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Chapter Text

Shen Yuan likes to pride himself in his resourcefulness.

He may have been prone to lazing and lounging around not unlike a dainty maiden in his previous life, but movies and web novels had been bound to teach him something. In fact, his knowledge proves to be most useful when he transmigrates into the moronic train wreck of Proud Immortal Demon’s Way as a bland and weak cannon-fodder child.

And it proves to be even more useful when Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’s disaster of a plot begins to unravel. Working around the mediocrity of Airplane’s setting and characters is what Shen Yuan has always excelled at, after all.

“Xiao Yuan,” Qi-ge whispers, a hint of appalment seeping into his voice, “when did you learn to pick locks?”

Shen Yuan shushes him. Qi-ge’s voice is not louder than the flapping wings of a soaring bird, but in the middle of the night even the flight of an owl can be as deafening as a gunshot.

“You’re going to get us killed,” Jiu-ge seethes, digging his claws into Qi-ge’s shoulders. Qi-ge bravely does not yelp nor drop Jiu-ge to the ground, but even in the darkness Shen Yuan can see his wince. “A-Yuan is my little brother, of course he’d be skilled. Unlike you.”

Shen Yuan’s lips twitch, though he wisely does not snicker nor visibly preens.

Qi-ge had crafted the grand plan of sneaking into the Qiu estate, but it had been Shen Yuan who’d perfected it. It had consisted of three easy, general steps: slipping in during the dead of night, retrieving his brother and running far away enough that by dawn there would not be a single wisp of them in town. The specifics had been a bit more complex, but enough to convince Qi-ge to bring him along.

Shen Yuan is certain he wouldn’t have been able to go through those locks on his own, instead probably electing to give some lame speech and swearing to come back (which, hello? Huge red flag). His lock performance is enough to even render Jiu-ge speechless and save themselves the inevitable beratement. For the moment.

(And maybe he may have had some assistance from the System in exchange for some points. But he won’t be admitting that one out loud).

When they step out of the mansion, a wave of drowning relief almost makes him stagger on his feet. A glowing crescent moon hangs above the Qiu estate’s guarded door, taunting them with an impossibly wide grin.  Long shadows still conceal the hole in which Qi-ge and him crawled in, a conveniently just big enough crack rifting the estate’s outer walls.

Their breaths are deafening in the quiet of the night. Shen Yuan’s heart thunders even louder. But they are so close. Only a few more steps.

If Shen Yuan were reading this curled in the cosy sofa of his apartment back at Shanghai, hand not holding his phone already reaching for his laptop to spew fire about PIDW’s latest chapter, he would’ve seen the twist coming from a mile. Characters on the brink of achieving something and everything crumbling around them in the blink of an eye is a classic for the tragic plot twist. A cliché as old as time.

There’s such a thing as too perfect, and it might as well be the oldest literary device ever.

But at this moment, Shen Yuan is surviving in a world that’s supposed to only exist in the hearts of readers, and his body cannot but freeze with dread when the guard’s gaze strays too far and catches movement among the shadows. Qi-ge is already on the other side of the wall, helping Jiu-ge’s battered body pass through, so it’s only him who remains behind.

The moon’s nacreous glow is still too bright, and the shadows fail to conceal him.

Their gazes lock. He belatedly realises it when the yells start to echo in the empty front yard, two fully armed men barrelling towards them. Shen Yuan shoves earth to Jiu-ge’s still visible worn-down shoes and hastily covers the hole. His brother shouts his name, vexed.

“Qi-ge, take care of him! I’ll distract them! Run away!”

He decides it as easy as breathing, a split of a second conviction to carry this rescue to success.

Jiu-ge screeches again, though it’s promptly muffled by presumably Qi-ge’s hand. Shen Yuan quietly bids gentle Qi-ge and spitfire Jiu-ge farewell, bolting away from the hole and making as much of a ruckus as possible. The steps of the guards resound ominously behind him, growing closer. Shen Yuan pushes his burning legs, resolutely not looking back.

The pursuit’s cut short when an arrow pierces his right leg, a second one swiftly skewering through his left shoulder.

This child’s seven-year-old body is not durable by any means. His knees buckle beneath him, white-hot pain blinding him. He chokes on his own spit, chest rising and falling with shallow, desperate breaths.

This is the end, huh? So much time spent struggling and fighting tooth and nail to survive, and he dies in the most pathetic of ways. Truly an end befitting of a cannon-fodder. Alas, it is not as embarrassing as his first death.

He hopes that Shen Jiu and Yue Qi are far, far away already, headed east towards the promised land of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.

Perhaps Jiu-ge won’t grow up to be a scum villain and Airplane’s idiotic novel will never come to be. And isn’t that a wonderful thought to die to?

[Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations!

“Grand Escape” mission successfully completed! +300 B-points.

“Tragic Separation” event unlocked, +500 B-points.

“Qiu Massacre” event avoided, +20 B-points.]

“—just a child, I thought it was a thief—”

“—‘s dead—….—not wake the Young Master—”

“—throw him in the river.”

Before giving in to the dizzying darkness coaxing him to close his eyes and utterly ignoring the System’s notifications, Shen Yuan’s glassy gaze lifts to a sky glimmering with achingly bright stars.

Not a bad way to die at all.

He wakes up again.

Shen Yuan should not keep being surprised by dying and waking up again. What about eternal slumber, huh? At least if he’s doomed to keep reincarnating endlessly, do the job well and wipe his memory clean! Whoever oversees this is certainly slacking off!

Haven’t three years of working as a slave, surviving in the streets and obeying child traffickers been enough? He’s endured the miserable life of PIDW cannon fodder, and rather graciously! Where’s the sweet void of oblivion?

The rageful tirade of thoughts halts as his life under the child traffickers flashes in his mind. Yes, perhaps he had gone to bed on an empty stomach more than once, but his brother and Qi-ge had always made sure that his jobs were easy enough. Jiu-ge in particular had been awfully protective even with that withering attitude of his, sacrificing his precious food and fetching medicine whenever Shen Yuan’s health failed him.

Shen Jiu is fond of performing a big show of how he was carved of icy jade, unfeeling, when his displays of rough affection only serve to prove he does care (deep down).

His chest throbs as he wonders if they truly got out alright of the whole ordeal.

And even more importantly—where is he?

[Mission unlocked,] The System chirps, google-translate-like voice stirring to life, [Become a Huan Hua Palace Disciple! Explore the second mightiest sect and begin to nurture your cultivation. Free rein except for major plot points activated. Do you accept?

Reward: 100 B-Points]

What’s this? A Huan Hua Palace ad?

He’s still in Proud Demon Immortal Way?

He’s not dead?

System, he prods cautiously, where am I? What happened?

[Do you accept?] It insists, unhelpful. Shen Yuan groans.

Yes, yes, whatever, just give me some answers.

The customary short melody of doom after accepting a new mission rings on Shen Yuan’s mind, who bitterly wonders why the System even deigns to ask for his authorization if there is no way to reject them.

[System may provide information about Host’s whereabouts for a purchase of—]

—no, I don’t think so, you absolute cheapskate! He cuts it off, fuming. He should have known better. At least, judging by how he’s been able to monologue for a few minutes, he should be safe. If he focuses, he even feels warmth all around him, as if wrapped in a cloud.

