…Qingqiu," he ground out, finally beginning to feel a twitch of movement in the fingertips on his left arm. He used all the energy he had to move his neck, only to come face to face with Shen Qingqiu. He stared despondently at Shen Qingqiu’s unseeing eyes and the blood around his mouth that was pooling on the ground. "No…"

 Liu Qingge isn't quite sure what happened next. He thinks he was screaming, yelling at Shen Qingqiu to wake up, to move, to breathe, all while Liu Qingge couldn't even feel his own body. His eyes kept focusing on Cheng Luan's handle where it stuck out of Shen Qingqiu’s chest, kept latching onto Shen Qingqiu’s eyes. The qi glow in them had faded, leaving his irises almost black, a stark contrast from the pale green they were before. He was staring at Liu Qingge, his facial muscles frozen it a wry grin as if his death was his final way to get back at Liu Qingge.

 "Wake up!" He could hear himself screaming, but it felt as disconnected as the rest of him. Liu Qingge didn't scream. He didn't freak out. He was the Bai Zhan War God.

 "Did you two finally decide to kill each other?" He heard Qi Qingqi's sharp voice before he saw her descend from the sky.

 "Now's not the time for that, Qi-shijie," Mu Qingfang’s mild voice was next. Liu Qingge could see the his shoes come into his line of sight, blocking his view of Shen Qingqiu. "Liu-shixiong, do you have any major injuries?"

 "Shen Qingqiu!" Liu Qingge yelled, feeling so very helpless. Why wasn't he running over to help him? Why was Mu Qingfang bother helping him when there is a small chance Shen Qingqiu could survive? "Help him!"

 "Ah," Mu Qingfang seemed rather surprised, turning to look at Shen Qingqiu’s limp form. "I had assumed he attacked you and you dealt with him. Apologies, Liu-shixiong, but your fights are very common and with Shen-shixiong’s recent actions–"

 "Save him," Liu Qingge growled, gritting his teeth in frustration. "Now."

 Mu Qingfang knelt down, grabbing Shen Qingqiu’s wrist. It flopped uselessly in his grip, but Mu Qingfang began transferring him qi anyway.

 "Qi-shijie, come help me," Mu Qingfang said. "His injuries are extensive and his heart has already stopped. We need to try and kickstart it again."

 Qi Qingqi did not make a remark for once in her life and instead knelt down beside Mu Qingfang and began transferring qi as well.

 "What the hell happened, Liu-shidi?" Qi Qingqi asked, face scrunched up in concentration.

 "The boy," Liu Qingge said. "He did something to me. It made my qi flows strange. Shen-shixiong…he was trying to save me. I was dying."

 "No disciple should be capable of such a thing," Mu Qingfang stated. "Only hallmasters and above at Qian Cao gain that level of qi manipulation in the body."

 "He was taking people's qi," Liu Qingge said and he almost laughed at how absurd it sounded. "He's a monster."

 "Shen Qingqiu was a fool to invite him to his peak," Qi Qingqi spat. "He invited his own death into his home."

 As if to mock her, it was then that Shen Qingqiu let out a gasp, body spasming and twitching from the shock of being nearly brought back from the dead. Mu Qingfang grabbed the handle of Cheng Luan and ripped it out cleanly, making Shen Qingqiu cry out before Mu Qingfang pressed his hand over the wound.

 "Welcome back, Shen-shixiong," Mu Qingfang gave him a smile. "You scared us for a second."

 Shen Qingqiu opened his mouth, but no noise truly came out of it. His eyes were still dark, expression dazed. He hadn't truly come back to himself. Even so, something soothed within Liu Qingge and his eyes stung from it.

 It was then that Zhangmen-shixiong descended onto the street.

Chapter Text

   Ming Fan had another growth spurt, one that left him about a head taller than her now. He was all lanky limbs, willowy and bird-like. He probably weighed as much as a little sparrow, too, with how thin he was and how little he pecked at his food. Ning Yingying was sure she could lift him easily, even without the handstands they have to do every morning.

   Ming Fan was only a few years her senior. He was only a few years senior to everyone on Qing Jing and yet he already acted like a mini-hallmaster. He had grown so dedicated in his studies and duties that both Shizun and the hallmasters had decided him suitable for the role of head disciple.

   She had been the newest disciple to join Qing Jing, but she had known Ming Fan much longer than anyone else. The only reason she wasn't the second most senior disciple was because she had been too young for Shizun to actually accept her as one. Due to this, she'd like to say she knew Ming Fan better than anyone.

