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Chapter Text

The sun was setting as Shen Qingqiu straightened to relieve his aching back, the basket of millet a heavy and familiar weight on his shoulders. He rubbed one stinging eye, careful to not get dirt in it, as he turned and picked up his walking stick. He turned towards the main farmhouse and began to walk back with the rest of the workers. A handful of millet went into one sleeve of his brown robes as he returned with the rest of the workers to hand in the last of the day’s harvest and get paid.

A couple of copper coins were handed to him, and he thanked the payer before getting on the cart that would take him close to the old Li Shu temple he was staying in. The ride was mostly silent, the other workers tired and hungry after a long day working in the fields.

The temple was an old decrepit building, marked by years of neglect. Every square of it had been covered in dust and dirt when he had first arrived, but he had put in a little bit of work when he first arrived and now it was a slightly cleaner. A small layer of dust had managed to return to most of the temple while he was out working, and the temple still looked all but abandoned except the little corner that was his designated sleeping area.

Wherever he went he never stayed longer than needed, only lingering as long as it took to earn enough to keep moving. It had been two weeks since he arrived and he estimated he could safely stay until the harvest was done by the next month, but then it would be time to leave again. Until then the abandoned temple would be an adequate substitute for an actual home.

He reached for an old chipped cup full of the millet that had soaked since last night and he poured it into a dented little pan. A small portion of the wood shavings and dry leaves he had collected when he first arrived at the temple was taken from their respective piles to serve as kindling for the small fire he started. Once the fire was stable he hung the pan over it, letting the millet heat up until it was slightly browned. The nutty aroma drifting from the pan made him acutely aware it had been a whole day since his last meager meal, his stomach tightening in protest. After adding a cup of rainwater to the pan he leaned back, finding comfort in the retained warmth in the stone wall as he waited. To help him ignore the hunger pains he deftly dehulled the seeds from the handful of millet he had taken with him earlier, taking care not to waste any edible part of his stolen treasure.

Once the milled was dehulled and left to soak until tomorrow he was left with nothing to do but wait for the food to be ready. He picked at a new hole in his sleeve, assessing the fabric. The robes were worn thin and while they were alright for now, the weather would soon turn colder. His warmer robes had been stolen along with the rest of his possessions in a careless moment months ago, and while he had managed to replace most of his things, he hadn’t gotten around to replacing the robes yet. He would have to do it soon, or it would be another cold winter for him.

He stirred the porridge, scoffing at himself. Hunger and cold was the very least of what he deserved, and far better than what so many had gotten. The image of his disciple’s bodies hanging from the trees by the stairs leading up to Qing Jing Peak was still fresh in his mind like it had happened only yesterday.

It had been eight years since Luo Binghe returned and took his vengeance. Eight years since Shen Qingqiu ran away in hopes that it would draw his ire away from the sect. Instead, Luo Binghe burned down the mountain and heaved his vengeance upon everyone who didn’t manage to escape. Everyone captured that were closely associated with Shen Qingqiu were killed, the rest had their golden cores destroyed. Then he turned his anger upon the rest of the world, hunting down every cultivator and either killing them or destroying their foundations. Only a few cultivators were left untouched, most of them became his wives while the rest had been made to swear loyalty to Luo Binghe.

A year after the attack on his sect Shen Qingqiu had returned to his peak, out of regret, out of remorse, out of hope. Only to fall into despair as he watched the decaying bodies hanging from scorched branches and swaying in the wind. His only comfort on that day had been that he hadn’t seen Yue Qingyuan’s body, nor had he heard any rumors about him being found. It had been eight years, but he still didn’t know what had really happened that day. The few survivors had all been punished and displaced across the land, forced into servitude, fearful and cowed under Luo Binghe’s iron rule.

He broke off his thoughts just as the porridge was ready, tasting as ashy as everything had since then. He ate mechanically, only doing so because his sealed spiritual powers forced him to nourish his body regularly despite his aversion against eating. Even after years on the run consuming food regularly still wasn’t something he was used to and had on more than once occasion led to him pushing his body too far.

Once he was done, he cleaned his pan and cup carefully before doing his daily inspection of his body. With his powers sealed his body no longer healed as quickly or as easily as it once did, and just two weeks ago he had taken a fall after working too hard and eating too little and ended up with a deep cut on his leg. He unwrapped the bandage and poked at the injury, wincing at the sharp pain that followed. It was healing as well as he could hope, scabbed over and no longer reopening when he put weight on the leg, but it was still jarring how slow his body healed without his cultivation. He rewrapped the wound and folded a thin spare robe on the ground before curling up next to the fire. One arm pillowed his head, the other rested next to his face. In the low light from the fire he ran his fingers over the little nicks and scars in the palm of his hand. He closed his eyes and prayed that tonight would be the first night in years where he wasn’t plagued by the sight of bodies swaying in the wind.

Chapter Text

The demon licked up the side of his face and Shen Qingqiu snapped his teeth at him, earning him a strike that toppled him to the ground. His face was pushed into the dirt by a heavy boot, but even then he could still see the scene in front of him.

The screaming intensified as the fires grew higher, and he closed his eyes to keep from witnessing the fire consuming the four cultivators begging for mercy.

A cruel hand wrenched him back up into a sitting position by his hair, and the demon’s cold voice slithered into his ear. “No-no, Peak Lord Shen. You should see what happens when you disobey Lord Luo. But then again, once he arrives you’ll get exclusive firsthand experience.” The two other demons seemed to find the prospect hilarious, or maybe it was the cultivators futilely fighting against their bonds that amused them.

“Watch what you have done,” the demon said, and Shen Qingqiu stared hopelessly as his helpers burned.

Shen Qingqiu woke with a start, desperately scrubbing the sweat and tears from his face with shaky hands. A quick glance through the nearest window through blurry, aching eyes told him it was almost time for him to wake up. He sat up, rubbing his hand across his face and through his beard with a still unsteady hand. It had been three years since that awful day, and the nightmares still woke him up with the stink of burning flesh lingering in the air.

The cup next to him was empty of water, and the frustration from the slight inconvenience made him fling the cup across the room. Regret instantly filled him and he sighed before getting up, collecting the little cup and making sure it was still whole. Shuffling outside to the rainwater barrel he dipped the cup in the water, pulling out a few leaves before quenching his thirst.

Still shaking from the revisited memories he bundled up his belongings into his bag and hid it inside a hole in the wall in case someone came around while he was gone. He didn’t have much, but he couldn’t afford to lose it.

Satisfied that it was all hidden well he started walking down the road back to the farm. The wind rustled through the vegetation around him, still warm but reminding him that it was getting colder and colder. Some of the flowers were still in bloom and he picked one, bringing it close to study it. It was a Galsang flower, stubbornly blooming late in the fall, and he assumed the rest of the pink spots around him were more of the same willful flower.

Halfway to the farm he met two of the other workers and together they hitched a ride with the cart that transported them in the morning and in the evening. The other workers seemed to like him well enough, though they had quickly given up finding out who he was beyond the name he had given them.

“Another promising day for the harvest, eh, Zhou Lijie?” One of the workers said, turning towards him.

“Mhm,” he answered, keeping it short and precise.

He had long ago learned the importance of being unremarkable and had taken the necessary steps to shed most of what made him Shen Qingqiu. He kept his head down, doing as he was told and never getting into trouble, never sticking his neck out. He kept moving from town to town, keeping to the outskirts of civilization, never trying to reach out and find other cultivators. The last part he had learned the hard way.

He always kept himself on the right side of helpful, polite and distant. Not too distant to be remembered as rude or odd, not too helpful or nice to be remembered fondly enough to linger in someone’s mind if they were ever asked about any strangers standing out.

Once they were at the farm the worker in charge of delegating pointed him to the end of the field. “Furthest out today,” he said, pointing to the south.

Shen Qingqiu took the provided basket and got on the cart that drove those working furthest away, giving the others a nod and a smile. South was good. It was close enough to the forest that his breaks could be spent among the trees, allowing him to cool down in the shade and spare his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun. It also had an added bonus by being rumored to be haunted. Whenever he needed a moment alone the rumors allowed him to go further in and be undisturbed by the superstitious workers.

The labor was repetitive, consisting of checking the seed heads before cutting the ripe ones and adding them to his basket. As the day progressed the basket became heavier and heavier and he became warmer and warmer, sweat gathering on his back and clinging to his robe where the basket rested. Drops of sweat ran down his face into his eyes, making them sting more than normal.

Only once a few of the other workers had retreated to the edge of the forest did he follow, careful to never be the first to take a break. Being seen as lazy or slacking off was a sure way to be remembered and create animosity.

Some of the workers gathered while snacking on dried fruit and gossiping. He walked over, sitting down in the shade of a large tree and listening in on their conversation.

“No, it’s true! My sister’s friend’s husband’s cousin’s wife’s sister works in the Autumn Palace and she heard it! And my sister’s friend’s husband’s saw unfamiliar soldiers searching through Lin City, and that’s not the first city they’ve searched in the north.” The man gestured animatedly in an effort to make them believe him.

Soldiers searching for something in the north? It was still a long way away from him, but it might be of interest. Were they looking for a rogue cultivator? Someone who dared defy the Emperor?

“What are they searching for?” He asked, careful to not appear too interested in the subject.

“That’s the thing, no one knows! The soldiers are searching without telling anyone what they’re looking for. There’s no new wanted messages on the crystal in town either,” the worker supplied.

He hadn’t visited the town yet, trying as much as he could to stay away from crowds. In the early days he had disguised himself and hidden in the shadows, watching the crystals as they aired public executions. Had felt like he needed to watch each one, cowardly looking for atonement as he hid like a spineless dog. Luo Binghe had been merciless during the executions, mentioning Shen Qingqiu whenever someone remotely connected to him was executed. Blaming him, taunting him. Haunting him in every waking and dreaming moment.

He had watched as Qi Qingqi had chosen strangulation, dying with dignity. Had been surprised that she would choose to defy Luo Binghe when his wife would surely have pleaded for her master if Qi Qingqi had asked her to. Or perhaps Liu Mingyan had done tried to save her and Luo Binghe had ignored her pleas.

He had watched as Wei Qingwei had been executed without being given a choice, beheaded without honor, uttering a “Don’t come back” before facing his end. It had been a command for Shen Qingqiu, for all the sect members, and all the cultivators that had gone into hiding.

“Don’t come back” always rang in the back of his mind, but back in those days he had returned to the town square again and again, watching the cultivators paraded on the crystal fist clenching and tears falling for every familiar face, and anger and relief warring inside of him every time it wasn’t someone he knew. A deep gratefulness each time it wasn’t Yue Qingyuan or Ming Fan.

“Don’t come back” also meant stay out of trouble, don’t bring attention to yourself. It meant run away as far as you can and run he did.

Every move he made was thought out, every interaction he had was calculated. Don’t act like this, don’t talk like that. Don’t be too interesting, but don’t be so unmemorable that you become memorable.

“So, no idea what they’re looking for?” One of the other workers said, sparing Shen Qingqiu of doing the asking.

“My brother said a group of strangers passed just west of the town two days ago. He didn’t get a good look, but he didn’t think they were human,” a third worker chimed in.

“You’re brother’s always drunk. He once moved his head too fast and thought it was an earthquake!” The first worker mocked.

“I’m just telling you what he said!” The third worker sounded partly offended, partly resigned.

They started bickering amongst themselves and Shen Qingqiu took it as a sign to get back to work.

Humans and demons had been forcefully blended once Luo Binghe had taken control of the human realm, and it hadn’t been to the advantage of humans. Luo Binghe had appointed demons in every important position and had forcefully taken lands from humans and given them to important demons. Demons were everywhere now, but it was still odd to have a group of them passing through the countryside. Most demons preferred to live in bustling cities or places with more extreme climate. He would have to be careful until he knew for sure they had left the area.

The sun was setting as the cart rolled down to where they were working, and he rubbed his eyes as he retrieved his stick before getting on the cart. The other workers were happily chatting as they drove back to the farmhouse and he chimed in where appropriate, listening in case they had more important gossip.

He got his copper coins and settled back on the cart, his now aching body protesting each movement. The chatter kept going, but at a more reduced pace now that tiredness settled on everyone.

He got off the cart and said his goodbyes, a chorus of farewells ringing through the settling dark. He didn’t like walking in the dark, his sight too reduced to see much even with a light once the sun had set properly.

The Li Shu temple greeted him like an old friend, the stone walls still warm from the heat of the day and warming him as he entered.

He hesitated briefly at the entrance before making his way to the hiding spot and pulling out his belongings. He started a fire, staring at it as it grew warm enough to boil the porridge. Silence fell around him as he listened intently, one hand resting on his stick.

A rustling sound outside alerted him long before two figures appeared at the temple’s entrance.

“May I help you?” He asked, keeping his shoulders low and relaxed.

“Have you seen anyone passing through?” The voice was dark and sultry, and as the figure came closer he could see it was a woman.

“No, sorry. I haven’t seen anyone. But I’ve been working in the fields all day and I just returned,” he replied, keeping an eye on the woman and the other figure. The other person moved into the temple, walking away from them. It was hard to tell, but it appeared to be a man, tall and broad-shouldered.

“A working man, how charming,” the woman said, moving closer to him. As he took in more of her, he forced himself to stay relaxed.

The man walked over slowly and addressed the woman. “There’s no one here,” he said.

“Well, I wouldn’t say no one. How rude,” the woman said, and by the lilt in her voice he could tell she was smiling at him.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” he said, keeping still despite the instinct to run.

“No need to be sorry, handsome,” she said and walked out, the man following her after staring at Shen Qingqiu for a moment.

He listened as they left and kept silent, only moving to stir the porridge until it was done. He rummaged around in his bag until he found an old bowl and a spoon before carefully scooping some of the porridge into the bowl. A small voice at the back of his mind let him know he was about to regret his next action. He squashed the voice down ruthlessly.

“You can come out. I have warm food for you if you do,” he called out, his words reverberating across the room.

Silence.

“Very well. It’ll go cold soon, and I’d hate for it to go to waste,” he said as he started eating his own portion.

There was a beat of silence before it was broken by the sound of stone sliding against stone. A small figure crawled out of a hole in the wall and cautiously slinked close to him. A pair of hands so filthy even he could see the dirt on them grabbed the bowl before what had to be a child scurried off to the other side of the room.

“So, why are the demons looking for you?” He asked casually, keeping still to keep himself as nonthreatening as possible.

“Who said demons were looking for me?” The child mumbled through a mouthful of food.

“I did,” he answered, keeping his reply short. Then he waited, watching as the child thought in silence until it couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“How did you know I was here?” He sounded interested, his head moving up from the bowl to peer in his direction.

“If you come here and get some more porridge I might tell you,” Shen Qingqiu said.

The child hesitated for a moment before hunger won and he scurried closer. The light from the fire revealed a young boy’s dirty face, eyes wide and cheeks round by youth.

“What’s your name?” He asked as he took the child’s bowl and filled it with his own portion.

“Wu Lin,” came the too quick answer.

“And what’s your real name?” Shen Qingqiu handed the bowl over, watching as the boy scooted back but stayed next to the fire.

“It is my real name,” the boy said, voice defiant.

“Alright,” he conceded, nodding as he got up. He could tell Wu Lin was watching him warily as he made his way outside. He filled the cup with rainwater, using his fingers to find any leaves in the dark.

“Here,” he handed the cup over, watching as Wu Lin eagerly emptied it.

“Thank you,” Wu Lin said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

Shen Qingqiu could tell the boy’s clothes were expensive, even under the wear and tear and all the dirt. The robe and skirt were black, thick, and heavy, and embroidered with gold thread so thick he could see it along one shoulder and along the hem of his skirt. The inner robes and the belt were red, stark, and commanding against the black fabric. Wu Lin indeed.

“What’s your name?” Wu Lin asked, shifting a little bit closer now that he had apparently decided Shen Qingqiu could be trusted.

“This one is Zhou Lijie,” he said, giving an informal bow where he was sitting.

“Zhou Lijie? That’s a pretty name,” Wu Lin said.

“What does a boy so dirty know about anything pretty?” He countered, tagging a smile to his half serious words. He didn’t need the boy crying and drawing attention to them.

“I’m sorry.” Wu Lin ducked his head, but not before Shen Qingqiu could see the widening of his already big eyes.

“It was just a joke, child. I only thought perhaps I could lend you a cloth and a bath bean so you could get clean – or cleaner.” He rummaged through his bag, procuring a washing cloth and the last of his bath beans and handing them over to Wu Lin.

The boy stopped his sad act immediately, lips stretching into a wide, disbelieving smile. “Thank you, master Zhou!” He put down his empty bowl before leaping up and running outside.

Shen Qingqiu followed quickly, hand catching the small wrist before it could dunk into the barrel of rainwater. Wu Lin tugged on his hand like a frantic animal and Shen Qingqiu released him, immediately taking a step back as Wu Lin scurried away and created distance between them.

“My apologies. That is my water supply and using the bath bean and the cloth in it will contaminate it. Let me clean the bowl and the cup so you can use that.” He showed the hand holding the crockery, waving them in the air.

Wu Lin nodded, lowering his head once again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” he said, his voice displaying the sadness Shen Qingqiu couldn’t see.

“It’s alright. Now you know,” he answered and cleaned the bowl and cup under the keen yet cautious supervision of Wu Lin.

“Now then, I’ll leave it to you,” he said and turned his back to Wu Lin, making his way back inside with one hand on the stone wall to guide him. In his rush he had forgotten his stick, and the ground was treacherous in the dark.

He sighed to himself as he entered the temple again. The child needed to leave, and Shen Qingqiu needed to disappear. The boy was a liability, a dangerous one at that and nothing good would come of helping him, Shen Qingqiu reasoned with himself.

He still brushed away unseen dust by the fire before going to his bag. The boy would probably be fine sleeping in his robes, but Shen Qingqiu still pulled out his spare robe and placed it on the other side of the fire. Fate had made sure to teach him to treat children with care. One Luo Binghe was more than enough for this world, he didn’t need to create another just because he didn’t want to be cold for one night.

Wu Lin returned after a while, the light from the fire revealing a clean, handsome face. Shen Qingqiu squinted at him in the low light and Wu Lin wordlessly scooted closer, sitting next to him by the fire.

Wu Lin’s face was clean and strangely familiar in a way he couldn’t explain. He had a striking shade of green eyes, elegant eyebrows and a timid smile that he directed at Shen Qingqiu. His wavy hair hung loose down to the middle of his back.

Shen Qingqiu rooted through his back once more, procuring a tattered grey ribbon. “Here, for your hair,” he said.

“Thank you, master Zhou!” Wu Lin quickly tied his hair back without making sure it was untangled, and Shen Qingqiu almost wept at the carelessness.

“I have little to offer, but you may sleep there,” he gestured to the robe on other side of the fire. “I’ll sleep on this side. It’s late and we can talk more tomorrow.”

“Thank you, master Zhou!” Wu Lin said, the politeness seemingly entirely honest.

He waved the gratitude away, resting his head on his bag next to the fire. As the fire danced in front of him he could feel fate tugging at him, pulling him onto a road he didn’t want to take. But he had always fought against fate and look where it had gotten him. Perhaps it was time to see where fate would bring him.

Chapter Text

He woke to the certainty that he was being stared at and made a show of twitching his fingers and stretching before opening his eyes. The boy had his eyes closed, hand resting childlike next to his mouth. Had he been able to, he might have seen the eyelids scrunched up in fake sleep, the brow creased in concentration. At least that’s how he had pretended to sleep as a child, until he knew better than to think pretending would save him.

The sound of Wu Lin’s stomach growling cut through the morning silence, and Shen Qingqiu snorted to himself and got up. He fetched water for boiling and stoked the fire before cleaning himself, making sure to be as quiet as he could. It had been late before the boy had fallen asleep. Shen Qingqiu had listened with his eyes closed to the boys breathing until it had become even and steady. Only then had he opened his eyes, watching the blurry shape of the child and thinking, his mind throwing scenario after scenario at him that never ended well. Fate tugging at him while he valiantly tried to cut the strings that would lead him to his doom. In the end he had fallen asleep, uncertain in his resolve to let his new companion face fate on his own.

