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Chapter Text

As an extremely knowledgeable and wise thirteen-year-old, Shen Yuan’s remedy to a particularly shitty day at school was one that he quite recommended to anyone who suffered from a similar plight. It was a very simple process, too; in fact, all it involved was clicking into the forums at the speed of a seasoned expert and preparing a metaphorical red pen with all the harshness of a parent “helping” with homework.

The amateur independent writer forums, of course, were the best for this kind of stress-relief. After all, what was the fun in trawling through published writing? They’d already had the best parts picked away by editors like vultures on roadkill! These message boards were where they had the real good stuff, garbage and hidden gems alike.

It’s one such afternoon when Shen Yuan is lounging in his desk chair, crunching on chips he’d found at the back of the cabinet, that he gets a new update on a thread he’d marked for later. It’s titled “Proud Immortal Demon Way - Idea?” and it’d been a particularly interesting read when he’d first stumbled upon it a few weeks ago.

Written by user Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, it had been shaping up to be an interesting, if not particularly well-executed, rough outline of a xianxia tale about a young boy who had suffered and suffered. Of course, as per genre convention, this young boy would surely surpass everyone else in the world. Until then, however, Shen Yuan had been intrigued by this protagonist who was pure, sweet, and had nothing but aspirations of being a diligent student and making his (washerwoman!) mother proud.

“Not very xianxia power fantasy of you, Binghe,” he mutters, wiping his greasy hands off before furiously pounding away at his keyboard. On-screen, his cursor blinks: How nice is this guy?! To just keep accepting such behavior from scum like him…Airplane, there’s a thin line between writing a character to be filial and writing a character to be a total masochist. You haven’t just crossed the line, you’ve leapt across it!

He’s practically an expert at this by now, even reading and leaving comments as he eats. “Stupid,” he says to himself through a mouthful of chips, scrolling to the second page of the newest update. Luo Binghe’s scum shizun, Shen Qingqiu, gets more comically evil and less interesting with every sentence. It must be a new record. “Luo Binghe stumbles to his shijie’s waiting arms, bleeding from the Bai Zhan peak disciple’s assault…Seriously? Inter-peak fighting is so cheap,” he reads aloud, eyes narrowing in disdain.

It only gets worse as he reads on. “Unfortunately for Luo Binghe, Shen Qingqiu hadn’t been far behind his favored disciple. ‘It stands to reason a beast like you should know no sense,’ his shizun says, expression coldly furious, ‘but should you have no propriety as well? Take your hands off your shijie.’...Of course that Airplane has no subtlety,” Shen Yuan says. “Of course, the villain should also be creepy about his female disciple, too! It’s not enough that he beats children, no!”

“Ning Yingying cries out, ‘But Shizun! Those Bai Zhan disciples were beating on him!’ Her concern causes Binghe to flush, even as his Shizun says dismissively, ‘They’ve always been out of control. I’m sure the death of that brute hasn’t helped,’” Shen Yuan reads, then frowns and starts scrolling back up. “Whose death is he talking about?”

When he doesn’t find anything concrete, he sighs and reads further. The lack of detail is par for the course with this half-edited novel, more a rough draft than anything. He’s honestly not even sure that anyone reads besides him and three other commenters. “She whispers to him that she’d heard rumors that their shizun had killed the Bai Zhan peak lord himself, some sort of murderous rage in the Lingxi caves, but surely it couldn’t be true—not their shizun! Luo Binghe, ever loyal, just shakes his head in agreement—his shizun could never do such a thing, no matter if he was occasionally a little hard on him.”

Shen Yuan shakes his head again. “Of course he just takes it lying down,” he says, then does a double take at the supposed murder. “And of course, Airplane takes another concept with so much potential and just throws it away.” The peak lord of Bai Zhan, supposedly a battle maniac with a title of “War God” and a perfect contrast to Shen Qingqiu’s peak of scholarly study, had been little more than a throwaway introduction line that gave his name and a throwaway death that fueled a teenage romance. Shen Yuan rankles a little at the wasted narrative. Wouldn’t it have been interesting to have a character set up to constantly be clashing with Shen Qingqiu, to mirror Luo Binghe’s struggle between his scholarly aspirations and the kind of violence that came so naturally to him? Wouldn’t it be another hint at the duality within the protagonist that, despite all the faults of this story, was pretty damn interesting?

“No, of course this Bai Zhan peak lord dies because of Binghe’s scum shizun, and of course the story is just more misery jerk-off bullshit!” he exclaims. Unfortunately for Shen Yuan, age thirteen and not particularly careful about his eating habits, the breath of air he takes in after his impassioned rant is particularly deep. Even more unfortunately for Shen Yuan, a chip immediately lodges itself in his airway, triggering a fit of choking and an increasingly narrowing field of vision. When he finally runs out of oxygen, chip still firmly stuck, the last thing he sees is the mocking blink of his cursor—still positioned at the Bai Zhan peak lord’s unfortunate death announcement.

—

The first thing Shen Yuan notices after waking up: the sun is bright, far too bright for a shut-in like himself. The second thing he notices is just how loud everything is, people bustling left and right and asking him questions. The third thing, which in hindsight he should’ve noticed far earlier, is that he’s in the middle of a traditional Chinese-styled courtyard, and everyone else around him is dressed in the kind of robes he’d only seen on TV dramas. “What?” he gets out, before the people huddled around him explode in a cacophony of sound. “Hello?”

“Young man, do you know where you are?” a particularly beautiful woman asks him, face severe and angular. “What is your name?”

Internally, Shen Yuan panics. Of course he doesn’t know where he is! Not even five minutes ago, he’d been sitting in his comfortably air-conditioned room, choking on his chips! He shakes his head mutely, and the woman seemingly takes that as an invitation to drag him to his feet. “Up,” she barks, tugging him to a standing pose.

As she frog-marches him to what seems to be an even fancier building, Shen Yuan mentally catalogs his surroundings. Ancient-Chinese aesthetics, ambiguously fancy environment, life-threatening situation…No way, don’t tell me I transmigrated?!

It’s a realization that nearly has him falling over, heels digging into the ground. The woman glances back at him, clearly annoyed, but he’s too busy trying not to totally lose his mind. It’s a scenario that had only existed in his shitty webnovels, but…how else could he explain such a drastic change? Outfits, buildings…even the air itself seemed cleaner.

His death knell comes in the form of a chime ringing in his head, loudly enough to cause him to flinch. Welcome! comes a tinny automated voice, and he thinks wildly for a second that he really has gone crazy. New User, welcome to this world!

What the hell, he thinks, head darting around to try to find the source of the sound. What is this?

User, this is the system, the voice recites, clean and precise. Through the use of commands, the User is able to access information about anything native to this world. The System hopes this is of use in the User’s journey.

Who—whatever, who cares about that! Shen Yuan’s still being dragged to an unknown location, and as he stares at the building looming above him, he shivers in fear. What system?! Did I die?!

The System is an automated user-specific internal database, similar to an encyclopedia, the voice chirps. Would User like additional information about anything?

Shen Yuan’s not stupid, he knows the drill with these transmigration novels. System, he snaps mentally, what is that plant growing over there.

That is bluebell-grass, it says. A common weed, it often grows in qi-rich areas. It’s said to be useful in a pinch for detoxification.

Okay, good, he thinks, now why am I here in this world?

There’s a moment before the answer comes, almost sullen. …If User felt strongly enough about this story that he felt the need to die over it, then User should do something about it.

No fucking way I’m in the world of that shitty Proud Immortal Demon Way novel right now, Shen Yuan yells to himself, then shuts up abruptly as he’s dragged in front of an extremely important-looking man. Save the processing for later! Save the breakdown for later! A scary man is standing right in front of him, and his prospects don’t look good!

“Young man,” the important-looking man says, “State your name and your intentions.”

Shen Yuan gulps. “I—I’m…I don’t really remember much of anything about myself, I…” When in doubt, use the amnesia excuse. He doesn’t remember anything, totally. Any weirdness can be explained away in an instant.

“...An amnesiac, getting past our compound’s wards? Young man, honesty is a virtue. I would advise you to tell the truth,” he says. He cuts a severe figure in fancy xianxia robes and a furrowed brow.

“I really have no clue, sir,” Shen Yuan stammers, hands sweaty. He resists the urge to wipe them on his unfamiliar robes. “I know nothing of myself.” He gets it, security issue and everything, but surely a thirteen year old couldn’t pose any real threat?

“Fine,” the man waves his hand dismissively. “A truth test isn’t too complex to perform. Young man, do you understand?” It’s cold, but not cruel. Shen Yuan, however, starts sweating profusely at his words.

System! he cries. Can they find out?

Rest assured, User, it chimes soothingly, any answers that threaten User’s status in this world will be redirected.

It’s an extremely vague response, but it’s not like he has much choice—he puts his hand on the strange metal device that one of the servants brings out, and the adult puts his hand on the other side.

“Young man,” he asks first, “where do you hail from?”

Shen Yuan’s mouth opens, and he starts spilling out words he’d never even thought to say. “I truly do not remember,” it says, as he mentally flounders. “If my birthplace is in this world, I do not know its name any longer.”

The man squints at him, and continues asking questions. “Do you intend anyone here harm?” More words pour out from him, smooth and assuring him that he means no harm, he’s just an amnesiac. It’s another long few minutes of questioning before the other man seemingly gives up on trying to prove that he’s an assassin or something else equally scary, and asks him a question he can actually answer. “What is your name, young man?”

“Shen Yuan,” he replies, confidently. Shit, wait, it was probably a mistake to give out his real name, he realizes a split second after he says it, but the man’s expression doesn’t change. It’s probably fine, then.

“Shen Yuan,” the man says, finally removing his hand from the metal, “As it seems you truly meant no harm, our conversation is concluded. Will you be needing directions to the nearby city, then?”

His question is casual, but Shen Yuan has a panicked realization: There is absolutely no way that he, as a thirteen year old who’s never worked a day in his life, can make it in the city on his own. Matter of fact, was he even allowed to work? Did child labor laws exist in this dogshit novel? Of course not, Airplane would definitely never think of that sort of thing. Binghe had suffered so much in this novel, there 100% wouldn’t be any!

“Sir, please, let me stay here!” he says. He’d do whatever he had to so he didn’t die of malnutrition at thirteen, and nowhere were his prospects better at this moment than in this compound. He’d noticed a crest earlier with the same symbol described as being part of Liu Mingyan’s clothing; while admittedly extremely lacking in characterization, her and her brother’s clan had always been described as “noble and righteous,” of course to contrast with Shen Qingqiu’s own villainy. “I—I can—” He hesitates for a second as he tries to figure out what he could offer a clearly wealthy man, before he remembers his (dogshit, awful) System. “I can—provide you with useful information about this world!”

The man’s eyebrow raises slightly, and that’s his cue to start talking about whatever he can think of. The plant growing in a crack over there? Supposedly good for cultivation, if you managed to steep it under a new moon for thirty years. A great beast, whose head was mounted on the walls? Its weak point lay in its poison glands, which had supposedly never developed to avoid backflow into its own throat. In this manner, Shen Yuan spills as much information as he possibly can, regurgitating the System’s facts like they’re his own.

“Stop,” the man says, holding his hand up. Shen Yuan waits on bated breath—wouldn’t it just be too much of an injustice to transmigrate and immediately die?! “Clearly, your declaration wasn’t just for show.” He studies Shen Yuan for a long moment, sharp gaze pinning him to the ground, before closing his eyes and seemingly coming to a decision. “...You will stay, then.” He waves his hand in a clear dismissal, while Shen Yuan struggles to get any words out.

“As—As what, sir?” Shen Yuan swallows. It’d be better if he didn’t have to do manual labor, but maybe the Liu family had a great retirement package.

“A consultant-in-training. You will be expected to provide relevant knowledge on various topics, and aid us in obtaining some of these rare compounds you have described,” he says, already turning away. “Young man. We do expect to see results.”

“Yes, I understand,” Shen Yuan says politely, mentally pumping his fists as he’s ushered out of the hall. “I definitely will deliver, sir.”

—

The first thing Shen Yuan has to get used to, which he absolutely bemoans, is straightforward: no internet. No internet, no easy entertainment, not even anything from his System besides the encyclopedia it’d mentioned initially. It makes for a long few hours when he’s not given any tasks, as busy as everyone around him seems to be. It’s not long before he, bored to tears, manages to at least procure a brush and some paper from a harried-looking passerby.

“Well!” he says out loud to himself, voice echoing off of the walls of his cramped but comfortable room. “Might as well start writing stuff down now!”

Shen Yuan might have only been thirteen, but he understood the concept of investment. If the Liu compound didn’t get any benefit out of keeping him here…well, he’d be homeless soon enough. He had had plenty of anti-fans harangue him on the forums, not knowing he was thirteen, saying that he critiqued them so thoroughly he must surely not have a job; surely, he’d have the last laugh now, having to produce these inane details as his job!

He chews on the end of the brush idly, screwing up his face in thought. Easy to obtain and useful…it’s easier said than done, with the danger level of the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way. The first thing he can think of is the Ever-Blooming Lotus, touted to have regenerative capabilities that could even extend to a limb—as long as it could be picked, of course. With a stem like the hardest steel, the only thing possible of cutting it was a cord braided from the intestines of a lamb. Representing the strength of innocence, or something like that? Airplane had never been great about mixing his religious metaphors.