   He was a mother hen to her, a protective big brother she never had. He was also far more emotional than his stoic facade showed. She could still remember catching him practicing smiles late in the evening when he thought no one was around. There was a devastation to his being when he failed, providing uncanny versions of the expression he wished to present.

   That's why she knew how earth shattering Xue Zhen's words had been to him. There was a darkness that passed through his eyes and then a far away glaze created by vulnerability and hurt. He had pulled away, the dark expression sending a pulse of fear and concern through her.

   It made sense that he went into seclusion soon after. Under his shielded guard, he was so very delicate.

   "Gods, he needs to come back already," Ru Guiren groaned, collapsing in his seat, a pile of scrolls in his arms. "I can't keep doing this. How does he keep up with everything and still have the energy to cultivate and study?"

   "Don't be such a baby," Xue Zhen smacked him with her good arm, the other hanging snuggly in a sling crafted by a Qian Cao disciple. "It's just a little work."

   "I never want to be peak lord," Ru Guiren stated. "Shifu's work is double or triple what Da-shixiong does. I'd die."

   "Da-shixiong can keep up because he's not human," Sun Wu stated, shoving a bao he'd snuck in his robes from breakfast into his mouth. "He doesn't need to eat or sleep. He never tires."

   "He's some kind of primordial being," Xia Lu said. "A creature that has always been and always will be."

  "Da-shixiong is a human just like all of us," Ning Yingying replied, slightly irritated by her 'seniors'. If they were all older than her, then how could they possibly be this stupid? She should be the one they're calling Shijie. "He needs to sleep and eat. You all saw him pass out from fatigue. He's not an immortal yet. He's barely older than most of you."

   "He can't possibly be barely older," Mo Yingjie said. "You've heard the rumours. Supposedly he started cultivating too early and is frozen looking that young. He can't actually be–"

   "Da-shixiong is fourteen, two years your senior," Ning Yingying stated. "His birthday was celebrated on the spring equinox."

   "That can't be true," Xue Zhen said. "I got my ass kicked by someone only a year older than me?"

   "He came to the peak at ten and has been trained by Shizun since. All of you have been chosen by Shizun in the last year or two. Of course he's stronger than you," Ning Yingying huffed.

   "Why is shimei in such a bad mood?" Ru Guiren asked. "You're not acting like yourself."

   "I'm mad at all of you," Ning Yingying said. "You're all so mean to Da-shixiong for no reason."

   "He's the one who broke my arm," Xue Zhen whined, embarrassed from being chastised by someone so much younger than her. "How are we the ones being mean?"

   "It was an accident and you know it," Ning Yingying stated. "Yet you all yelled at him and said all those hurtful things. It's not his fault that he's the way he is. He does actually have feelings."

   “We’re sorry, Xiao Shimei,” Ru Guiren said, tone showing it was just for her appeasement and not sincere.

   Ning Yingying responded to it by punching him in the gut. He let out a loud wheeze, eyes going comically wide in his face. “Say it when you mean it, Ru-shixiong,” she replied.

   “N-Ning-shimei, what the hell?” he shrieked. “Since when could you–”

   “Stop talking, your voice is going to make my ears bleed,” she stood up with a huff. “Don’t talk to me until you all realize your wrongs and apologize to Da-shixiong.”

~*~

   Ning Yingying was waiting for Ming Fan when he stepped out of the small hut he had been secluded to. His hair was as neat as ever in its ponytail and his robes were perfectly smoothed. Even so, it seemed like he had impossibly gotten thinner while secluded and it sent a stab of worry into Ning Yingying’s gut.

   “Da-shixiong!” she cried out, plastering a bright grin onto her face as she ran up and hugged him. He stiffened and it allowed Ning Yingying to feel how bony he was. “Did you even eat your meals? You know you can’t practice inedia yet.”

   Ming Fan looked down at her, expression blank. There was the slightest colouration to his cheeks, hinting at the hidden embarrassment he was feeling. “This one ate enough, Ning-shimei,” he said, gently breaking free of her hold. “Ning-shimei knows it’s improper for her to hug this one.”

   “Stop being formal, it’s just the two of us,” she huffed, puffing up her cheeks. “Come on, Da-ge, I missed you.”

   A glimmer of life sparked in his eyes, the only tell-tale sign of his happiness. It was gone within an instant, but she saw it. She had learned where and when to look for all the little tells of his emotions. She grabbed his arm, dragging him towards the path to the mess hall.