[Host should open his eyes if he wants to disclose his location.]

Ah.

Blearily, he lifts his eyelids. It’s surprisingly hard. When he manages to open them more than a sliver, a dark wooden ceiling morphs with stretching smiles and silent screams. It’s such a bizarre sight that he blinks owlishly a couple of times, somehow not screeching in fright.

The ceiling stops moving when his eyes focus in a lone carved flower in the corner, sight sharpening with three or more blinks. Moonlight pours from the outside, bathing the bed Shen Yuan is laying in with soft silver light. The room seems ample, but the darkness conceals most of the ornamentation.

“You’re awake?”

Shen Yuan’s soul almost escapes from his body. Instead, he jolts violently, a pang of pain traveling all the way from his shoulders to his feet. He can’t muffle an anguished cry, and it’s only then that he realises how parched his throat is.

The fact that there’s another living, breathing human with him slips from his mind for a solid minute while agony overwhelms him. He’s conveniently reminded of it when a soothing coolness spreads from his right wrist, relieving the ache away.

“Fear not, little one,” coos a soft, female voice, “you’re safe.”

Shen Yuan instinctively believes her, comforted. Shen Jiu’s voice had used to take in the same gentle tessitura whenever a fever wracked over his body and plagued his sleep with nightmares. His limbs sag against the soft mattress, wrist hanging limp from her loose grasp.

He turns his head towards her, half-lidded eyes widening.

Dark eyes stare at him, lips lifted slightly. Two curls of ink-black hair frame a white pearl face, the rest gathered in a high ponytail. The woman, gorgeous beyond words, carries a vague regal air around her.

Shen Yuan can only blink, speechless. The woman’s smile widens marginally.

“There you are,” she whispers, squeezing his hand lightly before letting go. “I’ll go fetch a healer.”

Next thing Shen Yuan knows, he’s holding her sleeve with tiny fingers. The woman freezes, slightly ruffled. He doesn’t know what possessed him, but he honestly—

“—don’t leave,” he mumbles hoarsely, whatever remains of his dignity shrivelling and perishing. He can’t help it, okay? He woke up in a foreign place and the—admittedly pretty—lady was the one who made the pain go away. He’s being perfectly reasonable.

The woman’s delicate features harden after a few seconds of hesitance. “I won’t go, then.”

Shen Yuan’s eyelids seal shut by their own accord before the moon wanes completely, but the woman’s grip doesn’t falter for even a second, and he falls to slumber sated and warm.

The next time he wakes, the sunlight streaming into the room immediately blinds his unguarded eyes. Fortunately, there’s no mysterious woman who he can embarrass himself with, so he tremulously attempts to sit up while blinking out fat tears.

“Where am I?” he rasps out loud, blanket slipping from sore limbs and achingly soft robes. System?

No answer.

Useless piece of junk.

Beyond the gauzy curtains flanking the bed the room is all gold, jade and rich mahogany—luxurious enough to flaunt wealth but just short enough to not be tacky. A grand desk sits beside an equally grand window, scrolls neatly stacked on one corner.

Unease coils in Shen Yuan’s stomach. No matter how beautiful a place is, this is still PDIW! He doesn’t know where he is and has been knocked out for who knows how long! What’s more, the last thing he remembers…

The last thing he remembers…

As if summoned, the doors open without preamble and a woman strides into the room.

Shen Yuan gawks at her. He vaguely recognises her from the other night, but the darkness hadn’t done her any favours. Beneath the glow of the sun, her beauty is akin to a white peony: dainty, but with an underlying strength and majesty. Her robes, ranging from dark yellow to black, only serve to enhance her noble aura.

Shen Yuan has half a mind to cower, but he also harbours the inexplicable feeling that he’s safe.

He hasn’t felt safe for over three years, even while submitting to a dreamless slumber on his brother’s bony shoulder.

“You’re awake,” the woman says, and her demeanour softens marginally, “how are you feeling?”

Shen Yuan dithers. He can only echo the question that’s been ringing on his mind non-stop.

“Where am I?”

“Huan Hua Palace Cultivation Sect,” she answers, crossing the chambers in a couple of steps and sitting beside his bed, close enough to feel comforted and not suffocated. “This one found you drifting in the river with grave wounds and brought you here to be treated. You’ve been here for two full moons.”

Two months? He was unconscious for two months?

“I… was I alone?”

If he was dumped in the river after the guards caught him, there is a high chance that if they happened to catch on Qi-ge and Jiu-ge they did the same to them. But Shen Yuan clearly is the only one who arrived to the Huan Hua Palace.

The woman nods, to his earth-shattering relief. Her hand sits weightless on the mattress. “What’s your name, child?”

“Shen… Yuan,” he coughs, suddenly painfully aware of how dry his throat is. “And yours?”

It crosses his mind that he’s being highly improper, but the lady does not seem to mind. He’s a child, isn’t he? He has to sell the part!

“Su Xiyan.”

“Pretty name,” he blurts out absently, failing to notice how the ghost of a smile lifts Su Xiyan’s lips.

The name echoes in his mind, oddly familiar. Huan Hua Palace… not a lot of characters from there feature in the novel more than a forgotten line in x chapter, and Shen Yuan isn’t too good at remembering those. She must be a slightly plot-relevant character. Maybe one of the wives Luo Binghe acquired in passing alongside the Little Palace Mistress and the Qin sisters?

“Then I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, A-Yuan. I shall go fetch a physician now. Your body must not…” Su Xiyan’s voice falls into static as his gaze raises to the information box floating over her head. The System’s voice drones on his head.

[Su Xiyan. Huan Hua Palace’s Head Disciple. Future mother of the protagonist, Luo Binghe.]

Luo Binghe’s birth mother?!

THE Luo Binghe’s birth mother?! The one that was the precious disciple of the Old Palace Master, gave birth to her son in shady circumstances and then disappeared off the face of the earth?!

“…A-Yuan? Shen Yuan? Are you listening to me?”

He responds calmly, screeching internally. “This one was just wondering… what will happen to me? When will I have to leave?”

Shen Yuan is so getting his ass out of here. He doesn’t want to touch this mess even at arm’s length. Everyone knows that none of the male disciples in Huan Hua Palace survive Luo Binghe’s siege! Nevermind he was planning on going to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, at least there he had a chance of hugging the protagonist’s golden thighs and change the plot!

[System reminds Host of pending mission: Become Huan Hua Palace’s Disciple! Uncompletion will result in the withdrawal of 5,000 B-Points.]

Why didn’t you say so before? He bellows to the void of his mind.

The System expectedly doesn’t answer, except for two smug beats. Shen Yuan has never felt so murderous.

“I swear on my position as Head Disciple, no one will force you to leave,” Su Xiyan says, magnanimous and woefully ignorant of Shen Yuan yelling profanities in his head, “but you do owe a debt of gratitude to me and Huan Hua Palace. The only reason you did not succumb to your injuries and we could treat you is due to your high affinity with cultivations techniques. So I ask you, Shen Yuan, will you become a Huan Hua Palace disciple?”