“System,” he mutters, “Can I get anything else similar to that level of usefulness?”

“Certainly, User,” it chimes. “Similar to the Ever-Blooming Lotus: The horns of the Five-Tongued Skink, the sacred water of the Beauty In Moonlight Spring, the hair of a Fleet-Footed Horse—Please also see ‘Fleet-Footed Cow’—”

“Enough, enough,” he cries. The brush glides across the paper, way easier than he’d expected. Maybe transmigrating had come with some pre-loaded perks, since he couldn’t just type anymore? “Let me copy those down first!” It wouldn’t do to use up his entire stock of knowledge too fast, after all.

It’s not long before he finishes and calls a houseservant over, blowing on the ink to dry it. “Could you let me know where I should leave this? It’s for the leaders to see,” he says, and the other boy nods in the direction of the main hall. There’s a convenient-looking basket, and he slips it in with a furtive glance, hoping nobody will call him out. “Guess I might as well get used to putting on these robes,” he sighs after returning to his room, and spends the next couple of hours doing just that with only the System’s auto-reader for company.

—

Shen Yuan’s bustling around the courtyard one day, running this and that between various heads of the family, when he finally spots someone around his age clad with the Liu crest. That fact by itself is enough to give him pause. He’d rarely seen anyone around the complex around his age, after all; despite all the different branches of the Liu family, there were surprisingly very few teenagers. The boy looks a little younger than him, maybe, but Shen Yuan isn’t too well-versed with child development—at least old enough to practice with a real sword, considering the nasty-looking one he had in his hands!

Curious, he lingers, stacking and restacking the papers in his arms. The sword is beautiful, as are the clean lines the other boy is cutting through the air; it seems like a fairly standard set of stances, but as Shen Yuan continues to watch, he can’t help but frown.

“That’s a waste of your time, you know,” he calls. It’s unacknowledged by the younger boy, who’s making it his personal mission to deforest the three-meter wide space he’s swinging a sword in. The gravel crunches underneath his sandals as he makes his way to the clearing that the other boy is training on, and Shen Yuan winces at the slipperiness of the stones from the moisture settling in the air. “Are you even listening? Hey!”

His voice hasn’t quite settled yet in the way it’s supposed to, squeaking a little on the “hey,” but the boy finally puts down his sword. “What do you want,” the boy says, more of a statement than a question. Shen Yuan sighs. So rude! The boy was clearly younger than him, too, so what was with the disrespect?

“I’m just saying,” Shen Yuan huffs. “Swinging it around like that isn’t going to do much for you. Not like that, anyways.” He’d tried to bite his tongue, since judging by the clothing the young boy was clearly a kid of import, but—this kind of inefficiency was really too much, for someone like him to stand.

“What would you know,” the boy grumbles, looking half-ready to start up his wild swinging again.

“I’d know plenty, thanks for asking,” Shen Yuan says. He’s annoyed by the insinuation, voice taking on an edge. The whole reason he’d been taken in by this kid’s clan had been because of his so-called cultivation knowledge, after all. “First off, that sword’s much too large for you. It’ll only teach you bad habits if you train with that thing. You’re, what, ten? Way too young to be using that kind of sword.”

“I’m eleven,” the boy grits out, clearly offended. Shen Yuan takes it in stride. So what if he had gotten his age wrong? So what if he was only a year younger than him? The boy was short for his age, it was a perfectly reasonable assumption to make.

“Even so! It’s best to use a sword that’s correctly sized, and make sure you’re utilizing your strengths,” he says. Undeterred by the boy’s fierce glare, he squints his eyes and recalls his lithe form sweeping through stances. “You’re really agile, so it’d be better if you made use of that and focused on mobility over raw power.”

“...Nobody wants to teach me anything,” the boy mutters, lips pursing in a pout. It’s a little cute on such a serious face. “They all just say to wait until I start at Cang Qiong. But I don’t want to wait.”

“Then you won’t have to,” he says, amused. “My name is Shen Yuan. Newly hired, I guess, by the Liu family? I can try to guide you, if you help me learn how to actually execute some of the sword forms.”

“It’s a deal,” the boy says. He crosses his arms over his chest, with an expression much too serious for his youthful face. “Don’t back out.”

“I won’t, Liu-di,” Shen Yuan says flippantly. He really means to put his best effort into the whole thing, he swears! He’s fully aware that all his theoretical knowledge means nothing if he dies to the first monster he sees! “I’ll be here the same time tomorrow, if you want to go over some more forms.”

“I’ll see you here,” the boy states (again, too intense!). “Don’t be late.”

—

It becomes a regular occurrence, to take his lunch break just a little early to meet up with the Liu boy. It’s not as if it’s any hardship, after all. To Shen Yuan, bursting with cultivation facts but not nearly enough physical prowess to execute them, the boy is an interesting case study and a quick study to boot. He’d asked, once, whether he could do the same: System, can I develop a golden core? It would just be unfair if he couldn’t, despite transmigrating into this whole mess. He’d received a quick reply: Possible, possible! As long as Host works hard!

The same as every damn question he’d asked. What was the point in putting in back-breaking work with no guidance, when he could have this boy do it for him if he wanted to test all his cool cultivation knowledge? “Liu-di,” he calls from his comfortable position perched on the walkway, “See if you can move from your third form into your sixth form.”

“Why?” comes the immediate response, eyes narrowed. Shen Yuan bristles a little at the insinuation—so he was fine to take guidance from, but the boy refused to trust what he was saying? He was the premier expert on this world, he’d have him know!

“It’s not done usually, but the momentum will make your fourth form more powerful,” he states confidently as he can with the expertise of the System and his long hours reading cultivation novels backing him up. Sure, it could be bullshit, but he’d noticed something about this world—Generally, if he said it, it was mostly true. “With an author that lax, of course he’d steal from other novels,” he mutters unpleasantly, then flaps his hand when the Liu boy looks up quizzically at the sound of his voice. “Nothing! Keep practicing!”

—

Of course, it isn’t all easy work. Not every day is just experimenting with his own personal lab rat, after all. “Liu-di,” he moans, stretched out on the grass, “Kill me now.”

“You were the one who wanted this,” the boy says. “Get up.”

“I said I wanted training, not physical torture!” he wails, but hauls himself up.

“Again,” the boy calls. They move into another set of stances, Shen Yuan’s hands sweat where they’re gripping the practice sword. Muscles he didn’t even know he had ache. He’d been a spoiled kid in his previous life, of course he wasn’t prepared for this kind of exercise! “Watch me,” he says sharply, then sweeps through the stances in movements so graceful Shen Yuan has to fight the urge to say something petty and sulking. “You’re separating the steps too much, so they don’t flow into one full set.”

“Alright, alright,” he sighs, running through them one more time. That time earns a squint and an approving nod, and Shen Yuan flops over again, staring up at the brilliantly blue sky. “Ugh. Is there even a point to doing all this?”

The boy’s face appears in the corner of his vision as he leans over Shen Yuan, hair falling into his face. It’s a little longer than shoulder-length now, long enough that he’d had to find a tie to bind it back while he practiced. “Are you set on a sword for cultivation?” he asks, features interestingly upside-down from Shen Yuan’s point of view.

“What?” Shen Yuan asks, confused. Wasn’t that the only option for cultivators? Sure, there were some in his novels who had wielded spears and whips, but he can’t imagine he’d be any better at them. Weren’t they harder to use anyways?

“You do better detached from the action,” the boy observes, tipping his head this way and that. “You’re much better at coaching me than coaching yourself.”

“You think I’m good at coaching you?” Shen Yuan teases, snickering at the flush that quickly spreads blotchy over the boy’s cheeks.

“Irrelevant,” he grouses, then tugs him upright. “Try a bow.”

“You have those?” Shen Yuan asks, curiosity piqued. “I thought people didn’t use them for cultivation.”

“I have an uncle who does,” the boy shrugs. “He’s good.”

“...Huh,” Shen Yuan ponders. If he was far enough away…

“I’ll bring one tomorrow,” the boy says, and that’s that.

—

As the boy had predicted, Shen Yuan’s much better with the bow. It’s his back muscles that are sore nowadays instead of his arms and legs, but it’s a satisfying burn as he starts to hit target after target. “Fire,” the Liu boy calls, and Shen Yuan looses another arrow, wincing as it wobbles a little to the left. He’d choked the bow grip a little too hard, arms unused to holding full draw for so long. “You’re off.”

“I know, I know,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. After a few months of residing in this xianxia world, his own hair had grown to chin-length. Just as he’s debating the merits of getting his own hairtie from his room, there’s a dangling string in his vision. He blinks at the Liu boy holding it up. “Oh!”

“Long hair can get tangled in the bowstring,” he says. “Take it.”

“Thanks,” he says. Maybe the boy was nice after all! He’s unused to tying his hair but tries his best to rake it back anyways, haphazardly winding the tie around it. “Does it look fine?”

“You suck at this,” he replies bluntly. Shen Yuan’s about to take back the nice things he’d thought about him when the boy takes his hair in his hands and binds it back with efficient movements in a half-up half-down style. It’s surprisingly nice when he leans over the pond to catch his reflection, and he grins.

“You’re not half bad at this, Liu-di!” he smiles, picking up his bow again. “Remind me to return the favor sometime.”

“...Sure,” the boy mumbles, his face turning charmingly pink. “You can keep it. The tie.”

What a generous person! Shen Yuan fires a few more shots, and they wobble even further to the left than before. “I think I’m done for today,” he sighs. “My arm’s shaking so bad I don’t think my shots are going to get any better.”

“My turn, then?” the boy nods, hair falling loose in his face now that his tie’s been sacrificed to Shen Yuan.

“Don’t you need a tie?” Shen Yuan questions, but the boy just shrugs. “If you say so.”

Maybe I’ll get him one as a present for finally being polite, he thinks, watching the Liu boy go through his stances. They’re as fluent and beautiful as always, and he heaves a sigh of jealousy. Hey System, how come I can’t get that good that fast? The changes Shen Yuan had suggested had long been incorporated into the routine, the boy doing a jumping kick with the sword he knew he couldn’t do in a million years.

Answering Host, we all have our different aptitudes! it chimes cheerfully, always willing to answer the question. Whether the answer was helpful would be a different matter, but at least it was prompt in its responses!

And mine isn’t physical cultivation, is that it? he grumbles, fiddling with the end of his hair.

It is a fact that nobody would be, compared to him! it chirps. Shen Yuan pauses.

What do you mean, compared to him? he asks, suspicious. He was too young to be stumbling on red flags! Was this boy doomed to be some sort of villain, cut down by Luo Binghe for his cultivation secrets? After all, nobody was allowed to be stronger than Luo Binghe! He isn’t a villain, is he?

Would Host like to see his profile? Shen Yuan nods yes, nearly spitting out the water he’s swishing around in his mouth when it finally does pop up.

Liu Qingge? he yells when he recovers, eyes wide and coughing like a maniac. Liu-di is Liu Qingge?

The system pings affirmative.

He drags a hand down his face, cursing the System, this cheap world, and every bad choice he’d ever made in his life. “Liu-di,” he says, praying to every single god he remembered that the System had made a mistake just this once, “What’s your name?”

“What?” he frowns. Shen Yuan waits on bated breath. Ignore how they’d known each other for months and Shen Yuan had never bothered to ask, please, Liu-di! This was important! “Liu Qingge. You didn’t know my name?”

“No, no, I must have been mistaken,” Shen Yuan laughs hysterically. “You’re too pretty to be Liu Qingge, absolutely no way, it must be a twin situation.”

The boy’s eyes go wide, then narrow with some unidentifiable emotion. “What do you mean. Speak plainly,” he snaps, but Shen Yuan just shakes his head again. No way a character described as the War God, master of physical cultivation and a brutal taskmaster to boot, could have ever been a willowy kid with a surprisingly delicate face. It must have been mistaken, after all—Shen Yuan hadn’t taken any liberties with someone who was at least three levels above him in the ranking! Wasn’t this like tutoring your boss’s boss’s kid? That was probably against every workplace rule ever.

“I—No, sorry, I, I have—work to do.” He leaves the poor Liu boy (Liu! Qingge!) staring after him, sword dragging in the dirt, looking lost.

In his room later at night, he tries as hard as he can to ignore the feeling that he’s making a mistake.

Chapter Text

Shen Yuan’s fully aware he’s been avoiding Liu Qingge for a week when he’s called for a meeting with his boss, a harried-looking attendant informing him before rushing away with an armful of tax papers. Even so, he startles when his boss brings up the boy’s name.

“Shen Yuan,” he says, severely. Did these Liu cultivators know any other way to talk? “I have recently been informed you have been privately tutoring Liu Qingge.”

“Tutoring, not exactly,” Shen Yuan says, eyes darting around the room. “Just a few tips is all. Nothing too serious.” He’d had his own proper breakdown the night after he’d found out, as he unwound his hairtie to wash his hair. Was it treason or something to take a hairtie from his boss’s direct family members? He’d bought a fancy hairtie to make up for stealing Liu Qingge’s before realizing it’d probably be much more rude to give such a presumptuous gift, then attempted to drown himself in the shallow bath. It had been an extremely trying night.