Now they were both tired, evident by the genuine yawn from Wu Lin as he warmed his hands on the fire.

“Good morning,” Shen Qingqiu said, stirring the porridge before sitting down.

“Good morning master Zhou!” Wu Lin said, polite yet still wary of him, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed despite his sleepiness.

Shen Qingqiu served them both, watching with some mirth as Wu Lin poked at the porridge while eating it. Polite. Spoiled. Contradictory.

“So, what’s your plan?” He hoped it was something simple, something easily done. Then he could send the child on his way without feeling too guilty about leaving him to fend for himself.

Wu Lin’s face fell, and Shen Qingqiu groaned inwardly. “I don’t have a plan,” he said. “Not yet anyhow, but I will!”

“Where do you need to go? Is it far?” Shen Qingqiu watched him poke at the porridge some more, holding his tongue before he berated him for playing with his food.

“To the south, it’s not far,” Wu Lin said too quickly, eyes widening and cast downwards.

“Do you need me to come with you?” Shen Qingqiu hoped he would say no and relieve him of any duty.

“No thank you. It’s not far,” Wu Lin said, head bowed as he spoke into his food.

Uneasy relief filled Shen Qingqiu. The child didn’t need help. He would be fine. Shen Qingqiu could go to work, get paid and leave, never to worry about Wu Lin again.

He nodded, giving an encouraging smile to Wu Lin. “I’ll be leaving today. You can come with me to the road if you want.”

“No thank you,” Wu Lin replied. He really was a polite boy, voice even and assured even as his brow creased with worry. “I’ll leave after you.”

“Very well,” Shen Qingqiu said and packed up his things. He got up and searched his bag for a moment before walking over to Wu Lin.

“Take these, it’s not much but since you’re not going far it will hopefully be enough,” he said and handed over a handful of copper coins. He gave them begrudgingly, but he knew he would be plagued by guilt if he simply left the child without any resources.

“Thank you master Zhou!” Wu Lin kowtowed in gratitude, lifting his head to give him a timid smile again.

“Be safe,” Shen Qingqiu said and left, ignoring the farewell he got in return. He pretended not to notice as Wu Lin followed him, and even if he didn’t look back as he got on the cart, intuition told him Wu Lin would follow the road the other way and go north.

He worked through the day without noticing time passing, stopping every once in a while to look in the direction of the temple. An invisible string pulled on him, tugging harder each moment he decided not to go after Wu Lin. By midday the string felt wrapped around his heart, almost pulling it out of his chest with every heartbeat. The guilt he already lived with grew in the pit of his stomach, almost reaching the back of his throat and suffocating him at the end of the day.

It was just a child! Wu Lin was just a boy, and hadn’t his life been ruined by a boy on more than one occasion? Hadn’t he been shackled to a young Yue Qingyuan the moment he had been kind to Shen Qingqiu, leading him to his doom? Hadn’t Luo Binghe ruined his entire life simply by existing?

He shouldn’t care, wouldn’t let himself care, but fate was tugging at his core, and he had no choice but obey. Once he was done working he gave up on resisting any longer and hitched a ride with the old man driving the cart, taking him north past the temple.

The child was a decent liar. Good enough to fool the ordinary man, but Shen Qingqiu had been the master of many children. He was used to evasive eyes and answers given too quickly. Was used to not being trusted.

It was late into the night by the time he said goodbye to the old man and his horse. The darkness would make the search more difficult, but there was little to do about it. He had a candle somewhere in his bag, but it would only leave him exposed to danger while not giving him any help him in the dark of the night.

Gripping his stick he held it out in front of him, using it to navigate through the treacherous forest. If Wu Lin was smart, and he seemed to at least not be stupid, he would stick to the east when passing the town. East offered better terrain, with more dry, rocky areas than the west. And if he was with the demons when they arrived, he might know that they passed the town on the west side, meaning he would know not to go where they would anticipate him.

Unless he was wrong, and the boy was a complete idiot. If that was the case then Shen Qingqiu was also an idiot, scrambling along like a fool in the forest looking for a child that would be miles away from him. He didn’t even know if he was going in the right direction, but the string in the center of his chest tugged at him, guiding him along. Fate was pulling at him once more, and he had given up on resisting.

There was no sound in the forest except the chirping of insects, nothing out of the ordinary to tell him where to go. A branch hit him right in the face as he walked into it and he cursed inwardly, berating himself for being a helpless buffoon.

Why was he risking his life for a stranger? A child he didn’t even know? Trudging along in the dark looking for what would probably be a green-eyed mistake. And what for? Fate? He had half a mind to turn around and leave, but he didn’t. Instead, he kept going, trying and failing to avoid the low hanging branches.

A shout rang through the forest and his heart leaped up into his throat. That was the sign he had been looking for. As quickly and as carefully as he could he walked in the direction of the noises. It was difficult, haste making him sloppy, and more than once his feet caught on hidden roots and rocks and threatened to roll his ankles.

There was a pinpoint of light in the distance, a blurry dot of something yellow that stood out in the dark. He aimed in the direction of the light, slowing down so he could sneak closer without tripping over something in the dark.

He hid behind a couple of bushes, observing the scene. Wu Lin was on the ground, gagged and with his hands and feet tied behind him. The man from last night was there with another man. That meant he would have to expect the woman to appear at the worst possible time.

Wu Lin grunted, and the newcomer kicked him in the stomach. “I told you to be quiet! You’ve caused us enough problems!”

Shen Qingqiu gripped his stick and assessed the situation. There was a chance the demons would become three or more soon. If he wanted a chance to defeat them, he would have to take it now, there was no other option than to step in before it was too late.

“If he’s so troublesome, I can take him off your hands,” he said, stepping out from around the bushes.

“You! I knew it,” the demon from yesterday said. Shen Qingqiu fought the urge to roll his eyes at him. He definitely didn’t know it.

Both of them got between him and Wu Lin, blocking the boy from his view. The other man rushed him, a tall white-haired demon that chose to attack him unarmed.

The attacker was fast, and Shen Qingqiu had to step back quickly to avoid the hand coming for his chest. Shen Qingqiu reacted fast, but still felt a sting across his chest. So, not unarmed then. Most likely he had long, sharp nails, as it felt like he had been cut in at least three different places.

Shen Qingqiu struck with practiced ease, hitting his opponent in the face with the end of his stick. A cracking noise was heard over a muffled grunt, and Shen Qingqiu took the moment to swipe the demon’s legs, bringing him to the ground and knocking him out with another hit to the head.

The first man came at him, having momentarily been stunned at the fast-paced fight. He had a saber which he held with both hands as he charged at Shen Qingqiu. He was slower than the first fighter, but the span of his attack was wider, and he used the advantage to drive Shen Qingqiu away from Wu Lin.

His opponent struck again, and to his attacker’s surprise Shen Qingqiu countered with his stick and blocked it, meeting him in the middle. The saber’s edge didn’t leave a mark on the stick, and Shen Qingqiu used his faster motion to knock the saber to the side before striking the demon under his chin and snapping his head back with the blow. He fell to the ground and remained there unmoving.

There was no time to waste, so Shen Qingqiu rushed over to Wu Lin and freed him from the ropes. Once he was free, the boy immediately wrapped his arms around Shen Qingqiu, clinging to him for dear life.

Wu Lin was sobbing quietly into his shoulder, and Shen Qingqiu got up with the boy still in his arms, resigned to having to carry him until they were out of danger.

Wu Lin’s weight was surprisingly light though Shen Qingqiu had little to compare it to. It had been years since he had to carry a child, and the way his neck turned wet with tears made him promise himself never to carry one again.

Their progress was slow in the dark and his foot caught on a root, threatening to knock him over. He let go off Wu Lin, placing the boy back down on his own two feet.

“How well can you see in the dark?” He asked, listening for anyone following them and to Wu Lin’s wet breathing as it evened out.

“I can see enough to guide us, if you want?” Wu Lin said with a sniffle. Without waiting he took Shen Qingqiu’s hand and started walking, steps growing confident while his grip on Shen Qingqiu stayed tight.

“Take us to the river near the town then,” Shen Qingqiu said. They would have to get some supplies tomorrow and Shen Qingqiu needed light so he could treat his injuries as soon as possible. Going into town tomorrow would be risky, but the proximity to other people could potentially ward of the kidnappers.

As they walked he mentally went through what they needed, his mind made up to see things through. The string tugging at him eased up, and with the boy holding on to him it felt like could finally breathe for the first time that day.

The boy needed new robes if they were to travel inconspicuous. New shoes might be needed if he was wearing palace shoes as Shen Qingqiu suspected. They needed enough supplies that they didn’t have to stop at the villages where they would stick out or the bigger cities where they would have a greater risk of stumbling into someone they shouldn’t.

They settled by the riverbank close to town, hiding from view within a rock formation. As Shen Qingqiu cleaned his wounds in the light of the small fire, hidden from view of any pursuers by the rocks, Wu Lin sprang to and from the river, supplying him with clean water and wringing out the bloody cloth. Under supervision Wu Lin tore off strips of cloth from an old ruined spare robe Shen Qingqiu had in his bag, kept around for just these situations, and helped bandage his chest.

During it all Wu Lin was silent, watching him with big eyes that were hauntingly familiar both in color and in expression.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Shen Qingqiu remarked once he had gotten dressed.

“I’m sorry,” Wu Lin replied, picking at his sleeve.

“You say that a lot,” Shen Qingqiu remarked.

“I’m-,” Wu Lin broke off as Shen Qingqiu raised one eyebrow at him.

“You can say sorry if you want, but it’s not needed. Don’t apologize unless you’ve actually done something wrong. People usually don’t deserve an apology, and certainly not an unfunded one.” Wu Lin watched him with eyes that widened as Shen Qingqiu spoke, hanging onto his every word.

“You sound like my father,” Wu Lin said and to Shen Qingqiu’s horror the boy’s eyes widened once again.

He turned to his bag and pulled out his spare robe and offered it to Wu Lin. “Here, put this on, it’ll be cold tonight,” he said.

“Thank you master Zhou!” Wu Lin said, voice thick with tears and gratitude.

Wu Lin wrapped the robe around himself and scooted closer until they were almost next to each other. “I mean it. Thank you. You didn’t have to help me, but you even came looking for me. I know you did!” Wu Lin sounded stubborn, like he anticipated Shen Qingqiu would deny it.

“Mhm.” At a loss of words he reached over, wiping the dirt away from Wu Lin’s face and feeling his fingers coming away wet. Such a silly boy, crying when he was safe.

“Sleep now. I’ll stay awake and keep watch,” he said, watching as Wu Lin curled up into a ball next to the fire. He pushed his bag over, and Wu Lin stuffed it under his head, falling asleep almost immediately.

Shen Qingqiu looked out into the darkness, listening intently. A sense of dread fell upon him as he peered ahead, refusing to look at Wu Lin. The certainty that everything had changed took root inside of him, and it was all because of yet another impossible child.

Chapter Text

Before the sun crept over the horizon Shen Qingqiu was already set to go, exhaustion clawing at his brain, fear biting at his heels. The fire had long since gone out and the cool night air had helped to keep him awake while sitting still, but now it was almost time to get up and get moving.

Wu Lin was still in the same position he had fallen asleep in, barely moving throughout the night. Once the fire had gone out the only indication he was still there had been a few heavy breaths and a couple of whimpers throughout the night.

There had been something though, something he refused to acknowledge just yet. A glowing ember in the dark that didn’t come from the fire. If he acknowledged it, he would have to react to it. If he had to react to it, he would certainly react wrong. So, he ignored it, pretending it wasn’t there until it went away. Until he could tell himself there was no way his aching eyes could have seen it.

A low grunt came from the boy before rustling was heard, indicating that he was waking up. Wu Lin groaned and sat up, a soft sniffle carrying through to Shen Qingqiu.

“Good morning,” he said while digging through his bag. A carrot was all he found, and he handed it to Wu Lin without a word.

“Thank you, master Zhou,” Wu Lin said quietly. He couldn’t see the child’s face and didn’t know if he was subdued because of the meager offering or because he was still sleepy.

There was a cracking sound and then half a carrot was pressed into his hand. The feeling of gratitude stung, it was a reminder that his sealed cultivation had rendered his body vulnerable to hunger. He had become mortal. Weak. Vulnerable.

“Thank you,” he said, carefully chewing on the carrot. They would need food. Any sort of grain would be cheap and easy to prepare. If they were lucky they could heat it, but if not, cold water would do. He had lived on millet for a while and could manage for as long as it took. If the boy could do the same was another question. If he had money after buying the most important supplies he might be able to buy some vegetables for Wu Lin.

“We should get going,” he said after a while, getting up and scuffling dirt over their tracks and the marks they had left behind.

“Where to, master Zhou?” Wu Lin ran a hand through the mess his hair had become despite having slept almost unmoving throughout the night.

“Come here,” he gestured in front of him, and obediently Wu Lin walked over.

Another rummage through his bag procured an old comb, some of its tines broken a long time ago. It was nothing special, everything meaningful had already been left behind, but he had had it for a few years now, making it one of his oldest possessions.

He brushed through Wu Lin’s hair quickly but thoroughly. The boy said nothing as he combed through his hair, his small fingers twitching at his side, but he made a grimace as Shen Qingqiu tied it up with the grey ribbon he had given him previously.

“Thank you, master Zhou,” Wu Lin said, hand straying to the back of his head.

“Not fond of having your hair up?” Shen Qingqiu remarked as he patted him on the shoulder.

“Not really. I don’t have it up at home. Neither does my father, he-” Wu Lin stopped himself, his words trailing into nothing.

Shen Qingqiu pretended not to notice the blunder, ignoring any mention of his father. “Well then, soon you can have your hair the way you want it. But for now you’re less noticeable like this. Until we get you new robes you’ll already stand out, no need to make it worse.”

Wu Lin looked down at his robes, tugging on his sleeves self-consciously. “What’s wrong with my robes?”

“They stand out too much. We’ll disguise ourselves as travelers, and travelers wear plain robes.” It wasn’t a change in disguise for Shen Qingqiu, but it would be a clear change for Wu Lin.

They made their way into town, Wu Lin taking in everything with wide eyes. He darted to and from like he had never been in a town before, peeking at all the stalls and flittering around the merchants and the customers. He was clearly listening in on the conversations around him, absorbing everything like a sponge.

Wu Lin still managed to keep close to him, which let Shen Qingqiu keep his attention on their surroundings, looking for anyone following them or anyone paying too much attention to either one of them. Luckily it seemed like no one was following them as they made their way to the closest tailor.

The tailor was an old woman with a stern look on her face. She quickly measured Wu Lin, who eagerly watched her every move, and immediately began to measure out enough fabric to make a set of robes.

Shen Qingqiu touched the rough fabric and winced, especially because of what he had to do next. “Would we be able to trade the boy’s robes?”

She stopped what she was doing and looked across the room at where Wu Lin was touching a soft underrobe. She scrutinized Shen Qingqiu, searching his face for a long time.

“Who is he to you?” She looked him straight in the eyes, ready to catch him in a lie.

“My nephew. My sister passed away, and his father’s wife took the opportunity to cast him out,” he lied. “I have an uncle in the east who might take him in, but until then I’m in charge of him, and his father left him no money when he was tossed out.”

The woman tsked, sympathy settling on her face as she looked Wu Lin over. “For that robe? It’s dirty, but the fabric is still good. And the gold thread can be reused. Two sets each, but yours will take time unless you’ll take something already made.”

“Thank you. We’ll take anything premade.” They didn’t have time to wait while full sets being made. Wu Lin’s robes were probably worth more than twice what she offered, but he knew she was doing him a favor. She would have a hard time finding someone who could afford the robes once she had cleaned and fixed them.

Wu Lin parted with his robes and his palace shoes without a word, but as he picked on the sleeves of his light grey robes his lower lip wobbled. He caught it between his teeth, keeping his head low as Shen Qingqiu thanked the tailor.

“Travel safely,” she said, pressing a few coins into his hand as he thanked her again.

Wu Lin was uncharacteristically silent as he followed Shen Qingqiu across the town, watching him negotiate for supplies without a word.

They were almost out of town and on their way before the sun was halfway across the sky, Wu Lin trailing after him. There was a sniffling sound behind him and he whipped around, watching as Wu Lin quickly lowered the hand that had been wiping away his tears.

Shen Qingqiu stared at him, frozen. He didn’t know how to console a crying child, let alone a boy. Didn’t know how to not just tell him to shape up, to get over it. Wu Lin stopped in his tracks, hiding his face by looking down and away.

But Wu Lin hadn’t complained, hadn’t made a fuzz or thrown a tantrum. He had merely cried silent little tears, determined to keep walking despite his sorrow.

Shen Qingqiu gazed around, calculating the outcome of his next decision. “Come on,” he said, and walked back to the tailor with Wu Lin in tow.

He marched straight to the underrobes Wu Lin had previously looked at and exchanged them for the coins the tailor had given him earlier. She gave him half of the coins back, a smile tugging on her lips as she looked from him to the boy still sniffling behind him.

He walked with haste through the town, Wu Lin running to keep up with him. It was only when they had managed to leave the town behind that he slowed down to take a look around.

Wu Lin’s eyes were still red as Shen Qingqiu gestured for him to follow him into the forest, and the boy complied without a word. Shen Qingqiu took a chance, hoping they weren’t being followed.

“Find me flowers and leaves,” Shen Qingqiu said as he sat down, rubbing his leg. His wound had started aching earlier, and he was glad for the chance to stop.

“What?” Wu Lin asked, staring at him in confusion, all sadness forgotten for the moment.

“Take a look around and find any fresh leaves and flowers you think are pretty. Many of them, and make sure there are no insects on them,” he explained, leaning back against a tree and closing his eyes.

He listened to Wu Lin scampering around, tugging on branches and rooting around in the bushes, his tears forgotten for now, and let himself nap as the boy worked.

“Here, master Zhou.” Wu Lin’s voice woke him from his nap, and he opened his eyes to seeing a sea of flowers and leaves in front of him. Perhaps he should have stopped the boy sooner, but he needed the rest and Wu Lin needed the distraction.

He assessed the flowers with an approving nod. “Now then, I need one large flat rock and two flat ones that will fit in my hand.”

Wu Lin scampered off again, a grey blur eagerly searching high and low for what Shen Qingqiu asked for. He returned with a large rock in his hands that he carefully laid down next to the flowers and put two smaller rocks on top of it.

“Well done.” Shen Qingqiu laid the new inner robe down on the largest rock and gestured to the flowers. “Have you pressed flowers before?”

The boy shook his head, eagerly stepping closer.

“Then give me the ones you think are prettiest,” Shen Qingqiu said as he knelt down.

Wu Lin presented him with a couple of lilacs and chrysanthemums, and a bunch of luscious green leaves. Shen Qingqiu picked the bigger flowers apart and adorned the petals across half of the bottom of the fabric. He built an image of a soft forest floor across the hem of the inner robe using the green leaves, and places the flowers higher up, creating a soft scenery.

He sat back, eyeing the robe. “Now what?” Wu Lin asked.

“Now, we press.” Shen Qingqiu folded the robe over itself carefully, mindful not to disturb the pattern. Then he used one of the smaller rocks to pound the flowers, crushing them between the fabrics.

Wu Lin studied him for a moment before he picked up his own rock and eagerly copied Shen Qingqiu, crushing the flowers until the pattern came through. Together they made patterns across the robe. Wu Lin’s excited little exclamations as the colors came through warmed a part of him that had been cold since he had left his sect behind. His excitement reminded him of Ning Yingying, and Shen Qingqiu ruthlessly squashed that thought before it could take root within him.

Working together made it quick work, and soon Wu Lin could place a large leaf on either side near the shoulders, like a matching set of emblems. Shen Qingqiu sat back, letting the boy do the last part himself. “Normally we would rinse it out, but we’re too far from the river right now. We can do that later.”