   “It was so terrible while you were gone,” she said. “Ru-shixiong doesn’t write up essays for me when I don’t turn anything in unlike you. I had to write my own essay this week!”

   “It is good that Ru-shidi does not indulge you,” he replied, hunched over slightly as they walked due to her grip on his upper arm. It was honestly hilarious how much he resembled the bamboo around them. “You will grow more as a cultivator.”

   “Who needs to be a great cultivator when I have Shizun and Da-ge?” she said, skipping along with a laugh. Ming Fan didn’t say anything in response to that.

   “Ah…shimei?” his voice has gone quiet, almost a whisper. She turned to look at him. “Can you…”

   “What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Da–”

   She watched as the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Huh. He had dimples.

   As quickly as she saw it, it disappeared, almost to the point where she thought she was seeing things.

   “Was…was that a good smile?” he asked. “Did I look happy?”

   “Yes, Da-ge,” she gave her own grin in return. “Da-ge has the best smile. He is the greatest beauty on earth! Even the Bai Zhan brutes will–”

   “You’re such a tease,” he said. “I was practicing during seclusion. Mo-shidi said he likes head disciples that smile.”

   That erased Ning Yingying’s smile entirely. “Everything they said to you was stupid,” she stated. “You’re the best head disciple ever. The best Da-ge.”

   It just seemed no one but her could see it.

Chapter Text

Here's a somewhat sloppy piece of Ming Fan's smile from the interlude. It may be kinda uncanny valley or creepy looking since I struggle with facial expressions so I apologize. I wanted to make something more finished and colourful than the other art pieces I put on this fic. I hope it's not too bad.

Chapter Text

Here's some more artwork. I need to find a good way to name the art chapters. I might make a separate work for the art so that I don't have to keep interrupting the flow of the story for you all. What do you think. Here's some sketches of Lao Ji and Ning Yingying. (Side note: I do not know how to draw older people. I am sorry.)

Here are some sketches of Ning Yingying and Ming Fan from the past, present, and future. I refused to draw NYY in that short skirt dress that she has in the donghua. She wears regular robes in this fic.

Chapter Text

   Yue Qingyuan just stared at the scene before him for a moment, eyes wide in horror. Suddenly, ripples of qi flew out from his form, hitting them with its force. For the first time since Liu Qingge had met him, Yue Qingyuan’s smile fell and a look of utter rage replaced it.

   "How dare he?" He spat, face contorting strangely. "He would try to kill his own master?"

   "Zhangmen-shixiong," Mu Qingfang said, eyes slightly wide. "Don't worry. Shen-shixiong should recover."

   "As long as that boy is out there, he's a threat," Yue Qingyuan stated. He knelt down beside Shen Qingqiu, taking his hand. "I may have failed you once, Xiao Jiu, but it won't happen again."

   He turned to them, jaw clenched and eyes filled with determination and fire. "We're going to find him and capture him," Yue Qingyuan said. "He'll either be prosecuted for his crimes or killed. I don't care which."

   Shen Qingqiu seemed to be recovering slightly because he slapped Yue Qingyuan across the face. Yue Qingyuan looked at his expression of defiance. "You can't possibly keep defending him after all of this," Yue Qingyuan said. "He fooled you into thinking he was an innocent boy and got you attached to him. He waited for a chance to kill you for killing his father!"

   "Attached?" Shen Qingqiu’s voice hurt to listen to. It sounded like his vocal chords were being ripped apart, blood dribbling down his chin as he laughed. "Never has this master been accused of being attached to someone."

   "Shen-shixiong shouldn't speak," Mu Qingfang said. "His throat–"

   "Is fine," Shen Qingqiu stated. "What isn't is that this master's own sect leader would lead a manhunt for a child."

   "What mere child would be able to do this to you?" Yue Qingyuan spat, causing the three peak lords around the duo to flinch. “He is not as innocent and helpless as he tricked you into–”

   “Tricked?” Shen Qingqiu laughed. “Really, Zhangmen-shixiong? This master is the Qing Jing Peak Lord, the strategist of Cang Qiong Mountain. This master is not so stupid that he would be tricked by a little boy!”

   “Will you listen to yourself? Defending him after he put a hole in your chest?” Yue Qingyuan gestured to his only slightly healing wound.

   “The only one capable of doing this to this master is the idiotic brute lying beside me,” Shen Qingqiu hissed.

   “Shixiong–” Liu Qingge began.

   “Not now, Liu-shidi,” both of his shixiong said in unison.