“That is not how he spoke of it,” his boss says. His eyes drill through him as if to say he knew all of Shen Yuan’s secrets. “He said he had received quite a bit of guidance from you. Indeed, his formes are novel and much better suited to his body than a few months ago.”

“That’s probably all him, haha,” Shen Yuan awkwardly says. It echoes in the hall, making him wince. “He’s much more talented than I am at cultivation. There is nothing I could teach him.”

“He seems to think otherwise,” his boss states. Shen Yuan sweats. What is he even supposed to say to that? He’s saved from having to think of a response by his boss clearing his throat, presenting him with another set of papers. “He has expressed his interest in having you as his official tutor. This sheet is a revised version of your contract with the Liu clan, which outlines additional responsibilities.”

He tries not to say something stupid as he stares at the contract, head spinning. Additional consultation payment? Available hours? This had just been a casual exchange of knowledge, he’d just been happy to hang out with someone his own age for once. Even if the guy his age was a little more close-lipped than he’d been used to.

“You have until the end of the week to decide,” his boss declares, before abruptly standing up. “Liu Qingge does not wish to pressure your decision, so he will not contact you until your mind is made. Rest assured.”

Shen Yuan feels a little bad at that. Objectively, Liu Qingge had been nothing but (mostly) accommodating to someone who he obviously didn’t have to. Shen Yuan hadn’t exactly been fair, avoiding him like this, but—what was he supposed to do? Wasn’t this kind of relationship clearly a mistake?

He sighs, and smooths his hands over the contract. System, he says, resigned. Last chance to tell me you aren’t just messing with me.

^^, it projects. Asshole.

—

Indeed, Liu Qingge keeps his promise. It’s actually Shen Yuan who goes and messes the situation up, tucked away in a little corner of the compounds near the library. He’s trying to figure out how to transcribe a rare medical remedy for his next task, and it’s his intense concentration that causes him to startle so badly when he hears footsteps pass by his hiding spot.

Shen Yuan jerks his head at the noise, smacking it square on the corner of the wooden frame. “Fuck!” He’s been trying to cut back on his cursing lately, but there were situations where one really did just need to swear. It’s another few moments before the tears that sprang to his eyes clear, and when they do, he’s left with the last face he wants to see. “Liu-di? No, wait—young master Liu?”

Liu Qingge’s hands are twisting, very imperceptibly so, in his robes. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, seems to remember his vow of no-contact, and promptly spins on his heels to walk away.

“Hold on!” Shen Yuan calls, fumbling out of the dusty corner he’d shoved himself into. “Young master Liu!”

“Liu-di was fine,” Liu Qingge says. It’s the first thing that’s come out of his mouth, almost quiet enough to miss.

“I heard about your offer,” Shen Yuan says all in one long breath, “That was you, wasn’t it? I deeply apologize for overstepping, I don’t mean to offend and will maintain the proper distance from this point forward—”

“It was fine,” Liu Qingge says, voice sharper. “Don’t—”

Shen Yuan barrels on, undeterred. His livelihood and continued survival depended on this, after all. “While I greatly appreciate the offer, I must decline due to not wishing young master Liu to be uncomfortable with my improper actions and wish him the best of luck in his endeavors going forward,” he says rapid-fire, channeling the spirit of all of the TV dramas he’d watched. He barely even knows half of what he’s saying. Hopefully Liu Qingge won’t be offended.

He’s bowing at the waist as he delivers this rant, head looking straight at the wooden floors in penance. An uncomfortably long amount of time passes. After a minute, he fights the urge to stand up. After another few seconds, he gives up. Why not see? He had already messed up anyway.

When he does straighten up, it’s to a sight he’d never expect.

The twelve-year-old future War God stands stiff in front of him, lips pressed into a thin line, nose slowly turning red, and eyes bright with unshed tears. It feels cruel, now, rejecting him this fast—Shen Yuan feels a strange striking pain at the thought.

He swallows, and the sound feels like it echoes all the way down the hall. “Young master Liu?” Liu Qingge is still quiet, and Shen Yuan continues to fidget. He tries a different approach: “Liu-di? What—What’s the matter?”

That gets him a response, Liu Qingge furiously swiping an arm over his face and turning to leave. Shen Yuan catches him by the arm, hooking his own and tugging just a little too hard, both of them falling to the ground as a result. “Sorry, sorry,” he mutters, dusting off his clothes and rearranging himself to look neater from his perched seat. Liu Qingge does no such thing, still messily sat on the dusty floor, but at least he stays put. “Seriously, what’s wrong?” he tries one more time. Apparently the third time had been the charm. Liu Qingge finally opens his mouth.

—

Liu Qingge is six years old, and very bored, when he tries to make friends with one of the traveling doctor’s children that come to his home. He’s too young for serious cultivation, and he’s still training with a wooden sword. There’s only so long that he can swing it around on his own before it gets boring. The doctor’s daughter, only a little older than him, is a novelty to him; with few children his age, he’s left to mostly his own devices, the Liu family strong proponents of personal choice.

“Hello,” he says, walking to where she’s crushing flowers in a grinder. “My name is Liu Qingge. Who are you?”

She barely gives him a second glance. “Chen Mei.” She’s uninterested, maybe in his sword he’d dragged with him or maybe in his blunt demeanor.

“What are you doing?” He sits down next to her, laying the sword in his lap, and peers over her shoulder.

“Crushing herbs. For a poultice,” she says, and her voice is sharp but not unpleasant.

“Can I try,” he says more than asks. She moves the grinder to his lap, and instructs him in how to use it, folding her hand over his. It’s pleasant—he can’t think of the last time he’d touched someone in such a casual manner. “How many?”

“Until this stack is done,” Chen Mei gestures at the pile next to her. “Until Baba leaves. Whatever comes first.”

They grind herbs for another few hours, Chen Mei having found a mortar and pestle for her own usage, for another few hours. It’s not terribly interesting work, but it works unique muscles and Chen Mei is an informative person to sit next to, answering any question efficiently and fully.

“Chen Mei,” he asks, “Why must this herb be crushed?”

“To release the oils,” she responds, “for better blending with other ingredients.”

Or, another time, he asks: “Is this enjoyable for you?”

That earns him a frown, but she answers regardless. “Yes. I want to do the same work as my Baba someday. Getting this practice is important.”

With his help, the pile soon dwindles to nothing. Chen Mei sits up, dusts off her robes, and gives him a hand up. Her grip is surprisingly firm. “It was nice chatting with you, Liu Qingge,” she offers, cheeks suddenly dimpling into a smile. “The help was appreciated. I could always use more hands.”

He flushes at the unexpected gratitude. Her words bring a burst of anticipation with them, too, a hint to future meetings. Different as their focuses might be, Chen Mei was just as devoted to her craft as Liu Qingge to his. He wonders if he could pick up some medical knowledge if they were friends for long enough, or if she would pick up cultivation skills as well. “Not a problem,” he says. “It was interesting.”

“Let us meet another time, Liu Qingge,” she calls after him in the dusk. It’s only the next morning when he rushes to the tree they had stayed under, eager to speak to his new friend, when he finds out that she had departed the night before with her father.

—

He’s ten when he tries again. This time, it’s a visiting disciple, distantly related to someone living in the compound and delivering something on their shifu’s behalf.

“Hellooo,” he hears from a tree, long and drawn-out. It’s a good-natured voice, still young and cracking. “Hello!”

When he finally spots the visiting disciple, he’s hanging half-in and half-out of a tree, grinning large enough to split his mouth. “Thought you’d never look,” he calls, landing easily on his feet as he swings out. “Do you do work here, too?”

Liu Qingge thinks about it for a second. He shrugs—he does do work, but he’s not one of the hired workers.

“Either way, it truly is refreshing to finally see someone my age,” the boy sighs. “It feels like I’ve mostly been socializing with people my shifu’s age!”

“I am one of few, by sheer coincidence,” he agrees. A question slips out from his lips, encouraged by the disciple’s easy going demeanor: “Are there really a lot more at your home sect?”

“Yes,” the boy emotes large and languid, waving his hand out as if to encapsulate the number. “We focus primarily on education, so there’s always new students. What about you? Not many students, huh? Seems like it’s mostly just you and a bunch of the Liu family members…but that’s just how it is, yeah? Different and all?”

Liu Qingge’s head spins under the onslaught of questions. “Yes,” he manages. “Not many care to study here, since we don’t have a proper curriculum.”

“Interesting,” the boy says, and shrugs. “Like I said, everywhere does things differently. Since you’re from here, what would you say is the best to eat?”

This, he answers promptly. “Everything is fine. The squirrel fish is especially good.”

“I see,” the disciple answers, smiling again. “Well, see you around, then.” He’s halfway down the hallway whistling before Liu Qingge manages to return the sentiment. This habit of leaving conversations abruptly doesn’t change in the next two weeks, seemingly just a unique personality quirk; in the meantime, he continues to hold strange conversations with Liu Qingge, eat entirely too much food as they walk, and talk incessantly about his beloved spiritual beast that he’d had to leave behind for this trip.

Liu Qingge follows along, slightly bemused but consistently entertained; the visiting disciple is a breath of fresh air in the quiet grounds. It’s exactly at the two week mark that he encounters the other boy in a hallway and offers him a spare bun he’d tucked away, already anticipating his complaints about the meager amounts of food they’d served him for breakfast. Unlike normal, however, the boy refuses it, face blanching slightly. “No, no, I couldn’t. I ate plenty this morning.”

He frowns. “You usually complain they don’t serve you enough.” He’d tried to talk to the kitchen about it, but they had just shooed him out.

“No, haha, that was a mistake,” the boy says, eyes darting nervously around the room. “Let’s go try to catch frogs again, why don’t we?”

Liu Qingge’s frown deepens, but he drops the line of questioning at the disciple’s distress. “Alright,” he says, and follows him to the pond where they spend a productive afternoon catching a great deal of frogs.

The remaining two weeks of the disciple’s stay are spent much the same way as the first two, but Liu Qingge chafes at an invisible something he can’t quite name when he feels him holding back what would normally be a snarky comment, or when he always concedes the first pick of candies to Liu Qingge. The boy departs without much fanfare, waving a polite but distant goodbye. It’s only later that he finds out that the two-week point had marked when the visiting disciple had first learned he was Liu Qingge and not a nameless worker boy, and something in him rankles at the unfairness.

—

Various merchant’s children and disciples come and go over the next few years from the Liu compound, but Liu Qingge doesn’t truly meet anyone until Shen Yuan appears in his life. He’s brash and rude at first, calling his form inefficient and his training useless, but he’s helpful at the same time—underneath his tutelage, his steps flow better and his hits land harder.

“Teach me how to fight,” Shen Yuan asks in return, and Liu Qingge easily agrees. Something about him makes him want to agree to anything. It’s on a whim one day that he brings Shen Yuan a bow, but it looks right on him, the elegant handle braced against his palms and a gleaming arrow affixed to the bowstring. He says as much, and Shen Yuan flushes, sputtering about how he was a flatterer. Liu Qingge just shrugs—it couldn’t be flattery if it was true.

The summer months pass in a syrupy daze, as Liu Qingge spends his days training with Shen Yuan and nights practicing forms in his bedroom. It’s hot enough that he has to bind his hair back for most practices now, and it’s at one such practice that he notices Shen Yuan shaking the hair off of his neck, strangely-shorn cut finally long enough to get in the way. “Take it,” he says, loosening his own tie, and tries not to flush when Shen Yuan pats his hand in thanks.

He loses the battle when Shen Yuan offers to tie his hair up too, and resists putting his hands to his cheeks to feel the redness.

It’s easy to want to grow closer to this boy, confident and crass in equal measure. Shen Yuan sometimes looks at him like a novelty, a frog in a jar, but it’s with an air of genuine care and humor that he speaks to Liu Qingge, without a trace of hesitation. It doesn’t seem like he’s set to leave anytime soon, either; Liu Qingge hears talk about the new consultant that had been hired, and connects the dots after a few days assisting Shen Yuan with descriptions and copying several manuals on rare elixirs.

He lets himself get closer, day by day, until it feels like their summer spent sparring and training and cracking open watermelons and quietly watching fireflies will last forever.

When this tranquility shatters, he’s furious with himself. He had naively assumed that if Shen Yuan had recognized him as a Liu, it’d be obvious he was the current heir, the only one his age in the compound. He does the only thing he can think of to remedy the situation—beg for Shen Yuan to become his official tutor, wanting to keep meeting however they could.

As he stands in front of Shen Yuan, once again watching the rift between them grow, it’s too much to bear. Shen Yuan continues to call him an unfamiliar “Young Master,” and Liu Qingge feels his throat close up as he watches him ramble on. It’s like watching a disaster unfurl in slow motion. Shen Yuan continues to spit platitudes and not even look him in the eye.

When Shen Yuan declines the position and tells Liu Qingge he’ll leave him alone, it’s expected. “I must decline due to not wishing young master Liu to be uncomfortable,” he says, and Liu Qingge has to fight the urge to twist his fingers into his robes even tighter.

He doesn’t want Shen Yuan to see him upset, but—the thought of moving away and leaving it at this forever is impossible, so he stays where he is, teeth clenched and eyes shining wet. Shen Yuan asks what the matter is, and he can’t—won’t—respond, so he just stands dumbly, only moved by Shen Yuan’s tug on the arm.