“A cultivation… disciple…” he crows a little in amazement, previous ire cooling away, because. Well. Shen Yuan is first and foremost a nerd. What kind of web novel geek hasn’t dreamt of this?

Even if it’s not the renowned Cang Qiong Mountain, Huan Hua is no pushover. Perhaps Shen Yuan can figure out something.

He can even find Qi-ge and Jiu-ge again if they do arrive safely to Cang Qiong. The thought perks him up.

Su Xiyan nods, steely eyes melting into mercury.

“Yes. Whatever A-Yuan’s background is, with this sect’s teachings he can become a righteous cultivator.”

“Will I fly in a sword?” The question slips out rather meekly. Su Xiyan smiles, face softening and sunlight hitting her just so that her glossy curls glow like a golden halo. She looks so dazzling that Shen Yuan gasps minutely.

“Yes. And A-Yuan will learn many other techniques in due time. But first, he should see the physician. And when he’s completely recovered, he will be presented to the Palace Master to start his training.”

Shen Yuan tightens his hands in tiny fists, gripping the blanket like a lifeline.

“I… I accept then,” he rasps out, “but first, ah, can I… drink some water?”

Chapter Text

The first days after waking up merge together in a blur of fitful slumber and restlessness.

Sleeping gets old quickly, but when he’s up and alert fatigue weighs down on every cell of his body. It’s exhausting and annoying and boring. The servants that come to deliver food, when Shen Yuan is coherent enough to see them, are as silent as statues, and never offer more than hurried greetings and darting glances.

He wants to do something! Read a book! Talk to other people! He’ll even take gossip! And yes, maybe his words slur and his eyes prickle when he’s awake for more than an hour, but this stage of recovery where his mind is wired up but his body still aching is the absolute worst! His only permanent companions are the dull throb of his shoulder and leg and the breeze that whistles in whenever Su Xiyan leaves the window uncovered.

Su Xiyan herself comes fleetingly and goes away again, not even striking up a decent conversation despite his very obnoxious tries. But she checks up on him with frequency, and he even rouses sometimes to find her diligently riffling through scrolls or meditating beside his bed.

Shen Yuan genuinely doesn’t know what to make of her.

Isn’t she supposed to be an incredibly talented Golden Core Stage cultivator? A Head Disciple on track of becoming the next Palace Master? What is she doing losing time with him? Yes, she rescued him, but he could’ve been ditched in the healing wards and there wouldn’t even be a peep of complaint. He’s certain she holds that much power at least.

(And he resolutely doesn’t think at all of that first night he woke up. He doesn’t.)

The hovering presence of Su Xiyan irks him somewhat, but resigns himself to deal with it. He is staying in her chambers, after all, and she did save his sorry ass.

Perhaps she only follows his recovery closely to kick him out and shove him into the disciples’ quarters as soon as possible. That must be it.

Overall, it takes a couple of long-suffering weeks until a plain-looking physician (a true cannon-fodder if he’s ever seen one) gives him a free pass out of bed, and a week more until he doesn’t wobble on his feet like a new-born deer.

As soon as he’s deemed healthy enough, he properly bathes and is dressed up in cotton-soft yellow robes. Su Xiyan burns the ashes of his dignity when she dries his hair with a talisman, braids it and fastens a ribbon around it, tying it into a half-ponytail.

(“I can do it myself,” Shen Yuan pouts. It’s true Jiu-ge was the one to style his hair for him, but he’s not that incompetent!

It can’t be that hard, can it?

Some of that hesitation must seep into his face, because Su Xiyan deadpans:

“It’d be wiser to assure that A-Yuan will not embarrass himself in front of the Palace Master.”)

She then makes haste on towing him through seemingly endless promenades and pavilions to the Main Hall, a big important looking building in what Shen Yuan assumes it’s the very centre of Huan Hua Palace. When they approach the gates, flanked by two disciples, Su Xiyan lets go of their clasped hands.

As they enter the building, Shen Yuan broods around the fact that he actually misses the comforting warmth of her hand around his.

What is he? A child?

Nevermind he’s in a child’s body. Whatever.

The Main Hall literally glitters, making Shen Yuan squint. The dark wood in the paper walls is embedded with gold and amber, pillars of interwoven green jade flowers stretching towards a ceiling blooming with pearls, sapphire and more gold. Despite being a multimillionaire’s wet dream, the Main Hall somehow doesn’t feel garish: enough wood opaques the jewels’ inherent shine, and the carvings are so masterfully made that the blossoms look not as faithful copies but as authentic flowers frozen in time instead.

Even though Shen Yuan’s new clothes felt like the most expensive thing he had worn in either of his lives, they seem cheap and plasticky when he sinks to the floor before the Palace Master alongside Su Xiyan.

Su Xiyan herself looks awfully dull, with her simple hairstyle and combat-geared robes.

“Esteemed Shifu,” she begins, “in accordance with the laws of our sect, I bring before you this young child, named Shen Yuan…”

While Su Xiyan goes over all the formalities and royalties, Shen Yuan dares to peek at his prospective Shifu, recoiling slightly.  

Even though the original novel describes the Palace Master as a man well past his prime, with pristine ivory hair and a gossamer of wrinkles over his skin, the one before him is everything but. The tips of his dark mane graze the cushion of his golden throne, wide shoulders enveloped in robes ranging from untarnished white to rich gold.

His unblemished face stares down at them magnanimously, as if he were a high and almighty true immortal, but there’s a spark of indulgence in his otherwise aloof gaze. His heavy-looking headpiece jingles when he slowly nods in approval, catching Shen Yuan’s eyes.

For an instant, his stare turns dark and withering.

Shen Yuan freezes.

When he blinks, the Palace Master is back to his detached airs. Swiftly lowering his eyes, Shen Yuan wonders over the rush of blood in his ears if he imagined that. He probably did, right?

“Heaven seems to favour this child, for him to survive such trials,” the Palace Master says, dignity hanging upon every word. He only looks at Su Xiyan. “Once more, Xiyan has brought honour upon this Sect. Huan Hua Palace obeys the will of Heaven and accepts Shen Yuan on its Inner Court.”

Shen Yuan is then quickly ushered from the Main Hall by a senior disciple, Su Xiyan and the Palace Master remaining behind to discuss private matters. He waits for the woman, as ordered, in a long blue-gold promenade, drinking in the clear summer breeze and the scent of ripe peaches.

System, he calls, shoving whatever glitch happened to the back of his mind, the Palace Master already accepted me. Why don’t you give me those points?

[Shen Yuan still hasn’t officially joined the Sect yet,] the System replies. Bullshit! The Palace Master declared very clearly he is to become a disciple. He tells it as much. [Host needs to begin as a cultivation disciple to receive the reward points.]

Doesn’t this thing love to find loopholes?

[But Host has unlocked some side missions.]

Which are? He questions, crossing his arms and raising one brow.

[Non-disclosable unless previously announced or completed. Host should not worry, though, he will naturally complete them as he weaves through the main quest!]

If it were humanly possible, Shen Yuan would have already strangled it.

Su Xiyan chooses to return at that moment, face contorted in a thunderous expression that carefully schools into a blank one once she spots him. She briskly orders him to follow her as soon as he’s within hearing distance.