   “You have no right to act like you care about my safety and well being after all these years,” Shen Qingqiu said. “Do not act self-righteous and use me to condemn a boy. You’ve truly disappointed me again.”

   Against any better judgement, Shen Qingqiu rose to his feet, swaying slightly as blood oozed out of his chest and onto his robes. Mu Qingfang called out to him and Yue Qingyuan reached to catch him as if he would suddenly crash to the ground. Perhaps he would. He looked extremely pale.

   “Jiu-er, look at you,” a woman rushed over, breaking through the crowd to cup Shen Qingqiu’s face and wipe away some of the blood on his chin with her fingertips.

   “Jiu-ge,” a girl shrieked, pushing past onlookers. She was followed by a crowd of young women all dressed in hazy red silks with faces painted with rouge.

   “Take me to my room,” he whispered. Two of the girls grabbed either of his arms, slowly walking him towards the Warm Red Pavillion.

   “You can’t be serious,” Qi Qingqi scoffed. “He dies and when he’s brought back, the first thing he does is go to get laid? Honestly.”

   The woman that had called Shen Qingqiu ‘Jiu-er’ was older than the other girls. Her clothing was more conservative, hair done up elaborately and wrinkles covered by well done make up. Even with slightly aging, she was still obviously beautiful, perhaps once one of the performers or prostitutes. She walked up to Yue Qingyuan, dwarfed by the man’s impressive height and broad build.

   “You truly have not matured over the years, have you, Yue Qi?” she drawled, uncaring of the obvious disrespect.

   “L…Liu-jie?” he said, brows furrowed and expression portraying disbelief. “You–”

   The woman did not wait for a response. Instead, she slapped him across the face, the sound resounding through the street. Yue Qingyuan didn’t retaliate, simply pressing a palm to his reddened cheek. She said nothing more, turning to leave with her entourage of young women.

   “We’ll create a bounty,” Yue Qingyuan stated when the crowds disappeared and Liu Qingge’s limp body was thrown over Qi Qingqi’s shoulders. “Xiao Jiu simply does not understand yet what danger he has come into contact with. I will not let someone so dangerous roam freely to cause harm to others.”

   Liu Qingge said nothing.

   Mu Qingfang and Qi Qingqi hesitated before they both uttered their response.

   “Yes, Zhangmen-shixiong.”

~*~

   "We need to find Ming Fan before Yue Qingyuan kills him," Shen Qingqiu said, leaning heavily on Bao Yanlin and A-Hui as they dragged him forward. "We can't let him die."

   "And Jiu-ge said he didn't care about his little disciple," Bao Yanlin said. It was spoken jovially, but her face was pinched with worry as she looked at his injuries. "Did he…did he mean for you to die?"

   "Of course not," Shen Qingqiu scoffed. "He was behaving like a cornered animal because the brute was being an idiot. I don't care about the boy, but we are as good as dead if one of my sectmates kills him."

   "Why?" A-Hui asked, her long hair tangled in her face from the wind. It stuck to her cheeks and forehead due to the sweat she was gathering from exertion. She had always been a frail young woman, not exactly the best person to be carrying his weight. "What are you afraid will happen?"

   "Afraid?" He barked.

   "A'Jiu, we're not your martial siblings, remember?" JuJu said as they pulled him into the Warm Red Pavillion. She brushed back his matted hair, using her gauzy sleeve to wipe away some blood that had dripped from his forehead into his eyes. "We need to know what's going on. You've always talked to us."

   "She's right, Jiu-er," Wang Liu walked up to him with a wet cloth, slowly working to wipe away the dried blood on his face. "Why are you so worried about your disciple dying?"

   "Because of what he will become," Shen Qingqiu said. "Perhaps I was foolish to save him back then, to use techniques I had sworn I'd never use again."

   He let out a sigh as they laid him back on the bed in his reserved room. One girl ran to get whatever first aid items they had stowed away. Wang Liu began to undo the sash to his robes, pulling them back to get a proper look at his sword wound.

   "When I killed his father, Ming Fan had been close to death," Shen Qingqiu said. "His soul had been pulled loose from his body and it was filled with resentment. I feared that he would turn into a resentful spirit if I did not find a way to save him."

   "So his condition was worse before you brought him here?" Wang Liu asked, pressing more cloth on the oozing wound.

   "I used a demonic cultivation technique I learned under Wu Yanzi to bind his soul to his body like an anchor," Shen Qingqiu said. "It saved his life, but it was like putting a hold on what he would become. If he is murdered, especially in his state, then he will turn into a resentful spirit and he will target the sect. I won't be able to stop him at that point."