“Seriously, what’s wrong?” he asks once more. Unable to deny such an honest question from him, Liu Qingge finally opens his mouth.

—

“Speak honestly,” Liu Qingge says, voice hoarse, “Are you truly uncomfortable around me?” Shen Yuan has to stop himself from worrying over him, miserable-looking in a way he’d never seen before.

“It’s not that I’m uncomfortable, really, it’s just that I—”

“If you are, then leave,” Liu Qingge cuts him off. His voice is quiet, muted by something warbling caught in his throat. “I will not force you. You are free to live as you wish.”

“I never said that,” Shen Yuan says. He’s getting upset too, now, at the downturn of his lips and how he won’t even listen to Shen Yuan’s words. “When did I say that? Don’t speak for me.”

“Was it not implied?” Liu Qingge answers, still sat in his ungainly heap of limbs and cloth. “I am too high in position for you to feel comfortable as my friend or my tutor. So, you would rather not spend time in my presence.”

Shen Yuan, forever a contrarian, crosses his arms. “You’re perfectly pleasant to spend time around.” Not strictly true, but Liu Qingge had indeed been a good friend to him. “It’s just that it’s…not proper, I guess? To be that close?” He tilts his head. “Isn’t it overstepping boundaries, or something? Against the rules?” Unspoken: Won’t I get into trouble?

Liu Qingge closes his eyes for a second, then opens them to look deep into Shen Yuan’s own. They’re surprisingly piercing. “I have never had a friend for longer than a month,” he says in his straightforward way. “There are not many people here my age, and it is hard to find visiting disciples who wish to become close with me. You,” he swallows, Shen Yuan tracking the bob of his throat as he does, “are my closest friend.”

“Liu Qingge,” he says, awkwardly. It’s the first time he’s called him by name, properly. “Did you really think of me as your friend?” Liu Qingge just stares at him, tears still drying on his face.

Shen Yuan looks down at his lap, hands twisting nervously in his sleeves. “Don’t look like that,” he finally mumbles after enduring a minute of staring. “We’re still friends. Who cares about ranks between friends?”

“You do,” Liu Qingge says. His tone is calmer now—more like his usual joking, or whatever could pass for it.

“Don’t tease when I’ve just said we’re still friends,” Shen Yuan sighs. A breeze catches Liu Qingge’s hair, pasting it onto his still somewhat-wet face. It’s silky and longer than Shen Yuan’s, unbound in the cooling autumn, and he suddenly recalls the hairtie still tucked into his robes. “Hold on, get up and turn around for a second.”

Liu Qingge obeys silently. Shen Yuan pulls his hair into a neat tie, braiding back a longer segment to tuck it into the tail. “Here. I said I’d return the favor, didn’t I?”

“...It’s nice,” Liu Qingge says stone-faced, but his cheeks tinge pink and his eyelashes flutter rapidly as he touches the scalloping braids along the side of his head. “Is that my tie?”

“No,” Shen Yuan says, suddenly embarrassed. “I guess I should have shown it to you before I tied it back. But. It’s a gift. Or an apology, take your pick.”

“Then mine is as well,” he says in a rush, and Shen Yuan finally lets himself laugh a little. “As a token of friendship.”

“Sure, Liu Qingge,” he says, lips twitching into a smile at his own little joke. Friendship bracelets in xianxia! What a thought! “Let’s go get some food together, since we’re friends, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, and rises to his feet easily. Shen Yuan does it with much more groaning and complaining, posture stiff after hours tucked in, and takes the proffered hand. “Since we’re friends. I’ll warn you that the kitchen decided to serve an experimental stew today.”

Shen Yuan shudders in horror. “Let’s go get food at a market stall tonight, then,” he says, and sets off, Liu Qingge in tow. There’s a warm glow inside of him at the thought of Liu Qingge being his friend properly. Regardless of his circumstances, he’d never been the type to make many friends anyways, too abrasive online and too disinterested in school. Someone really honestly wants to be my friend, he thinks, before he shakes his head to clear his thoughts and focus on dinner.

Chapter Text

The years pass in a blur after that, Shen Yuan shooting up from his teenage height to gain a few more respectable inches. He’s half-convinced it’s the result of his fledgling golden core, finally sparking to life after years of practice with Liu Qingge—both of his parents had been 165 and under. Liu Qingge gets taller still, as befitting the height of his frankly enormously tall parents; when they’re fifteen and fourteen, Liu Qingge finally surpasses him in height and unsubtly pokes at him about it for a couple weeks after the discovery. Shen Yuan most definitely does not sulk in response.

Particularly notable in their teenage years is Shen Yuan’s introduction to Liu Mingyan, the legendary cool beauty of Proud Immortal Demon Way, as a toddler. “My sister,” Liu Qingge says, trying to pass her a puzzle carved like a duck. Liu Mingyan ignores the puzzle and goes straight for Liu Qingge’s sparkling bracers, staring at it with a severity entirely unbefitting her chubby fingers and cheeks. “This is Mingyan.” He takes off a bracer and hands it to her, wrapping her fingers around it carefully. “Do not cut yourself. Mingyan, this is Shen Yuan, my friend.”

“Hello,” she articulates with a bit of a lisp, then immediately goes back to ignoring him. How cute! How cold!

“She’s cute,” Shen Yuan says, because Liu Mingyan really is. Such a serious little kid! Had Liu Qingge been like this too? Was it genetic?

Liu Qingge says nothing, but he looks faintly pleased. Surprisingly, Liu Mingyan looks the same, quirk of the lips and all, at the compliment. Proof that some things just had to be attributed to blood!

—

They’re called in to assess their abilities just a few months after Liu Qingge turns fourteen, an assistant bringing a letter into Liu Qingge’s room before taking her leave. “What does it say,” Liu Qingge says, busy with calligraphy exercises. Shen Yuan, who had been pleased to find out that his speed in typing had translated to speed in calligraphy, unfolds the scented paper to see an official summon for evaluation.

“Hope you’re ready to show off a little,” he says. His voice wavers a little from premature nerves, and Liu Qingge moves onto the bed to peer over his shoulder at the letter. “Looks like we’re ready for Cang Qiong. Or maybe not. Who knows.”

“We’ll be ready,” Liu Qingge says, cheeks flushed in excitement as he pulls back. “You’re coming with, right?” His voice is uncharacteristically excited, words tripping over themselves in their haste. “Which peak?”

The truth was, Shen Yuan had been hesitant to study at Cang Qiong. After all, hadn’t that been the very place where Luo Binghe had gotten beaten around like a ping-pong ball? Surely he’d raze it all to the ground later, neatly following genre convention. Wasn’t that kind of like getting a degree from a college that didn’t exist, one of those scams that were advertised to gullible parents and idiots?

“I don’t know,” he says, slowly. “I’m not sure if I’ll study there or not.” It wasn’t like he didn’t want to progress his cultivation or studies, since both were clearly important to survive in this world, but…why Cang Qiong, of all places?

Liu Qingge sits back on his heels at his response, looking confused. “Cang Qiong is well-known for its instruction in cultivation techniques. Do you not want to pursue cultivation further?”

“I never said that,” he snips back. It’s unfair of him, especially when Liu Qingge looks so excited, but the situation was stressful! Who has to choose their university at fifteen? Even the Gaokao wasn’t until eighteen. “Just…I don’t know if it’ll be at Cang Qiong. I don’t know,” he mutters.

“Huan Hua is another option,” Liu Qingge offers, but his eyes which had been so bright a second ago are dimmed and his lips downturned. “It’s fairly close to the peaks, and those with spiritual swords are allowed off upon request.”

“You’d get yours that fast?” Shen Yuan teases, but his heart isn’t in it. Huan Hua was an option, but…it really was quite far by any conventional means, and spiritual swords weren’t obtained within weeks, no matter how hard one tried.

“For this, I would,” Liu Qingge nods. Shen Yuan winces. Too sincere, Liu-di! “You should too.”

“You know I’m not great with a sword,” he grumbles. Speaking of… “Do you think they’ll make me learn with the sword? Ugh. I hope not.”

“You’ll likely have to learn the basics,” Liu Qingge says with a gleam in his eye. “That’s why I have been saying to spar with me more often.”

“Point made,” he sighs, then leans back until he’s resting his head on the bed, Liu Qingge staring upside-down at him. He sighs, deeper. “Do you really think I should go to Cang Qiong?”

“Yes,” he says firmly. “Haven’t we become more skilled cultivators with the benefit of training together?”

“I guess it has, from the virtually negative amount of skill we had before,” he says wryly, but nods in agreement.

“And…” Liu Qingge pauses before speaking, averting his gaze. “I would like for us to be students together.”

Shen Yuan suddenly has to turn his face away too, burning red. “Don’t just say things like that,” he mutters. If he really thinks about it again…what does it matter whether he goes to Cang Qiong or any other cultivation sect on the planet. They’d probably end up all under Luo Binghe’s control, anyways! “Whatever. Whatever! Fine! I’ll go to Cang Qiong,” he announces. “Now we better give them confirmation before I decide to change my mind.”

Liu Qingge quirks a small smile, pleased, and sends the letter back within minutes.

—

The sun blazes bright in the sky, at the peak of its arc, on the day of their selection. Cang Qiong is just as beautiful as described in the novel, but Shen Yuan sees none of it—instead, he’s down in a hole, cursing Liu Qingge’s name.

“Liu Qingge, you will pay for convincing me to go to this hellish place,” he mutters, shoveling another pile of dirt out of the increasingly deepening hole. “No friendship is worth this stupid goddamn hole.”

Liu Qingge doesn’t respond, naturally, due to not even being in the same area. His choice of peak had been straightforward—Bai Zhan peak, peak of warriors. It hadn’t been a surprise to Shen Yuan, who had bemoaned this very fact in the comments, but what had been surprising was its entry requirements. Apparently, digging holes was for the chumps who chose to join other peaks; Bai Zhan tested its disciples on merit alone, and thus any challenger had to fight their way on.

“I hope you get your ass beaten by the other disciples,” he mutters, then feels just a little bad. “But you still get let on.”

“I’ll take him,” a voice rings out that very second. Shen Yuan tiredly tips his head up to see a messy-looking man gesturing wildly with a brush. “Plenty of potential!” He blinks, then points to himself. “Yes, you!” the man says impatiently, flinging ink everywhere. “Haul yourself out of that hole, and don’t be slow about it.”

Shen Yuan does as commanded and clambers out of the hole, leaving his stupid shovel behind. “Hello, Shifu,” he says. He’d done his research, after all. No point in going into things blind. The Peak Lord of Qing Jing stands in front of him, far less imposing than the haughty Shen Qingqiu had been described as. Instead, the man is dressed in a manner that can only be described as “haphazard,” clothing askew and fluttering pages of notes tucked into his robes in a delicate balance. Ink stains the fabric, giving a distinct impression of a man who had more passion than he knew what to do with.

He hadn’t really thought about what peak he would choose, but Qing Jing was a logical choice. The work he’d been doing for the past few years had been scholarly in nature anyways, and it hadn’t exactly been boring; for all his faults, Airplane did have occasional flashes of creative inspiration when it came to the world design. “This humble student looks forward to Shifu’s tutelage,” he says, head bowed and hands clasped in a salute, and hurries after him when he turns on his heel to leave without a word. Rude, or just scatterbrained? Shen Yuan suspects the latter, and suppresses a sigh as he follows.

—

At first, communication is slow. Despite all their words about training together, they’re both kept quite busy as junior disciples, ferrying wood and doing chores and (presumably, on Liu Qingge’s end) getting the shit beat out of them. Whenever Shen Yuan starts to mentally complain about all the random tasks he’s set to doing, like sorting talisman slips and tending to bamboo, he remembers the last time he saw Liu Qingge, bruised in a dozen places. Then he continues to complain anyway, because he’s not that noble.

Still, they exchange letters whenever they have time. It becomes a habit to tell the other boy about his week, or month; he’s an easy outlet and Shen Yuan rests easy knowing that he’s probably already heard worse from him. One month, he writes: I sincerely hope half of the people here mysteriously drop dead so we can finally experience peace. The next month, a longer rant: Do stupid people know they’re stupid? Some of my fellow disciples seem to be born with actual insects in their brains eating away at all their brain matter. How are they seriously unable to work out any of these exercises themselves? I think the insects ate through their brains and shit out the remainder and that’s what’s piling up in their brains instead of intelligence and they’re stupid enough that it’s still keeping their bodies running.

That last one receives a pretty quick reply, Liu Qingge’s dry attempt at humor ringing in his ears as he reads the flowing script: Cover your ears. Don’t let the brain-eating insects get in throughout the night. I’ve heard that can happen if you’re not careful.

It’s only after their sixth month that they finally meet for longer than a few minutes. “Shifu,” he says, being exceedingly careful not to let annoyance slip through his voice, “I wasn’t aware this was a mission that needed personal attention from us junior disciples.”

“Hm? Oh, yes, junior disciples,” his shifu mutters, pulling out a paper and flipping it right-side up. “Real world examples are always important. It’s part of the foundations,” he says, then trails off, neglecting to elaborate on whichever foundations it apparently belonged to. “Over there,” he says with a flap of his sleeve.