He dutifully obeys, sprinting to her side.

He’s a cultivation disciple now! Officially! It doesn’t matter what the System says!

“A-Yuan is too young to stay with the other disciples,” Su Xiyan explains to him once they are back in her chambers, correcting his sitting posture when he deflates, “and too young to start cultivating, too. So this Head Disciple will be entrusted with his care and primary education. The Palace Master considers it an adequate trial for me, as well.”

Then what was all that “Heaven’s will” bullshit?

Su Xiyan does not seem too enthused with this new development either. Judging by her knitted brows, she’s probably regretting fishing him out of the river.

“Is da-shijie unhappy?” He risks the question in his best innocent-child voice.

Su Xiyan’s eyes gleam sharply. Her own back is as straight as a bamboo tree, black curls cascading down.

“I’m not,” she sighs, quite unhappily, “I just don’t think I’m suited for teaching. There’s a reason why the hall masters do the actual teaching in the sect. But I understand why Shifu considers it’s grave I’m lacking in this area.”

“I’m… sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be.” She corrects his sitting posture again, fist digging in the spot his spine slumps. “A-Yuan is fortunate to have been accepted into a cultivation sect as prominent as Huan Hua Palace. I’m glad for him, and for overcoming his bleak prospects, and as your shijie and Head Disciple it is now my duty to watch over you.”

She fixes a piercing stare on him. “This disciple shall oversee your education, then. You should probably address me as Shizun for now.”

A gelid shiver travels up Shen Yuan’s spine, but he still forces himself to say: “I’ll be in your care.”

Shen Yuan settles into Huan Hua Palace’s daily life with astonishing ease.

Or that’s what he’d like to say, at least.

His living conditions improve to acceptable and even above average for PIDW cannon fodder: he still lives in Su Xiyan’s chambers but is blessedly given a separate side room. It’s not as grand as the other, but for a seven-year-old it’s still fairly gigantic. Modest flowers line in the sun-painted walls, the bed is soft and big, and the window is wide enough to even let a piece of cerulean sky peek through beyond the peach trees’ branches.

A solid, 10/10 upgrade to living in the streets.

He’s also gifted a small desk and a humble library, as well as a complete set of robes, ribbons and simple headpieces and pins. Brushes, ink, cultivation texts, martial arts books, constellation maps and divination tools: it all appears to arrive to his room overnight.

The first lessons are decent, too. Outside of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, a bit of the Demon Realm and the myriad of wife-plots, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky never made much of an attempt at worldbuilding and lore. It’s plain fascinating to hear how Su Xiyan summarizes how Huan Hua Palace Sect works: their specialties (divination, combat and maze arrangement), the hierarchy (Palace Master as the supreme authority, of course), trade partners (some wealthy important families), main source of income (peach harvest, night hunts, divination sessions for rich people and even taxes from other sects for the Water Prison) and righteous mission (to rid the world of evil).

He can tell the lecture is child-dumbed and she’s leaving a lot of essential details out, but it’s delightful to see that the world makes sense and rights itself even if Airplane’s writing does not.

The main issue turns out to be that, after a few days of acclimatization, Su Xiyan reveals herself as an extremely gruelling teacher.

Her gentle and noble demeanour was all an act!

She’s still as beautiful as a peony but colder than a tundra! No compassion nor forgiveness! Especially when she drags him out of bed when the sun hasn’t even risen!

She’s worse than a slaver. And Shen Yuan can personally attest to that.

She blessedly doesn’t deliver bodily punishments—which, Shen Yuan had realised with increasing horror as he’d spied three junior disciples nursing some bruises, are apparently normal—but until Shen Yuan delivers the correct stroke or makes the right movement in sword practice (with a wood stick), he isn’t getting any rest. Shen Yuan has spent hours in that limbo, even after the sun has long set, muscles aching with strain.

And his tiny, fragile body isn’t made for that!

Especially a non-cultivator!

System, he weeps in his mind when Su Xiyan mercilessly lists all the failings in his calligraphy and prepares another sheet with new characters, hand numb and fingertips red and aching, please spare me.

It doesn’t answer. Useless.

Things unsurprisingly come to a head when after doing— and rather disastrously—sword forms under a chilly summer downpour, Shen Yuan wakes the following morning with a clogged nose and a sore throat. Su Xiyan relentlessly yanks him out of his blanket cocoon despite his half-hearted protests, forcibly feeding him breakfast and giving him new scrolls to begin writing.

Child abuse, he despairs as he does another stroke, it’s child abuse!

The more the sun progresses in its slow walk to the west, the worse Shen Yuan feels. The soreness progresses to itching, pain begins to hammer his head and a dry cough makes his lungs rattle. He feels so shitty at midday that he cannot even stomach to eat lunch and discreetly throws it away, since Su Xiyan never eats with him and there’s no one around to chastise him.

By the time stick practise rolls in Shen Yuan is beyond exhausted. The scorching sun must be getting to him as well since an uncomfortable heat spreads through his body, blazing under his skin.

When he drags himself to the inner-palace garden in which they usually review sword forms Su Xiyan is already waiting for him, tapping her foot impatiently against the ground. Indulging in such an unbecoming behaviour for a cultivator of her station…. there probably is a frown marring her face and a scolding ready on her tongue.

She must be livid he’s late. But at least he’s there, isn’t he? Even if the ground sways beneath his feet.

He… probably won’t last much doing sword forms today.

A step. Why is the earth so unsteady today? Another step. Su Xiyan turns towards him, and her face is indeed pinched in a scowl. But Shen Yuan doesn’t have much time to ponder upon her expression because he’s gliding in the air as if flying on a spiritual sword and the earth grows closer and closer beyond his foggy gaze…

“—A-Yuan?!”

“ — A-Yuan, you’re such a fool,” Jiu-ge chides, voice sharp but hands as gentle as they could possibly be while unsteadily gripping Shen Yuan’s thighs. Even if Jiu-ge is older, stronger and healthier, they’re both skin and bones. In the back of his mind, guilt wracks him over being a burden again. But it’s muted, like the snow falling on them. “What did I say about staying put when you’re like this? Are you so stupid that you cannot even obey that?”

Shen Yuan only grabs tighter onto his brother’s warm, bony shoulders through the haze of the fever. Jiu-ge snorts.

“Figure you’re so sick you cannot even speak! Next time you do this I won’t even lift a finger to help you. Go die in a ditch. I don’t care,” he huffs, keeping on hauling Shen Yuan to a safe place and still stringing together a litany of aggressive remarks.

But Shen Yuan can hear the concern and strain underneath his gege’s words.

And it’s okay. Shen Jiu might be a little ball of rage, future scum-villain-to-be, but there’s no one that Shen Yuan trusts more in this world.

Shen Yuan wakes with tears on his eyes and a lurching stomach, the remnants of his dream slipping away through his fingers like water.

He really, really has to stop waking up like this.

The blankets and bed that wrap around him are unfamiliar but bring a welcome warmth. His head thrums with dizziness and the echoes of a headache, a cold wet towel keeping them dull. Outside, a morning sun barely starts to colour a monochrome world.