He picked away the remnants of the plants and shook it clean, presenting it to Wu Lin. It had a few mistakes here and there, and it wasn’t his finest work, but Wu Lin took it with a look that made it seem it was finer than the emperor’s own robes.

“You can wear this underneath your outer robes. We have to wear plain robes to not draw attention to ourselves.” He places a hand on Wu Lin’s shoulder. “I understand that change can be hard, even when it’s necessary. You’re used to finer clothes, and you’ll be back to wearing finer things in no time, I’m sure. Until then you can wear this underneath your outer robe like a secret.”

Wu Lin scrunched his eyes shut as his shoulders shook, and his breath became hiccups as he flung himself at Shen Qingqiu. “Thank you master Zhou!”

Shen Qingqiu awkwardly patted him on the back, unaccustomed to being so close to anyone. He had always been terrible at consoling others, and the boy, he was finding out, seemed easily moved to tears.

Wu Lin pulled back, giving him a bashful smile as he wiped his eyes. Without a word he scampered behind a bush, changing his inner robes for the one they had just made. When he reappeared he seemed happier, his cheeks dimpled as he smiled at Shen Qingqiu.

They set off on the road again, and this time Wu Lin walked next to him with confidence. “Where are we going?” he asked, finally thinking to ask.

Shen Qingqiu sighed to himself. Had his father not taught him any survival skills? Or was he simply averse to learning? He looked at Wu Lin. The boy wasn’t stupid, so it stood to reason it was his father’s fault he was too trusting, too eager to follow without question. If he was correct in how far they would have to go, he would have time to teach the boy some critical thinking. But he could also tell that the boy wasn’t too naïve. There was something in his eyes, something in how he observed others, that told of a keen mind who liked to figure out how people worked.

“We’re going north,” he replied, and Wu Lin stopped. Shen Qingqiu didn’t slow down, and soon the boy had to run to catch up to him.

“Why are we going north?” Wu Lin stared at him, and he stared right back, a smile he knew others found irritating tugging on his lips.

“Because that’s where you’re going, is it not?” He quirked an eyebrow, daring him to defy him.

Without breaking the stare Wu Lin skipped over a rock in the road. “How did you know?”

A smile tugged on his lips against his will at the face of such unrestrained curiosity. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Oh,” Wu Lin said and fell silent, gaze dropping as he got lost in thought.

The silence lasted for a while, and he could tell Wu Lin was thinking about what he had said, mulling over his words. Looking for a way to frame what he wanted to say without it being taken the wrong way. Or perhaps, the right way.

At long last Wu Lin broke the silence. “You know a lot of things.”

“I do,” Shen Qingqiu confirmed.

Not discouraged by the short answer, Wu Lin continued talking. “You know how to press flowers.”

Shen Qingqiu nodded. “Yes.”

Wu Lin still stared at him, curiosity evident in his voice. “You know how to spot liars.”

There was no rebutting that when Shen Qingqiu had said so himself. “Mhm.”

“You know how to fight,” Wu Lin said with confidence.

Shen Qingqiu said nothing in response to that observation.

Wu Lin looked up at him. “You do. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Well done,” he commented drily.

There was a moment of hesitation. “Will you teach me?”

“Teach you what? To press flowers? I already did that.” Shen Qingqiu knew what Wu Lin was really asking for, but he couldn’t help making it difficult, even if it was a request made by a child.

“Will you teach me how to fight like you?” There was hope in his voice, and it reminded him painfully of the last time any sort of hope had been directed at him. At the end of his sword, above the Endless Abyss.

He wondered though, about the boy’s upbringing. “Has your father not taught you how to fight?”

“Not like that,” was the answer, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Curiosity flickered inside his mind, pushing him to ask questions when he was trying to keep some semblance of a distance between them for his own self-preservation. “Then how?”

“Just,” Wu Lin hesitated, “just not like that.”

“We’ll see.” He made no promises, despite knowing he would do it. If just to keep the boredom of traveling at bay.

Wu Lin seemed to settle down after that, content to walk in silence. Shen Qingqiu glanced at him occasionally, taking in his confident stride and the smile on his lips. Teaching another child was something he had never anticipated doing again, and reluctance warred with anticipation inside of him. There were a thousand ways things could go wrong teaching Wu Lin, and only one way things could go right.

He couldn’t say it wasn’t tempting, his vanity practically salivated at the idea of being someone’s master again, but ego had been his downfall before.

We’ll see, he thought to himself, it might not go wrong this time.

Chapter Text

They had walked for two days, only stopping for a few hours each night to keep Wu Lin from falling over in exhaustion. On the third day Wu Lin lagged further and further behind. First it was only a few steps, then a few more, until Shen Qingqiu could barely hear the shuffling of his feet as he trailed behind him.

Finally, they reached a town that looked like a promising place to rest. It was a small town, but it had enough travelers passing through that they would blend in. He was looking for somewhere that served food when an image caught his eye. There, on a board in the town square was a tattered and torn drawing, the paper yellow from years of exposure to the elements. Hanging from a rusty old nail was a drawing of his face. He scanned the area quickly, searching for eyes that lingered too long on him. When nothing appeared out of the ordinary he walked on, Wu Lin trailing behind him in silent confusion.

It was only when they had left the town long behind him that he turned around, expecting to hear complaining the moment the child caught up to him. Instead, Wu Lin stopped by his side, waiting without a word.

He couldn’t see if the boy was sweating, but he could hear the labored breathing and how he tried to suppress it. Weren’t children more tenacious than this? Did he receive so little training and did he play so little that merely walking almost knocked him off his feet?

Wu Lin looked up at him, and there must have been something shown on his face because he ducked his head and looked away, feet shuffling in embarrassment. Wu Lin said nothing as he followed him off the road and down to the river.

“We’ve walked far enough today. We’ll try to catch some fish and make some food before nightfall,” he said and put down his bag.

There was a beat of silence before Wu Lin spoke. “It’s barely sunset,” he said with reluctance, as if pointing it out would make Shen Qingqiu change his mind and walk on.

He hesitated before placing a hand on the child’s shoulder. “We’ve walked far enough today. Besides, I’m an old man who needs his rest. Now listen to this old man and do as he says.” It was a half-truth at best. His age wasn’t a problem, but he could feel the wound on his leg throb and burn. The punishing pace he had made them keep so they would get distance from any possible pursuers strained the injury and made every step painful. Now that they had stopped he could feel the pulse beating in his leg, each thump causing a stinging ache. Even if he made the decision to stop for Wu Lin’s sake, he couldn’t help but make a sigh of relief for his own aching body.

Wu Lin seemed to accept his words and rushed down to the river with newfound energy, eagerly scouting the water for any fish as Shen Qingqiu got ready.

He made a small fire while Wu Lin looked up and down the river. He kept his eyes on the child as he walked about, wondering if he knew how to swim. He added a tiny bit of rice and millet and let it boil.

Wu Lin walked over and stopped as he looked down at the pan. He looked up at Shen Qingqiu then down at the pan again. “Isn’t that-,” he stopped himself from finishing the sentence.

“Too little for us?” Shen Qingqiu added. Wu Lin nodded and Shen Qingqiu returned the nod before explaining. “This is not for us, this will be used as groundbait. It will lure the fish closer and keep them there so we can catch them.”

He scooped up the boiled rice and millet and once they were cool enough he had Wu Lin shape them into little balls. He pulled out a long thin line with a needle at the end and let Wu Lin dig through the dirt for live bait.

He hesitated for a moment before discarding his robes, not wanting them to get soaked if he slipped and fell, but still hesitant to show anyone, not even a child, the scars that marred his back. Briskly, he pulled up the legs on his pants and waded into the river. the groundbait and the fishing line was thrown into the deeper water in front of him and he braced himself for a long wait. Around him the wildlife was buzzing and chirping, while Wu Lin had gone suspiciously quiet. He turned his head, and while he couldn’t make out the look on his face, he could tell Wu Lin was staring at him.

“What happened to-,” he cut Wu Lin off with a shush.

“If you speak you will scare the fish.” Wu Lin flopped down into the grass, keeping quiet after a huff of protest.

During the years on the run he had come to appreciate the quiet, so it was worrisome how used he had already become to every little sound Wu Lin made. Before he fled from Luo Binghe he thought he knew what quiet was. As a Peak Lord he had taught his disciples to be graceful and elegant, but most importantly, he had taught them to be quiet around him. When he found himself on the road all alone, he had been shocked at how quiet the world really was. There had been no sound of movement, no trace of the undefinable sound created by knowing there was people close by, even if he couldn’t see or hear them. It had been safety, he quickly realized, safety in being surrounded by his disciples. Once the immediate fear of Luo Binghe had disappeared, he was left with the unease of that empty silence. No chirping or buzzing could fill that silence, and it had taken him a long time to get used to the absence of other people. Already the boy had filled that silence, had made Shen Qingqiu used to his presence.

Wu Lin waited obediently, falling asleep in the grass as Shen Qingqiu caught their food. After having caught enough fish he washed his hands in the river and removed the bandage on his leg, cleaning the wound and the bandage as best as he could before heading back to land.

Wu Lins slept as he made the fish, only rousing when Shen Qingqiu called his name. As he waited for the fish to be done he had rewrapped his leg and put his robes back on, feeling a little more ready to answer the questions he was sure was coming his way.

Halfway through their meal, Wu Lin finally spoke. “Why didn’t we just eat the food we bought, like we have been?” The question was unexpected and it took him a moment to shift from the conversation he thought they would be having.

He focused on Wu Lin, startled by the singular focus he received. “Most of the food we bought are dry and can be kept for a while. It’s better to save those for days where we can’t find fresh food. Like yesterday, when we were too far from the forest to find plants and wildlife, and too far from the river to fish.”

Wu Lin nodded as he picked at his fish. Then he asked, “How did you get the scars on your back?” His tone was airy, like he tried to hide his curiosity.

Ah, Shen Qingqiu thought. He had asked something unexpected to make him lower his guard before asking what he really wanted to know. The tactic reminded him of himself. The crudeness in the execution of the tactic reminded him of another young boy, one who was always as subtle as a bull.

“Not everyone grew up as a fortunate and rich son,” he said casually.

“You didn’t?” Wu Lin replied, and something in his tone gave away a disbelief. His reply had been only a few words, yet it sounded as if his world view had been shattered.

“Should I have?” He replied, lips stretching into a sardonic smile.

“No! No, I mean-,” Wu Lin’s words trailed off into nothing and they fell silent again.

They kept eating in silence, as Wu Lin seemed deep in thought and Shen Qingqiu unwilling to prod the boy further.

It was only when they were almost done eating that the silence was ended. The boy stared at him so intensely he could almost feel it even if he couldn’t see it. It felt as if his face was physically prodded by the way he could feel where Wu Lin’s eyes drifted.

He lifted one eyebrow, leveling Wu Lin with a stare that had made grown men cry. “Yes?”

Wu Lin gnawed at the fish, crumbs falling from his mouth with every bite, but he waited until his mouth was empty before he spoke. “You look like him,” he stated.

Shen Qingqiu tilted his head, pretending not to know where this dreaded conversation would go. “Like who?”

The boy shifted awkwardly, gazing around like someone might be listening to their conversation, before whispering, “like–, like Shen Qingqiu.”

“Ah,” he said.

“But you don’t have his eyes.” Wu Lin’s voice held a tone of confusion.

“How do you know what his eyes were like?” The poster in town might once have been colorful, but the colors had long since faded. It had been a shock the first time he had come face to face with himself, green eyes staring contemptuously back at him.

“Father has a painting of him,” Wu Lin confessed.

“Does he?” He tried hard not to think of the implications. Of evidence that would make him run into the night and leave the child behind.

“Mhm. In his special room.” Wu Lin said it plainly, like such a thing wouldn’t get the ordinary man killed. Harboring anything that would seem like support of Shen Qingqiu or Cang Qiong Mountain Sect was prohibited.

“Such a thing could get him killed.”

Wu Lin seemed to ignore that statement. “Father says I have his eyes.”

“I’m sure they weren’t as bright as yours are.” He hadn’t been able to tell. Didn’t want to be able to tell. But sometimes when the light has hit Wu Lin’s eyes, and Shen Qingqiu was close enough to see, he saw a dark green beam in Wu Lin’s right eye, like the mirrored reflections in his past.

Had he thought about it, as he pressed them into the skull of the still smoldering body? That the dark green beam was on his left?

Wu Lin hunched inwards, eyes shifting to the side. “Yours are very pretty, master Zhou.”

He had thought so too, the first time he saw them. But the brown eyes were prettier in a handsome face whose eyes sockets weren’t littered with tiny white scars. Prettier in the face of a traitor, whose betrayal still didn’t measure up to his.

The smile on his lips threatened to tremble, but he steeled himself and held it. “Thank you. Now finish eating so you can sleep.”

“Yes, master Zhou!” Wu Lin said, gaze still on his face like it would crack open and all his secrets would emerge.

For you, he thought, for you, they just might have to.

Chapter Text

His body felt like it was on fire, every meridian pulsating with pain. Each dimly golden point throbbed painfully with his quickening heartbeat. He was succumbing to a Qi deviation unlike any he had experienced. As the pain cascaded through him, bringing him to the point of no return, his core was suddenly engulfed by a brightly shining golden light. It cradled his spirit like cupped hands around a baby bird, protecting him from harm. He became light and air, his spirit no longer constrained by his body, but soaring freely as a dimly lit scattering of pinprick light. The strong golden light merged with his, and he felt complete in a way that would have brought tears to his eyes if he had still been in his body. The entwining felt like heaven, felt like paradise, and he knew it would get better. Knew without doubt that it would bring him to a peak that would feel like dying and being reborn all in one.

Right before he reached that peak the stench of burning flesh invaded his nose, sending him unprepared from dream to nightmare. Once again, he was left to face the makeshift pyres, helpless but to do anything other than watch as his companions burned. He shouted, struggling against the unrelenting grip holding him down, unable to simply sit there and watch.

He was shaken awake, Wu Lin’s hand darting away from his shoulder as he opened his eyes. Wu Lin turned around, giving Shen Qingqiu a moment to wipe away the tears lingering on his face in private.

“The sun is rising,” Wu Lin said, filling the silence and explaining the abrupt awakening.

The boy had become bold around him during the month they had been on the road. He flung question after question at Shen Qingqiu, his curiosity only subdued when the toll of the day set in.

It had been ten days since they left the last town behind, and they were steadily making their way north. Steadily but slowly. The child had been slower than he liked, but if it weren’t for him Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t be headed north anyway. Now his injured leg ached with every step, and their pace was evenly matched. They had covered a great distance, but Wu Lin had said he needed to go to Yueshan city, a city bordering on the northern part of the country. It would take a lot longer for them to reach it, especially on foot.

They ate breakfast in silence, and he took the opportunity to look through his bag, taking stock of their supplies.

“We’re half a day away from Nanxiang city. There’s a festival held there this time of year, and the human crowd should be enough to allow us to blend in.” He had not been to Nanxiang city since Luo Binghe merged the realms, too worried about being spotted. Too worried about the Cultivation Restriction Division finding him. But he had been to smaller cities and had seen firsthand how most of the humans had been driven away, leaving because they were scared or simply forced to go.

When he became emperor Luo Binghe had made it clear he favored demons over humans, allowing demons liberties that humans were denied. The elite had settled in the best cities, the ones which were along trade routes and surrounded by fertile land, pushing out the humans who had to settle on the outskirts of the city.

He felt a twinge of guilt and sighed, making Wu Lin turn as he started combing through the boy’s hair. “Eyes forward,” he warned, and pulled on the hair to make Wu Lin turn back.

Humans were forbidden to practice cultivation, and any who dared had been hunted down. The sects had been eradicated, all trace of them erased from the world. The demons had been allowed to do as they pleased during the first years after the merging of the realms. Shen Qingqiu knew what had caused these actions, and even if he had tried to deny it, the guilt he carried always reminded him of who was to blame. After all, it had taken Shen Qingqiu’s supposed death for the demons to be reeled in, some of Luo Binghe’s anger having finally been sated. In bigger cities demons still acted above the law, confident that even if they were caught Luo Binghe would be lenient with them.

“We’re going into the city?” Wu Lin asked excitedly, his feet threatening to take off running already.

He finished tying up Wu Lin’s hair, careful not to pull on it too much. Shen Qingqiu doing his hair had become their little morning ritual, and he had quickly learned that Wu Lin had a low pain threshold. More than one morning had ended in guilt after seeing the tears in Wu Lin’s eyes after Shen Qingqiu had been too rough when putting his hair in a bun or ponytail. He had learned to be gentler, more careful with the young boy. He sighed again. If only he had been gentler with a different young boy. Or crueler, he thought to himself. After all, there would never have been an Emperor Luo if Shen Qingqiu had just cut his head off before throwing him into the Endless Abyss.

“What are you thinking about? You’re looking happy,” Wu Lin said and eyed him suspiciously.

“Nothing,” he replied. “I’m merely looking forward to the festival. Have you ever been to a harvest festival?”

Wu Lin shook his head, eyes lighting up in excitement. “No. I can’t wait!” He sprinted off but caught himself and returned to help Shen Qingqiu pack up the last of the camp with so much energy he was almost levitating.

As they got closer to Nanxiang City Wu Lin looked up at him. “What’s the harvest festival like?”

He thought back to when he had visited years ago. “There’s a lot of food sold everywhere, most of it made from harvested crops. There are flowers everywhere, and a show on every street. People give thanks to the gods for what they have received and give offerings so that the next year may be blessed too.”

The last time he had visited had been a year before the Immortal Alliance Conference, and he had taken his best disciples with him to help him investigate a harvest demon.

He looked down at Wu Lin, taking in the eager look on his face. Luo Binghe had not been one of the disciples he took with him. Instead he had been made to stay behind to sweep and clean the thirteen thousand steps of the Heaven-Ascending Stairs.

When he returned, he had found Luo Binghe at step eleven thousand five hundred and thirty-two. Somewhere along step eight thousand he had started bleeding, and still he had kept going, a trail of blood ruining his hard work. Luo Binghe had been unconscious, unaware as Shen Qingqiu had picked him up and delivered him to Mu Qingfang without a word.

He stared as Wu Lin talked, rambling on without picking up on Shen Qingqiu’s introspection. There were no scars from hard work on Wu Lin’s hands, no trace of hardship on him at all. A child so alike him and Luo Binghe, but without any of the pain either of them had suffered.

The silence was what brought him out of his musings. Wu Lin still talked, going on about what he hoped to see, but it was the silence around them that caught Shen Qingqiu’s attention.

When he had previously visited the festival they had heard the sounds of celebration long before they had seen the city walls. The fields surrounding the city had been full of crops still waiting to be picked. The people working the fields had been singing along to the music they could hear, joy in every note. Now the fields were mostly empty, and the few workers they passed kept their heads down, faces thin and clothes worn ragged.

He approached a nearby woman, stopping in front of her even as she kept her eyes down and averted. “Forgive me for intruding. Is this not the time of the festival?”

Her gaze travelled slowly upwards, eyes sunken and clouded as she finally looked at him. “There’s no festival. Lord Zhen banned the festival six years ago.” She shook her head and stumbled away, muttering to herself.

Six years since the last festival. Shen Qingqiu looked around, taking in the withered crops and dry soil. He looked up, watching the grey clouds that seemed to hover over the area and held no sign of rain. Six years since the proper festival, but he was sure the locals wouldn’t have stopped their celebrations immediately. They would have celebrated and said their thanks in private. But if Lord Zhen was anywhere near as ruthless as Emperor Luo, then he would have been harsh on anyone found still celebrating. So, at least three to four years without hardly any prayer or thanks given to the local harvest deity. That would be enough to create a catastrophic environment.

Wu Lin was quiet next to him, a frown marring his young face as they made their way into the city. There was no singing to greet them, no bustling crowd that they had to make their way through. The shops in the outer part of the city were boarded up, and the few people they saw scurried away, hurrying from one place to another. The further into the city they got, the more people they saw, but they were all the same. Dull-eyed, worn thin and exhausted.

“What’s wrong with them, master Zhou?” Wu Lin’s voice was thin and scared, his hand gripping onto Shen Qingqiu’s robes.