Shen Yuan blissfully imagines his shifu shriveling into a plum, then tsks and walks over to the tree at the entrance of the supposedly cursed village. It’s here that he spots a familiar sharp face, squinted in concentration.

“Liu Qingge,” he calls, heart speeding up a little. “Forgotten me yet?”

Liu Qingge’s face—doesn’t exactly light up, he’s not that type, but something does seem to relax in his posture. “Shen Yuan?” he asks, jogging a little away from the rest of the Bai Zhan disciples already at the tree. “It’s unexpected to see you.”

“Shifu thought we should come along,” he says. He darts a furtive glance before confirming that the man is indeed still preoccupied with his scrolls. “I disagree, but no immortal’s listening to a teenager.”

“You’re probably right,” Liu Qingge says matter-of-fact. “Stay close. I’ll cover you.”

“I can protect myself,” Shen Yuan says, bristling at the insinuation, then deflates with a sigh. “But you’re probably right. It’s supposed to be some sort of shadow demon. Hides in, well, shadows. Kinda hard to shoot at something two feet away from you, literally,” he says, grinning at his own joke. Liu Qingge shoots him a look that says plainly he is unamused. He shrugs. “Can’t win them all.”

The actual mission is a fairly simple one, what with Liu Qingge stalking at his side like some sort of tiger. “Cover me,” he shouts. After that it’s fairly simple to pick off the demons skulking in the shadows from a distance, Liu Qingge cutting down any that get too close to him. He’s grateful to his past self for making the decision to switch to a bow—no close-quarters fighting for him, thanks very much. Too much sweating and bleeding and mortal danger. He was still in mortal danger here, but at least he could shoot with the illusion that this was just another MMORPG. Mind over matter!

He’s just about to think that it’s going a little too well when disaster strikes. Liu Qingge’s distracted, off chasing down another shade, and he’s aiming at one perched in the shadow of a weathervane a few houses away. One eye squinted for better aim, he misses the shade streaking across the shadow of the branch towards his left side—and he’s knocked flat onto his back in an instant, breath escaping his lungs in a shallow wheeze.

Shen Yuan gasps, but it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of him, a vortex that hungers for more. His lungs start to burn as he gulps uselessly. Help, he thinks wildly, heart racing and vision starting to blot. He grasps at the quiver strapped to his hip, but an arrow evades his numbing fingers, fumbling and falling far away. It strikes him that this is very, very real, and animal fear screams at him wildly. Someone save me. Someone kill this fucking thing.

Both his wishes are answered when he feels bright pain lance through his arm, the pressure lightening just enough for him to take a breath. “Into the sun!” he hears distantly, and his oxygen-starved brain struggles to comprehend the meaning of the words. “Come here!”

That’s a simple command he can follow, so he does, dragging his uncooperative body towards the voice. There’s a rush of air behind him, then all of a sudden he’s kneeling in the bright midday sun, clawing at his throat and gasping. “Shen Yuan! Are you alright?” a voice calls, rushing to support him.

He puts a hand up, still wheezing. Liu Qingge falls silent, gripping his sword. It’s only after a few long minutes that he gulps in another breath and speaks. “I really hope you killed it,” he rasps, and digs his fingernails into his fist at the shake of Liu Qingge’s head. “Fuck.”

“I wanted to get it away from you first,” he says. Shen Yuan tries to sigh, then winces at the way it burns his throat.

“Can’t fault you that,” he says, squinting in the bright sun. “Did you see where it went?” His hands are still shaking, but—he wants something to distract himself from near-death, fast.

Another shake of the head. Shen Yuan nocks another arrow into place then stands at ready, ignoring the way his grip on the bow sweats. Another long minute of scanning rewards him, as he sees a twitch in his peripheral. Whirling around, it’s only a second before he fully expands his posture and looses his arrow.

Liu Qingge’s moving before Shen Yuan can even process the fact that his shot went slightly off, streaking across the sunny courtyard to strike swift and clean. At Shen Yuan’s questioning look, he shrugs. “I saw you didn’t breathe out before aiming,” he explains, before his eyes zero in on the blood streaking Shen Yuan’s white and green robes. “Did I cut your arm earlier?”

“A little, but nothing too bad,” Shen Yuan says, experimentally rotating his arm. He wouldn’t have been able to shoot if it had been. “Why, are you going to kiss it better?” It’s a split second before he realizes what he carelessly said as Liu Qingge’s ears flush pink. “I—It’s a joke, from my—hometown,” he splutters, flails his arms around for a little while, then decides the best course of action is to just pretend it never happened. “Anyways. Let’s head back to Shifu and report that we’ve cleared this area out.”

He stalks off, resisting the urge to check whether Liu Qingge is following. Although…these shades stole your breath, what kind of friend would he be if he didn’t check to see if the silence wasn’t the untimely death of a young cultivator?

Turning around reveals Liu Qingge following just a short distance behind him, equally embarrassed. It suddenly makes him feel intensely stupid. “Just walk with me so we both don’t choke and die on one of these shades,” he mutters, falling into step.

The next week, a pot of healing medicine comes in the inter-peak mail for him with a short apology: Sorry. There’s a little drawing that’s actually quite technically accurate of a sword underneath.

He smiles, and picks out a talisman he’d written that was good for muscle cramps. For what? Forget about it. Seriously, forget about it if you know what’s good for you. His own letter bears a much shittier doodle of a sword to back up his threat, and he snickers before a shadow falls over the letter.

“If Disciple Shen does not find these lessons stimulating enough,” his shifu says with an evil glint in his eyes, “This teacher would be happy to correct his errors. I have always found that requisition forms for experimentation materials have the tendency to thoroughly wring one’s mind out.”

“Yes, Shifu,” Shen Yuan says bitterly, and tucks the letter away while daydreaming of pulling out his shifu’s beard hairs one by one.

—

Their other missions together go much more smoothly than their objectively pretty shitty first one. It’s not long before Liu Qingge rises high in Bai Zhan as Shen Yuan knew he would, but it’s a real surprise when he looks around one day to realize he’s been elevated pretty damn high too. Before he knows it, he’s in and out of his shifu’s office to the point where he’s pretty sure he knows his god-awful organizational system better than his shifu does. “Shifu,” he says, voice a tranquil pond. “Shifu, please tell me you recall where you placed the scroll that An Ding needs for renegotiation of southwestern trade borders.”

“It’s somewhere,” a distracted voice calls, and Shen Yuan closes his eyes. Tranquil pond. “It shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

“I would never doubt Shifu’s organization,” he says through gritted teeth, “but it seems as though this disciple may have trouble deciphering the finer points of such a brilliant immortal’s mind. If Shifu would trouble himself?”

“Mhm,” comes the response a beat late. Tranquil pond. “Yes, yes, it should be there.”

Shen Yuan, by this point in his education, has long since learned the value of cutting his losses. In line with his increased mental faculties, he wisely decides to just shuffle through the papers on his Shifu’s desk, reasoning that it at least can’t get any worse.

He’s finally on his way to An Ding, papers in hand, when Liu Qingge appears at his side as if he had been walking the same way all along. He does that sometimes, not unlike a cat faking disinterest, and Shen Yuan continues on for a valiant five minutes before he opens his mouth. “You’re lucky,” he says. “At least your shifu isn’t a complete moron.”

“Don’t be too sure,” Liu Qingge says, but his eyes crease in amusement to betray him.

“Yours is idiotic too? Tell me,” he demands, resisting the urge to crease the papers. “Misery loves company.”

“Too much emphasis on the value of sword forms,” Liu Qingge nods decisively, shaking out his hands in some sort of sympathetic memory. “There cannot possibly be a reason to do the same form that many times. Why not place importance on mastery over dull repetition?”

“Not everyone is a genius like you,” Shen Yuan says, voice light to take the sting out of his sarcasm. “Muscle memory can save people if they’re not able to execute their own desires.”

He’s arguing for the sake of arguing, but Liu Qingge looks at him with interest. “Do you see value in training that muscle memory, then?” he questions. “Yue-shixiong fights like that, and he beat me. When I asked how, he said he drilled the act of combat until it became second nature.”

Shen Yuan thinks about it a little more seriously, now that he’s got Liu Qingge’s full attention on him. “For you…probably not. Fighting restrained like that would make you worse,” he says, squinting. “You need room to move however strikes your fancy.” He imagines Liu Qingge’s fighting, a bright ribbon of white twisting through the sky like a dragon from the myths. “Who’s this Yue-shixiong who beat poor Liu-di, anyways?”

Liu Qingge cuts him a glare, but Shen Yuan just flashes a tranquil smile. “From Qiong Ding,” Liu Qingge says. “He arrived later than us, I heard. He’s very dedicated. Some say he’ll make head disciple within the year.”

“Within the year?” Shen Yuan is shocked. Qiong Ding had been without a head disciple, its master too—picky? discerning? anal?—for one up until now, but that fast of a promotion…was he that good? “Maybe I’ll have to meet him someday, if he managed to beat you,” Shen Yuan grins, showing all his teeth, and has to run the rest of the way to An Ding as Liu Qingge menacingly and dramatically draws his sword.

—

In line with the rest of his cursed life, his idle wish to meet the mysterious Yue-shixiong comes true in the most infuriating way possible. He’s due to get his spiritual sword soon, having finally built up his core enough for his shifu to deem him ready, and it’s just a little exciting—after all, it’s just like in all the cultivation novels he’s read.

“Do I still need one?” he had asked Liu Qingge frankly, turning a practice sword over and over in his hands. He wasn’t awful with one, of course, but he’d picked a bow for a reason. “It’s not like I plan to do much with it.”

“Backup,” Liu Qingge had frowned. He had been holding his own sword, much fancier than Shen Yuan’s own. He’d had no trouble with getting his spiritual sword early, and Cheng Luan gleamed bright in his lap to prove it. “You’re too vulnerable in close combat without one.”

“Don’t remind me,” Shen Yuan had colored. They’d had a misstep in their last joint mission, when they’d gotten separated by some sort of festival and Shen Yuan had to ruin one of his finely fletched arrows stabbing at the beast clumsily. “Isn’t that what I’m keeping you around for?”

“You’ll be able to fly, too,” Liu Qingge countered with a meaningful glance at his own sword. “That’s important.”

“True,” he had sighed, flopping over into the soft grass of the training field’s sidelines. “I guess I’ll have to apply myself after all. Damn it all.”

Caught up in the buzz of excitement as he wanders through the spiritual caves that house the potential swords of Cang Qiong, he almost misses the other disciple struggling to pull what looks to be a very important-looking sword from the wall. In fact, he only notices because the boy—who looks to be maybe a few years older than him, so maybe a man?—literally falls into his very narrow path.

“Hey!” Shen Yuan yelps, jumping back. “Watch what you’re doing!”

“Apologies,” the other boy says. “Just—I just needed to claim my sword. Apologies for troubling you.” His eyes are darting all over the place, sweat shining on his brow—he’s clearly exhausted.

Shen Yuan shakes his head. “If you haven’t claimed it yet, you likely never will,” he says matter-of-fact. It’s obvious to his trained eye, the sword pulsating with some kind of crazy power that he doubts anyone even near his age is prepared to handle. “Try another one.”

“No, I need this one,” the boy mutters. He seriously looks crazy to Shen Yuan, who backs up a little more. “I—This one must be mine.”

Annoyed, Shen Yuan calls on his System. What is this sword?

User, this sword is a fine weapon that almost nobody in this world can handle, his System chimes in response. Immensely powerful. It has the potential to destroy almost anything in its path.

It’s enough vindication for him to say, “No, you don’t. What could someone like you need it for? We’re disciples, it’s not like we’re trying to destroy mountains. That kind of thing is going to kill you just from claiming it!” He then realizes he had likely yelled at someone who would classify as his shixiong, just from the clothes. Oops.

“...Do not presume my intentions,” the other boy says. There’s a coldness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. It scares Shen Yuan a little, but not enough to stop him from retorting.

“What do you even need it for?” Every second this idiot blocks his path is another second he’s not getting his spiritual sword. It’s not like he wants to help someone who clearly had a few leaks between his ears, but… “Using a sword to solve all your problems is just stupid. Why resort to something like that?” Even Liu Qingge, the most cultivation-obsessed person he knew, had more than a few tricks up his sleeve. “If you want insane strength but want to be wiped out afterwards, eat this berry. If you want to fly fast, just slap this talisman on any practice sword and don’t fall off. If you just think it’ll stop you from dying, this weed basically does the same thing for an hour.” He does a double take, then takes the last one back from the steadily growing pile on the floor. “Wait. I think that one’s banned from the cultivation world.”

“And what of stealth?” the boy says, voice wavering. He sounds a little dazed, but Shen Yuan doesn’t even notice, engrossed as he is in his rant.

“What about it?” he snaps. Rummaging around in his sleeves, he pulls out another leaf. “Just eat this. It’ll turn you invisible for a couple hours. Oh, but if you eat too much it’ll kill you. Take a nibble instead.”

“This much is…” The boy stares up at him, then shakes his head, steeling himself. “I cannot accept this from a fellow disciple. Another few moments will see me gone with my sword, so I must trouble shidi to wait a little while longer.”