Su Xiyan transformed me into a morning person, is the first thought that crosses his mind, which is an honest tragedy. He blinks tears out as his sight sharpens, the dawn’s dim light revealing a luxurious but foreign bedroom.

Shen Yuan squirms, attempting to sit up and discover what the hell’s happened this time, when a rustling sound beside him startles the living daylights out of him. Dizziness strikes back with vengeance, towel slipping from his forehead, and he unwillingly whines.

Cold hands accompanied by soothing shushes and sweet nothings settle him down, the towel properly stretched over his face again. Shen Yuan’s racing heart calms. Once the dizziness retreats, he peels open eyes he hadn’t realised had been sealed shut and looks at the person on his bedside.

Even if washed out by the pale colours of the edge of dawn, the woman is quite radiant. Delicate features soften in a warm, lovely smile, dark eyes crinkling. A small, red-painted lotus blooms in the pale expanse of her forehead.

It’s a bit unfair, really, how beautiful the PIDW characters can be. Especially when he’s all sweaty and feeling like shit.

Most of all, she’s too pretty. Probably an important character or a future harem member? The character information box doesn’t seem to be available…

“Hello there,” she says, tilting her head. The hairpins holding her intricate hairstyle together jingle with the movement, translucent gems glinting with the incipient sunlight. “Shen Yuan, isn’t it? How are you feeling?”

“Could be worse,” he croaks out, sniffing. The woman’s brows raise, face brightening up.

“This lady is pleased to hear that. You gave us a scare last night, A-Yuan. Thankfully, it just seems to be a mild cold. Nothing a good rest cannot fix.”

Shen Yuan can’t help but snort disbelievingly. As if that would happen.

Su Xiyan must be scheming his early demise for skipping sword-form practise.

“Don’t concern yourself about Xiyan,” the woman says, somehow reading his mind. She snaps a fan open elegantly and hides the lower half of her face. “That one has always pushed herself and cannot tell when her body is exhausted, and she’s an adult cultivator. She probably didn’t even notice something was wrong with you. But now that she has, she will allow you to rest.”

He presses his lips together and turns his face away when a sneeze tickles the tip of his nose. “And then I’ll go back to her regime,” he manages out while wrinkling his nose.

He’s sulking. Heavens, he’s sulking as if he were an actual child.

The woman’s voice takes in an indulgent tone, saccharine.

“Do not hold it against Xiyan. That woman has always been fiercely ambitious and hardworking. She probably thought that was the best and fastest way to strengthen your body and prepare you for cultivation.” Silence stretches for a few beats before the woman speaks again. “Accommodating to the pace of others… has always been hard for her. Xiyan is used to efficiency and producing results. She has been the brightest disciple in Huan Hua Palace since the moment she stepped on this place.”

Is that the slightest bitterness he hears?

A hand strokes the top of his head and he unconsciously leans into the touch. It makes it hard to focus.  

“But even the most precious of pearls bear flaws. She’s realised she has committed a grave grievance to you. And is willing to rectify it, or even let you change teachers, were you to consider it.”

“Consider it?” he mumbles back confusedly, facing her back once the sneeze is avoided and he stops scrunching his nose.

The woman nods, closing her fan. It reveals a smile.

“But why should I have to consider it? She’s my Shizun.”

Isn’t changing teachers kind of a grave offense? And aren’t masters in this kind of stories regarded as the most absolute authority, and you must have no qualms about following their methods?

Isn’t that the reason why Shen Qingqiu got away with abusing Luo Binghe so much?

His chest lurches at the thought of his brother, and he stores it away, focusing on the woman’s honeyed voice.

“Xiyan believes she has done wrong by you. I agree with that assessment. She’d understand if you were willing to leave her tutelage.”

Leave? Even Shen Yuan’s fever befuddled mind knows it’d be an atrocious decision. Even if he were to somehow leave the Huan Hua Palace Sect and reach Cang Qiong intact… he quite likes the stability, free food and… and… well.

He might even like Su Xiyan, too.

Just a teeny-weeny bit.

A smidge.

He could do without the calligraphy lessons though. And the stick practice under the rain.

“No early morning lessons,” he demands, coughing lightly, “the rest is… okay. This only happened because this disciple’s body is weak, anyway.”

Her eyebrows pinch together. “Shen Yuan is a child who hasn’t started cultivating. He has every right to change of teacher.”

“Shizun is not a bad teacher,” he retorts, frown stirring his headache back to life, “she saved this disciple and treated him kindly. She’s just… strict.”

“And stubborn.” She shakes her head. Her smile vanishes. “But this lady’s pleased to see A-Yuan is such an understanding and forgiving disciple. She will learn a lot from you.”

“I don’t… think that’s how it works,” he jumbles out.

She stares at him, giving him a final pet before retreating her hand. Something in her gaze unsettles him, but he cannot do more than blink owlishly. She smiles again, and he relaxes.

“A-Yuan should rest.” With a swish of golden robes, the woman stands up, nifty and regal. “This lady must attend her duties, but fret not, I will be back to check on you. A servant will also bring you medicine and breakfast in a few hours. Xiyan will likely come after noon.”

Shen Yuan doesn’t think he can descend into slumber again, but he’s swiftly proven wrong when the woman grabs his wrist gingerly and transfers a tendril of cool energy that instantly makes his eyelids droop and limbs drowsily sag against the bed.

“Sweet dreams, A-Yuan,” she whispers.

Before drifting away, it absently occurs to him he never asked for her name.

Chapter Text

Shen Yuan rouses from a dark and dreamless sleep to a vespertine sunlight painting the room in soft pink hues.

His tongue weights as if made of lead, but his body’s general condition has improved drastically. His limbs no longer ache, and although the wet towel still cools away the echoes of the morning headache, the fever seems to be gone.

Spiritual healing is just the best! Usually, Shen Yuan would waste away for at least three days with a raging fever, the whole cold lasting around seven days. The child traffickers never wanted him around when he was sick so he wouldn’t “spoil” the other goods, so he mostly slept on the streets or in whatever haven Jiu-ge had managed to find, wrapped in brittle blankets and huddled between his brother and Qi-ge. Jiu-ge had been fond of turning between cursing the slavers and aggressively fussing over him, Qi-ge chuckling warmly in the background.

He sneezes, hurriedly shoving the memories to the back of his mind. Being sick and yearning care and comfort sucks. Face cracking the slightest bit, he sniffs to unsuccessfully stop a trail of snot from dripping down his nose. When it meets his chapped lips he gives up, wiping it with the inner side of his sleeping robe and wincing internally. Well, there’s no one to scold him any—

“Shen Yuan, don’t do that with your robes.”

Spoke too soon.

“Shizun,” he greets, not quite suppressing a nervous smile. He rolls his head to see her primly sitting beside the bed. Hasn’t he been waking up to peerless beauties too much lately? And most importantly, embarrassing himself in front of them? “This one is sorry.”

Su Xiyan’s scowl melts only so. “A-Yuan shouldn’t apologise.”

He has the faint impression she’s no longer in the same wavelength as him.