   "You want to stop them for the sake of the sect, not for the sake of the boy?" Wang Liu asked. "Honestly, Jiu-er, that doesn't make any sense."

   "While he is still human, he and the sect can be saved," Shen Qingqiu said. "I am doing what I can to keep my disciple and my sect alive."

   "Just admit you like him, Jiu-ge," Bao Yanlin huffed. "You'd know how to stop him if he became a ghost and Ming-di is far too sweet tempered to want to kill everyone, even as a ghost."

   "Under his numb facade is a raging storm," Shen Qingqiu said. "If the seals I placed on him break–"

   "Just what have you done?" Wang Liu asked.

   Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes. "I made a grave mistake," he laughed. "Because you are right. I…I cared. I cared a little. I felt the tiniest bit of empathy as I watched him dying and it made me save him. I was…I was looking at myself dying on the cold ground surrounded by embers, waiting for someone to save me that would never come. This is what I get for my empathy."

   "A'Jiu, that's not true," JuJu said. "You did a good thing because you're a good man."

   "Those two words are an oxymoron," he replied.

   "Oh hush," A-Hui smacked his shoulder. "All we have to do is get rid of his resentment and prevent his death. Just show him some love, tell him you care instead of bottling all your emotions up like a little fool. He cares for you himself, JiuJiu. Tell him he's like a son to you and he'll practically melt into a puddle of goo."

   "You may say he's resentful deep down or whatever, but I've only ever seen him be sweet," Yanlin said. "He's a good kid, Jiu-ge. Deep down all he wants to do is please you.”

   “We’ll save him, Jiu-er,” Wang Liu stated.

~*~

   “What does purging my qi involve?” Ming Fan asked, laying down in the grass as Lao Ji rummaged through his sack.

   “A technique you won’t understand,” Lao Ji replied. “It does involve plucking qi strands out of your meridians which is what makes it so painful. I will hopefully be able to sedate you a little to ease the pain. Without removing the qi you took, you continue to crave more and your body will begin to deteriorate along with your mind.”

   “I suppose I’ll just have to endure it,” Ming Fan said.

   “Aha,” Lao Ji pulled a jar out of his bag. He popped the cork and shoved it in Ming Fan’s face. “Drink this.”

   “I don’t trust your–”

   “Shizun!” a cry rang out from the underbrush, the two turning to look at the boy running out of the thicket, leaves sticking out of curly hair.

   “By the Gods,” Ming Fan mumbled.

   Luo Binghe ran up to them, a wide grin on his face. His mother was following close behind, pulling him back before he could tackle Ming Fan.

   “Binghe, you are not a little kid,” she said. “Do you know how reckless you are?”

   “I’m sorry, A’niang,” Luo Binghe stopped, but he seemed to be vibrating with energy. “I was just so worried.”

   “This one is fine and still not your Shizun,” Ming Fan said.

   “Your eyes are still glowing,” Luo Binghe stated. “It’s pretty.”

   “It’s from the qi he stole,” Lao Ji said. “Which has to be purged. Now is not a good time to have curious children around.”

   “Well, we came here to warn you,” Luo Binghe replied.

   “A notice was put up,” Luo Rui said. “Cang Qiong is coming for you.”

   “That was expected,” Ming Fan said. “It isn’t safe to be near me then. You should go now.”

   “You promised to teach me,” Luo Binghe huffed.

   “Start acting your age,” Ming Fan replied. “Promises are not always fulfilled. You shouldn’t want a promise kept by me. Now leave.”

   “Ming-xiansheng, please,” Luo Binghe said. “We know you aren’t evil. You were acting in self defense and they don’t understand that. If you train me, I’ll become so strong that I can protect you.”

   “You can’t even protect your own mother,” Ming Fan replied. “I don’t need protection from a boy who acts like a child.”

   “That’s why I need your help. I’ll behave seriously,” Luo Binghe said. “I’ll be dedicated. I’ll be the best disciple ever. Teach me how to protect people.”

   Ming Fan looked at Luo Rui. “And you’re okay with this?” he asked.

   “I will be gone one day,” she said. “It’s better for Binghe to know how to take care of himself and to have someone so he won’t be alone. You’re a good boy, even if you won’t believe it, and you’re strong.”

   “Let’s talk about this when the qi in this idiot’s body isn’t actively poisoning him,” Lao Ji interrupted, pouring the liquid down Ming Fan's throat. He then slapped his hand on Ming Fan's chest and began the extraction.

