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The Head Disciple of Qing Jing Peak was an enigma. He showed up out of nowhere; fourteen, made of skin and bones and cynicism, his eyes shining with a juxtaposing light that should have long-since dimmed. He bared his teeth like a beast but curled closer towards the feeding hand at every chance. He was a walking contradiction.
It was both no surprise at all, as well as the greatest to be, when he was whisked away to the Peak of Scholars and Strategists halfway through sinking thin and broken nails into dirt and scarring the earth as though it had scorned him personally. Every Peak Lord in attendance had only one thought in their mind as the boy dug into the earth like it was the only reason he lived.
History, it seemed, was fond of playing back its favorite moments.
So, it was like whiplash when the sweet-faced Qing Jing disciple with pigtail braids skipped down to retrieve her newest shidi and his face lit up brighter than the sun on Summer’s Solstice.
Now, at nineteen years old, a spiritual sword at his hip and the title of Head Disciple bolstering his name, he is both more like his shizun than ever as well as the furthest thing from him.
Yes, there is no mystery greater on Cang Qiong than the enigma that is a young man called Shen Yuan.
That is, unless one’s name is Shen Qingqiu (previously Shen Jiu), Shang Qinghua, Mu Qingfang, or Luo Binghe.
“It’s better than before,” Mu Qingfang says lightly, retracting his hand and letting Shen Yuan’s wrist fall back to his side. He crosses the room to grab his exam notes and makes a few small marks. “There is still a bit of scarring, however. It may never heal fully, given Shen-shizhi’s treatment preferences.”
“This shizhi understands,” Shen Yuan sighs.
He stretches out his hands and wrists, brows furrowing in a frown. Dual Cultivation would solve all of his problems in this god-forsaken world. Still, the thought of sleeping with someone just to heal his meridians… He lets out another small sigh and swings his legs off the side of the bed.
“Thanking Mu-shishu for his care,” he says, “but if all is clear, this one must return to his peak and report to Peak Lord Shen.”
Mu Qingfang makes another couple notes, humming, before he finally sets the papers down and looks back at his patient. He gives him a quick once over, checking for any sign of discomfort or attempts at hiding pain. Shen Yuan knows it’s necessary with his and his Shizun’s histories of hiding ailments from the physician, but really! He’s alright now!
It’s not like he totally deviated, or anything.
He just had a small little flare because of a small, tiny blockage and failed to expel the built-up energy properly in time and coughed up a little blood as a result! He’s fine now, though! He’s been through way worse, seriously, Mu-shishu is taking this way too seriously.
Finally, Mu Qingfang gives an approving nod. “Very well. Shen-shizhi has a mission off mountain, correct?”
“Yes, Shishu.” Shen Yuan tries not to show too externally how relieved he is at the dismissal. He hops off the bed and straightens up, stretching his arms over his head. His lips tug into an absentminded smile. “Shizun is taking this one on a special, high-priority mission.”
Mu Qingfang raises an eyebrow.
“I am aware,” Mu Qingfang reminds him.
“Oh, right!” Shen Yuan flushes. “It’s for…Qian Cao. Well, this disciple shouldn’t keep Shizun waiting, so, um…”
“Best be on your way, then.”
Mu Qingfang steps out of the way of the door. Shen Yuan ignores the amusement in his voice. He ducks his head in thanks and hurries out, ignoring even more the stifled chuckling that comes from inside the room once he’s in the hall.
He gives himself a moment to relax, a moment of brief peace and calm, before snapping his mask back into place and straightening his shoulders in a manner so reminiscent of his shizun that somewhere in the Northern Desert a rat shudders.
Shen Yuan makes his way through the maze that is Qian Cao with a level of ease that only comes with five years of constant visits — both willing and forced.
He steps out of the Qi Deviation & Meridian Care unit, alights the short set of steps from the entrance to the paved path, takes a shortcut through the Critical Care unit, carefully avoids the Aphrodisiac Poisoning Ward, and weaves through the disciples rushing around the main pavilion to and fro (mainly coming and going from the special pop-up unit created just for Bai Zhan Epidemics, he notes with a wince), until finally he finds his way to the rainbow bridge running towards the higher peaks.
He debates walking the path, watches a set of Qian Cao disciples racing in his direction from Bai Zhan with a boy on a makeshift stretcher, grimaces, and unsheathes his sword instead. Guang Ying thrums with energy in his hand, it’s dark blade glinting under the light of the sun. Instead of giving it the fight he knows it seeks, however, he lowers the blade until it hovers above the ground in front of his feet and mounts it with a swift step up.
He tries not to meet the eyes of the near-weeping, visibly exhausted Qian Cao disciples as he takes off at the fastest speed he can reasonably excuse if he were to get caught and scolded by another Peak Lord.
When Qing Jing comes into sight, Shen Yuan slows down a bit, before finally touching down on the peak a short distance from the famed bamboo forest. Guang Ying goes back into its sheathe and Shen Yuan takes a deep breath. Then, he makes his way to the bamboo house he knows his Shizun will be waiting at.