She sighs, pressing her lips in a taut line and squaring her shoulders. Her body is strung tense as if she’s about to ride into battle, hand gingerly resting in the hilt of her sword.

“This… this master,” she begins, dithering in the address, “has been… negligent. It’s no excuse this one is new to the arts of teaching.” Her jaw tightens, knuckles whitening with each word. “Endangering my own student with my teaching methods is unacceptable. I hope A-Yuan can forgive this master and the grievances she has caused him.”

She scrunches her eyes closed, fist gathering the fabric on her knees, and offers a bow. Shen Yuan is so aghast he openly gapes, blood rushing to his face.

“I… this disciple…” he corrects, flustered, hands hovering in the air, “there’s… there’s nothing to forgive!”

Su Xiyan’s silver eyes pierce into him sternly as her back straightens. He flinches.

“A-Yuan is now a Huan Hua Palace Disciple. As such, he’s owed respect and assurance he’ll be treated right throughout his learning process. That he fell ill under my watch is unforgivable.” She lowers her head almost imperceptibly. “I knew I wasn’t suited for this, but to fail so spectacularly… A-Yuan is free to take this matter to the Palace Master and seek proper retribution.”

“No!” he croaks out, tearing apart the barely healed insides of his throat. Su Xiyan’s eyes widen. A lowly disciple seeking retribution against the most favoured and beloved Head Disciple? That’s just straight up asking for being flogged to death! He’d rather have morning lessons! “This disciple’s body is just unsuited. Shizun’s methods weren’t wrong.”

She shakes her head. “A-Yuan has quite a talent for cultivation.”

“But I… haven’t started cultivating,” he replies meekly. This stubborn teacher! “This one… has always been prone to illness.”

Su Xiyan shoots up to her feet, sucking in a sharp breath. The ringlets framing her face bounce off her snowy cheeks. “Why didn’t A-Yuan say so before? This master would have taken the necessary precautions. I had just assumed…”

Her voice fades. Silence settles over them. Shen Yuan does nothing to dispel it.

What is he supposed to say, anyway? That he despises how illness chased him all the way from the modern world? That as soon as the fever stops melting his mind into mush, he regrets having ever been a burden?

Su Xiyan stares at him, frown the most severe he’s seen in the few weeks they’ve been acquainted. He squirms nervously, darting his eyes away. The inside of his sleeve is still wet with snot, uncomfortably cold against his sleep-warm skin.

He hears Su Xiyan sitting down once more, sword scabbard clinking against the chair, and risks a glance towards her. Some lines in her face have cleared, though her scowl still lingers, and her eyes sparkle with the light of realisation.

“If Shen Yuan is to follow this master’s teachings,” Su Xiyan says sternly, “he must communicate what ails him, and that includes sickness. I won’t tolerate any downplaying. And this teacher in turn swears she’ll improve her teaching methods.”

What is he supposed to say, now? Like hell he’ll be voicing his complaints! He’s just mere cannon fodder! Why must the protagonist’s mother be so earnest?

It doesn’t make any sense. Su Xiyan was his saviour, yes, and she did take him under her wing, but wasn’t he unwanted baggage? Surely in the canon timeline she was out there vanquishing evil and improving her cultivation. Why is she so hung up that she has done him wrong?

Why does she look at him as if she wants to be saddled with him?

Belatedly, Shen Yuan realises he’s stared for too long at Su Xiyan and has not voiced an answer.

“Shen Yuan,” Su Xiyan’s voice softens, the tension in her shoulders deflating. The hand resting against her sword stretches towards him, sitting in the bed and almost grazing him. “I don’t know what sort of life you lead before, aside from what little you told me when you woke up. But as exceptional as your situation may be, you’re still a Huan Hua Palace Disciple. You’re my disciple. And this master won’t allow any harm to befall you from her own teachings, or from others, anymore.”

The cold must have frayed Shen Yuan’s nerves, because her words bring a completely unexpected wave of relief. Su Xiyan’s mercury eyes glow gold with the sunset light, peach coloured lips set in a hard line. She looks awfully warm, reliable and… and…

“Ah, I see you two sorted everything out already.”

The saccharinely poisonous words interrupt what was bound to be an immensely abashing thought. Su Xiyan straightens, jerking her hand away as if burnt, and promptly stands up. She turns to the figure gracefully sliding into the chamber, offering a curt bow.

“Palace Mistress.” Shen Yuan startles minutely at the sudden edge in Su Xiyan’s voice. “This one did not expect you to come back so swiftly. Apologies for the intrusion.”

A demure laugh answers back, like the ringing of silver bells. “If you were truly sorry, you wouldn’t have bothered to come here on the first place, Xiyan.”

Shen Yuan props his weight on his elbows and pushes himself into a sitting position to see better. Su Xiyan embarrassingly helps him, even taking away the towel that had slipped from his face and nestled in the crook of his shoulder. He blinks, barely taking in the grandeur of the room he’s in, zeroing in the eyes that peer at him behind an open fan.

“It’s you!” he blurts out. He instantly cowers, cursing inwardly. How improper! But the important-looking lady that treated him the last time does not seem crossed in the slightest: instead, she lowers her fan and offers him a small but genuine smile. Her hairpins glisten with the sun’s dying rays, the glossy fabric of her robes tinged with orange.

“A-Yuan, it’s good to see you up and about,” she greets warmly, walking towards them. Her steps are so graceful they don’t produce a sound against the wood, flowy skirts giving the illusion she’s floating. “How are you feeling?”

“He’s improved,” Su Xiyan answers instead, saving Shen Yuan the embarrassment of saying something idiotic. The other woman stiffens before reaching the bed and facing his master, eyes darkening.

“This lady does not recall having asked you,” she replies, frostily polite. Su Xiyan’s mouth twitches as if she’s on the verge of sneering. The Palace Mistress snaps her fan shut. “On what agency are you determining he is feeling better, anyway? Wasn’t it your own inadequacy that led him here?”

Su Xiyan bristles, fists tightening. The Palace Mistress loftily slithers past her, sitting directly on the bed. “You—”

“Watch your words,” she warns in a pleasant tone, “or do you want this one to go tattle to her lord husband about how you begged for my help and secrecy after the disciple you insisted to care for had collapsed with fever? He’d be all too pleased to relieve you of your charge—”

His accidental cough cuts the Palace Mistress’ words. Shen Yuan groans internally. Both women’s gazes fix on him, visibly softening.

“Well, those matters are neither here nor there,” she says softly.

It’s only then he realises how scathing her words were earlier.

He has half a mind to despair when the Palace Mistress gently grabs his hand (with the clean sleeve, thank the Heavens) and presses her fingers against his pulse. If she’s truly who he thinks she is by her title, isn’t she too high on the food chain to lower herself to care for him? Shen Yuan is not even a mere disciple! What the hell is he doing here?

Su Xiyan watches her like a hawk but doesn’t say a thing.

The Palace Mistress releases his hand, eyes crinkling with satisfaction.

“Indeed, Shen Yuan seems to be doing leaps better than this morning, not to say yesterday. This one recommends a few days more of rest and medicines to ensure a complete recovery without drawbacks.” Her lips lift into an amicable smile. “He shall be under my direct supervision, of course.”