“I don’t know,” Shen Qingqiu said, though he had an inkling. The thin faces, the worn-down people, the fear permeating the city. It reeked of abuse, of enslavement. The citizens had been brought low and kept there, most likely with a sword to their throats.

He thought about going back, and traveling around the city, but they still needed supplies. The nearest town on their way was several days away, and they needed to restock on food and other supplies.

More and more people appeared, and he was hopeful it meant that some part of the city was still alive. Hopefully there would be a shop that sold something they could eat until they got to the next town.

The handful of people grew into a crowd, and the somber mood stopped Shen Qingqiu in his tracks just as he saw what was happening in the center of the crowd.

“This is what I am protecting you from!” A voice boomed. A man dressed in black and adorned with heavy gold jewelry spoke from the opening within the crowd, using a lit torch to gesture at the two persons tied to a pyre. Three similarly dressed men and a woman stood next to him, nodding as he continued to speak. The man speaking to the crowd was slightly familiar, but Shen Qingqiu didn’t have time to think about where he had seen him before as the man continued to speak.

“Cultivators! All of them liars, all of them thieves! There’s a reason the blessed Emperor Luo have made cultivation illegal. It’s to protect you from those who want to hurt you! Look at the harm cultivation has caused! Do not listen to their lies!” The man’s voice was enhanced, his voice deep but able to carry across the crowd.

As Shen Qingqiu turned to get Wu Lin away from what was about to happen, he saw the soldiers present at every street. As he turned fully around the soldiers moved into the street, blocking their path. The crowd had been trapped, forced to bear witness to what was about to happen.

“Master Zhou, what’s happening?” Wu Lin’s voice shook, hand trembling as he still held on to Shen Qingqiu.

He crouched down, taking in Wu Lin’s wide eyes full of oncoming panic. “Listen to me,” he said, getting Wu Lin’s attention.

“I’m not going to lie to you. Something horrible is about to happen, and we can’t leave until the soldiers let us. Do you understand?” Wu Lin nodded, both hands gripping onto Shen Qingqiu’s arms.

The cultivators had been gagged, but as the smoke started to billow from the center of the crowd, their muted screams could still be heard.

“I need you to close your eyes, alright? If you must open them, then look at me. Don’t look away. Can you do that?” Wu Lin nodded and closed his eyes, and Shen Qingqiu reached up to cover his ears for him. It wouldn’t block out all of the sounds, but the touch could possibly offer comfort and help make Wu Lin feel safer.

The crowd stood by and watched as the flames reached higher and higher, and Shen Qingqiu looked up at the people around them. Most of the faces were blank, with some of them showing fear and unease. It was easy to see this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

The smell of burning flesh reached them, and instinctively he wanted to run away as the too familiar feeling of helplessness threatened to pull him into despair. Ever since he burned down the Qiu household the smell had followed him. It had soaked into his skin and found a home in his bones, and after returning to Cang Qiong Mountain and seeing his sect burned to the ground the smell had taken a life of its own, haunting his dreams and waking him up at night.

But Cang Qiong Mountain had been nothing compared to the day he had faked his own death, forced to bear witness as his helpers were burned alive.

The muffled screams from the center of the crowd grew louder, and the voices changed in his mind, the screams in his memories had been unhindered and intermittent with cursing and promises of vengeance. Lost in his memories it was no longer a couple of unnamed cultivators burning, but his allies.

The sounds around him grew muffled, and Wu Lin’s worried face came into view. He had released his grip on Shen Qingqiu’s arms to cover his ears for him. They stood there, almost frozen in time, holding each other’s gaze and blocking out everything else around them.

Being almost nose to nose with Wu Lin gave Shen Qingqiu a chance to study him further, trying his best to dismiss their surroundings and instead take in the tiny details he had previously missed. The bow of Wu Lin’s lips was peaked and pronounced, much like his own. His eyelashes curled dramatically, while his own had a gentler curve to them. But what really held his attention was his eyes, even though he had looked at them before. He looked closely at the dark green beam in Wu Lin’s right eye. His own had been in his left eye, but that’s not something a child would think about, would it? And a painting would be like a mirror, gazing back at you right to left, left to right.

He kept holding his hands over Wu Lin’s ears, but stretched his thumbs out so he could touch the skin around his eyes. Even with his diminished eyesight he could see the thin white scars, so much fainter than his own. He thumbed at them gently, unwilling to cause any pain even though he knew the pain had to be long gone.

As he looked at him, Wu Lin stared right back, his focus seemingly more on Shen Qingqiu than what was happening around them, green eyes darting everywhere across his face like he was desperate to commit Shen Qingqiu’s features to memory.

The crowd started moving and Shen Qingqiu saw the soldiers stepping aside to let the people leave. The screaming had stopped, and he knew without looking that the cultivators were dead. No one had saved them, because no one dared. No one could, he thought to himself. Only the emperor himself could stop the culling of cultivators, and he was the one who had allowed it in the first place.

Shen Qingqiu looked around, spotting the familiar man in black and gold again. Luo Binghe had started a war against the cultivation world, and had won, but even he had some mercy. The largest sects that were eradicated from top to bottom, while unnamed cultivators had their meridians broken, unless they were deemed fit to join the army. Luo Binghe had many cultivators executed, some broadcasted to every city under his rule, but they had all been powerful and prominent sect members, or important rebels. And while Shen Qingqiu’s helpers had been burned, that had seemed like a decision made because of who they helped, and not simply because of who they were.

He eyed the man as he walked away, smiling and chatting with his companions. It wasn’t hard to understand that this was Lord Zhen in person. Wu Lin tugged at his sleeve and he turned away, not before catching Lord Zhen turning his head and staring at them for a brief moment, his eyes meeting Shen Qingqiu’s fleetingly before moving away. His eyes had darted down to Wu Lin, Shen Qingqiu was sure of it, but there had been no recollection on his face, no hint at knowing who the child was. Still, he held on to Wu Lin tightly as they hastily walked through the city.

“How could-,” Wu Lin said, before Shen Qingqiu interrupted him.

“Be quiet. Don’t speak until we’re out of the city,” he cautioned, and Wu Lin kept quiet, his grip tight around Shen Qingqiu’s hand.

Once the city was far behind them Wu Lin looked up at him and he nodded, granting permission for the child to speak. It took only a moment for Wu Lin to explode in a fury of words. “How could that be allowed to happen? Why didn’t anyone help? Why didn’t anyone stop them?”

Shen Qingqiu leveled him with his gaze. “And who would stop it? You saw the citizens, none of them had weapons. Not one of them would even have the strength to withstand a strong wind. How could they have helped?”

Wu Lin turned in a circle, full of childish anger that had no place to go until his eyes fell on Shen Qingqiu again. “You! You could have stopped them!”

Shen Qingqiu lifted an eyebrow, staring down at Wu Lin with astonishment. “And how could I have stopped them?”

“You’re a cultivator! A strong one! You can fight, I know you can!” Wu Lin shouted so loudly a flock of birds in the nearby threes took flight.

“I am not what you think I am. Put such thoughts behind you.” He spoke harshly, but Wu Lin didn’t back down.

“I know who you are! You’re-,” his words were cut off by Shen Qingqiu’s hand across his mouth.

“I am nothing but a coward. A man whose only desire is to survive. Trying to help those people would have killed you, and I refuse to let that happen!” His voice shook as he spoke, and he pushed him away in anger at the thought of something happening to Wu Lin.

Wu Lin stared up at him, his anger evaporated. His eyes were suddenly shining, full of comprehension that grated on Shen Qingqiu’s nerves.

“What?” He groused, turning back to the road and setting a pace that punished them both.

“You said your only desire is to survive,” Wu Lin said, hand grabbing onto Shen Qingqiu’s robe. “But you said you refuse to let me be killed. Not you, but me.”

“Well.” He wanted to say something else, anything else, but for once the truth demanded to be spoken.

“Well,” Wu Lin repeated. “Well, Shen Qingqiu, will you teach me cultivation? Will you teach me how to fight?”

The sound of his name stopped him in his tracks. The damned name he didn’t want, had hated for years after his shizun had given it to him. Now it both horrified and delighted him to hear it, spoken so softly by the impossible child.

“Why do you want to learn so badly?” He asked, refusing to acknowledge the name.

“Because it’s part of who I am. My father, he-,” at the mention of his father Wu Lin’s boldness deflated, and his gaze fell to the ground.

“Your father what?” Shen Qingqiu prodded.

“He won’t let me learn. He won’t teach me his kind of cultivation, and not your kind either. He won’t even, won’t even-,” Wu Lin’s voice wobbled, and to Shen Qingqiu’s horror tears started to spill down the child’s cheeks.

Suddenly Wu Lin was clutching onto him, seeking comfort from him. He was at a loss at what to do and could only wrap his arms around him and let the child cry himself dry.

“Hush now, it’ll be alright.” He patted Wu Lin’s hair clumsily with an inexperienced gesture.

Wu Lin craned his head back and peeked up at him. “So, you’ll teach me?”

“Alright,” he acquiesced. “Just the basics, and only when we are alone. You can’t reveal to anyone what you’re learning, do you understand?” He tried his best to impress upon Wu Lin the importance of keeping this a secret.

Wu Lin nodded vigorously, stepping back and wiping his tears away with his sleeves. “When do we start?”

Shen Qingqiu stared at him, impressed yet stunned at the sudden shift in Wu Lin’s demeanor. He could tell it was partly faked, and that Wu Lin had gambled a bit more than he had wanted to reveal when mentioning his father. The tears had clearly been exaggerated, but the well from which they had sprung from had been real.

Oh, Luo Binghe, he thought. Have you failed your child as I failed you?

Chapter Text

Thud. The boy fell on his backside for the tenth time that day, and once again he got right back up. Wu Lin looked over at him, silently waiting for his next command. He could see the sweat dripping down his face and how his arms shook under the unfamiliar weight of the branch in his grip.

“Again,” Shen Qingqiu said, and turned back to stir the pot.

He eyed the contents of the soup critically. The soup was thin and would be almost tasteless. It had been three days since they left Nanxiang City, and they were out of supplies.

It was already night when they had reached the outskirts of their next destination; Changshu City. As they approached the city he had hesitated, unsure if it contained the same horrors as Nanxian. To be safe they had set up camp outside the city walls walls, and to keep Wu Lin from asking him more questions about his past he had instructed Wu Lin on how to perform a basic sword routine.

Thud. The boy went down again, huffing as he got up. “Again,” Shen Qingqiu told him, not bothering to turn.

Their food supply was empty, and he knew without having to check that his money pouch was equally empty. He would have taken a job working in a field somewhere, but when he had raised the topic of staying a few days somewhere relatively safe, Wu Lin had been adamant that they kept walking. There had been something haunted in his eyes as he refused to answer why he was in such a hurry.

Shen Qingqiu turned his head a little, watching out of the corner of his eye as Wu Lin went through the routine. The boy was terrible, and it was clear he had no training at all. He had no awareness of his body, no coordination to speak of. But he didn’t complain, and whenever he fell, he got right back up. Whenever Shen Qingqiu offered criticism, he took it and used it to get better.

Thud. Wu Lin fell again. He was terrible, but three days ago he had been abysmal. They had been together for only a short time, but he could recognize lot of Luo Binghe’s tenacity in Wu Lin, if not Luo Binghe’s natural talent.

“Come here. The food is ready,” he said, and poured the soup into Wu Lin’s bowl, making sure he got most of the vegetables.

Wu Lin took the bowl gratefully, arms still shaking as he started to eat. The corner of his mouth turned downwards as he ate, yet he didn’t complain at the meager soup he was given.

“You’re getting better,” Shen Qingqiu said, and watched as Wu Lin’s face lit up.

“You think so?” His entire being perked up at the praise, his metaphorical tail wagging. Just like his father, Shen Qingqiu thought.

He nodded, eating his soup slowly so that Wu Lin wouldn’t notice his bowl was full of mostly water. “Mhm. And if you keep it up, you’ll steadily improve.”

Wu Lin stared at him, face full of eagerness. “When will you teach me cultivation techniques?”

Shen Qingqiu looked at him. “I already told you that I will teach you how to fight, but I won’t teach you cultivation.”

Wu Lin repeated the question he had asked every day since Shen Qingqiu agreed to teach him how to fight. “Why not?”

“Teaching you sword forms is already dangerous. Cultivation is forbidden, and there will be harsh consequences if either of us are found to practice it.” He finished his soup, holding the still warm bowl in his hands. He got cold easily without his cultivation circulating warmth through his body.

“I’ll be fine!” Wu Lin exclaimed.

Shen Qingqiu raised an eyebrow and stared at him, watching as Wu Lin wilted under his stare.

“I’ll be fine-,” Wu Lin wilted even further at his own words, “-but you won’t.”

He decided to probe the boy now that he was distracted. “Why are you so sure you’ll be alright?”

There was a beat of hesitation before Wu Lin answered. “My father won’t let me get hurt,” he said.

His father. The father Shen Qingqiu knew was Luo Binghe. The father Wu Lin knew was Luo Binghe. His name that neither dared to speak. Shen Qingqiu because then he would have to ask himself some tough questions he didn’t want answers to, and Wu Lin, because he probably thought Shen Qingqiu would either kill him or abandon him if he knew.

“If someone were to see you practicing cultivation right now, it would be within their right to put you down on the spot. How will your father save you from that?” Shen Qingqiu knew Luo Binghe wasn’t omnipresent, but more than one night he had woken from a nightmare, convinced Luo Binghe’s specter was poised above him, ready to strike. The thought of Luo Binghe followed him around like a vengeful spirit he would never be able to escape.

Wu Lin’s eyes darted to the ground. He stayed silent, unable or unwilling to answer the question.

“I’ll get you home. But I won’t risk either of our lives to do so.” His tone was stern, accepting no argument from Wu Lin.

The silence stretched between them as Wu Lin’s gaze stayed fixed on the ground. Shen Qingqiu hesitated. He was at a loss at how to break the silence, unaccustomed at being the one to give in first. He got up and sat down behind Wu Lin, gently taking down Wu Lin’s hair. He combed through it slowly, giving the boy a chance to recover.

“Do you hate him?” Wu Lin’s voice was almost inaudible. It was clear who him was, even if neither had spoken his name.

“Luo Binghe?” he still asked, giving himself a moment to think. “I think that’s a tough question.”

He looked up, pondering his next words. “Can you hate a storm for destroying your home? Can you blame a flood for killing your family?”

Wu Lin turned around, green gaze burning itself into his soul. “I would,” he said.

“I do”, Shen Qingqiu answered truthfully. “But maybe,” he said, “maybe I should have built my home stronger. Maybe I laid the foundation wrong when I had every chance to do it right.”

He turned Wu Lin’s head forward and started to braid his hair. “Maybe I should have seen the signs that the river would overflow. Maybe I should have redirected it to somewhere safe.”

He finished the braid and tied it off and allowed Wu Lin to turn back towards him. He stared at Wu Lin, taking in the familiar yet unfamiliar face. “Sometimes an act of nature can be mitigated. But if I built my house out of straw, I can’t blame the fire I started for burning it to the ground.”

“I can, however, blame him for burning down the rest of the world," he added.

He got back to his seat. “Now sleep. I’m going into the city to investigate if it’s safe for us to visit, but I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep.”

Wu Lin, who had been laying down, shot right back up. “I want to come too!”

“No. It’ll be safer and far easier to do on my own. You stay here so I won’t have to worry about you.” He kept his tone stern, making sure Wu Lin understood how serious he was.

Wu Lin grumbled, but under Shen Qingqiu’s firm gaze he laid back down again, muttering as he closed his eyes.

True to his word Shen Qingqiu stayed until he was sure Wu Lin was asleep. Then he got up and dusted off his robes, steeling his resolve. For Wu Lin, he thought, and made his way to the city.

As he got close to his intended destination, he entered a dark, abandoned alley. Making sure he was alone he pulled off his outer robe and stored it behind a crate before pulling his hair out of the bun and braiding one side away from his face. The rest of his hair he let run loosely down his back. A bit of spit and some dust from the wall next to him let him color his eyelids dark. As he started walking again, he bit his lips until they almost bled, then licked them until they were wet and shiny.

He positioned himself behind a tavern, watching as drunken men stumbled on their way to unknown destinations. One such man hesitated before entering the alley where he was waiting, stumbling as he made his way to Shen Qingqiu.

“What’s a handsome man like you doing hiding in the dark?” he asked, looking Shen Qingqiu up and down. Maybe he was terribly drunk, or maybe the position Shen Qingqiu had chosen worked for him, but it had been a long time since anyone had complimented him. The slightly unkept beard, the scars around his eyes, the new wrinkles that decorated his face all helped him leave behind the refined beauty he had been in the past.

“I’m looking for some company,” he answered. “And some coin.”

The man understood what he was saying, and Shen Qingqiu quickly found himself on his knees, doing his best not to think about what he was doing. He had done it more often than he wanted to acknowledge, especially the first couple of years after his emergency funds were gone and Luo Binghe was still looking for him.

At least his experience made him efficient, and the man finished quickly. After covering himself back up the man handed over the money and left without another word.

Shen Qingqiu straightened his robes and smoothed back his hair again, leaning back against the wall. Not long after, the word must have spread, as another man accidentally made his way into his alley ready to exchange money for services. By the time the tavern closed his lips were sore and his throat burned, but at least his coin pouch had a healthy weight to it. Some of the men had been talkative, and from the information he gathered he knew that it would be safe for him and Wu Lin to enter the city.

He made his way out of the city again, keeping his head high and his stride steady. It was only when he felt safe that he let his shoulders down, and that was all it took before he fell to his knees, dry heaving until he threw up. His stomach emptied itself until there was nothing left, and his lips curled up in disgust at the sign of his own weakness.

When he was sure his stomach was empty, he used a rag to wipe his face clean of the dirt he could feel clinging to his skin. Only when he was sure there was no trace left on his body of what he had done did he get up and continued walking back to their camp.

Wu Lin was still sleeping when he returned to their camp site, so he quietly stoked the fire before laying down. He stared into the fire as if it held all the answers.

There was something niggling at the back of his mind. His mind flashed back to Lord Zhen. He hadn’t been able to see his face clearly back in Nanxiang City, but there had been something familiar about his voice. A cold feeling started in the pit of his stomach as he did his best to remember. He knew that not all of his past customers had been human. Back then he had been desperate and had asked no questions, willing to look past the signs that they weren’t human as long as they had money. The ice spread as he came to the realization that Zhen might have been one of his customers when he last had to exchange his services for money. How likely was it that Zhen would recognize him after all these years? He looked quite different now that he had grown a beard, and if Zhen had taken a second look, he would have noticed the lack of green eyes. He also didn’t have the flawless beauty that had drawn so many in and had allowed him to earn decent money.

He closed his eyes, willing the pit of ice to melt. There had been no signs that they were followed, but he would have to be more careful from now on.

He opened his eyes, staring across the fire at Wu Lin’s sleeping form. He would get him home safely, no matter what. Nothing, and no one, would stop him from keeping Wu Lin safe.

Chapter Text

He was lighter than air as he floated across the sky, wrapped up in a golden light that made him feel as precious as the first puff of breath from a newborn’s mouth. He reached out to the light and realized he too was made of light, a colder shine to him but no less vibrant. He reached out to the golden light again, and they entwined, curling around each other until there was no beginning and no end to who they were, twirling and curling around and around, until all they were and all they could be was revealed in a perfect sphere of light colder than the moon and warmer than the sun.

The morning came with birds chirping as sun reached through the trees and cast its light on Shen Qingqiu’s face, waking him up softer than he had in years. He stretched and became aware of the body next to him. He opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of a sleeping Wu Lin, his hands held tightly to his chest as he rested his head on Shen Qingqiu’s arm.

Carefully he untangled himself from the boy, feeling oddly colder than the crisp autumn air would suggest. He started the fire, preparing what was left of their supplies for what would be a very light breakfast. As the breakfast was cooked, he rubbed his aching leg, hoping it would get better soon.