“You mean you don’t think it’ll work, right?” Shen Yuan says, rolling his eyes. Enough with people questioning his credentials! He’d basically worked a full-time job for years at this point, his resume was impeccable. “I’m a Qing Jing disciple. Worked a few years for the Liu family. You know Liu Qingge?” His own name probably wasn’t very well-known, but Liu Qingge was impossible to ignore, what with how he went tearing through Bai Zhan every few days like clockwork. He’d rely on his best friend’s prestige just this once!

The other boy’s eyes sharpen. “Liu Qingge? I am familiar with him.”

Shen Yuan nods in satisfaction. “I’m his family’s consultant. They hired me pretty young, you know,” he boasts. Might as well show off a little! “I know what I’m talking about, so can you just go find another sword so I can search properly for mine?” He squints, then remembers. “Wait. Are you even supposed to be here? I thought only one disciple was supposed to claim their sword at a time.” Could he report this boy if he refused to leave?

The boy hauls himself to his feet, and Shen Yuan blinks just a little at the few inches of height he has on him. Why was it that every other person he met had to be taller than him here? How unfair. As he deliberates on the merits of researching illegal height-lengthening herbs, the other boy seemingly comes to a decision. “Shen Yuan,” he says, and Shen Yuan flinches. How did this random person know his name? “Liu Qingge has mentioned to me that he trusts your judgement greatly. Can you swear that these do what you have claimed they do?”

“Of course they do,” he says, annoyed. “Aren’t you not supposed to be here? I’m not the one who should be getting questioned right now.”

The other boy stares at him just a little longer, Shen Yuan squirming uncomfortably beneath the look on his face, before closing his eyes. “I will hold you to this promise,” he says intensely, then hops on the practice sword he’d had strapped at his side and soars out of the caves just like that.

“What a weirdo,” Shen Yuan shrugs. The only benefit of their strange conversation: He’d finally abandoned the sword blocking Shen Yuan’s way, and so Shen Yuan progresses further into the caves, following a thin thread of qi he’d been steadily feeding into the air.

His sword, when he finally reaches it, is a flexible and rather short blade. “Probably only barely fits me if I fly on it,” he mutters to himself, turning it over in his hands, but there’s a burst of fireworks in his chest at the idea of finally having his very own fancy cultivation sword. It responds easily to his command, jumping from the ground to his outstretched palm in an instant. “Let’s get along, okay?” he whispers to the sword before teenage embarrassment overtakes him. “Ugh. What am I even saying.”

—

“It’s growing on me,” he says. He’s outstretched in the soft grass of Qing Jing with his sword rotating lazily above him. Liu Qingge lies at his side, fiddling with some cord. “Sure, it’s kind of short, but that’s better for me anyways. I’ll use it when I can’t just use my bow.”

“The sword suits the cultivator best,” Liu Qingge agrees, frowning and undoing a braided segment. “Mine was thinner than expected, but it is better for flexible maneuvers. I haven’t yet learned how to do sword glares, but Shifu says I will be able to launch more than may be standard.”

“Are you rising in those ranks faster with your shiny new sword?” Shen Yuan teases. He lets his sword fall back down next to his side. “Still can’t believe you got it a few months before me.”

“Yes,” Liu Qingge says easily. “Shifu suspects I may be close to attaining the highest ranking.” He scowls, then, so quickly Shen Yuan almost misses it. “A new disciple has been causing trouble with the rankings, so they’ve been adjusting recently.”

Bai Zhan, as it currently operated, worked on a ranking system. Each disciple would start out in the lowest, then challenge their way up to the highest. It was a system that supposedly encouraged initiative and taking control of one’s own growth. To Shen Yuan, it sounded instead like training a mountain of battle-crazed masochists. “What, are they not fitting in the rankings?” Shen Yuan asks.

“He’s trying to skip them,” Liu Qingge responds. His eyes are gleaming, if Shen Yuan turns his head just a little. “He’s already challenged me twice.”

“Did you beat him?” Shen Yuan asks, then shakes his head lightly, trying to avoid grass stains. “Of course you did. Who am I kidding.”

“Confident, for someone hearing a secondhand recount,” Liu Qingge says, cheekbones colored pink. Shen Yuan smiles his tranquil smile and jabs him in the side with an elbow. “I have not. I haven’t been allowed to accept his challenge.”

“I thought Bai Zhan was a free-for-all?” Shen Yuan says, curious. Wasn’t the whole point of that peak that you threw yourself at battle over and over until something worked?

Liu Qingge shakes his head. “Yue-shixiong requested it,” he says. “The new disciple is an old friend of his. He wants him to get settled in before risking any challenges.” He breathes out, heavy. “I think that a challenge might do him some good. He is an uncommon talent.”

“Must be nice to have an old friend on Cang Qiong, huh?” Shen Yuan grins. “Maybe Yue-shixiong got jealous hearing you talk about me and convinced his friend to come along, like you did to me.”

Liu Qingge turns his head away, like he does whenever he gets embarrassed. “He did mention seeing you.”

“Me?” Shen Yuan’s curiosity is piqued from his words, trying to figure out how Liu Qingge’s Yue-shixiong would have brought him up. “How?”

“He didn’t say,” Liu Qingge says, “but apparently you were of great help to him. He asked me to pass you his honest thanks. And these coins.” A handful of coins are dumped onto his stomach, and Shen Yuan balks a little at their value. He could definitely buy some more top-class arrows with these.

“Were you just going to keep these to yourself if I didn’t bring it up?” he says after recovering from the initial shock. “Liu Qingge, see if I treat you to dinner ever again.”

“Unfortunate, considering Father has finally sent his personal recommendations for teahouses in the valley,” Liu Qingge says, eyes narrowing in his version of a smile. “I will dine alone tonight.”

“Liu Qingge! Get back here!” Shen Yuan yells, but Liu Qingge is already starting to rise on his sword, hair whipping in the wind. “I take it back! Give me that list!”

“I will see you at the valley,” he says, before Shen Yuan is left with only the impression of ribbons of white as he hops on his own sword to chase him down.

Chapter Text

Shen Yuan’s foray into his twenties is marked by a lot more paperwork than he ever expected. “Liu Qingge,” he moans, “Do you think Shifu knows it’s my birthday?”

Liu Qingge lazily shifts to meet his gaze. “I don’t think that that man knows his own birthday,” he says, offering Shen Yuan another sunflower seed.

“You’re lucky,” Shen Yuan grumbles. The sunflower seed crunches in his mouth, Liu Qingge tossing the husk into a growing pile. “You don’t have to do any of this. Why did I pick the scholar peak again?”

“Bai Zhan would have you organize week-long night hunts—and lead them,” Liu Qingge says matter-of-factly. “Or weekly demonstrations.”

“I appreciate that you assume I would somehow make it high enough to make head disciple of Bai Zhan, Liu Qingge,” Shen Yuan says wryly. He knew his limits. No physical education for him, please!

“The work is well-suited to you here,” Liu Qingge observes. “Your shifu has already designated you head disciple in all but name.”

“In name soon, if I can get him to sign off on the forms,” Shen Yuan says. “I keep slipping it in between his normal paperwork to sign, but I think he’s holding off out of spite. Or just so he can keep overworking me.”

“If you finish quickly, we’ll still have time to visit the stall with the hair pins,” Liu Qingge says. Shen Yuan perks up quickly at the mention of visiting the town. There was only so long he could live on an ascetic diet, after all; he was half-convinced the only reason his shifu stuck to it was because it could be eaten in just a few bites if you balled all the steamed vegetables together.

“And dinner will be your responsibility, yeah?” he says with a smile. “As the man of the hour, I demand the rich young master to treat his humble tutor.”

“What tutor,” Liu Qingge rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth ticks up. “Father sent money for both of us. There’s no need to suffer the Qing Jing diet tonight.”

Shen Yuan cheers. “Roasted duck! Noodles! Food that isn’t steamed or boiled herbs!” he exclaims, then whirls around to jab a finger at Liu Qingge. “And I expect a present, too. No slacking just because you’re treating me.”

“This rich young master will oblige,” Liu Qingge says. Shen Yuan smiles—Thank god he’d trained that serious young boy into finally making jokes! Never doubt Shen Yuan’s bad influence!

—

The town is brightly lit as the sun sets, removed far from the fear of beasts in the night by the cultivator peaks looming overhead. Lanterns are strung between the trees and the shops, as the vendors prepare for the bulk of their customers later in the night. They’d arrived a little early, Shen Yuan having finished his work faster with the motivation of real food, and he cranes his neck to try to catch a glimpse of the wares being spread out. “Should we eat first?” he says, Liu Qingge walking at his side. “Looks like they’re mostly still setting up.”

They duck into a favorite of theirs at Liu Qingge’s nod, and Shen Yuan goes to place their order without sparing any expense. The pockets of the Liu family were deep! As he squints at the menu, he realizes with a start: With this birthday, he’s technically come of age.

“...And a bottle of wine to share,” he says after a moment of hesitation. He would only turn twenty once, after all. In China, he would have been able to drink for a while…but it had been easy to forget about alcohol on Qing Jing’s peaks, and his family had never been one to drink much anyways.

It’s with a conflicted mind that he carries the jug back to the table, setting it down with a thud. “Have you ever drank, Liu Qingge?” he says for the sake of saying something. There’s a weird mood settling around him that he tries to shake off. It’s his birthday—no use being melancholy, after all.

“Alcohol is popular on Bai Zhan,” Liu Qingge nods. “I don’t drink much.”

“As expected of the proper Liu-di,” he sighs. He’s suddenly a little sad. If he had stayed in China, would he have snuck beers with friends in the park? Would he have gotten childishly drunk and had to hide it as he stumbled home? …Granted, the housekeeper wouldn’t have said much, but there’s an unknown emotion in his heart still.

He reaches to pour himself a cup, but Liu Qingge catches his hand. “Hm?” he says, tilting his head.

“I’ll pour you a drink,” Liu Qingge says with a little smile. “It is your birthday, after all.”

As the deep-red liquid trickles into his cup, a rush of affection warms him. “So conscientious,” he teases, but he’s grateful—grateful that Liu Qingge had stayed by his side, and grateful that he isn’t alone on his birthday for his first drink. “Shall I pour yours too?”

“The senior should enjoy his night,” Liu Qingge gestures at the plates that begin to fill the table, and pours his own cup quickly before Shen Yuan can protest. “To your birth.”

“To my birth,” he agrees, and he’s feeling warm after a few sips of the wine, enough to beam at Liu Qingge from across the table. “Thank you for treating me.”

“It is my pleasure,” Liu Qingge says, before they start working away at the mountain of food Shen Yuan had impulse ordered.

—

They’re warm and laughing from the alcohol when they wander over to a resting section of the night market, half-tripping in joint uncoordination. “Liu-di,” Shen Yuan says, then squints at the ground. “Liu Qingge. Liu-shidi.”

“Shen Yuan,” Liu Qingge repeats back, sitting down on the bench in a much more ungainly manner than normal. “If we’re repeating ourselves. Shen-shixiong.”

“I like that,” he declares, lips curving into a wide smile. “Makes me sound important.” He sits down next to Liu Qingge with a huff, then remembers. “My present!”

“You’re unbearably eager,” Liu Qingge says, but pulls out two wrapped packages from his sleeves anyways. “These are for you.”

Shen Yuan tears into the first one eagerly. The fabric falls away onto his lap, revealing a set of metal bands engraved with delicate swirls. “To add to your arrows,” Liu Qingge says, plucking one to hold up to the light. “If you feed your qi to them, they will obey your command until it fades, like a rudimentary version of your sword. I thought it might be useful for you.”

“Liu Qingge! Where did you even get these?” Shen Yuan exclaims, admiring the fine craftsmanship. “You’ve already beat yourself. No present could surpass the gift of no longer having to humiliatingly scramble after arrows mid-fight.”

“They will only be effective a few times before needing a recharge,” Liu Qingge elaborates, but he looks plenty pleased at Shen Yuan’s effusive praise. “Do you want your second gift?”

“Of course I do,” Shen Yuan huffs, pulling at the cord on the second one. When he finally sees it, his voice catches in his throat. “Liu Qingge.”

“Do you not like it?” Liu Qingge looks a little anxious but Shen Yuan can barely make his expression out, vision blurring as he carefully holds the scroll in his hands.

It had been easy to forget, sometimes, that his best friend was in fact the young master of the Liu family. He’d made even more of an effort to forget it after their fight as children, when Liu Qingge was clearly so uncomfortable, but—there had been times, when it had been especially obvious that he had grown up in a refined and classically noble environment. When he served tea, he did so with perfect form; on the rare occasions he recited a snippet of verse, his voice flowed clear and melodious.

Indeed, Liu Qingge’s beautiful calligraphy decorates the scroll clutched in his hand, decorating the words of one of his favorite poems. As a post-script, attached, the same penmanship writes: Congratulations on coming of age. Liu Qingge.

“You remembered,” he says, voice hoarse. “I turn twenty tonight.” He hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t known Liu Qingge had kept track.

“I remembered,” Liu Qingge agrees warmly.

The night breeze whips his hair into his face. It’s cool against his hot face, flushed from the alcohol. He’s distantly pleased to discover that even Liu Qingge hadn’t escaped its effects, cheeks a fetching red. He brings his hand up to it, pressing the tips of his fingers against its shocking warmth. Liu Qingge leans into his touch, just a little.

