Chapter Text
It began with blood, as everything did. That was no shock to Shen Jiu.
What perpetually continued to surprise him was that it had not yet ended so. Somehow, he had kept food in their mouths, and somehow, he had been just strong enough to keep them alive. And even without Qi-ge, his skinny, scarred legs had been steady enough to keep him upright with the little bundle strapped securely to his back. In it was everything he had left; he’d tied it on underneath his robe for extra security. Whenever someone eyed it for too long, he made sure to lose them in the alleyways.
And if he didn’t, well. A knife solved many problems.
But he was weak, and he knew it; he’d always known it. He wouldn’t have needed Qi-ge in the first place otherwise. He would have taken them both and run far away from the slavers. He would never have been sold to the Qiu. And he would never have been on the run, everything he owned in a little sack, if he’d been strong.
That is how Wu Yanzi had found him: starved, pathetic, eager for power. That is how Wu Yanzi had preyed upon him.
(He knew now what it meant to become a cauldron. What it meant to commit premeditated murder.)
Shen Jiu hadn’t thought that he’d had anything left to poison, but Wu Yanzi had proved him wrong time and time again.
Pushing his blade through the man’s heart to save Qi-ge was quite possibly the only good thing he had ever done. And with that blood, his time at Cang Qiong had begun. But—
“You can’t keep that,” Qing Jing peak lord An Jinle had said, throwing a disgusted look at the smelly, ragged bundle at his back. “Get rid of it before tomorrow.”
Qi-ge had fought for him enough, and this wasn’t his battle. Shen Jiu therefore nodded, feeling leaden; and that night, he had stolen away down the mountain to his jiejie. He had only spent a few nights there over the years; Wu Yanzi hadn’t liked venturing near the great sects. But he had enjoyed brothels, and the Warm Red Pavilion was familiar enough to serve.
He pressed his former master’s coin pouch into A-Bing’s manicured hand and held out his bundle. “I’ll get you more money,” he whispered, wounds throbbing.
A-Bing glanced at the blood under his nails, too ingrained to be scrubbed out with a single bath. Then she looked at him again, taking in the new robes and practice sword at his side. “More than that,” she whispered back, pulling the pouch toward herself. “Buy me out, A-Jiu. I’ll do this if you do that.”
His eyes narrowed. “How much?”
“My own weight in silver,” A-Bing told him, a gleam in her eyes. “A disciple can get that, right?”
“Disciples aren’t paid,” he hissed. “That’ll take forever.”
“You have ten years,” she said haughtily, taking the bundle in her arms and making a face at its weight. “I’ll be all used up then, if I don’t die of disease sooner. You’ll be my retirement plan.”
He nodded. “Fine. Don’t let anyone know. I’ll- I'll keep an account of the money and visit when I can.”
“You’d better!” she called out as he slipped away.
He’d returned to the peak and presented himself the next day, baggage gone and fingers red from fruitless scrubbing. He’d pulled his hair up tight even though it exposed the gauntness of his cheekbones, and he presented tea to An Jinle and bowed.
“This master appreciates smart disciples,” his shizun said approvingly. “If Shen Jiu works hard, he has a real chance to better himself. He should forget what he has left behind; his education and new responsibilities here will fill his life.”
“Yes, Shizun,” Shen Jiu agreed, sealing the space around his heart.
He was handed a manual and assigned a bunk in the boys’ dorms. From the moment he stepped into the building, he felt grim; the air was heavily scented with everything he hated.
He stood in the doorway, unable to move, and then jumped when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “New shidi! Shen Jiu, right? Well, you’re older than usual, but we’ve made space – the bunk in the corner is yours,” a thick teenager told him. The smile on his face soured the fine tea in Shen Jiu’s stomach.
“Wang Shuyin graduated last month, so his bed’s been empty. Otherwise, you’d have to sleep in the woodshed!” he joked. Then he leaned in and sniffed Shen Jiu. “Kunze, huh? Well, we’ll take good care of-”
Shen Jiu tore himself out of his frozen state and shoved his hand into his robe, pulling out his knife. He let the point ghost over the older teen’s stomach. “Scent me again, shixiong, and it’ll be the last thing you do,” he gritted out.
The teen stood still, barely breathing, and Shen Jiu took the opportunity to glance around at the other people in the room. “That goes for all of you,” he informed them. “Don’t touch me. And I will be sleeping in the woodshed. If you tell a hallmaster or Shizun, you’ll regret it.”