Chapter Text

   Ming Fan woke up lying in the middle of a stone courtyard. He was on his back, staring up at the sky through a thick canopy of trees. Roots dug into his spine where they weaved through the seams of the bricks.

   "You modeled your mind after this?" Ming Fan rolled over, turning to see Fuqin standing next to him. “The ruins you were terrified of as a boy?”

   “Why are you here?” Ming Fan asked, sitting up. He was in a forest full of gingko trees, their hatchet-like leaves fluttering around them. Crumbling buildings circled them like a maze, fading off into the neverending distance. Fuqin did not look as he did when he died. He was younger, the man Ming Fan had heard of from the tongues of servants and Muqin’s whispered words spoken with anguish.

   “I’m attached to you, Shu-er,” he replied. “The last traces of my soul are buried in your core.”

   “Don’t call me that,” Ming Fan replied, standing and walking away from him.

   “It’s part of your courtesy name,” the spectre followed after him. Ming Fan refused to look at him. Refused to see how similar their faces looked. “It was my final gift to you.”

   “Your final gift to me was your death,” he replied.

   “Aish, you’re so unfilial,” he said.

   “Someone who murdered his entire family has no right to accuse anyone of being unfilial,” Ming Fan kept walking into the maze of ruins. It was silent aside from the yammering of his ‘father’.

   “It was to protect you,” Fuqin said. “My little beast. You inherited an aptitude for our family’s techniques where your brothers didn’t. I needed to keep you safe.”

   “By killing me?”

   “By keeping you with me,” he said. “A part of you would have always lived on inside of me, close for eternity.”

   “I would have still been dead,” Ming Fan replied.

   “Would you count me as dead?” Fuqin asked. “I am able to talk to you, to be by your side. You absorbed me the way I wished to absorb you and I will now live on with you for as long as you live. The sects were coming after us. I thought it was the best way to prevent losing you forever.”

   “For someone regarded as intelligent, you are very stupid,” Ming Fan said, pausing when he heard a distant noise. It was carried by a stale wind that whipped at Ming Fan’s hair, bringing with it the scent of death. The sound was a voice, soft and hollow as it rang out into the silence of the ruins.

   “Looks like something is here,” Fuqin said. “Probably a memory fragment or something.”

   Ming Fan crept forward, following the noise. As he walked, he could feel the hilt of his spiritual sword in his palm, ready to be used.

   Sitting in the middle of one of the tea fields was a man. He was talking to a slowly disintegrating figure of Ming Fan. It was the likeness of him at the age of three or so, crying over a scraped knee. The man gently wiped at his tears, telling him that it was alright while he seemed to be absorbing the energy coming from the figure that was rapidly fading away.

   Fuqin grabbed the sword from Ming Fan’s hand and pressed it to the man’s neck. He stilled, turning slightly to look at them.

   “Ah, you're in your mindscape…” the man said, oddly unsurprised or scared. His long white hair was pinned up in a bun, the scraggly stubble of the beginnings of a beard on his face. His clothing was black seeming to turn into tendrils of shadows as the silk reached his feet. “Whomever is messing around with your body must have sent you far back into your consciousness.”

   “What are you doing in my son's head?” Fuqin asked.

   “What are you doing in your son's head?” The man replied.

   “Answer the question, demon,” he hissed, eyes narrowing.

   “You have no etiquette,” he stated. “Let’s talk in a place that is more comfortable.”

   With a flick of his wrist, their surroundings melted together, shifting into a quaint little tea house. The man sat across from them, teacup in hand. He swirled the tea, watching his reflection warp in the liquid. “Surely it would be obvious why I am here,” he said. “There’s only one reason, after all.”

   “You’re supposed to be dead,” Fuqin stated.

   “My death was greatly exaggerated,” he snorted, sipping his tea. “Ah, the tea from your old fields is so fragrant. It is so sweet tasting in your memory. It’s almost as sweet as all that resentment you carry in yourself.”

   “Resentment?” Ming Fan echoed, looking down at his own cup of tea. His face was blurred and seemed to melt from his skull in his reflection. He pushed the cup away from himself.

   “I stumbled upon it one day while you were on some mission,” the man replied.  “You reeked of death, despair, and grief. It was the kind of meal I needed. One that would last me a long, long time.”

   “I don’t have any resentment,” Ming Fan said. “I’m a cultivator. A righteous cultivator.”

   “Not anymore, right?” he said. “I mean, you nearly or possibly killed about four men and you defected from your sect like some rogue of legend. Surely there will be at least one nasty ghost tale of you in a couple years. ‘The ghost of Ming Jiahao come back to destroy the greatest righteous sect in the Jianghu’.”