When he kisses him, Liu Qingge leans into his lips the same way.

—

To Shen Yuan’s relief, their kiss doesn’t mark the start of some kind of temporary insanity like the kind he’d come to expect from a world based on a shitty webnovel. Liu Qingge still comes around regularly to train with him, or offer him sunflower seeds, or comment on his shifu’s habit of accidentally overworking him. Even so, Liu Qingge leans closer into his side on colder days; he brings back gifts from missions just a little more often, and lays his head in Shen Yuan’s lap to idly chat about a new technique he’s learned. It feels like the most natural progression in the world, to see his best friend in the world come even closer.

His good mood lingers for a few months, enough that his juniors start to be a little freaked out, before an unearthed mountain of reports shatters it within a day.

Qi-draining incident, beast suspected. Report of uncommon terror in disciples—mass hysteria. Designation of major epidemic status approved. “And why,” Shen Yuan asks his shifu, who is pretending once again to have gone deaf prematurely, “has Shifu not passed these to his ever-willing and diligent disciple earlier?”

Finally giving up the ghost, his shifu flaps a dismissive hand. “Those nags from Qian Cao would call a torch a bonfire. Pay them no mind.”

“Some of these are our disciples, Shifu,” he sighs, leafing through the reports. Damn his shifu for inventing enough insanely useful talismans to not get kicked off Cang Qiong earlier. Damn him for being an uncommon once-in-a-lifetime genius! “How long have these been coming in?”

“Only about a month,” his shifu says, squinting at some sort of strange looking device. “Qian Cao has a few people still there, go check on them if you’re that curious. And try to convince them to let me have some mulling-berry extract while you’re at it.”

“Yes, Shifu,” he says, then flees immediately before he gets any more requests for extremely rare and potentially incredibly dangerous poisons to be brought back.

—

The disciples, when he finds them, seem like they’ve gone insane. “Excuse me,” he prompts awkwardly, “Can you describe how you’ve been feeling?”

The girl sitting in the medical ward barely even looks at him, shivering in the mass of blankets she’s surrounded herself with. “Not safe,” she mumbles. “Be careful.”

Her eyes keep darting to a spot just above him. “Is something there?” he asks, secretly praying the answer is a solid no.

“Yes,” she whispers. He resists the urge to whip around. “Watch out.”

Having had enough, he bows out gracefully, shaking his head at a curious Liu Qingge. “Nothing,” he sighs. “Literally not a single one of them can say anything besides scared gibberish.”

“Are they like this due to some sort of beast?” Liu Qingge frowns. “Shifu put out an open hunt notice on a creature supposedly causing this issue.”

Addressing the obvious question in his voice, Shen Yuan says, “If it is, it’s not one I recognize.” He’d already lost one too many rounds of twenty questions with his System. “Stay alert. These things seem like they’re targeting disciples who were alone at the time of the attack.” It’s a foregone conclusion that Liu Qingge would accept the hunt, after all; he might as well warn him of the dangers.

“They have all been junior disciples so far,” Liu Qingge says. Shen Yuan internally bemoans his casual arrogance. Ever heard of big fish in a small pond, Liu-di? There were beasts out there who had beaten down the protagonist near-dead!

“Still,” Shen Yuan frowns, shaking his head. “There’s nothing to say they won’t go after bigger prey.”

Liu Qingge says nothing, probably correctly intuiting that Shen Yuan wouldn’t like whatever answer he gave. Shen Yuan just sighs and vows to actually attend patrol this week instead of skipping it to sleep in.

—

It’s a surprisingly cold night, enough that Liu Qingge feels a chill bleeding through his clothing and has to circulate his qi a little tighter to warm him back up. Then again—it had always been cooler on Qing Jing, regardless of the season, clouds blanketing it in a serene mist most of the year. Cheng Luan vibrates at his side, and he has to concentrate to calm it down.

Liu Qingge had never been the most talented hunter of his cohort. His skills were better suited to the heat of battle, where his blood sang freely and he could stoke the fire circulating through his veins to ever-higher peaks. He wasn’t unskilled, of course; he could never have made it to his position without being competent, but there hadn’t been that innate maddening desire for the chase itself that separated the merely skilled from the geniuses.

Still, he had talent plenty to lead him to the fights he loved best. On this cool night, this talent had served him well by leading him straight to Shen Yuan’s peak, where the remnants of whatever creature had swept through Cang Qiong glowed bright underneath his feet.

He’s excited, as he stalks closer to the grove that the tracks indicate. It’s exciting to track down a creature that promises a good fight, and it’s even more exciting that he’s so close when none of his fellow disciples are. Shen Yuan hadn’t known much about the beast either, despite usually being so quick to dump information about every single weakness onto Liu Qingge that he’d barely even get the chance for a proper fight. It’s an extra layer of challenge that has his blood pumping.

As he steps into the clearing, there’s an unexpected rustling sound from behind him. Wind, or the beast? Liu Qingge tenses, then deliberately relaxes. Cheng Luan stands at the ready, his muscles loose and ready to launch into movement.

There’s a full moon hanging high in the sky. It had lit his way to Qing Jing before getting lost in the overcast fog, and it flashes again above him, clouds briefly parting to let its light through. In the split second that he casts a looming shadow on the soft grass, something intensely dark leaps up towards him from his back. Before he can even bring his sword up to defend, it’s slinking up his blade, inhumanly fast. Before he can even blink, it’s blanketed his eyes with a hazy pitch-black mist, and Liu Qingge falls into inky darkness.

—

His father is standing in front of him, frowning. “Father?” he asks. His voice is higher than he remembers. “What’s wrong?” They’re in the courtyard at home, sand whipping up into a gritty froth around them as wind howls.

“Leave,” his father says, expression stormy. “You do not belong here.”

“What?” His heart pulses. Hadn’t he been honing his cultivation on Cang Qiong? Hadn’t his parents agreed? “What about Cang Qiong?”

“An esteemed cultivator, perched atop an isolated branch and blinded to the world? Do not presume your worth,” his mother says. Her voice is ice-cold. How long had she been there? “If you cultivate immortality on that distant mountain, consider it your new life. You will not return to this home again.”

“Mother,” he swallows. What could he say? Her gaze cuts through him, like a winter wind. She looks like she hates him. “Mother, I have been pursuing—”

“To lie idle is to err,” his sister’s voice recites sweetly. “To fall prey to complacency is to sin. Brother,” she says, disdain dripping from every syllable, “You disappoint me. I used to look up to you so much. Now, I see…the esteemed Liu Qingge is nothing more than a fool chasing his whim.”

“Mingyan!” he calls, words catching in his throat, but she just sneers and steps away. It’s an expression he’s never seen on his sister, but he hates it immediately, hates how it warps her and hates how it makes him feel.

The environment changes, grains of sand reforming into the lush grass of Qing Jing. He’s sitting in a hopeless jumble of limbs, nothing like his usual poise. Shen Yuan looms above him, impossibly tall, despite the fact that he hadn’t been taller than Liu Qingge since they’d been teenagers. “Liu Qingge,” he says, and Liu Qingge barely stops himself from flinching at the sound. There’s a finger underneath his chin in the next second, tilting his face up. “Aw,” Shen Yuan says, fake-sympathetic, “What’s wrong?”

Shen Yuan looks at him like an insect, and he doesn’t like it. There’s a sadistic glint to his eyes that scares Liu Qingge, enough to make him draw away, but Shen Yuan grabs his chin and forces him still. “Poor dumb Liu-di,” Shen Yuan coos. “Naive enough to think someone would want to be his friend. Stupid enough to think his behavior would make anyone want to stay.”

Shen Yuan’s voice changes tones. It’s harsher, mocking. “A brute. A hard-headed idiot. A spoiled brat. An insensitive asshole.” It’s the tone he’s heard a thousand times through letters and complaints, directed at him with full malice. “Did you think I would honestly ever be your friend, with a personality like that?” Shen Yuan laughs at him, cackling reedy and high, before more sand whirls between them.

Now, he’s the one suddenly looming over Shen Yuan. He tries to jerk back, tries to run away from this version of his closest friend that won’t stop cutting at his heart, but some mysterious power holds him in place. Shen Yuan cowers on the ground in a subservient bow in front of him, and he wants to vomit at the sight. “Please, young master! I don’t have anywhere to go!” Shen Yuan cries, dramatic. “I’ll pretend to be your friend if it means I can keep my job! Just don’t kick me out and leave me homeless!”

“That—that isn’t what happened,” Liu Qingge chokes out, but he can barely speak over the disgust that swallows his heart. “He—we exchanged tokens, he forgave my indiscretion.”

“Oh?” A voice breathes into his ears, everywhere and nowhere at once. “What token?”

When he grasps at his hair, it’s suddenly loose, whipping in the strong wind. Tears spring into his eyes as the strands lash at his vision, and he yanks his fingers through his hair hastily trying to find the cord. “Where is it?” he says, desperate, but there’s no response except the beastly howl of the wind.

There’s nothing in front of him now, but he’s fixated on tugging at his hair, mind scattered and terror pulsing through him. Before he can truly focus, he’s swept again into another waking nightmare.

“Press forward,” the voice whispers to him, and Cheng Luan is suddenly heavy in his hands as an entire village spreads out before him. His sword swings without his input, and a sword glare bursts forth, bright and gleaming. The northern corner is decimated in an instant. His unbound hair floats around him, like some sort of divine evil.

“No,” he says, but his arm keeps moving anyways, sending burst after burst pulsing through the screaming people. “No!”

“This power is intoxicating,” he hears his own voice say, so close to his ear that he can’t tell whether he’s speaking out loud or whether it’s his own thoughts. “Who cares if it means I can get stronger?”

It’s a cheap imitation, but the thought horrifies him. “Stop,” he gasps, barely forcing past the undignified way his heart flails in fear. “Stop this madness.”

The wind screeches in response, stealing the words from his mouth before a single sound escapes. He’s suddenly more afraid than he’s ever been in his life, at the wind that leaves him voiceless and a world that rejects him. He screams again, but no sound rips from his throat—he’s truly and totally alone.

—

Shen Yuan’s still rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he patrols, bow lazily hanging at his side, when he notices how unnaturally quiet the forest has gone. Instantly, he’s on edge—no way that spelled anything good, he’d read enough scary stories to know.

When he sneaks closer to the epicenter of the disturbance, he’s suddenly glad that he hadn’t slacked off that day.

His heart beats flutter-fast in his throat at the sight of Liu Qingge, seemingly asleep in an opening in the grove. He’s curled up on his side, clutching Cheng Luan; it’s a surprisingly relaxed posture for the light sleeper he knows Liu Qingge to be.

It’s only once Shen Yuan draws closer that he notices a strange dark miasma settled over Liu Qingge like a blanket and a tear-trail down his cheeks, and his heart beats quickly for a different reason. Panic surges up in him as he fumbles with his bow to flow into a holding position. “Who’s there?” he calls out, but there’s no reply. It’s like they’ve been put into a time chamber, all sounds completely suspended and the weak light of the moon the only thing that lets Shen Yuan see at all.

He shifts his bow again. “Liu Qingge,” he hisses, “Wake up. We’re screwed.”

Liu Qingge makes a distressed noise, deep in his throat, when Shen Yuan says his name. It’s just a little worrying that he isn’t waking up. He’s just about to throw everything to hell and light a flare when the light shifts just slightly, and something dark pulses for a second before settling back down over Liu Qingge.

“Oh,” he says, eyes narrowing. “You’re hiding?” As he swings his bow around aimlessly, a memory comes back to him. He had been a teenager, and easily distracted; he and Liu Qingge had gotten separated, and his own shadow had attacked him. With the way the light shifted…

He throws out an experimental flash of qi to test his theory. There’s a greedy mass of shadows that races away from the flash, only to creep back over Liu Qingge once the light fades. His own fear quickly becomes smugness. “Idiots,” he says under his breath. “I know what they are now.” Of course, he hadn’t considered that they’d be partial formations! When they coalesced, they looked like a proper beast of Proud Immortal Demon Way. Until then, they’d gather their strength by remaining in those disgusting forms that drained qi until they’d glutted themselves with it.

It’s easy enough to drive the few that had draped themselves over Liu Qingge away, thrusting his sword into the ground and reflecting a flash bright enough to make him cover his own eyes with a wince. As they flee, Liu Qingge wakes up with a gasp—it doesn’t seem pleasant, and Shen Yuan kneels down next to him, taking a hand to check his meridians.

He doesn’t expect the vice grip on his wrist, nor the way Liu Qingge surges towards him, clinging to him in a manner that feels more like a grapple hold than a hug.

“Liu Qingge?” he asks, startled. “What’s wrong?” He moves to bring up his arms around him, reconsiders, hovers them around uselessly for a little while, then just settles them on his shoulders.

Liu Qingge lets out a shuddering breath. He’s shaking badly in Shen Yuan’s grip, and Shen Yuan awkwardly brings up a hand to pat at his hair. “Your hair’s all messed up,” he notices, “Let me redo it really quickly.”

Liu Qingge detangles himself at that, scooting forward just enough to leave a sliver of space, and Shen Yuan quickly rebraids and binds his hair up in its customary high sweep. “So that’s how those things get people,” Shen Yuan muses. “Someone else would obviously see their shadow acting weirdly, but people tend to ignore their own.” There’s movement out of the corner of his eye, and he feeds a bit more qi into the lantern he’s holding. The bright flares drive the increasingly darkening patch of shadows back. “Ugh. I guess I didn’t manage to kill it.”