“Pardon?” Su Xiyan breathes sharply, “why would—”

“Huan Hua Palace’s golden disciple you may be, but this lady’s abilities are far superior in the healing field. I cannot in good conscience leave this child to your care after what happened.” Shen Yuan shudders when her smile sharpens as she fully turns to a fuming Su Xiyan. “Aren’t you glad to be dilly-dallying in night hunts with my lord husband, anyway, now that you don’t have to watch over A-Yuan?” Her voice tightens. “He certainly seems more than pleased. This lady even heard he was planning to head out for a few days with you.”

Su Xiyan’s lips part, the slightest enraged pink hue dusting the points of her ears, when her eyes stray to Shen Yuan. She falters. He can only but stare back in confusion, head already spinning.

Are… are they having a feud? Aren’t palace intrigues supposed to start with Luo Binghe’s harem?

“Alright,” Su Xiyan concedes, gritting her teeth. It sounds more like a hiss. “But he’ll go back with me as soon as he’s recovered.”

The Palace Mistress flicks her fan open, her peeking eyes two pleased crescent slits. “If he decides to, that is.”

Su Xiyan’s night hunt with the Palace Master ends up lasting more than a few days.

Although Shen Yuan is deemed healthy enough after three days, the Palace Mistress insists for him to remain in her quarters, arguing she couldn’t possibly leave a child so young to fend for himself in good conscience.

Shen Yuan doesn’t have the age nor the rank to deny her, so he hesitantly acquiesces.  

The Palace Mistress is a good host. She gives him a tour of her domains in the main palace, showing him all the vibrant gardens and exquisite hallways in the western wing. Small lakes littered with lotus blossoms not unlike the one painted in her forehead, the sweet scent of ripe peaches, shrubs with incipient chrysanthemum buds, expensive-looking carved vases and delicately painted fans: they all come together to demurely demonstrate wealth, even if not as lavish as the Main Hall.

When Shen Yuan’s legs begin to ache, the Palace Mistress gracefully sits down on a divan, discreetly patting the space beside her. His feet dangle in the air when he joins her.

Why is this body so small?! he weeps inside. Aren’t seven-year-olds supposed to be taller?

“Does A-Yuan like the Main Palace?” the Palace Mistress asks, a sweet smile gracing her face. Shen Yuan nods.

“It’s very pretty,” he finds himself genuinely answering. Huan Hua Palace is a beautiful sect, with architecture that true royalty would be green with envy, and a peaceful atmosphere only broken by rowdy disciples. But the Palace Mistress’ chambers hold a personal feel to them, as if she bothered to decorate every corner and plant every flower. “The flowers are beautiful.”

The Palace Mistress’ features soften.

“They are, aren’t they?” she sighs, something in her stance shifting. “The chrysanthemums won’t be in full bloom until autumn, although by then the lotuses will have withered. I tried to grow white orchids, but…”

Silence stretches over them. A warm breeze blows, rippling waves throughout the still waters. The pink lotuses bumble with them.

“In any case,” she continues, and Shen Yuan is certain he’s not imagining the strain in her smile, “if A-Yuan likes it, he’s welcome to stay here anytime.”

The conversation ends there. She gracefully stands up and Shen Yuan hastily scrambles to his feet to follow her, leaving the garden behind.

But the topic does not end there.

The drool-watering foods he’s served during meals, the attentive questions, the impromptu (although arguably interesting) cultivation or history lessons, the strolls through the private gardens: Shen Yuan can tell he’s getting special treatment. But why? If he weren’t a child, he’d think the lady holds some unsavoury motives behind her actions: but as it stands all their interactions have been not unlike a doting mother with her pampered son.

Shen Yuan instantly wrinkles his nose at the thought, turning restlessly in his far-too-soft bed. The luxurious guest room he’s been staying in is drenched in darkness, lamps long since out, and the cloudy sky does not allow a single star to peek through.

During the haze of his sickness plenty of things went over his head, but he does vaguely remember the Palace Mistress taking care of him all alone. The latter discussion with Su Xiyan is clearer, although he can’t tell why he’d be dragged in their apparent dislike for each other. It’s not as if he’s that important to Su Xiyan, she just has a very solid sense of honour. As expected of the protagonist’s mother!

Early white-lotus Luo Binghe’s character had to come from somewhere! Nevermind her ruthlessness!

System, he prods in his mind, an idea lightning. Who is the Palace Mistress?

It’s a question that has been fluttering in the back of his mind. After all, in the original PIDW, she wasn’t even mentioned once in that million-word online waste of a novel. It was implied she’d existed, given the Little Palace Mistress’ existence—but even in the early arcs where Airplane wove a semblance of plot there was nothing about her.

The screen bleeps to life a few seconds later than usual, searing into Shen Yuan’s vulnerable retinas. He does his best to keep the profanities under his breath.

[This System is in low-energy mode, no secondary energy source detected,] it reads in its monotone voice, [All points for main and side-quest mission completion will be awarded as soon as a source is detected.]

“Why is it that you appear and disappear at the most inconvenient of times, shitty System?!” he hisses, waving the screen away and sighing in relief when everything is covered in shadows once more. Energy source, what sort of bullshit is that? Fine! I’ll find it out on my own!

He huffs and snuggles into the blankets, slumber taking him down rapidly.

Two weeks end up passing in the blink of an eye.

Against his best interests, he quickly falls into an easy routine. He shares meals with the Palace Mistress, receives lessons in the mornings and is left alone in the afternoons while the lady sorts the paperwork in the Palace Master’s absence

It’s in one afternoon, when Shen Yuan is lazily sprawled over a grass patch in the gardens and soaking up sunlight, that he hears a pair of careless maids gossiping. Their steps are unhurried, each carrying a bundle of dirty laundry.

He scrambles to his feet, quietly bolting towards a bush near the promenades and concealing himself.

“—it’s a bit pathetic, isn’t it?” one of them giggles. The other shushes her, but she also shares in the laughs. Shen Yuan strains his ear. It’s rare to hear servants talk, nevermind gossip, and he’d noticed the Palace Mistress’ had been particularly withdrawn. They barely said a word when delivering food, and when they cleaned they were silent as ghosts.

“Well, it is a bit low,” the one of the shushes concedes, “trying to take the Head Disciple’s personal disciple for herself must be her way of trying to get back at her. I just feel pity for the kid.”

“You’d think cultivators wouldn’t stoop so low. They like to think of themselves all high and mighty and then they have these petty feuds.”

There’s a pause, their steps thudding against the wood. “But don’t you feel a bit bad for the Mistress? A lady of her station can’t lose face after all, but there you have her husband spending all his time with another woman. He’s never shown his face here, you know.”

“Pah. The Palace Master must do so for a reason. And have you seen her? Acting all lofty and mighty, ha, as if anyone here even held an ounce of respect for her!”

Their voices fade away, replaced by Shen Yuan’s thunderous heartbeat.

He recalls the Palace Mistress’ thinly veiled bitterness, her frosty exchanges with Su Xiyan, her distant disposition with her own handmaidens. Her insistence with Shen Yuan staying, her saccharine words and warm smiles.

Hiding behind fans. Her gardens. And the way she seemed to have painstakingly carved a place to herself in the palace.