“Where were you last night? I woke up but you were gone,” Wu Lin’s voice was groggy and concerned.

He turned to look at the boy, taking in his open and honest expression. “I was scouting out the city, like I told you,” he answered.

“You were gone so long I thought you wouldn’t come back.” Wu Lin’s voice was soft and vulnerable. With his undoubtfully complicated background, he more than likely was afraid of losing the only adult he could trust.

“I’m not going to leave you,” he reassured. The pain in his leg radiated outwards and he tightened his fingers into a fist, digging his nails into his palms to alleviate the pain.

He would have to use some of his hard-earned money on medicine and medical supplies for his leg. If it didn’t get any better soon, he doubted he would manage to see the boy all the way home. Or not exactly home, but further north than Shen Qingqiu wanted to be. North, where Mobei-Jun resided, Luo Binghe’s right hand man and second-in-command. The only one other than Luo Binghe who could go toe-to-toe with sect leaders and win. At least they weren’t headed to the capital, where Luo Binghe would be waiting for them.

“Here,” he said and handed over a bowl of very thin soup to Wu Lin, who took it with downturned eyes but no complaint.

“We’ll buy some more food in the city today,” Shen Qingqiu reassured him, sipping carefully at the flavorless hot water in his bowl.

Wu Lin almost immediately perked up, eyes wide and excited. The incident from their last stop had already been forgotten, and it seemed he was already looking forward to the opportunity to explore a new city.

“Something tasty?” he asked hopefully.

“Maybe,” Shen Qingqiu said. “We’ll see what they have.” That seemed to mollify him, and he stayed in a good mood throughout their morning routine.

They entered the city together, both looking as unremarkable as Shen Qingqiu could make them. Despite being there almost exactly when the shopping market opened it was already full of visitors. While the crowd was a concern, it also meant no one took notice of Wu Lin excitedly flittering from one shop to another.

Though he was excited, Wu Lin never went out of his sight, and after a while he flittered back to him. “There’s only vegetables here!” he complained.

“Mhm,” Shen Qingqiu said. “This is a large market, and large markets are often divided into sectors which in turn are divided into lanes.”

Wu Lin stared up at him, soaking in the knowledge like a sponge. Shen Qingqiu pointed back to where they had entered. “See over there? There was an entrance sign that said produce, which is what we want right now. We’ll restock on nonperishable food first, and then with the money left over from that we’ll see if we can get some meat or fish,” he explained.

“Oh,” Wu Lin said and complained, “shopping is hard!”

Shen Qingqiu laughed and patted him on the head, smiling as Wu Lin raised his hand to touch his head in wonder. “Shopping truly is hard, especially when you have to haggle.”

They went up and down the lane once, Shen Qingqiu taking note of the prices and the sellers themselves before stopping at a shop. The seller was fast and efficient, and they were out of there quickly, his money pouch lighter but their supply bag far heavier than before.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he casually came to a stop outside the next shop. He looked around, careful not to make it obvious, but with his limited eyesight it was hard to tell if something was wrong.

“Why didn’t we buy wheat from that shop down there,” Wu Lin said and gestured down the lane. “It was cheaper than what we paid for the rice.”

“The seller was putting the fresh wheat on top but took wheat from the bottom when someone bought it,” Shen Qingqiu said. “When you need to consider your food source you should never go for the cheapest, because they often exploit the poorest people. And never go for the most expensive, because they might try to take advantage of you, thinking you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Oh,” Wu Lin said. “Shopping really is hard,” he murmured to himself before perking up. “Do we have money for meat?” Wu Lin asked hopefully.

“Some,” Shen Qingqiu said. “Not a lot.”

A hand came to rest on his waist as someone stumbled into him. Shen Qingqiu moved quickly to the side and felt was a brief tug on his belt before the man apologized profusely and briskly walking off.

Wu Lin stared up at him and then followed the man with clear suspicion in his eyes.

“That,” Shen Qingqiu said, “was someone trying to steal our money.” He let go of the tension he had carried since he first felt they were being watched. They had clearly been targeted, and now the threat was over.

“Oh,” Wu Lin said. He had a look of consideration on his face as he scanned the crowd for the man who had disappeared.

“Why don’t we steal?” Wu Lin asked, his voice innocent. Only a child could wonder so innocently why they weren’t committing any crimes.

There was a commotion up ahead, and Shen Qingqiu lifted Wu Lin up so his head was above the crowd.

“That’s why,” he explained, and they watched as the man was dragged off by a couple of angry looking men. “It’s hard to become a good thief, and one mistake means we draw the wrong attention. One mistake means we might be found by the people we don’t want to find us.”

In the early days after his emergency funds had been depleted, he had tried his hand at stealing. Had wandered the markets, picking targets that wouldn’t hurt his pride too much to steal from. He had been good at it, the techniques he had learned in his childhood coming back to him. Then one day he had chosen the wrong target and had been caught. He had been imprisoned, his offence branded on his skin, and only through luck had he managed to escape before Luo Binghe arrived. It had been the closest Luo Binghe had been to catching him until the day Shen Qingqiu faked his death.

Stealing meant there were innocent victims, victims who turned angry at being stolen from. And while male prostitution was less accepted than if he had been a woman, it was still safer than stealing, and it earned him more without the fear of imprisonment. The only thing he had to look out for were enforcers from the local brothels, who often didn’t take kindly when someone encroached on their market, but the enforcers were easier to defeat than Luo Binghe.

He looked at Wu Lin. “Do you understand?”

Wu Lin nodded in understanding, gaze still locked on where the man had been taken away. When Shen Qingqiu sat him down again, his arms clung to him for a long moment before letting go.

He considered his next words. “The crowd is getting bigger, it’s best if you hold on to me so we don’t get separated,” he explained.

Wu Lin’s hand was in his before he even finished the sentence, the boy smiling from ear to ear as they continued walking through the crowd. He didn’t pull on Shen Qingqiu’s hand, didn’t try to dart from shop to shop. His small hand was steadfast in his, Wu Lin taking his job staying close seriously and happily.

They bought some meat and then went looking for an apothecary. It didn’t take long for them to find one, but they had to wait in line, Wu Lin still holding on to him. The prickle at the back of his neck returned, and he looked around but once again he couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. He mentally cursed his weak eyesight, not being able to see far made him extra paranoid.

“How can I help you?” asked the man behind the counter said and Shen Qingqiu had to focus on what was right in front of him and not some imagined threat outside.

“I need honeysuckle, pennywort, and skullcap,” Shen Qingqiu said.

He got three small bags and tucked them away, carefully counting the coins he needed to part with. They still had some money left, and while it was tempting to spend it all on more expensive medication, they still had more to buy.

They went to the clothing lane of the market, shop after shop offering the most colorful garments and fabrics. He could feel Wu Lin’s attention being grabbed, his hand ever so slightly pulling on his. Still, the boy kept by his side, never letting go of him.

They did as they had done earlier, walking down the entire lane and taking note of the prices before making a stop.

He found a decent set for Wu Lin that included a cloak, mittens, and a hat, the inner clothes made of thick wool and the outerwear lined with fur. It would be needed for when they reached the northern climate zone. The cold would catch up to them quickly, and if they weren’t prepared they might end up sick, injured, or possibly dead.

His own set was also made of thick wool, but he had to choose a set without fur, his money pouch almost empty at the end of their shopping.

He slung the now heavy bag onto his back, and they made their way out of the city through the northern gate. His leg now hurt with every step, but it was too soon for them to stop for the day. Wu Lin’s hand was still in his, and even when he started to slow down Wu Lin still stayed by his side.

In the end he couldn’t walk much further, the pain in his leg radiating from his calf all the way up to his hip.

As the sun set, he finally gave in and stopped. “We’ll stop here,” he said, gesturing the patch of trees near a winding river.

They set up camp together, Wu Lin running to fetch water for him to boil. While waiting for the water to boil he unwrapped the bandage on his leg. The skin around the wound had turned warm and swollen, the skin an angry red while the wound leaked yellow pus.

As he suspected, the injury had become infected, explaining the worsening pain he had been feeling. He would have to act quickly, or the infection would get worse, and he could die. If he died, who would help Wu Lin then?

He rinsed out his cup with boiling water before measuring out a portion of the herbs he had bought. He crushed the herbs in his clean cup before pouring a small amount of boiling water on them, turning them into a thick mush.

The wound throbbed, and he knew the herbs themselves wouldn’t be enough to help him. He had a small knife, which he placed in the fire. While waiting for the knife to heat up he poured some of the cooled, clean water onto his wound, carefully cleaning it out.

“Can I help?” Wu Lin asked.

“No, but you can watch,” he said.

More than anything he wanted to shield Wu Lin from terrible things, but it could be a learning moment for him. It was something he could do well to know, if he ever needed it in the future.

Wu Lin handed him the knife, and Shen Qingqiu brought it to the wound. Instantly his whole leg felt like it was on fire, and he couldn’t stop himself from whimpering out of his gritted teeth. Wu Lin held onto his other leg, hands digging into him, asking and offering support.

He cut away the infected skin, going slow as to not do any further injury, but still going as fast as he could. The edges of his vision swam, tears welling up at the pain and messing with his already terrible eyesight. He couldn’t stop what he was doing to wipe his eyes, or he might not be able to continue. Wu Lin whimpered next to him, distraught at the sight of what was happening.

After what felt like too long, the wound looked clean. It was actively bleeding, and the edges no longer an angry red. Carefully, and with shaking hands, he spread the herbal paste onto the injury and rewrapped it.

Shen Qingqiu laid down, his leg still aching and his heart racing, while Wu Lin made them soup. He wanted to curl into a ball and die, or perhaps just to cry, but he held his tears back. How many times throughout the years had he held his tears back, feeling too unworthy to shed them for himself? His tears flowed freely when he had nightmares, but only for others, never himself.

Wu Lin sniffled to himself as he made the food, and when he offered Shen Qingqiu a bowl he could see he boy’s eyes were red and swollen, and his face was blotchy.

“I’m fine. I will be fine,” he said reassuringly, and Wu Lin gave him a sad little nod before eating his food, but by the sniffling Shen Qingqiu could tell he was still crying.

Shen Qingqiu stared at the fire as he ate, and after sitting in silence he started speaking, talking of this and that, finding anecdotes that were funny or educational. After a while Wu Lin’s quiet crying stopped, his attention now hanging onto Shen Qingqiu’s every word.

After a while Wu Lin’s head started drooping, and Shen Qingqiu helped him clean up and get ready for sleep. Wu Lin fell asleep right next to him, and when Shen Qingqiu fell asleep he was once again holding Wu Lin’s hand in his.

Chapter Text

When Shen Qingqiu woke up he was still holding Wu Lin’s hand. It was four days since they first fell asleep holding each other, and now Wu Lin curled up next to him each night, falling asleep with his little hand in Shen Qingqiu’s larger one.

He roused himself from sleep quietly, moving away without a sound. It was still the middle of the night, and he didn’t want to wake Wu Lin until dawn. He had hoped for a bit more sleep for himself, but like the last two nights, he had been woken up by pain. Scuffling away from their makeshift shelter, he sat down by the fire and rubbed his leg, temporarily easing some of the pain, but unable to diminish it completely.

They had entered the northern part of the country. After the merging of the realms it was renamed the Northern Kingdom, falling under the rule of Mobei-jun. The appearance of snow and the harsh cold had taken Shen Qingqiu by surprise, even though he was expecting it and had bought the clothes needed for them to survive the increasingly cold climate.

Even in the cold he felt feverish, sweat beading on his skin and making him feel clammy and disgusting. He knew the signs. Knew what it meant when his fever had combined with a shortness of breath and nausea that made him unable to keep down any food.

He looked back at Wu Lin, taking in his curled-up form and how his now empty hand looked like it was reaching for him. He knew what it meant that their speed had not only been diminished, but halved. Knew what it meant that the hairs on the back of his neck stood on ends at random times, that there was a newfound hurry in his chest, a scared little thing that spurred him on: hurry, hurry, hurry!

They were being hunted, and he was slowing them down. He would be endangering Wu Lin if he stubbornly refused to get help, if he clung to the boy for too long out of a selfish desire to feel whole again.

Wu Lin needed to go north, and Shen Qingqiu knew just where he was headed; to Xuandao, the city Mobei-jun resided in. In between their campsite and Xuandao was Meicheng city, only a day away, and outside Meicheng there would be an outpost full of soldiers loyal to both the emperor and Mobei-jun. If he could make it there, and he would, he could hand Wu Lin off to the soldiers and let them escort the child to his destination. With them, Wu Lin would be safe.

The sun rose as he thought about their impossible situation, the first rays bouncing off the snow and making it glitter like diamonds. He reached out and grabbed a fistful of the fragile jewels, before lifting his leg of his pants and pressing the snow against his heated skin. Around the bandage his skin was red and swollen, and the snow felt like both a blessing and a curse as it was melted by his heat.

The snow turned to water, escaping through his fingers and dripping down to the ground. He got up and headed into the forest, answering the call of nature. When he got back he froze. Wu Lin was awake, Shen Qingqiu’s walking stick in his hands. His eyes were round in horrified bewilderment, his mouth slack in surprise.

“Put it down,” he said, and in his haste his words were a sharp bark.

Wu Lin jolted, dropping the staff immediately and turning around with a guilty look on his face. “I’m sorry,” Wu Lin said, shoulders hunched and gaze firmly on the ground.

“You should be,” he said harshly. “It’s not yours to touch.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Wu Lin said again, eyes darting up at his face and falling again at what he saw there.

Shen Qingqiu sighed and made his way over to Wu Lin. “Just don’t do it again,” he said and picked up the stick. Wu Lin nodded, still looking thoroughly subdued.

Shen Qingqiu made them breakfast, and they ate in silence. He waited, knowing that there would now be at least two painful conversations they had to have that day.

After a while the silence was broken, the horrified look on Wu Lin’s face making way for pure curiosity. “What is it? Why can’t I touch it?”

Shen Qingqiu studied the flames dancing softly in their dying campfire. He turned to look at Wu Lin, who stared at him with wide, earnest eyes. “What do you know of the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect?” he asked.

Wu Lin’s face scrunched up, and Shen Qingqiu waited in silence. “It was a powerful sect,” Wu Lin eventually answered. “It was yo-, I mean, Shen Qingqiu’s sect.” Wu Lin looked at him, worried that he would be scolded for his mistake.

Shen Qingqiu nodded, encouraging Wu Lin to go on.

“My-,” Wu Lin said and stopped. He looked embarrassed for a moment, before continuing. “Emperor Luo burned it down as his first act in the war against the cultivators. Eh, that’s all,” Wu Lin finished his answer sheepishly.

“You’re correct. You have a good memory,” Shen Qingqiu said. He wondered where Wu Lin had learned it, as he knew his sect had been erased from all the history books in the country. After all, he though, history is written by the victors.

“Emperor Luo had the entire sect burned down, including, or perhaps especially, Qing Jing Peak. This stick-,” he held it up, his grip tight, “-is made from one of the ginkgo trees that grew on Qing Jing Peak.”

That was all the explanation he offered, and he hoped it would be enough, though the look on Wu Lin’s face as he had held it had told him all he needed to know.

“Why is it screaming?” Wu Lin said, his voice small.

Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes, thumbing the stick and feeling the smooth wood against his fingertips. There was no difference in touch between the golden wood and the blackened, burned parts of it, that’s how much he had held it, gripping it tightly in the middle of the night. It pained him to hear the wood was still hurt, still screaming in frozen pain.

“The ginko tree this particular stick comes from, it-,” he hesitated, faltering under the weight of his memories. “A lot of cultivators were hung from it. Gingko trees are highly spiritual trees, and after years of being around cultivators, a connection was formed. Maybe it wanted to save them, maybe it wanted to help. In the end, it burned with the cultivators.”

The memory, or possibly the spirits, of the hung cultivators lingered in the wood, forever trapped. The wood wouldn’t burn, wouldn’t shatter, wouldn’t be cleansed. Shen Qingqiu had tried it all. Had carried the stick on his back for years, afraid to touch it and hear the screams. When he sealed away his cultivation, when he had broken the sword, the connection had gone silent.

For years he had been haunted by the screaming, had punished himself on bad days by holding it in his hands until his ears bled. He had never felt as alone as when the screaming finally stopped.

For Wu Lin to hear it, he had to have come far in his core development. At the very minimum he was as developed as an entry level disciple. He glanced over, not surprised at the silent tears streaming down Wu Lin’s face. “I’m so sorry,” the boy wailed before launching himself into Shen Qingqiu’s arms.

He held onto Wu Lin, stroking the boy’s unruly hair. Eventually the tears dried up, and Wu Lin sat back down. “I won’t touch it again,” Wu Lin promised.

“I know. You couldn’t have known its history,” Shen Qingqiu said. “You’re a good boy,” he said awkwardly.

If the compliment was said awkwardly, it was still accepted wholeheartedly. Wu Lin’s face lit up, even as he dried his eyes on his sleeves.

They packed up in silence, Wu Lin still subdued and Shen Qingqiu dreading the next serious conversation they needed to have.

On the road they spoke lightly, and eventually Wu Lin lightened up enough to bounce from one conversation topic to another. In the distance the city was coming closer and closer, and time was running away from them. Between them and the city was the outpost, the watchtower rising above the treetops in the nearby woods.

Shen Qingqiu watched the tower slowly come closer and closer. He wanted to take Wu Lin and run the opposite way, wanted desperately to hide the boy away. To keep him with him. To keep him away from Luo Binghe. But taking Wu Lin with him would mean risking both their lives. And Shen Qingqiu’s life was already on the line. It was in the pain lancing through his body, in the metallic taste lingering in his mouth, in the way he couldn’t quite catch his breath anymore.

Wu Lin was oblivious to where they were actually headed, though he caught the boy staring at him several times, brows knitted in concern, mouth tight in displeasure.

Shen Qingqiu steered them into the woods, legs heavy as stones as he dragged his feet through the snow. He gestured to Wu Lin to be quiet, and the boy nodded in understanding. In silence they ventured deeper into the woods, letting it swallow them whole and hide them from the road.

Finally, Shen Qingqiu spotted the outpost through the trees, though they were far enough from it to not be spotted by the soldiers. It was a small outpost, consisting of a watchtower and a small barrack. Outside the tower were four soldiers, and he saw another two in the tower itself. They all wore the shiny front opening vest uniform, with black and orange colors indicating they were part of the Imperial Bodyguard corps which protected Emperor Luo.

He sighed a sigh of relief. If it was Luo Binghe’s own personal guards who were there, they must be the ones Luo Binghe sent to retrieve his son. With them Wu Lin would be safe.

Wu Lin was by his side, peering at the soldiers with a sad look on his face.

“Wu Lin,” Shen Qingqiu said, but stopped when he caught the tears in the boy’s eyes.

“Is this because I touched your walking stick?” Wu Lin said, tears spilling down his face. “I promise I won’t do it again! I Promise!”

Shen Qingqiu’s heart broke at the forlorn little child in front of him, and he drew Wu Lin into a hug, murmuring his reassurance into his hair. “No, my sweetheart, no.”

He held onto Wu Lin, letting the boy cry into his shoulder. “This isn’t a punishment. It’s to make sure you survive.”

He pushed Wu Lin back so he could wipe his tears. “You must have noticed I’m not alright?” he asked.

Wu Lin nodded, tears falling faster than Shen Qingqiu could wipe them away.

“My leg has become infected, and the infection has spread. I need rest,” he explained, and shushed Wu Lin when he tried to interrupt. “I need a long, long rest. We both know you’re being hunted, though you still won’t tell me why or by who. We both know they’re close, don’t we?”

Wu Lin nodded again, tears drying up as he listened to Shen Qingqiu.

“You’re not safe with me any longer, and I’m not safe traveling with those soldiers,” he said.

“You’re not coming with me?” Wu Lin asked futilely, heartbreak evident in his voice.

“You know I can’t. You know your father wants me dead.” At that, Wu Lin looked both sad and guilty.

“I’m well aware that Luo Binghe is your father, Wu Lin,” Shen Qingqiu said.