His breath catches when he spots Shen Qingqiu standing outside the door of his house, just closing the door. The way his heart speeds up is strange, but he pays it no mind — like always.
“This disciple greets Shizun,” he says, bowing his head, when he approaches.
Shen Qingqiu turns and gives him an appraising look. “And? What did your Shishu say?”
Anyone else would think his voice was cold and uncaring, anyone else would think the way his lips curled into the faintest sneer was disdainful and rude. Shen Yuan knows his Shizun, though. Five years of changing the story (namely, Luo Binghe positively thriving on An Ding and Liu Qingge being alive and well), five years of living with his Shizun and learning who he is, five years of seeing him as a person… It has given him the ability to read the man better than apparently anyone else in the sect.
He knows him well enough to see the concern in the furrow of his brows and hear the undertone of softness in the voice much harsher to all others. So, Shen Yuan grins, bright and blinding in one of the biggest ways that differentiates him from his Shizun, and lifts his chin in pride.
“Mu-shishu has given this disciple full clearance for the mission!”
Shen Qingqiu gives a short nod and turns on his heel, drawing the famed Xiu Ya.
“Very well,” he says, “let us depart.”
Shen Yuan would like to say the mission had gone smoothly and without any problems.
That, however, would be a total lie, which is something Shen Yuan cannot do at the present.
“How foolish can one be?” Shen Qingqiu hisses the moment they return to the Bamboo House on Qing Jing Peak, Shen Yuan having been discharged by Mu Qingfang for the second time in one day. It wasn’t a new record, he’s not sure if that makes it better or worse.
There wasn’t much he could do. A small tea to help the pain of the initial poisoning pass was pretty much all he could give Shen Yuan, along with an apologetic it’ll wear off naturally in time. Okay, but what does he do until then?!
Shen Yuan, believe it or not, doesn’t want to go around spilling his guts! He has no idea what he’ll say! What if he outs himself as a transmigrator from another world who had irreversibly altered the fate of this one with the help of his fellow transmigrator who, by the way, is having an affair with the Lord of the Northern Desert in the Demon Realm!
Pain blooms in Shen Yuan’s chest as he bites back the witty retort that tries to crawl up his throat at his Shizun’s scolding. Now would not be the time! It wouldn’t be appreciated!
Thankfully, Shen Qingqiu is too busy fuming to notice.
“What was the one thing this master said not to do?” he asks, voice absolutely scathing.
“Inhale the pollen,” Shen Yuan answers at once.
Shen Qingqiu stops his pacing and whirls around to glare at Shen Yuan. “And what did Disciple Shen do?”
Shen Yuan grimaces. His voice comes out a bit more of a mumble this time, embarrassed. “Inhale the pollen…”
Shen Qingqiu fishes a fan out of his robes and flicks it open, only to snap it shut again immediately. Shen Yuan rushes to defend himself, words spilling out before he can stop them.
“Shizun can’t blame this one! It’s his fault! Shizun should take responsibility, not lecture his disciple!” he borderline whines. Shen Qingqiu falls frighteningly still. Shen Yuan slaps his hands over his mouth, horror flooding his body and heat rushing to his cheeks.
He didn’t mean to say that.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” he squeaks, voice muffled by his hands.
“And what, pray tell, does Disciple Shen Yuan mean by that?” Shen Qingqiu asks, merciless as he is.
Shen Yuan does whine this time, a pitiful, pleading noise as he holds his hands tightly against his mouth. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t relent, though, and merely raises an inquisitive brow.
“Well?”
Eventually, Shen Yuan needs to breathe. He drops his hands and the words come tumbling free, and with them the pain growing in his chest eases.
“Shizun looked so pretty in the fields, like a god descending from the Heavens, I couldn’t tear my eyes away for even a second and—” Shen Yuan presses his lips together tightly and inhales deeply through his nose. His teeth ache from pressing so hard together, and his face burns with raging mortification.
Like a god descending from the Heavens?! What drivel—Airplane writes better descriptions than that! Shen Yuan seethes. He can’t meet Shen Qingqiu’s eyes, too humiliated by his own words.
He doesn’t even know where it’s all coming from! Sure, his Shizun is mind-numbingly stunning, downright ethereal in the light of dusk as the sun sets behind him like a halo, but to say it so plainly sounds so—so—!
“Shen Yuan is very…opinionated in this matter,” Shen Qingqiu suddenly speaks, his voice clipped and strained. Shen Yuan’s face snaps up, horror dawning as he processes the lack of pain in his chest from holding in the words and the light flush peeking from behind his Shizun’s fan. When had he opened that?
“I—this disciple didn’t—that wasn’t—” he hadn’t meant to say that all out loud!!!
Shen Qingqiu holds up his hand, effectively silencing the flustered Shen Yuan.
“This master…is more than aware you are not sound of mind at the present moment,” he says, slowly, as if considering each word carefully before saying it.
“Begging Shizun’s forgiveness and mercy,” Shen Yuan says weakly. “This one humbly requests he be dismissed to his room for the evening.”