The only thing that doesn’t make sense is that dragging Shen Yuan into it is ultimately pointless. It’s not as if Su Xiyan, even if she cared, would stop being the pearl of the Palace Master’s eye—if that one gossip is even true, anyway. It’d be an empty victory. But…

But even if he’s supposedly only a piece in the Palace Mistress’ schemes… he believes that she’s genuinely happy to spend time with him, even if Shen Yuan’s technically a child… or perhaps exactly because of that. Her smiles are more genuine, with softer edges, and her beauty blooms not like a white, lonely orchid, but a perseverant and colourful lotus.

At dinner he attempts to pay more attention to her. She’s kind and patient as always, asking about his day and dropping comments about hers. The food is warm and tender. They are alone, servants ushered out of the room after delivering the meal.

The Palace Mistress’ personal bedchambers are worth of an empress. Wide windows look to a sunset-coloured sky while fans and paintings hang from the walls. Trinkets and jewels glint over the wooden furniture. At the centre of it all a big bed sits tall, canopied with soft, silk-looking fabric.

For their meals, the servants set up tables near the window, as per the Palace Mistress’ request. The room is grand, but suddenly Shen Yuan can only but see the empty spaces, the loneliness stored within.

The dust covering one side of the bed, as if regularly cleaning it would be admitting a great defeat.

He interrupts her idle chatter. “This disciple is… sorry.”

The Palace Mistress immediately falls quiet, blinking down at him. “You’re… sorry?”

Shen Yuan grimaces, struggling with his words. 

“It’s nothing,” he says, because he’s a goddamn coward is what he is. The Palace Mistress stares down at him with a sober look. Retreat! Retreat! He fakes a laugh. “It’s nothing...this disciple apologises.”

“You’re choosing Xiyan, aren’t you?” the Palace Mistress says slowly, the honey in her voice freezing. Her eyes narrow into slits. “Everyone always chooses her. No matter what… he always chooses her, too.” Heat seeps into her voice. “I’m nothing more than the woman he only married so she could join the sect.”

She laughs bitterly. It sounds all garbled and wrong. Where calming silver bells should ring, it is but an out of tune birdsong. Shen Yuan’s heart clenches.

And he does something stupid.

Before he can think better of it, because the Palace Mistress looks pissed as hell, he stands up and crosses the space separating them. The Palace Mistress is surprisingly warm when he hugs her.

For the first time, he can see her face to face.

For the first time, he notices the tears glistening in her eyes.

“A-Yuan,” she breathes out unsteadily, wrapping her arms around him, “why don’t you become my disciple? Don’t you like life here? I’ll teach you all my techniques. I’ll never wake you up too early. I’ll always give you time. I’ll… I’ll never let you get sick.” Her voice breaks. “I’ll raise you into the best disciple Huan Hua Palace has ever seen. This lady swears it.”

Shen Yuan didn’t mean I’m sorry as in I’m sorry, I’ll stay in Su Xiyan’s tutelage. He’d meant to say, I’m sorry you feel so alone. I’m sorry but having me as your disciple won’t solve anything. But how can he possibly say it out loud, now? If he’s honest with himself… he doesn’t want to leave Su Xiyan.

But now he doesn’t want to leave the Palace Mistress either.

How did he even get into this?!

“This disciple…” he says hesitantly, pushing her away. Heartbreak is about to devastate the Palace Mistress gaze, so he pushes on. “This disciple has an idea. This disciple would be honoured to be taught by the Palace Mistress… on one condition if he’s allowed to ask.”

“Anything,” she recklessly promises, “anything that might be in this lady’s hands.”

When Su Xiyan comes back, the chrysanthemums have begun to blossom and the first cold winds of autumn make the peach trees shiver.

The doors burst open as she strides into the Palace Mistress’ chambers, a sputtering servant behind her. Her steely gaze instantly finds him pleasantly drinking tea with the Palace Mistress. He has half a mind to cower slightly at her expression.

Some tension bleeds out of Su Xiyan’s shoulders, but she still scowls down at them. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Welcome back, Shizun…”

“Welcome back, Xiyan. This lady takes it that the case was solved?” She seeps from her tea without making a single sound. “I must say, I’m impressed it took this long for a single case. You two are spectacular cultivators. What does that mean for the rest of us?”

“Palace Mistress,” Su Xiyan nods at her grudgingly. Then she snaps her head at Shen Yuan. That heat! Those laser eyes! Wasn’t Tianlang-Jun supposed to be Luo Binghe’s demonic parent? Su Xiyan certainly is! “A-Yuan, let’s go.”

Shen Yuan stands up and trails behind her obediently. He can talk with her later when the waters have stilled. He can—

“A-Yuan,” a voice calls behind them. He flinches. Su Xiyan halts. “This lady awaits you tomorrow morning. Don’t be late.”

Su Xiyan turns back, a confused frown marring her face.

“Palace Mistress, what—?” Her gaze settles in him. He squirms under the weight of it. “Shen Yuan is my disciple.”

“Oh, A-Yuan and me just made a little… agreement. Of course, I’ll talk it over with the Palace Master, but I’m certain he’ll be pleased.” She flicks a fan open, one with a beautiful mountain scenery painted over it. Shen Yuan chooses to focus on that and not on Su Xiyan’s increasingly heated stare. “You shall be sharing A-Yuan as a disciple with me, to aid you in your Head Disciple duties. We can arrange another schedule if you prefer, but as of now we agreed to meet in the mornings. This lady will take over calligraphy, history, sect affairs and some combat and healing techniques. He’ll be all Xiyan’s, for the rest of the day. And he’ll keep living with her… as per his request.”

Shen Yuan has the eerie feeling he dug his own grave.

Why did she have to add that? Su Xiyan might possibly throw him out now! Not only weak, but ungrateful! And a leech! Goodbye Huan Hua Palace!

Su Xiyan lets out a rattled breath after some beats in absolute silence, unclenching her fists.

“Fine,” she says in a clipped tone, and then adds, “Palace Mistress has always been more adept at the subjects she listed, in any case. Shen Yuan is fortunate to receive her teachings.”

This does render the Palace Mistress speechless, her eyes widening. She recovers quickly, lowering her fan to reveal a defiant smirk.

“Xiyan should be careful. Perhaps these weeks weren’t enough, but seeing his own master admitting her incompetence might make him change his mind. He might ask me to be his teacher full time.”

Her words lack the usual scathing edge. Shen Yuan blinks up in surprise, startled at witnessing Su Xiyan answer with a similar grin.

“This Head Disciple shall take Lady Jiang Yingyue’s words in consideration.”

The Palace Mistress’ smirk softens in surprise. Shen Yuan allows himself a small smile when they bow and walk out of the room.

Su Xiyan’s hand is warm and secure around his.

[Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! Side quest completed: The Palace Mistress’ Sorrow!

“Jiang Yingyue” character storyline developed, +100 B-points.

Su Xiyan backstory developed, +50 B-points.

“Forgiveness and Reluctant Friends” event triggered, +200 B-points.

We sincerely hope Host keeps enjoying the world of “Proud Immortal’s Demon Way”!]