“Luo Jiabao,” the boy said suddenly.

“Jia, as in beautiful?” Whoever had named him had been correct.

“Jia as in family, bao as in treasure,” Luo Jiabao corrected.

“Jiabao,” Shen Qingqiu said softly.

“Shen Qingqiu,” Luo Jiabao said, then he hesitated. He stood still for a long moment, a look on his face as if he was struggling with something. In the end he appeared to give up, face settling into something hopeful. “Will I see you again?”

“I hope so,” Shen Qingqiu said. “I promise that when you come of age, I will be waiting in the temple where we first met. Do you remember?"

Luo Jiabao nodded. “I’ll be there, I promise!”

“Good boy,” Shen Qingqiu said, rubbing Luo Jiabao’s cheek.

After another hug Luo Jiabao walked away, head low and shoulders hunched like he was going to his doom. Twice he looked back with a hopeful look on his face, like he hoped Shen Qingqiu would change his mind and bring him back.

He wanted to. His heart felt like it was tearing apart, his soul felt like it was being crushed into tiny pieces. All he wanted was to keep Luo Jiabao with him, but he couldn’t.

Shen Qingqiu watched until Luo Jiabao reached the soldiers, who greeted him enthusiastically. They guided him into the barracks, appearing to ask him questions as they did. The last soldier closed the door behind him, sun reflecting of his saber as he did.

Shen Qingqiu retreated, hurrying away as fast as he could. It wouldn’t do if the soldiers came looking for whoever was hunting Luo Jiabao and found him instead.

The sun peeked through the branches as he did, lighting up the snow all around him. His leg still hurt, his body still ached, but he felt inexplicably lighter now that Luo Jiabao was safe.

The sun. He stopped. The light of the sun. He turned. A frown worked itself onto his face as his feverish mind worked as hard as it could. The light of the sun had reflected of a saber. No imperial soldier carried a saber.

His stomach dropped, a cold sweat breaking out on his body that had nothing to do with his fever.

He ran as fast as he could, mind numb and heart racing. He reached the clearing and stopped, unwilling to rush in and get himself killed before he could help Luo Jiabao. A cough tore through his body, and his mouth filled with the taste of metal. Red drops stained the snow as he spat out the blood pooling in his mouth.

There was no choice but to keep going. No soldier was left in the tower, so he sprinted down to the buildings and wrenched open the door.

The scene inside was chaotic. The barrack had long ago been emptied, the walls painted with spells and covered in talismans. Luo Jiabao was on the floor, his legs and arms tied together and held down by two soldiers.

A man crouched next to Luo Jiabao held a curved dagger as black as the midnight sky, ready to plunge it into the child.

Before anyone could react, Shen Qingqiu used his walking stick to pierce through the back of the nearest soldier’s head, who then fell to the floor with a loud thud.

He took the soldier’s sword and stabbed the next soldier in the chest.

The soldier with the saber launched into an attack, cutting through his robes and slicing through the skin on his chest. It was the only action he managed to take before Shen Qingqiu cut him down.

Three down, but he still had three more to defeat. The man with the dagger raised it again, and Shen Qingqiu flung his newfound sword at him, striking him in the face just as the other two soldiers rushed him.

They drove him into the corner furthest away from Luo Jiabao. The tallest one had the longest reach, and as Shen Qingqiu blocked a strike from the other soldier, the taller one struck, his sword piercing through Shen Qingqiu’s chest.

Shen Qingqiu tried to reach out to the wall, but sank to his knees, his hands full of talismans and Luo Jiabao’s screams ringing in his ears.

“We’re sorry we’re late,” a woman said, laughter in her voice as she entered the barracks.

“We told you to wait,” a man said.

“Look at this mess,” the woman said, sounding delighted at what she saw. It was the two demons he had first met the night Luo Jiabao came into his life.

It was becoming harder for him to breathe, his lung most likely punctured and filling with blood. His already terrible vision was swimming, dark spots threatening to blind him completely. Shen Qingqiu crumbled to the floor, unable to move.

“Oh, look at him. You broke him,” the woman admonished, crouching down next to him and poking his face.

“You don’t need him,” her companion said.

“Need? No. Want? Yes,” she replied. “But we have more important things to do.”

She walked away, and her companion picked up the black dagger from the floor. He straddled Luo Jiabao, who screamed and twisted to no avail.

Shen Qingqiu tried to reach out, his hand barely lifting off the floor. With his last strength he drew his hand to his chest, and with two firm movements across his chest he opened his spiritual energy.

His spiritual powers had lain dormant for years, accumulating strength with no place to go. He had sealed his powers to go unnoticed, and to now unseal it would have been risky even if he was healthy. Even in peak conditions it would have been dangerous, his fragile meridians unable to handle that much energy. Now he felt his spiritual energy force its way through his body, shattering his meridians and tearing his body apart as it sought to burst out of him.

Now, his powers burst out of him in a golden light, blinding everyone in the room. It was an explosion of power, tearing the building to pieces around them.

The two remaining soldiers vanished when struck by his energy, vaporized by the intense power crashing into them. The two demons were knocked over, their skin blistering and burning under the waves of power coming from Shen Qingqiu. Only Luo Jiabao was left unharmed, and with no one to stop him he managed to get free from his bindings.

The demons rose, faces twisted in anger. Shen Qingqiu raised his arm, holding the talismans he had torn from the wall earlier. He infused the scraps of paper with spiritual power before launching it at his enemies. Without the surplus of power the papers would only have done limited damage, but with the amount of spiritual power they now possessed, they tore through the demons like they were nothing but air. They fell to the ground, their eyes open and empty.

Shen Qingqiu’s arm fell, his eyes open and fixed on Luo Jiabao who came running over to him. He wanted to comfort him, to tell him not to be afraid, but the black spots in his vision were growing, and then all he knew was darkness.

Chapter Text

The paperwork was never-ending. Even with his son missing, Luo Binghe still had to do his paperwork, or his empire would crumble underneath its own weight.

He sighed and paused his writing, staring out of the window. He was too easily distracted by his son. Luo Jiabao. His first of many children and the only one to have caused him heartbreak from the moment he was born. Stubborn and meek, vicious and naïve. Jiabao never did anything wrong, yet trouble still followed him. The first and only to come directly from Luo Binghe’s own body. The only child of Luo Binghe to be pure enough in blood to be a Heavenly Demon, and thus, the only child to have rejected his heritage. Luo Binghe worried about him even before the kidnapping, and now, for the first time, he missed him.

A knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts and back to the matter at hand.

“Sir, we got a new report coming in that might be of interest,” Ma Xinya said as soon as he entered, his dark, clever eyes avoiding eye contact by staring at the report he was holding.

Luo Binghe looked up from his paperwork, taking in the worry on Ma Xinya’s face. He leaned back, folding his hands across his lap as he silently waited for his advisor to summarize the report.

“A high amount of spiritual power was unleashed outside the city of Meicheng. The scouts have confirmed it most likely came from a human cultivator.” Ma Xinya’s clawed fingers tapped nervously against the paper he was holding before one hand came up to smooth away his long, white hair. Luo Binghe appreciated having a close and clever advisor who he could read as easily as a book.

Luo Binghe sighed. Whatever he was about to hear would upset him. “And did they find the cultivator?”

“No. They only learned about it today, a week after it happened. They’re looking for whoever it was, but they only just got to Meicheng.” Ma Xinya answered.

And there it was. Days spent perfecting and installing the crystal mirrors in every major city so messages could be sent in a hurry, and still the message came a week too late!

Xin Mo whispered at the back of his mind, a never-ending bloodthirsty sweet talk that now had set its sight on Ma Xinya. He pushed Xin Mo’s words down, tempering the blood thirst it tried to evoke in him. It wasn’t his advisor’s fault the message had arrived late.

Luo Binghe got up, waving Ma Xinya away before he did something he would regret. Once alone he read through the report by himself, assessing the information. The sighting of any powerful cultivator had become a rare thing. Human cultivators had learned not to hide from Luo Binghe’s army. One way or another they were found, and if they were lucky they got to join his army. If they were unlucky, if they had proved themselves too rebellious to be given a chance, he had them put down. They had all been given the choice of reporting to Luo Binghe’s army or face the death penalty. Most had chosen to turn themselves in, so for a cultivator of such power to suddenly appear was far too intriguing to him to let go.

He could feel the strings of fate that often tugged on him pulling him to Meicheng and it caught him by surprise. Ever since Luo Jiabao had been taken the strings of fate had been quiet. There had been no sudden, inexplainable push or pull, no intuitive knowledge of where to go. He had used Luo Jiabao as bait and had failed, but now he was hopeful that fate once more favored him.

He shed his yellow dragon robe and chose a thick but plain dark robe instead. His official jewelry and the ornate golden headpiece were placed on his desk and his hair was released from the high bun and pulled into a plain ponytail secured with a silver guan. The stern-looking image in his mirror was no longer that of the emperor, but of an ordinary young man.

He used Xin Mo to get to Meicheng, taking one step from his warm office and into the cold climate of the north. He had arrived right at the outpost mentioned in the report. He was met with the sight of a decimated outpost. Pieces of broken wood and shattered stone were strewn about and only the foundation of the watchtower remained. All the trees around the outpost had either fallen over or been snapped in half. The air itself was oppressive, filled with a sense of death and despair.

Luo Binghe walked around the outpost, trying to figure out what had happened. The snow was a thick blanket covering the remains of the outpost, but still he picked up the rich iron smell of spilled blood. His scouts had reported finding the soldiers stationed there dead and hidden in the forest. Had they been killed by the cultivator?

He reached out with his own spiritual energy and canvassed the area. What struck him first was the residue of the cultivator’s energy. It felt off, like stale bread or stagnant water.

Luo Binghe contemplated the information and closed his eyes before reaching out with his powers again to further examine the residual energy. It did indeed feel stale and old, but when he touched it, it also came across as raw and unchained. And somehow it felt familiar to him, like an old acquaintance or a former home revisited decades later.

He opened his eyes and looked around, assessing the area of damage. His lips stretched into a sharp smile. What a clever little cultivator he was dealing with! Whoever it was had to have sealed away their spiritual powers, that was why it felt stale. And judging by the amount of damage they had done they had to have performed the initial sealing years ago.

He reeled his thoughts back. Neither humans nor demons could seal their powers away for years, not without severe physical damage. For a human to go years without unsealing their powers would mean a physical deterioration they could not recover from without their spiritual powers. For any human to have their powers sealed for years and still survive, they would have to at least have cultivated to mid-core formation.

There weren’t many mid-core cultivators left in the wild, Luo Binghe had made sure of that. So, who was it? And where were they? And how were they connected to his missing son?

He looked up, catching a glimpse of Meicheng city across the forest. The strings of fate tugged on him again and he obeyed, using Xin Mo to cut a path to the gates of the city.

He entered the city casually, making sure not to draw attention from the guards at the gate. It wouldn’t do if one of them recognized him and made a fuss. His runaway cultivator, if they were still alive, could easily find out about it and escape before he had identified them.

It had been years since he had last been in Meicheng, and the city was even brighter and more flourishing than before Mobei-jun took over as its ruler. Outside of the gates the weather was harsh and the temperature low, but the thick city walls provided isolation, and the city was filled with warm spots that made the cold tolerable for the citizens.

Luo Binghe strolled across the city, taking in the sights but keeping an eye out for any person who might be of interest. As he turned a corner an old woman almost bumped into him and lost her grip on the vegetables in her hands.

“I apologize,” he said and picked up her vegetables and handed them to her. He was still looking back at her when he turned the corner properly and bumped right into the next person.

It was a man, of that, he was sure. His face was concealed by a hat that had been pulled low and the traditional veil used by some of the western tribes. He was tall, but Luo Binghe still towered over him. All Luo Binghe could see of his face was his eyes, which were golden brown, and the fragile skin around his eyes that was littered with tiny white scars. There was a hint of elegant eyebrows peeking out from underneath the woolen hat.

The man stared at him for just a fraction of a moment, eyes widening in shock at the collision before becoming neutral and unassuming. He bowed to Luo Binghe and disappeared, walking away unhurriedly, his stride marred by a limp.

Luo Binghe walked on without hurry, then stopped. His chest felt empty once more, the strings of fate no longer tugging on him. With a frown he turned and scanned the crowd for the man he had just bumped into, but he was nowhere to be seen. Luo Binghe’s frown deepened, his lips pressed thin in displeasure as he thought.

The man had looked at him. There had been no hint of recognition in his eyes. Unless-. Luo Binghe burst into movement and took off running down the street, and as he ran he looked at every face and into every alleyway for the man he just met. What if the man’s eyes hadn’t widened in surprise at the collision itself, but at who he had collided with?

There was no trace of the man, forcing Luo Binghe to stop and ask around, but no one knew the man he was looking for. In the end he had to give up. The man was gone. He leaned back against a nearby wall, fists clenched and knuckles white at the thought that he had been bested by some stranger. His pulse hammered against his throat as Xin Mo raised its voice in the back of his mind. If he burned down the city there would be nowhere for the stranger to hide.

He shook his head, subduing Xin Mo by distracting himself with what he knew. Who would recognize him, but wouldn’t be recognized by Luo Binghe? Those scarred eyes would definitely be something he would remember. The color of his eyes was pretty, so pretty in fact, that he would have noticed even if the face itself was old and ugly.

Who would recognize him? He thought back to what he had discovered at the outpost. Who would recognize him and disappear when seeing him? Who had at least cultivated to mid-core formation? Who could have sealed off their cultivation years ago? Who could fate have sent to interfere with Luo Jiabao?

His breath caught in his throat. Years ago, Shen Qingqiu died and all that had been left of his scummy shizun was the charred remains of his body and a pair of emerald green eyes.

Luo Binghe’s heart started racing faster, his mouth going dry as an unlikely but disturbing thought manifested itself. What if Shen Qingqiu was still alive? But that would be impossible. That would mean Shen Qingqiu had plucked his own eyes out at one point and sealed off his cultivation almost immediately after doing so. He would have had to live without his cultivation, facing years on the run as a mortal man with all the danger that entailed.

It would mean Shen Qingqiu deliberately destroyed his sword Xiu Ya, leaving the broken pieces behind for Luo Binghe to find.

Luo Binghe grabbed Xin Mo, transporting himself into his office in a hurry. He wasted no time opening the hidden door behind his desk before strolling into the secret room he had made. The secret room he had made solely to house the remaining artefacts of Shen Qingqiu.

On the wall was a life-like painting of Shen Qingqiu, his likeness captured by the best painter the world had ever known. Shen Qingqiu’s green eyes stared at him with evident disdain, following him as he walked across the room. There was a shelf with a large jar filled with liquid, the emerald content long gone and out of his reach for now. Luo Binghe stopped as he reached the end of the room and turned, suddenly convinced the portrait would show a triumphant Shen Qingqiu, would show his former shizun with a condescending smile and vicious victory in his eyes. The painting was as it always had been, and as he turned around he was still half-convinced Shen Qingqiu was laughing behind his back as he came face-to-face with the broken pieces of Xiu Ya.

With great care he lifted the pieces off the sword stand, holding the pieces gently in his hands. The sword felt cold to the touch, its spirit long gone, but still he had to try. Luo Binghe channeled his spiritual energy into the sword, searching for any sign of life. In his hands the pieces started glowing, the light growing in strength until it shone snow white and luminous. For a moment it threatened to blind him, then the sword settled on a soft shimmer.

Luo Binghe’s heart filled with unrestrained fury.

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu ran faster than he ever had before, fearing Luo Binghe was right behind him. He ran through the streets, cutting corners and heading away from Luo Jiabao. He hid in an alleyway, his breath out of control and a sour taste of metal in his mouth. He stood there, flattening himself against the wall as much as he could, waiting, hoping, dreading.

His mind still reeled from bumping into Luo Binghe so casually. Even with his poor eyesight he had immediately known it was Luo Binghe. No other man made the hairs on his body stand on end, no one could make goosebumps appear just by being in proximity to him.

He had known it was a possibility and had worn the disguise in case Luo Binghe had realized he was still alive, but still.. Despite having several years to prepare himself, he wasn’t ready to face Luo Binghe, to face what he had done, to face what his own cowardice had let happen.

A gust of wind travelled down the alley and ruffled the veil in front of his eyes, and for a moment it danced before it settled down again. He edged closer to the street, one cautious step at the time, his body tense and ready to explode into a run again. His leg hurt. His lungs hurt. His whole body still hurt. It all blurred into a sharp pain that tinged his world red, but at least he was still alive.

He pulled off the hat and veil as he reached the corner and tied his hair up into a bun. It would expose his face, but if Luo Binghe was close by, he would most likely be scanning the crowd, looking for a man with a wooly hat and a veil. If he only saw the back of Shen Qingqiu’s head, he might skip right over him.

He headed to the edge of the city, taking the long road back to their room. Just as every step became an agony he reached the area they were hiding in. The streets were dark and abandoned and a cold, musty odor lingered in the air. The buildings were all crumbling, their inhabitants having left long ago. The house they were hiding in hadn’t been lived in for years, the wood underneath his feet creaking and sighing as he made his way up to the second floor.

The only light came from a candle in one of the bedrooms. He had tried his best to clean the room, but dust particles still hovered in the air, and despite his best effort the bedding on which Luo Jiabao lay on still had questionable dark spots.

“I have the medicine,” he said, despite knowing there would be no answer.

Luo Jiabao was as motionless as he had been three days ago when Shen Qingqiu had woken up in the room. He had no recollection of getting there, no idea how Luo Jiabao had found the place. He had no memory of being healed, but he had woken up alive. His body had been dangerously weak and still injured, but at least he had been alive.

Luo Jiabao had been on the bed with him, clinging to him like a newborn child, his head in the crook of Shen Qingqiu’s neck, his hands holding on to him so very, very tightly as soft, golden qi had poured into him. The boy had hardly been breathing. Shen Qingqiu had immediately taken the hands off of him, stopping the spiritual energy from depleting within Luo Jiabao. He had been so pale, so warm and clammy that Shen Qingqiu feared he wouldn’t live much longer.

He had spent the next three days caring for Luo Jiabao, doing what he could to lower the fever and getting enough sustenance into him. He had only left to buy medicine, and the previous night he had done what needed to be done to earn enough coin to buy more medicine.

He unstopped the small bottle, thankful that it hadn't broken when he collided with Luo Binghe. He sat down on the bed and pulled Luo Jiabao onto his lap and tilted his head back, before pouring the medicine into his mouth. He massaged Luo Jiabao’s throat, making the boy swallow everything.

“Such a baby,” he chided. “You do one heroic act and suddenly you need to be waited on hand and foot.”

He untied the boy’s braid and carded his fingers through the hair, before reaching for his comb. “Just this once I’ll indulge you, little child,” he said as he gently combed through it.

He started braiding it again, as he had the last couple of evenings. “Your father is here,” he said. “He must have finally heard about what had happened. He always was a bit slow.”

He felt a bit guilty about talking bad about Luo Jiabao’s father. Luo Binghe might be his mistake, his future executioner, his ghost that lingered, but he was still Luo Jiabao’s father. “But also tenacious,” he added.

He brushed a stray hair away from Luo Jiabao’s face. “No matter what happened, no matter how badly I treated him, no matter the tasks I gave him, he gave his all.”

He tied off the braid and laid it over Luo Jiabao’s shoulder. “Maybe I should have complimented him for that. You can be stupid and inept, but what matters is that you don’t give up, and you that do your best. Your father always did his best.”

A wet spot appeared on Luo Jiabao’s forehead, and he quickly wiped it off. Then he touched his face, surprised at the tears he found. He wasn’t crying over his treatment of Luo Binghe, it was far too late for that. But if he had been kinder, Luo Jiabao wouldn’t have been injured, wouldn’t be suffering for Shen Qingqiu’s mistake.

“Who am I trying to fool? Your father wasn’t stupid. I was. Maybe-,” he stopped.

He had heard something outside on the street. He carefully put Luo Jiabao down and went to stand next to the window.