After a moment in which nobody moved, he tucked his knife away and went to the bunk, hoisting up the pile of clothes and blankets that had been laid there for him.
“Shizun will know,” the teen he’d threatened said quietly, backing away with his hands raised. “She knows everything that happens on her peak, shidi.”
“Unlikely,” Shen Jiu scoffed, and moved past him into the night.
When Shen Jiu had been named successor to the Qing Jing peak lord, he’d resolved to expel every person who had caused him difficulty in the eight years he’d lived on the mountain. To his surprise, the disciple he’d threatened in the dormitories on that first day, Zhao Wenning, was not among them.
“All I really want is to be a hallmaster, shidi,” Zhao Wenning admitted to him over painting practice. “Haven’t these past years proved that I’m reliable?”
Shen Qingqiu pursed his lips, recalling how the man had only ever made himself useful and unthreatening despite his dense zhongyong scent, and how he’d seen him in the lake one day years ago and there had been no cock between his legs. “You’ll do, I suppose.”
Two years later, when An Jinle had been unable to ignore her fellow lords’ pleading any longer and agreed to ascend with the cohort, it was Zhao Wenning whom Shen Qingqiu came to with a young girl at his side.
“Well, who’s this now?” Zhao Wenning asked with delight. “You actually said yes to some noble’s pleading?” He knelt down to be level with the girl’s face. “Welcome to Qing Jing Peak, disciple…?”
“…Ning,” Shen Jiu said slowly, as if he'd heard it once and promptly forgotten it. “Ning Yingying. And no. She is the child of a friend; I have had her marked for Qing Jing since she was young.”
Yingying nodded her head and gave a polite bow. “Please treat this one well, Hallmaster Zhao!”
He grinned. “My first student! Your Shizun does appreciate me.” He stood up, brushing off his knees. “Come, Disciple Ning. Let us see to your dormitory situation, ah?”
The girl nodded and then looked up at Shin Qingqiu for permission. He looked at her and turned away, and that seemed to be enough; she gave a little hop-skip until she was even with Zhao Wenning’s legs. “I’m ready!”
“Excellent,” he replied, starting the walk to the disciples’ housing. “So where are you from?”
“Da Shan city. I lived with my aunties,” Yingying told him, looking at their surroundings with interest. “I came here once with Shizun when I was little, I think, but I don’t remember much.”
Zhao Wenning raised his eyebrows, immediately making the connection between the town at the base of the mountain, aunties, and Shen Qingqiu’s proclivity for brothels. “He brought you here? Really?”
“Was he not supposed to?” she asked, eyes wide.
How could he say no to that face? Prostitute's child or no, she was a disciple now, and extremely cute. “I suppose it depends on the situation,” he told her truthfully. “But it doesn’t matter now; he’s the lord of the peak, and he can accept anyone he likes. The former lord stopped accepting disciples a few years ago in preparation for her ascension, so the youngest now are only a little more so than your Shizun.
“You’re the first of the new crop, so you should learn your responsibilities and set a good example for the new ones at the next selection period – that’s just a few months away. Shen Qingqiu will probably pick at least a few, and then us hall masters will fight over a few more,” he laughed. “But if you work hard, maybe you can even choose one your age as a friend.”
Ning Yingying looked so excited that she might burst. “I will! I will, Hallmaster Zhao! I want a little shidi!”
He patted her head. “Work hard, then!”
Shen Jiu had stolen, starved, and killed to keep them safe. Now, Shen Qingqiu watched as Ning Yingying walked away with one of his hall masters and chose to ignore the way that his nails dug into his palms. She would be safe. She had two of his knives on her person, one in a boot and one in her chest wrappings, which she only needed at this age to hold the knife. She knew how to protect herself. He and A-Bing had ensured it.
With a small sound, Yue Qingyuan stepped up next to him, close enough to whisper but not to touch. “She looks well,” he said gently.
Shen Qingqiu glared at him out of the corner of his eye. “Naturally. I wasn’t caring for her,” he said waspishly.
“This one did not mean-”
“I don't care,” Shin Qingqiu said stormily. “She’s a Qing Jing disciple now. What is the sect leader doing on Qing Jing, anyway? Go back to your own peak!”
Yue Qingyuan sighed forlornly and went.