   He waved his hands around dramatically, grabbing Ming Fan’s teacup and sipping from it. “Anyway, feeding on your emotions and a little qi isn’t going to harm you or anything. I’m not as powerful as I used to be with a body, you know. I’m just your average parasite.”

   “How long have you been inhabiting my mind?” Ming Fan asked.

   “Not too long, I don’t think,” he replied. “My sense of time is a bit different than yours, though. A year, I think?”

   “You did not notice something feeding on your qi for a year?” Fuqin asked. “Your Shizun didn’t notice?”

   “I am good at keeping myself inconspicuous,” the demon replied. “I’m a parasite. I want to stay long term, you fool.”

   “A demon should still have been detected,” Ming Fan stated. “Resentful qi–”

   “That’s what’s best about having you as my host,” he said. “No one notices resentful qi when the host’s own resentment is hidden and blocked away by seals. No one would notice a demon. I’m smarter than you think, you know. There’s a reason I’ve been around for centuries.”

   “Does this dream demon have a name?” Fuqin asked.

   “You just said it,” the man replied.

   “What?”

   “Meng Mo,” he grinned, showing off sharpened teeth. “This one goes by Meng Mo.”

Chapter Text

   Liu Qingge stared blankly at the ceiling, the image of Shen Qingqiu’s face frozen in death burned into the back of his eyelids. It was a good thing that Zhu Zhangwei had taken it upon himself to clean and polish Cheng Luan because Liu Qingge did not think he would be able to draw it again otherwise. He felt sick and numb and his limbs still would not work right.

   “Ming-shizhi did a number on you, Liu-shixiong,” Mu Qingfang said, pressing a cup of some form of medicinal tea to his lips. “I did not think he was that strong. I hope they are able to bring him back alive so I can study–”

   “You wish to use him as a test subject?” Liu Qingge asked. “You think Shen-shixiong would ever allow such a thing?”

   “To have such an inherent control over qi is fascinating,” Mu Qingfang replied. “I would like to know how different his spiritual veins and qi flows are. Perhaps I could utilize such things to aid my students.”

   “He's a child,” Liu Qingge said.

   “He's a demonic cultivator,” Mu Qingfang stated. “One that nearly killed both you and Shen-shixiong.”

   “Still, we don’t torture people,” Liu Qingge said. “Or study them in the way you're implying.”

   “I don’t want to hurt him, Liu-shixiong,” Mu Qingfang replied. “Ming-shizhi seemed like such a good boy. He was frustrating like his master, but he seemed rather kind hearted. Du Cheng liked him a lot and I've always known my disciple to be a good judge of character. Recent events…have been surprising to say the least.”

   He pulled out his acupuncture needles, using them on Liu Qingge. “I simply wish to find some form of good outcome in all of this,” he said.

   “Dissecting a child is not a good outcome,” Liu Qingge replied.

   Because that's what Ming Fan is, right? As clarity returned to him of those moments before his qi deviation, he could remember the look on Ming Fan’s face.

   Fear.

   He was afraid.

   The boy was young. 

   Younger than Mingyan.

   What if someone had done that to Mingyan—

   “I won't let you touch him, Mu-shidi,” Liu Qingge said. “The suggestion of such a thing–”

   “You think I would want to cut up the boy?!” Mu Qingfang cried, his calm healer facade fracturing. Liu Qingge had never seen him without that air of calmness and slight distant indifference. “You think I could live with myself? Perhaps if I study his qi flows, I could find a way to turn off this ability of his. Perhaps Zhangmen-shixiong would let him live. Perhaps–”

   Mu Qingfang cut himself off, biting his lip. “I knew he was struggling,” Mu Qingfang said. “I could blame Shen-shixiong for not telling me about his disciple’s condition, but that would be a lie. I saw that the boy was crumbling, that he was struggling in some way and I did nothing because Shen-shixiong never wants me near him or his disciples. Last time Shen-shixiong was poisoned on a mission, he didn't even let me inspect him. You think he would want me to meddle with his precious head disciple when the boy was simply fatigued and stressed?”

   He sat down and closed his eyes. “If I had done something back then, he would not have snapped,” Mu Qingfang stated. “He would still be doing his duties as head disciple and Shen-shixiong would not be barricading himself in that fucking brothel while half dead!”