Several figures were outside. “I’m telling you, it was the Emperor’s personal guard! They’re looking everywhere! If they find us, we’re going to be in trouble,” someone said.

Another person grunted as they walked past the house. “I don’t think it’s us they’re looking for,” he said, his voice already faint as they walked down the street.

Luo Binghe had brought his personal guard? If that was the case, they would have at least one temporary base in or near the city. The outpost had been ruined, he didn’t remember much of doing it but had heard about it from gossipy shop keepers. A base inside the city would only create panic amongst the citizens, and anyone they were looking for would have a better chance of escaping. Most likely they would create a temporary outpost to make up for the one he had destroyed and set up a base on the other side of the city.

“I will be back soon,” he reassured Luo Jiabao and left.

He carefully made his way through the city, keeping himself to the dark and abandoned streets. The citizens were gossiping at full volume, making it easy to pick up the necessary information.

The gossip turned out to be true, and at the end of a street he saw soldiers lingering outside a large mansion. He kept to the shadows as he assessed the situation. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as a tall imposing figure entered the building. It was Luo Binghe, he was sure of it.

As quickly as he could he made his way back to the hideout. Luo Jiabao was still where he left him, still motionless and unconscious. He wrapped him up in the warm winter robe he had bought for him. He packed up his belongings and left them with his stick. He would have to return for them later.

“Jiabao,” he said, allowing himself the sign of affection. He lifted the boy into his arms, his weight heavy but not a burden. “It’s time for you to go home.”

He slowly carried Luo Jiabao through the city until they reached the street where Luo Binghe was staying. There he carefully put Luo Jiabao down and propped him against a wall.

“I will miss you terrible, my sweetheart,” he said and stroked Luo Jiabao’s chin. His voice broke. “Be well.”

Then he took a couple of steps into the street. “Over here!” he shouted as he waves his arms into the air. “Over here!”

Once the soldiers were moving he turned and ran, weaving in and out of the streets as fast as he could. His lungs ached so much he feared they would give in, and his leg hurt as if he was being stabbed with each step. His heart hurt so much he thought it would break, but that had nothing to do with the physical exertion.

He ran until he reached the street they had been hiding on, then he waited. Once he was sure he wasn’t followed he made his way into the house. He grabbed his bags and walking stick and turned to leave. As he reached the stairs goosebumps spread across his body, and he stopped in his tracks.

“Luo Binghe,” he said and turned.

He was met with a punch to the face that flung him down the stairs. A piercing pain shot out from the shoulder he landed on, his head pounding from where it had hit the floor.

He struggled to get up into a sitting position just as five soldiers gathered in the room and surrounded him.

Luo Binghe descended the stairs slowly, each step as loud as thunder. Even with his blurry vision he could see the thunderous look on Luo Binghe’s face. He didn’t need to see to know Luo Binghe’s eyes were full of hatred.

“My son?” Luo Binghe said as he walked over to him.

He kicked Shen Qingqiu in the face, sending him to the floor again. Shen Qingqiu curled into a ball, protecting his face and stomach as Luo Binghe kicked him twice more.

“My son?” Luo Binghe raged. “You dare touch him?”

He pulled Shen Qingqiu up by the hair and hit him in the face. Shen Qingqiu’s heard a cracking noise and felt a sharp pain. His eyes watered immediately as blood poured down his face.

“I’ve waited so long to see you again,” Luo Binghe said through clenched teeth. “I made all these plans for how I would repay you.”

Shen Qingqiu sank to the floor the moment Luo Binghe let go of his hair. “All these plans,” Luo Binghe said and stomped on his leg. He felt the crunch before the pain set in, and then he couldn’t stop the scream clawing its way out of his throat. The pain threatened to make him vomit as he blurred in and out of consciousness.

Luo Binghe pulled back his leg for another kick. “But now I think I’ll just cut your arms and legs off and have you executed in the morning.”

An odd swishing sound was heard just as Shen Qingqiu prepared to feel more pain. Luo Binghe stumbled back as he was pushed away from him.

There, in between them, stood Luo Jiabao. As he turned to look at Shen Qingqiu he could see the red mark glowing on Luo Jiabao’s forehead. His eyes had turned as red as the mark and his fingernails had elongated into claws. He turned back towards Luo Binghe, a feral kitten standing up to a tiger.

“He’s mine,” he hissed at his own father.

“Yours? He’s mine! Mine to punish!” Luo Binghe shouted.

“It’s my blood in his veins. I’ve laid claim to him,” Luo Jiabao said. “If you hurt him, I’ll kill you myself,” he added.

Luo Binghe froze, his fingers curling into his palms until his nails broke through skin and blood dripped on the floor.

“I could have unsealed my powers and allowed you to find me, but I didn’t. I wanted to be with him,” Luo Jiabao said. “He is mine.”

Luo Binghe looked from Luo Jiabao to Shen Qingqiu. His eyes pierced through Shen Qingqiu. “You’re going to regret this,” he said, and Shen Qingqiu didn’t know who he was talking to.

Luo Binghe swung his sword and slashed the air. A strange rift opened, and through it Shen Qingqiu could see the dark interior of a building.

“Take them,” Luo Binghe said to his guards.

They circled Luo Jiabao, who wrapped a hand around Shen Qingqiu’s wrist to keep them from getting separated. The guards’ touch was rough and uncaring of his injuries as they pulled him upright. He swayed, uncertain if he could take another step without passing out. He was pulled along through the rift, his feet dragging uselessly along the floor.

They exited the rift into a dimly lit prison. Luo Binghe pointed at Luo Jiabao. “Take him to the doctor,” he said, then he pointed at Shen Qingqiu. “And throw that one in a cell.”

“No!” Luo Jiabao shouted, struggling against the guards who were holding on to him.

It was clear to Shen Qingqiu that Luo Jiabao needed medical attention despite having recovered. He was frighteningly pale and his eyes were so bloodshot they appeared black, and a his whole body shook with the effort of standing upright.

“Luo Jiabao,” he said, and his heart wept at how quickly the boy’s eyes snapped to him. “Listen to your father.”

Luo Jiabao’s lower lip trembled in defiance, but reluctantly he nodded. “I’ll be right back after I see the doctor,” he promised. Shen Qingqiu saw how Luo Binghe’s eyes narrowed at the show of obedience.

“That’s a good boy,” Shen Qingqiu said. Luo Binghe’s hand twitched, like it wanted to wrap itself around Shen Qingqiu’s neck and snap it.

Luo Jiabao left grudgingly with Luo Binghe, and the remaining guards dragged Shen Qingqiu into the nearest cell and tossed him inside. He fell on his side, and before he managed to get into a sitting position the door had been closed. He was left injured and alone in the dark, but all he was worried about was Luo Jiabao.

Chapter Text

He could hear a low murmur from outside his door, signaling another change of guards. His cell had no window to the outside and the only light came from underneath the door. The light he saw was consistent, never changing despite how much time had passed.

The murmuring stopped, signaling the end of duty for one guard and the beginning for another.

By his count it had been three days since he had been tossed inside the cell. Three long days since he had seen Luo Jiabao. Three blessed days since he had seen Luo Binghe.

He had wrapped his broken leg with the torn off sleeve of his robe, but there was nothing he could do about broken nose or injured shoulder. There was nothing he could do about the ache in his ribs that kept him from finding a comfortable position to rest in.

He hoped Luo Jiabao was alright.

The sound of footsteps approaching his cell woke him from his uncomfortable rest, and he sat up just as the door opened. He shielded his eyes and squinted against the bright light that fell across the threshold.

Two unfamiliar guards entered the cell, and he shrank back despite knowing there was nowhere for him to hide. Where they there to hurt him? Or to bring him to Luo Binghe and his end?

“You’re coming with us. If you resist, you will be hurt,” one of the guards said. They pulled him up, not caring when the movement made him grunt in pain.

A pale, white-haired demon waited outside the cell, the rank badge embroidered on the front of his robes depicting a black-winged kite, easily recognizable from its red eyes. It showed he was one of the emperor’s highest-ranking advisors.

He looked him up and down before nodding, as if crossing an item off an invisible list.

The guards dragged him after the advisor and only helped him when he was too slow up the stairs. They brought him two floors up before shoving him into a small, almost empty room at the end of a hallway. The room was barren except for a small bed tucked away in the corner. Dust swiveled around them, highlighted by the sun shining through the only window.
He sat down on the bed, unable to handle the pain of standing on his broken leg any longer. Pretending to fuss about his leg he took stock of his situation.

The advisor had left, but the guards stood by the door, blocking his only exit unless he jumped from the uncovered window. They looked unfriendly enough that he didn’t dare try to get past them, even if he had two functional legs. His only real way of escaping would be through the window, but in his beaten-up state he didn’t think his body could survive the fall.

Sighing, he straightened up. All he could do was wait and spend his time mentally preparing for the pain he would surely be put through soon enough. Luo Binghe had finally caught him and there was no way the man would leave him unharmed for long.

He waited.

The sun moved slowly outside the window, signaling that dawn had made way for midmorning.

He wanted to stay alert, wanted to face whatever came next head on. But the bed underneath him might have been old and dusty, but it was also soft and clean. His eyes started to drop, and when his head tilted forward on its own accord he gave up.

Finally surrendering to the tiredness he laid down, keeping his eyes on the guards until he fell asleep.

A faint murmur slithered into his dreams and startled him awake. He pushed himself up and away, feeling a gentle grip releasing his wrist as he scrambled into an upwards position.

“There’s no need to worry,” a man said. His voice was soft and matched his gentle appearance. He had dark eyes and a neat beard that enhanced the small curves of his lips. He wore a purple robe with a round collar and wide sleeves. Someone had sent him a high-ranking imperial physician to see him.

His gentle demeanor was not enough to calm Shen Qingqiu. Him being seen by a physician probably only meant Luo Binghe meant to keep him alive long enough for prolonged torture before a public execution.
The physician reached for his wrist again, and he reluctantly surrendered to the attention. A trickle of gently probing qi entered him, and he felt make its way through his body, all the way from his head to his toes

It reminded him of Mu Qingfang, though his qi had been firmer and quicker, attuned to Shen Qingqiu’s impatience and reluctance to being checked.

The physician’s eyebrows furrowed along with a subtle narrowing of his eyes. “I can do a lot to help, Mr. Zhou, but I can’t heal heartbreak.”

The guards at the door suddenly straightened.

“That would require having a heart to break.” The words were spoken from the door.

Luo Binghe entered the room. No, Shen Qingqiu corrected himself, Emperor Luo entered the room.

He was dressed in a yellow robe embroidered with five-clawed dragons facing each other across his chest. His hair was neatly tied up on the top of his head, secured with a gold guan with a dragon motif. From where Shen Qingqiu sat, Luo Binghe was every bit the imposing demon haunting him in his sleep. Emperor Luo scared him more than he wanted to admit.

Behind Luo Binghe was Luo Jiabao, similarly dressed in a yellow robe. His eyes were wide and anxious, and the moment he saw Shen Qingqiu he leapt into the room.

“You’re alive!” he said and ran right to him. Luo Jiabao jumped onto him, dislodging the physician’s grip and almost knocking them both over.

He grunted in pain, and Luo Jiabao hurried to climb off him. “You’re alive,” he repeated again, eyes wide and full of wonder.

“Of course I am,” Shen Qingqiu said, reaching out to clasp Luo Jiabao’s shoulder. He could feel Luo Binghe’s disapproving stare, but even that couldn’t stop him from reassuring the boy who looked more and more like he was about to cry.

“And you,” he said gruffly, coughing to clearing away the sudden lump in his throat. “Are you alright?”

Luo Jiabao nodded, tears spilling over and running down his cheeks. “I really thought you were going to die,” he cried, drying his tears with his sleeves.

He cleared away a strand of stray hair, tucking it behind Luo Jiabao’s ear. “It’ll take more than that to kill me, you know that,” he said.

Luo Jiabao nodded again, his tears slowly subsiding. The boy had said he was alright, but he was frighteningly pale, his under-eye area so dark they appeared bruised, and his lips so pale they were almost white. It made something in his heart break, knowing he was most likely the cause of Luo Jiabao’s illness.

The physician stood up and looked at Luo Binghe. “Physically, the patient has a broken leg, four sprained ribs, a broken scapula, and a broken nose. There’s also a lingering infection from a leg injury.”

Luo Binghe didn’t move, but his eyes lingered on Shen Qingqiu’s face. Even without showing it, Shen Qingqiu could feel the malignant satisfaction radiating from Luo Binghe.

“Spiritually,” the physician continued, “the patient is suffering from a qi imbalance, a drained lifeforce, and lingering effects from having his spiritual energy bound for too long.”

The physician pulled a sling out from his sleeves. “You’ll need to wear this for the next couple of weeks. I recommend bedrest, and a calm environment.”

Shen Qingqiu dared a glance at Luo Binghe while the physician splinted his broken leg. What was going on? Why was he being treated and not left to rot in his cell?

The physician bowed and left the room, leaving behind a plethora of medicine for Shen Qingqiu to take.

“Father and I,” Luo Jiabao said, his eyes darting towards Luo Binghe, “have come to an understanding.”

Ah. So he had little Luo Jiabao to thank for still being alive.

“So it’s alright, really,” Luo Jiabao said, trying his best to be cheerful. “You can stay here, and I can visit you!” His eyes darted towards his father again. “Sometimes,” he added reluctantly.

“It’s time to go,” Luo Binghe said, and after a long hug Luo Jiabao let go, his eyes downcast as he left the room.

Luo Binghe stayed behind, a looming figure that slowly made his way towards Shen Qingqiu. He kept his eyes on the ground, knowing better than opposing Luo Binghe when Luo Jiabao had clearly made sacrifices for him.

“You will stay,” Luo Binghe said, his words a command and not a request.

Luo Binghe grabbed him by the chin, forcing his head up until their eyes met.

“You will stay,” he repeated. “And when Luo Jiabao sees you for who you really are, or when he finally grows bored of you, I will be waiting. And I’ll break you. I’ll keep you alive as I tear you into a thousand pieces, and even as you beg for death I’ll make sure you live. Only when he’s forgotten about you will I allow you to die, knowing that there’s no one left to remember you.”

He glared at Luo Binghe, who tightened his grip. He cursed the tears he could feel forming in his eyes at Luo Binghe’s words and the pain radiating from his body. Luo Binghe leaned down close enough for Shen Qingqiu to see the hatred burning in his eyes, then he was pushed back as Luo Binghe let go of him.

Luo Binghe left the room without another word, the guards positioning themselves outside the door before closing it.

He had been left alone once again. He curled up on the bed, letting the tears spill and fall down on the bed. His breath shook, pain and fear competing for his attention.

Slowly he calmed down, forcing himself to think rationally. He had been given a second chance. He could use it to his advantage. He would use it to his advantage.

He sat back up, scoffing at his own self-pity. If Luo Binghe thought he would sit idly by and wait for his death, then he never really knew Shen Qingqiu at all.

He threw an angry glare at the door. Break him? Luo Binghe, that mongrel. He would make him regret allowing Shen Qingqiu to live. He might not be able to physically hurt Luo Binghe, but he would do his best to do something that would hurt Luo Binghe even more; he would thrive.

He laid back down again, allowing sleep to pull him under. He would make Luo Binghe regret ever meeting him.

Chapter Text

Shen Qingqiu sighed, plucking at the bandage around his chest for the fifth time since the doctor had changed it that morning. A sound from outside the door made him sit up straighter, heart beating rapidly in his chest, but he leaned back when it became clear no one was entering the room. After a while he sighed again, staring around at the bare room.

It had only been four days since he had been brought to the room, but he was already bored out of his mind. The only time the boredom disappeared was whenever he thought Luo Binghe was coming, but he had seen neither him nor Luo Jiabao since he had been given a new place to stay.

He huffed, frustrated with himself. For the first time in years he had a proper bed to sleep on, and he didn’t have to worry about weathering the elements, and yet his mind was already bored.

He had thought maybe Luo Jiabao would come see him, but he hadn’t heard from the boy since Luo Binghe had whisked him away.

Worry ate away at him. He was worried about the boy and how frail he had appeared when he had seen him, worried about what kind of father Luo Binghe was to him. And he worried about himself. Had Luo Jiabao listened to his father? Had he already decided that Shen Qingqiu wasn’t worth defending? Had he grown tired of him so quickly?

With a frown he struck the soft, thin mattress, frustration radiating through his movements. He wouldn’t doubt Luo Jiabao, he refused to let Luo Binghe make him doubt him. Luo Jiabao deserved better.

Carefully he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. An image of the doctor with a disapproving stare flashed through his mind. He had been told to stay in bed for at least a couple of weeks, but he refused. He needed to move, despite the pain it would bring him.

Mindful of the bowls of old gruel on the floor, the food more fit for animal than human consumption, he placed his feet on the floor and got up. His broken leg throbbed with pain as he limped towards the nearest window. Sweat had already formed on his brow when he reached it, and he carefully leaned against the windowsill to take the weight of his leg. He closed his eyes and frowned at the relief he felt. Maybe he moved not despite the pain, but because of it. Since meeting Luo Binghe and being allowed to live, there had formed an ache in him, a hollowness that only lessened with pain and suffering. He knew what the feeling was, had known it intimately for so many years at this point; guilt.

How many of the sect members met Emperor Luo Binghe and lived to tell the tale? How many who came eye-to-eye with Luo Binghe had felt the pain of his retribution? And there he was, complaining of a few broken bones and boredom.

Shen Qingqiu sighed again, resting his head against the window. He deserved whatever pain he felt.

The sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the dust all around him. He tapped at the dirty window, examining the blood underneath his fingernails. The doctor had cleaned the worst of the blood and filth from him, but he was still too dirty for his own liking.

He wore only his pants, the rest of his clothes too dirty and ruined to be saved. Even the pants were starting to be uncomfortable to wear, but when he had asked the doctor for a change of clothes, he had been met with a sympathetic rejection. It seemed Luo Binghe had ordered that he would get only the minimal care necessary to ensure his survival.

A movement in the sprawling garden below him caught his attention. Luo Jiabao came running into his field of vision, running over several beautiful plants before stopping. He turned and stared up, his face serious until he spotted Shen Qingqiu. His frown turned into a wide smile, and he raised both hands to wave at him. Luo Jiabao jumped up and down, shouting something he couldn’t hear. In return he waved back, unable and unwilling to fight the smile he felt forming on his lips. How could he ever have doubted the boy’s sincerity and dedication?

Luo Jiabao smiled even wider at what he saw. Another figure came into view. Even with his back turned to Shen Qingqiu he could guess it was the advisor based on the purple color of his robes and the long white hair. The advisor pointed at the building again and said something that made Luo Jiabao drop his smile. Dejected, the boy started walking but stopped to give a last wave before disappearing out of view. The advisor looked up, and even if Shen Qingqiu couldn’t see it, he could imagine the disapproving look in his face. He turned his head away, not wanting to seem to combatant towards a man he hadn’t been able to assess just yet. It wouldn’t do to inadvertently alienate a possible future ally.

Already feeling exhausted, he limped back to bed and closed his eyes. A nap to aid his recovery wouldn’t hurt while he waited for Luo Binghe or Luo Jiabao to make their next move.

A soft knock on the door woke him up. He looked out to see the sun indicating it was already past noon.

“Enter,” he said once he had pulled himself into a seated position.

Luo Jiabao bounced into the room and flung himself onto the bed. He could tell the boy wanted to hug him but was trying his best to be mindful of his injuries. Thankful that the child could be considerate, he reached over to him and gave his shoulder a quick pat.

“Did you see me earlier?” Luo Jiabao asked, despite their previous interaction.

“I did. You seem to have recovered,” he responded, the statement almost a question.

Luo Jiabao nodded. “Yes. The doctor said I’m fine now.” He scooted closer until they were almost face-to-face. “See?”

Shen Qingqiu stared at him. Luo Jiabao’s face had gained a healthy color, his cheeks and lips rosy with vigor. “I see,” he agreed.

“Are you feeling better? You were at the window,” Luo Jiabao said.

Shen Qingqiu nodded. “Much better.”