“Don’t think you can,” Liu Qingge says quietly.

“He speaks!” Shen Yuan says, softening the quip with a smile. “Yeah, we can’t do anything about it until all of them gather together. It’s supposed to be a get stronger separately then group up kind of thing, but the complete beast is mostly an illusion. It usually splits off these shadow things while fighting to gain the advantage.”

“Are they drawn to me?” Liu Qingge asks. His eyes are stormy when Shen Yuan looks at them. “They didn’t complete their kill. They keep coming closer.”

“The light should keep them away, and other people mean they won’t attack,” Shen Yuan soothes. A little cute, to know that even the battle-hungry Liu Qingge could be scared! “Once you return to Bai Zhan, there shouldn’t be any issue warding them off through circumstance alone.”

“...Shen Yuan,” Liu Qingge turns to him. “Are you prepared to fight?”

Shen Yuan startles. “Now? I mean, I’m on patrol, so yes…but what do you mean? I just said we can’t kill them.”

“I’m injured to these beasts,” Liu Qingge says, voice gathering strength as he talks. “They’ll continue to gather to what they perceive as weakened prey.”

“So you want to bait them?” Shen Yuan asks, flabbergasted. “You just got attacked! I got them off of you pretty fast, but—” Liu Qingge hadn’t exactly gripped his arms lightly, after all. He’s a little worried there are hard-to-explain bruises left on his arms.

“Better to act sooner than later,” Liu Qingge says. “Besides,” his eyes narrow, “I know their methods now.”

“How exactly do they get to you?” Shen Yuan asks, curious despite himself. They’d choked him years ago, but he hadn’t exactly figured out which part of his face they’d entered through…he’d been a little too freaked out to think about it too much.

“Through my eyes,” Liu Qingge says. He brings a hand up to pass over them, as if in a remembered motion. “They used my blade to leap to my eyes, then somehow entered through them.”

“Nasty,” Shen Yuan shudders. “If they enter through the eyes…” He furrows his brow in thought. “Maybe some sort of goggles? Something to cover your eyes but still allow vision.”

“Neither of us have goggles,” Liu Qingge points out. “And your glasses are solely for sight. Not protection from beasts.”

He fiddles with a hem of his robes. “We could reinforce a sash or something to put over your eyes, but that’d mean you wouldn’t be able to see, so that’s out.”

They’re quiet for a little while in thought, the only sound being the little bursts of qi Shen Yuan sends out to make the lantern flare. He shudders a little at how the shadows are definitely darker than a few minutes ago. Liu Qingge had been right, they were being attracted to him.

“Guide me,” Liu Qingge breaks the silence first. “We may never get this opportunity again.”

“Guide you?” Shen Yuan sputters. “Like, left! Right! That kind of thing?” He shakes his head wildly. “No. What if I get you killed?”

“If they can’t enter, they can’t make me lose awareness,” Liu Qingge says decisively. “I’ll hold my own against the beast.”

“Why not just keep the lantern with you?” Shen Yuan asks. To put himself in danger like that, without a single defense—he knew Liu Qingge was Bai Zhan, but was he crazy?

“Then where will you be? I can fight without sight, but you need it for aim,” Liu Qingge says. He’s definitely right, but Shen Yuan’s pissed anyway.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Shen Yuan says, annoyed, but he stops himself when he sees Liu Qingge flinch, shadow wavering slightly in the dim light of the lantern. “...I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s,” Liu Qingge breathes deeply, shaking his head, “a remnant. From the shadow. Don’t pay it any mind.”

“Okay,” Shen Yuan says, but he scoots just a little closer to Liu Qingge until they’re touching again. “...Are you absolutely sure you can beat it, even if you can’t see it?”

“Yes,” Liu Qingge says. His voice is so confident that just for a second, Shen Yuan sees a glimpse of the future War God.

His resultant sigh is long and deep, and met with a little smile from Liu Qingge that means he knows he’s won. “Don’t gloat,” Shen Yuan rolls his eyes, then stretches out his wrists in preparation. “Okay. Whatever. What do you need me to do?”

“Bai Zhan trains its disciples to fight in any condition,” Liu Qingge says, “including impaired sight. I need you to call out any unexpected behaviors from the beast, or anything I may miss.”

Shen Yuan frowns. “That’s it? Just whatever you might miss?”

“Obstacles, tricks, attacks,” Liu Qingge lists, ticking them off on his fingers. “And the like.”

“Okay, okay,” Shen Yuan groans. “...Are we really doing this right now?”

A nod is enough to confirm that yes, he is indeed doomed to a night of fighting this stupid shadow-creature that the author had one hundred percent definitely stolen from a western novel.

Before they split up, Shen Yuan ties the hastily reinforced sash around Liu Qingge’s eyes, then nods in approval. “You kind of look like one of those mysterious immortal masters wandering the jianghu,” he says, pulling out Liu Qingge’s hair from where it’s plastered against his head. “Stay safe. And don’t let the beast get too close to me,” he adds as an afterthought. “I can’t move the lantern and fight at the same time. My bow’ll get in the way.”

“I’ll make sure,” Liu Qingge promises, then sits down to meditate while Shen Yuan finds a perch far away from him. It’s not long before the shadows swarm around him, but he’d been right—Shen Yuan notices how they seethe and writhe in an inky mass, seemingly unable to affect Liu Qingge as long as he had his protective guard.

The lantern sparks bright next to him as he readies an arrow. The mass is growing darker, now; it’s as if they’re calling to each other to their prey. “Just a little longer now,” he says under his breath. Liu Qingge’s head dips as if he can hear him. (Just how far had his cultivation progressed again?!)

It’s only a few more minutes before he starts to see the signs of its corporeal form appear, swirling into the faint outlines of claws and flesh. They’re hideous, as monsters from Proud Immortal Demon Way often were, but they’re equally as fascinating—there’s a pang of regret at not being able to study them further.

In actuality, the actual transformation is far too anticlimactic. He’s staring at the mass of shadows in the outline of a creature one second, and in the next, a fully formed beast stands in front of Liu Qingge, shadows swirling around its feet like fog. “Liu Qingge!” Shen Yuan calls, heart leaping into his throat. “In front of you!”

Liu Qingge flashes Cheng Luan, and the beast roars a curious roar that shakes his bones, despite the fact that it makes almost no sound. There’s a weird dark-blood dripping from the wound, shadows spilling out like a dry fog experiment he’d seen once on the internet. “Shoot!” he calls to Shen Yuan, and he’s definitely facing the wrong direction but Shen Yuan grasps his intent in a flash: Shoot so we can kill this beast faster, just don’t hit me.

He stands to his full height, shielded by the light of the lantern, to draw his bow. The arrow lodges itself deep in the beast’s side, its mouth opening to scream in its strange voice again. Shen Yuan’s eyes squint at a slight disturbance in the lighting, before he catches—there! A shadow breaks itself off at the beast’s distress, streaking towards Liu Qingge before it just swirls harmlessly at the cloth tied around his eyes.

It’s impressive, as always, to watch the young War God in motion. Even blindfolded, his strikes are clean and his movements are precise; as Shen Yuan watches, he gracefully dodges a swipe of its claws and sweeps his sword in the opening that follows. Another arrow finds its mark in the wound that Liu Qingge makes, and Shen Yuan takes vicious pleasure in how the beast screams in pain. “Rock to your right,” he calls, and Liu Qingge dances around it in a whirl before slashing the creature again in a follow-up strike that would have most of his peers insanely jealous.

Shen Yuan laughs, just a little. Even in such a serious situation—how could he resist, when fighting with Liu Qingge was this fun? He’s the perfect cover for Shen Yuan’s precision strikes, even as fast as he is. There’s no need for Shen Yuan to call his shots when Liu Qingge’s able to sense them as easily as Cheng Luan, their frequent spars having left as many traces of his qi on those silver arrow attachments as Shen Yuan’s own. They cut through the night in paths that would be impossible for any normal arrow, flashing bright in the flickering light of the lantern.

It’s not long before their combined efforts have driven the beast to just a handful of flickering dark masses. “It’s nearly gone!” Shen Yuan yells, heart racing from adrenaline. “Strike it down!”

It’s an insanely cliche line, straight from one of the awful MMORPGs he’d used to play, but Liu Qingge flies backward as soon as the words leave his mouth. In the span of a heartbeat, he’s flipping off his sword and driving it with a kick straight into the center of the mass with an explosion of qi, flaring brilliant in the darkness. Shen Yuan nocks and aims an arrow at Liu Qingge’s direction before he can even consciously process the worry at how he’d left himself defenseless, but it’s entirely unnecessary—the beast cries another soundless wail and vanishes like mist in the morning sun, as unceremoniously as it had come.

For a few seconds, Shen Yuan just stands there like an idiot. He and Liu Qingge really just had killed a pretty formidable beast, all on their own. He was even mostly confident that he hadn’t demolished half his arrows this time! His internal celebration is only interrupted by Liu Qingge calling his name like a question. When he looks across the clearing, Liu Qingge’s still obviously tense, unsure in his posture. Shit!

“Sorry, sorry!” he calls, scrambling to jog over and loosen the blindfold. “I forgot. You killed it, Liu Qingge! Congratulations!” Because he’s an asshole, he adds, “Got your revenge in, huh?”

“I did,” Liu Qingge grins back at him, smile sunny in spite of the nighttime lighting. “As did you. I haven’t forgotten about our first joint mission.”

“You remembered that?” Shen Yuan tugs at his hair in embarrassment, before giving up and just sighing. “Of course you do. Why do you only remember the embarrassing things? And not the number of times I’ve been your deeply commendable elder, full of wisdom and mysterious knowledge?”

“Shen-shixiong is deeply commendable and full of wisdom,” Liu Qingge recites monotonously, before laughing just a little. Shen Yuan’s charmed by his happiness, enough to pull him close despite how sweaty they both are.

“You’re really amazing, Liu Qingge,” he sighs, dragging them both down onto the cool grass. It’s tranquil again now that the monster is dispersed (or dead, he’s not really sure about the difference), and the natural beauty of Qing Jing persists even through moonlight. “You’ll become peak lord one day, won’t you?”

“With you,” Liu Qingge says easily. Shen Yuan smiles at his casual confidence, so reminiscent of the cool War God he’d raged about in the forums all those years ago that he’s just a little star-struck. “We’ll be peak lords together.”

“And you’ll make me do all your forms, won’t you?” Shen Yuan nudges him. “I’ll have to rename Qing Jing the peak of clean-up work,” he sighs, reaching out blindly until he grabs Liu Qingge’s hand. It’s warm and heavier than he expects when he lifts their linked arms up, until their hands are silhouetted against the night sky. “What a tragedy. I guess there’s nothing else I can do but force Shifu to file the paperwork to officially make me his head disciple already so I can steer us away from our fate.”

“You seem to be off to a bad start already,” Liu Qingge observes, holding Shen Yuan’s hand a little tighter. “As a Bai Zhan disciple, I promise to not let you down and create plenty of work for your continued employment.”

“I’ll seriously kill you if you make me do one more of your calligraphy practice sheets just because it’s faster,” Shen Yuan says, bringing their hands down. On a whim, he rolls until he’s bracketing Liu Qingge with his arms, propped up on his elbows. “Hey,” he says, then immediately feels stupid at what he’s about to tell him. Liu Qingge just blinks at him, long eyelashes fluttering rapidly. “...Let’s keep being like this forever.”

“You will always be closest to my heart,” Liu Qingge says, voice serious and face set in soft lines. Shen Yuan thinks, not for the first time, that Liu Qingge really is quite pretty.

“Good!” Shen Yuan says, suddenly embarrassed. Too many emotions for him in one day! He lets himself fall on top of Liu Qingge, prompting a wheeze as his full body weight squashes his lungs. “Otherwise, I’d be really pissed off.”

Liu Qingge looks at him, eyes dancing with mirth, until Shen Yuan turns his face into Liu Qingge’s shoulder. It’s enough for him to take the opportunity to run a hand through Shen Yuan’s hair, brushing it back until Shen Yuan laces their fingers together again. It’s sweet, until Shen Yuan remembers: “Shit! I forgot to wake up the next person on patrol!”

“Go wake them up,” Liu Qingge says, amusement obvious. “I’ll wait here.”

“No fucking way you’ll wait here,” Shen Yuan moans as he gets to his feet, Liu Qingge dragged up alongside him with a grunt. “I’m not suffering alone. You’re coming with me, and you’re going to wait in my room for me until I finish getting yelled at. Then we’re definitely sleeping until at least the midday meal.”

“Whatever you say,” Liu Qingge says, corner of his mouth quirked in a smile.

Shen Yuan smiles sharply right back at him. “Of course. Aren’t I always right?”

When they leave the clearing, they leave together, walking side by side in the thin clear moonlight of a waxing moon. It’s a little awkward weaving through the destroyed foliage and collecting his silver arrow bands on their way back, especially with Liu Qingge so close, but secretly—Shen Yuan is just a little pleased that neither of them let go of their linked hands, held tightly between the two of them like something to be protected.