   “Everything has spiraled out of control so quickly,” he said. “I don't know how to fix it. And when I saw him nearly dead in the street I did not even want to think and it did not feel real and I reacted like a fool and I can't–”

   “Don't blame yourself, Mu-shidi,” Liu Qingge sighed. “You didn't run at the boy with a sword. I am surprised Shen Qingqiu even saved me. He said he'd kill me if I attacked the boy and yet he saved my life.”

   “Shen-shixiong is not as cold and detached as he likes to appear,” Mu Qingfang said with a bitter laugh. “He cares in his own strange way, I think. He is just…scared is not the right word, but he is hesitant to show his emotions. You are also rather annoying, Liu-shixiong.”

   “As if you aren't just as annoying,” Liu Qingge scoffed. “You can never pick a side as the healer and I think it drives Shen Qingqiu mad that you attempt to appeal to both sides at all times. He’s the most argumentative man I've ever met.”

   “He is the Qing Jing Peak Lord for a reason,” Mu Qingfang laughed. “If we can get him to come back to the sect then maybe he can convince Zhangmen-shixiong–”

   “He's not coming back,” Liu Qingge stated. “You saw the fight he had with Zhangmen-shixiong. It's the most they've talked to each other and the worst argument they've ever had. Shen Qingqiu is livid and he's still going to search for Ming Fan. Zhangmen-shixiong wants the boy hunted down and killed. You think Shen Qingqiu would–”

   “He needs to come back or else the boy will be hunted down and killed,” Mu Qingfang replied. “That or he will have to do drastic things to survive.”

   “Shen Qingqiu said the qi he had taken would make him sick,” Liu Qingge said.

   “All the more reason for Shen-shixiong to come back and make Zhangmen-shixiong stop being a fool,” Mu Qingfang stated. “You better be ready to grovel and beg for forgiveness outside the Warm Red Pavillion when I get your limbs working again.”

~*~

   Ning Yingying felt oddly numb, her legs going weak and causing her to crash to the ground. Liu Mingyan rushed foward, crouching down to make sure she was alright. She flinched when Ning Yingying instantly burst into tears.

   “Ning-shimei,” she said softly, trying to reach out to put a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder.

   “Who caused this?” Ning Yingying asked, voice oddly steady. Liu Mingyan furrowed her brows and looked closer at her. Ning Yingying lifted her head, revealing tear stained cheeks and a burning fury in her eyes. “Which imbecilic fool did this?”

   “Ning-shimei, please calm yourself,” Liu Mingyan said. “I just thought to inform you since you and Ming-shixiong were close. It was not anyone’s fault. Ming-shixiong nearly killed my ge and Shen-shibo so Zhangmen-shibo—”

   Ning Yingying rose to her feet and ignored Liu Mingyan’s calls as she strode all the way to Qiong Ding Peak. She ignored and pushed past anyone who got in her way, even Qin Huizhen who tried to keep her from entering Yue Qingyuan’s office. She burst in with clenched fists and gritted teeth, ablaze with anger.

   “Would Zhangmen-shibo really hunt down and murder a teenage boy?” she yelled. The man looked back at her, face strangely blank and cold. “You would condemn someone’s reaction to harassment and abuse from his martial siblings?”

   “Ning-shizhi should return to her peak,” he said, his usual smile returning to his face. “Her presence is not needed nor does her input affect sect decisions.”

   “You can’t do this!” she yelled. “Da-shixiong has never done anything but serve the sect well!”

   “Ming-shizhi has committed several crimes against the sect,” he said. “He—”

   “Shizun won’t let you get away with this,” Ning Yingying stated. “Zhangmen-shibo must know that. Shizun will never forgive him for this. If Zhangmen-shibo kills Da-shixiong—-”

   “Then Shen Qingqiu will comply with my orders as his sect leader,” Yue Qingyuan stated. “Ning-shizhi, this decision was made for the safety of your master. His life was endangered by Ming-shizhi and that must be handled properly. The attempted murder of one’s master is a grave crime. Return to your peak and wait for your master’s return. There is nothing Ning-shizhi can do.”

   What must this weak willed bastard stand his ground on this of all things? Why must he prevent her from saving her idiotic Da-shixiong? If attempted murder of one’s master is such a horrible crime, perhaps she should slip some undetectable poison in Zhangmen-shibo’s tea. Wouldn’t that be even worse? It would overshadow Da-shixiong’s crimes greatly?

   She walked out of Yue Qingyuan’s office still seething with fury. He was right in the fact that there is nothing she can really do to stop this. It only made her want to scream, to break something or punch someone in the face.

   Why could she never do anything to help him?