Luo Jiabao narrowed his eyes at him, his mouth turning thin. “Liar. You don’t look much better.”

He flicked the boy’s forehead. “Respect your elders,” he warned as the boy winced. “Would I be up and walking if I wasn’t feeling better?”

Luo Jiabao gave him a doubtful look. “If you say so.”

“I do,” he said. The stare he got told him he wasn’t believed, but Luo Jiabao didn’t challenge him.

Luo Jiabao slowly leaned his head against his shoulder, like he feared Shen Qingqiu would shrug him off. Instead he reached over and patted his knee, feeling more than seeing the tension leave Luo Jiabao’s body.

“Do you hate me?” Luo Jiabao asked after a while.

The question took him by surprise. How could he ever hate him? “Of course not,” he said resolutely. “Nothing in this world can make me hate you.”

His words made Luo Jiabao sniffle, and before he knew it he had his arms full of a crying child. “It’s my fault you’re here!” Luo Jiabao cried into his shoulder. “It’s my fault you’re hurt!”

Shen Qingqiu softly hushed him, gently patting him on the head. “Now now, none of that,” he said, unsure of how to comfort the boy. “I’m the only one to blame, really.”

He sighed and stroked Luo Jiabao’s hair. “I am the reason your father is angry with me. If I hadn’t been cruel to him in the past, he wouldn’t be so angry now,” he explained.

Luo Jiabao stopped his crying and leaned back. “I made him promise not to hurt you,” he said as he wiped his tears on his sleeve.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t dare say how little he believed in Luo Binghe’s promises, or else the boy would probably start crying again.

There was something he did wonder about, however. “And what did you promise him in return?” He thought he already knew the answer, but it was better to get all the correct information that he could.

Luo Jiabao fidgeted and looked down. “I promised to stop rejecting my demonic side and commit to being his heir.” Shen Qingqiu nodded to himself at the words; it was as he suspected.

Shen Qingqiu looked at him, taking in the dejected look on his face. “Is that what you really want?”

Luo Jiabao shrugged, picking at the embroidery on his sleeve. “I don’t know. It seems like a lot of responsibility.”

If someone had asked Shen Qingqiu if his little disciple Luo Binghe would have wanted to become emperor, he would have thought whoever asked was insane, and then he would have said no. As a child and a teen, Luo Binghe had seemed too adventurous, too wild to ever be something so restricting and demanding. And Luo Jiabao was so much like his father.

Shen Qingqiu nodded. “It is, but you’ll have your own advisors and your father to help you.”

At the mention of his father, Luo Jiabao’s face scrunched up, his bottom lip poking out in a pout. It was a sight Shen Qingqiu found oddly endearing, and far too familiar. He had seen Luo Binghe deploy that very same pout as a disciple, aiming it at any woman that caught his eye.

He flicked Luo Jiabao’s forehead twice, catching him by surprise again. The blooming smile he received, while more innocent and less cheeky, was just like the smile he used to see Luo Binghe give to those women. He blinked, wondering if he should feel repulsed by how much Luo Jiabao looked like his father, but felt glad he didn’t.

“And you? I’ll have you, right?” Luo Jiabao said, his words both hopeful and matter of fact.

“Of course,” he answered. No matter what Luo Binghe threw at him he would endure it if it meant staying with Luo Jiabao.

And if Luo Jiabao one day became emperor, who could stop him from guiding him? Who could stop him from whispering in his ear, to shape him into an emperor to his liking? He would do what he could to make Luo Jiabao rise from the ashes of Luo Binghe’s reign, to make right what Luo Binghe had done wrong.

“Then I’ll try,” Luo Jiabao said, and he didn’t miss how the boy seemed oddly smug.

The sound of shuffling feet came from outside, and they both stiffened like disobedient children.

A servant entered, carrying a tray of steaming food, and Luo Jiabao’s shoulders lowered. “I asked the chefs to make some food,” he explained.

The servant girl hesitated at the sight of Luo Jiabao, the sour look on her face turning neutral as she bowed and approached the desk. She placed the tray down, a nervous twitch at the corners of her mouth.

Shen Qingqiu noticed as Luo Jiabao looked at her, really looked at her.

“Wait,” Luo Jiabao said as she reached for the food, her hand hovering over a ladle.

She froze, and Shen Qingqiu saw the nervousness on her face as Luo Jiabao jumped off the bed and inspected the food.

“Miss,” Luo Jiabao said, his voice far more severe than Shen Qingqiu have ever heard it, and the servant’s hand twitched at her side. “If you serve him food like this ever again, I’ll have you whipped and thrown in the Hangshan river. Do you understand?”

She nodded frantically, bowing to Luo Jiabao. “I’m sorry, master Luo!” she said.

“Go, and come back with new food.” Gone was the cheerful smile from earlier, Luo Jiabao’s eyes cold as the servant scurried out with the tray, tears in her eyes.

Shen Qingqiu sighed. “I’ve eaten worse than spit,” he said.

Luo Jiabao’s lips curled, but the coldness on his face thawed out, replaced by concern. “You knew?” he said, his voice soft.

“Not hard to miss,” Shen Qingqiu said casually.

His food had been tempered with from his second day in the room. He could only assume someone with a grudge had found out he was there.

Luo Jiabao sat down on the bed and frowned. Shen Qingqiu could tell he was thinking, and sat with him in silence, not wanting to interrupt him.

“I haven’t told anyone who you are,” Luo Jiabao said after a while. “And Father wouldn’t tell anyone he didn’t trust.”

There was a new sound at the door that the servant had forgotten to close, and Shen Qingqiu looked up to see Luo Binghe in the doorway.

“You’ve dodged your teachers,” Luo Binghe said.

“I told them I was taking a break,” Luo Jiabao countered.

Luo Binghe’s voice was stern. “They didn’t say you could leave.”

Luo Jiabao huffed. “And you said I could visit! So, I did.”

The temperature in the room fell as father and son stared at each other.

Luo Binghe scoffed. “I said you could visit when I allowed it.”

“I was tired of eating alone,” Luo Jiabao said.

Luo Binghe faltered, his face dropping for a moment before his expression turned blank. “You’ve been eating with me,” he said.

Luo Jiabao scoffed, a perfect imitation of his father. “Same thing.”

“Come here,” Luo Binghe said.

The servant came back, a new tray in her hands as she bowed at Luo Binghe and Luo Jiabao.

“I’m eating here,” Luo Jiabao said stubbornly, taking a bowl from the tray before the servant could place it on the desk.

Luo Binghe turned to leave.

“You could eat with us,” Luo Jiabao said, and Luo Binghe froze. Shen Qingqiu groaned internally, wanting nothing less than spend time with Luo Binghe.

Luo Binghe turned back, and his eyes fell on Shen Qingqiu for the first time. Luo Jiabao looked quietly hopeful, but Shen Qingqiu knew Luo Binghe would refuse. So, he cocked a challenging eyebrow, sneering at him with a scoff.

He saw Luo Binghe recognize the challenge, saw how he tempered down the immediate anger that threatened to spill into the room and wreak havoc on them all.

“Fine,” Luo Binghe said, and they both watched as Luo Jiabao’s smile appeared.

Luo Binghe walked over to the desk and pulled out the dinky little chair, smoothing his golden robes as he sat down.

Luo Jiabao served them both, happily dividing the food equally between the three of them. He sat next to Shen Qingqiu, legs dangling from the bed as they ate in awkward silence that seemed to go unnoticed by the boy.

Shen Qingqiu looked from Luo Jiabao to Luo Binghe. He was unable to hold Luo Binghe’s angry stare for long, focusing instead on the boy who forced them together.

Luo Jiabao’s legs swung back and forth, back and forth, in happy obliviousness. It was a perfect picture of childish innocence. Shen Qingqiu could see right through him. His act was perfect and entirely fake.

Not for the first time, he wondered if Luo Jiabao would be the death of him.

Chapter Text

The days blended with each other. His days were broken up by meals, doctor visits and Luo Jiabao coming to see him every evening.

He took a walk around the room, keeping himself familiar with the pain each movement gave him. He kept his face placid, breathing through each stab of pain from his aching body. He wanted to be prepared if he was to face Luo Binghe, his men or possibly the whole world. If Luo Binghe dragged him out to humiliate him, he would do his best to stand defiant, to stand despite the pain.

Finally he sat down on the bed, exhaustion burrowing deep into his bones. He picked at the filthy sheets. A spot of dirt on his arm caught his attention and he swiped at it with the sheets.

He felt disgusting. He hadn’t had a chance to clean himself since he got there. His skin felt grimy and clammy, and so did his robes. They clung to him, smelling like sweat and blood. It had gotten to the point that the doctor had taken pity on him, clearly defying orders by bringing in a small bowl of water and a piece of cloth so he could at least clean his hands and face. The doctor had been shaking, casting glances at the door as he offered Shen Qingqiu the bowl. If he was a less selfish man he would have refused, instead he eagerly scrubbed himself and thanked the man.

“I’m done for the day!” Luo Jiabao said, running inside his room and bringing him out of his self-conscious thoughts.

Luo Jiabao stopped next to the bed, watching as Shen Qingqiu’s fingers slowly released the sheets from their grip. His eyes searched Shen Qingqiu’s face then he frowned, his fingers balling into fists.

“I’ll be back!” he almost shouted and ran out of the room, leaving Shen Qingqiu confused. What was so important that he had to run off?

He waited, looking out of the window as the sun started to set. His room grew darker, and in Luo Jiabao’s absence it grew colder.

Had he been forgotten? Did Luo Jiabao have something more important to do than visit him?

Sighing, he prepared himself for an early evening. There was no point in staying awake longer than he had to if Luo Jiabao wasn’t returning.

He heard the guards outside his door speak, their voices muffled but confused. After a while the doors opened. He saw the guards, the look on their faces one of worry and hesitancy.

Three servants carried a small bathtub into the room, the tub already halfway filled. A couple of other servants followed, most of them carrying buckets of water while others carried what he could only guess was fabric.

Shen Qingqiu took in the scene, observing the servants. Their eyes were vacant, their movements stiff. The blankness on their faces worried him. The servants who carried the bathtub put it down in the middle of the room and then just stood there. The way they stood suspended like puppets without guidance made his heart race and dread build in his stomach. And behind them all, in the doorway, stood Luo Jiabao with a look of severe concentration on his face. Sweat dripped down his face as he watched the servants empty their buckets into the bathtub.

“Thank you, you can go now,” Luo Jiabao said, and the servants shuffled out of the room. The servants who held the fabric simply dropped it on the floor as they left, hands falling limply to their sides.

The boy picked up the fabric like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, then walked over to him. He sat down next to Shen Qingqiu, holding out his bundle like an offering.

“I brought you some new robes and some sheets,” Luo Jiabao said, his breathing heavy.

Despite the nightmarish scene that had transpired, Shen Qingqiu could do nothing but reach over and pat his head. “Thank you, Luo Jiabao,” he said.

“Do you still think of yourself as my student?” Shen Qingqiu said, his voice calm as his heart still raced.

“Of course! Always!” Luo Jiabao eagerly replied.

“First of all, I want to thank you for thinking of me,” Shen Qingqiu said. He saw Luo Jiabao’s eyes first light up at his words, then narrow in suspicion. “You’re a good boy,” he added.

His hand travelled down from Luo Jiabao’s head to his ear, pinching it hard.

“Ah!” Luo Jiabao said, his hands coming up to pull himself free from Shen Qingqiu's grip.

He let go, leaving Luo Jiabao to stare at him in shock, his hand coming up to rub at his ear as pitiful tears filled his eyes.

“Do you know why I did that?” Shen Qingqiu asked sternly.

Luo Jiabao sniffled, then nodded.

He reached over and placed a palm to Luo Jiabao’s cheek, making the boy look at him. “I appreciate you wanting to help me,” he said. “But never deprive someone of their free will again.”

Luo Jiabao sniffled again, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. “Father does it all the time,” he defended himself.

Shen Qingqiu scowled. “And are you your father?”

Luo Jiabao shook his head.

“You’re right, you’re not. You’re better than him,” he said, wiping away tears with his fingers.

“I am?” Luo Jiabao said.

“Of course you are. You’re a good, kind boy. You even thought to give me a bath,” he said, giving Luo Jiabao a smile and watching his face light up.

“And new robes!” Luo Jiabao added.

“And new robes,” he agreed.

After making sure Luo Jiabao was alright, he quickly disrobed and sank into the bath. The warm water felt like bliss against his skin, despite the pain he was in. He washed himself thoroughly, unsure when he would get the chance to bathe again. With the way he had scolded Luo Jiabao he might never have the chance.

Luo Jiabao busied himself by changing the sheets and adding a few blankets and pillows. Once he was done he sat on the bed.

“Father has refused any aid to you,” Luo Jiabao said. “The servants wouldn’t help me since no one dares to go against him. And-,” he stopped, fingers twisting in the clean sheets.

“And what?” Shen Qingqiu asked as he combed his fingers through his hair. The knots were stubborn, his hair tangling around his fingers.

Silently, Luo Jiabao handed him a comb and some oil.

Shen Qingqiu took them eagery. “Thank you. And what?”

Luo Jiabao’s face twisted in anger. “Someone has started spreading rumors about you. No one has guessed who you are, but they’re saying things that make people not like you.”

“I see,” Shen Qingqiu said, carefully combing through his hair.

“That’s it?” Luo Jiabao asked incredulously.

Shen Qingqiu nodded. “For now. I’ll think about it.”

Luo Jiabao grumbled but didn’t dare argue against him.

Once Shen Qingqiu was done in the bath he changed into his new robes. The robes were dark blue with white birds embroidered in stark contrast across the hems. The silk offered softness against his skin in a way he hadn’t felt for years. A sudden ache filled his heart at the familiar feeling now turned unfamiliar. When he turned, the hem of his robes brushed against the floor and dragged behind him, and the sleeves were just long enough to drape over his fingers despite being made in a style that should reach his wrists.

A sudden thought popped into his hands. “Whose robes are these?” he said, dread filling his stomach.

Luo Jiabao looked away, teeth catching his lips as he chewed on them. “My father’s,” he whispered. “I didn’t know where else to get robes from!” he protested.

“Are you crazy! If your father finds me in his robes, he’ll-,” his words trailed off as the doors were opened.

“He’ll what?” Luo Binghe said as he walked in.

Luo Binghe’s eyes went straight to Luo Jiabao, ignoring Shen Qingqiu completely.

“Get out,” he said, staring at his son.

Luo Jiabao ran to the other side of the bed, shielding himself from Luo Binghe. “No. We haven’t had our meal together yet,” he said stubbornly.

Luo Binghe’s face twisted into a scowl. “I’m not telling you twice.”

Luo Jiabao stomped his foot. “No! You promised we could eat together!”

Shen Qingqiu stared at them. Luo Jiabao was so often on his best behavior around him, it was strange to see him be so childishly defiant around Luo Binghe. Sure, he cried and whined and acted petulant around Shen Qingqiu, but he never argued with so much childish anger as he did now.

“That was before you used the servants to get your way,” Luo Binghe said. “Now go to your room.”

Luo Jiabao scowled at his father, refusing to move. “Or what? You’re going to let me be kidnapped again?”

Luo Binghe reared back as if he had been slapped.

Luo Jiabao puffed himself up. “Or are you going to go away again, leaving me to be killed again?” he shouted.

“Go to your room,” Luo Binghe said.

“Fine,” Luo Jiabao said. He walked over the bed to keep himself from Luo Binghe’s reach. His hand clamped around Shen Qingqiu’s wrist.

“I’m taking him with me. We’re having our evening meal in my room.” He stared at Luo Binghe defiantly, dragging Shen Qingqiu with him out of the room.

He could see Luo Binghe’s jaw tightening as he walked past him, but he didn’t dare look further up.

When Luo Binghe didn’t stop them, Luo Jiabao stopped. “You can come too, when you cool down,” he said to Luo Binghe.

Luo Jiabao whisked him away, pulling Shen Qingqiu’s arm around his shoulder to support him as they walked through the palace.

A few servants spotted them, and Shen Qingqiu saw how they stopped to stare, how they pretended not to notice him while clearly memorizing every detail for future gossip.

Even with Luo Jiabao’s support the walk was agony. Sweat started to form at the base of his neck and at his hairline as the pain grew with every step. By the time they reached Luo Jiabao’s rooms he was shaking with pain.

A young girl had been waiting outside Luo Jiabao’s rooms, and when she saw them she came running over to help support Shen Qingqiu.

Together they managed to help him inside and sat him down next to the table. “Get him something for the pain,” Luo Jiabao said to her and she ran off.

“That’s Five Arrows,” Luo Jiabao said, sitting down next to him.

The girl returned quicky, a small jar with white powder in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

She handed it to him, shyly keeping her eyes to the ground. “Thank you, Five Arrows,” Shen Qingqiu said gratefully.

She looked up, startled, then ran out of the room without a word, her pale face flushing a dark pink.

“Your room is surprisingly close to mine,” Shen Qingqiu said as he poured a spoonful of powder into his tea. He looked around, noticing the stripped, barren look.

“It was the closest room available, so I moved in here,” Luo Jiabao said. “After,” he stopped and gestured to his eyes, “he moved me from my palace to this one, where he lives. I’ve lived in the same floor as him until now.”

Shen Qingqiu remembered the faint white scars around Luo Jiabao’s eyes. Since Luo Jiabao didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it, he looked around some more.

A portrait of a woman was the only item that seemed personal.

“Who is that?” he asked, gesturing to the portrait.

Luo Jiabao stared at the portrait for a moment, before getting up and picking it from the wall. He brought it with him and handed it to Shen Qingqiu.

Up close he could see it was an older woman, pretty with her downturned eyes and soft features. Her dark eyes were soulful and full of warmth.

“That’s my mother,” Luo Jiabao said.

“Where is she now?” he asked, despite being certain of the answer.

“She died,” Luo Jiabao said. His hands did the same gesture as earlier, reaching for his eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling Luo Jiabao close.

“Don’t be, it wasn’t you who killed her,” Luo Jiabao said.

Shen Qingqiu could tell he was trying to be nonchalant, but he heard the way his voice cracked.

Luo Jiabao rubbed his eyes, then took the painting and hung it on the wall again.

“She was beautiful,” Shen Qingqiu said.

Luo Jiabao nodded in agreement. “The most beautiful in the whole world.”

Luo Jiabao turned towards the doors, his face falling into a frown. Shen Qingqiu turned to see what he was scowling at just as Luo Binghe entered the room.

Several servants followed behind him, each holding plates of steaming food.

“You said I could join you,” Luo Binghe said, seating himself directly opposite of Shen Qingqiu. He had a smile that seemed kind, but Shen Qingqiu could tell it didn’t reach his eyes.

Once the servants were gone, Luo Binghe reached into his sleeve and threw a piece of fabric across the table.

Shen Qingqiu took it and unraveled it to find a black veil.

“Wear this whenever you’re outside your room or in the company of servants. Since there’s no stopping Luo Jiabao, and he has no concern for your safety, you need to take responsibility.” The smile turned sharp. “Don’t go further than the gardens. Don’t go out at night. Don’t speak unless spoken to.”

“You’re giving me freedom?” Shen Qingqiu asked suspiciously.

“No,” Luo Binghe said. “I’m giving you enough rope to hang yourself with.”

As Luo Jiabao scowled at his father, Shen Qingqiu folded the veil and pocketed it.

“Thank you, Emperor Luo,” he said, his voice acidic.

“You’re welcome, peasant,” Luo Binghe replied with a smile he quickly dropped.

They stared daggers at each other as Luo Jiabao served the food.

Luo Jiabao spent the meal talking about his lessons for that day, attending to them as a filial son as the meal went on.

Sometime during the meal, Shen Qingqiu looked up, staring at the portrait of Luo Jiabao’s mother. With his poor eyesight he could pretend she was smiling at him, glad to see him by her son’s side. Her imagined approval and Luo Jiabao by his side made sitting face-to-face with Luo Binghe a little easier.

As Luo Binghe stared at him, he hoped he could hold on to the feeling when he needed it the most.