Shen Qingqiu considers his words. Then, at long last, he nods.
“Supper will be delivered outside your door in half a shichen.”
Relief floods Shen Yuan at the permission.
“Thanking Shizun.”
The words barely have left his mouth before he’s fleeing across the Bamboo House and locking himself away in the little side room he’d taken over and claimed as his own upon his designation of Head Disciple. The moment the door shuts behind him, Shen Yuan throws himself onto his bed, grabs the soft pillow he’d bullied Shang Qinghua into commissioning for him, and (quietly) screams.
Shen Yuan thinks that the pollen will have worn off by morning.
Shen Yuan is naïve.
For all the plants in this godforsaken world that he knows every single detail about, this particular flower seems to escape his memory.
Maybe, he considers, it hadn’t been in the novel originally. Maybe it was something crafted specially for this world when it became a real, living and breathing and functional universe. Either way, Shen Yuan is greatly displeased when he wakes up the next morning, steps out of his room to have breakfast with his shizun, sits down at the table, and upon a single inquiry into his wellbeing blurts out a blunt,
“I feel like shit.”
Shen Qingqiu stares at him for a moment, silent. Then, without saying a word, he adds a little more tea to Shen Yuan’s cup. The action coaxes a small smile from the disciple, and before he even realizes it, a soft sigh is falling past his parted lips along with words that were absolutely not meant to be spoken.
“You know, you’re not at all like the rumors say.” Shen Qingqiu stiffens across from him, his eyes narrowing. Shen Yuan grimaces and ducks his head. He means to apologize, he knows what a taboo topic this is for his Shizun, but his mouth has other plans. “I think Liu Qingge would deviate if he knew how thoughtful you really are! Qi Qingqi, too, oh boy, she’d absolutely grovel if she knew just how wrong about you, she is!”
Quickly, he tacks on a breathless, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”
“I see the effects have not worn off,” Shen Qingqiu notes shortly. Shen Yuan grabs his cup of tea and takes a large gulp, ignoring the burn, to keep himself from saying anything else. All too calmly, his shizun continues, “who would have known Qing Jing’s Head Disciple refers to his martial aunts and uncles so disrespectfully in his own mind.”
“Only the ones that are mean to you,” he blurts out the moment his tea his swallowed.
Shen Qingqiu’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “Oh?”
“Begging Shizun’s mercy,” Shen Yuan pleads, only a little hysterical. He’s not said anything incriminating yet, but his fears from before still remain prominent as ever — what if Shen Qingqiu keeps pressing and he confesses inadvertently that he remembers his past life?! That he knows the future of this world?! That he actively changed it!
However, now, in the back of his mind, he finds another fear starting to form — a fear he didn’t even realize was possible to have.
What if he tells Shen Qingqiu what he used to think of him?
What if he tells him what he thinks of him now? What does he think of him now? He knows he doesn’t…always think of his shizun in the most filial ways — he knows it’s not normal to think at length of how pretty his shizun is, to wonder what his hands would feel like gripping something other than Xiu Ya, to wake up in the middle of the night and sneak out to wash his sheets before his shizun wakes with shame and confusion chilling his bones.
He knows he doesn’t think about his master the way a good disciple should, and he shoves those thoughts far, far away in a box locked up to never be acknowledged. It’s his weird, hormonal body, he always tells himself. He’s a guy, he’s going to have those thoughts! Shen Qingqiu is who he spends his most time around — and Mu Qingfang but…that’s beside the point. Shen Qingqiu, yes, is a man, and Shen Yuan is, as well, but that doesn’t matter because this doesn’t mean anything.
He’s still straight, he’s just…pent-up. Pent-up, repressed, and spending nearly all his time with Shen Qingqiu. So, obviously, he’s going to be the face in his fantasies — it’s not gay. It’s just…it’s like a straight guy watching gay porn!
If he confessed anything like that, though, to his shizun…
Shen Yuan takes another large swallow of tea, his throat suddenly dry. Forget getting kicked out of the Bamboo House. He would be stripped of his title, his discipleship, and maybe…maybe even tossed back out on the streets.
He tries to ignore the sharp twinge in his chest at the thought of Shen Qingqiu discarding him, at the thought of him being so disgusted by him.
No, no, he can’t let Shen Qingqiu know, even if it doesn’t mean anything… His chest aches, almost as if his heart itself is sore. He ignores it and chugs the rest of his hot tea, conveniently also ignoring the little voice in the darkest recesses of his mind whispering the most traitorous fear of all, what if he confesses something even he isn’t consciously even aware of?
“We will make a visit to Qian Cao when you are finished,” Shen Qingqiu says, snapping Shen Yuan out of his spiral. “Finish your breakfast in silence.”
If Shen Yuan were a lesser man, he would have wept with gratitude for the grace his shizun had given him. Shen Yuan is no lesser man, however, so he merely exhales, drops his shoulders, and starts shoveling food into his mouth. It’s rather ungraceful and undignified, but Shen Yuan wants to get this fixed. So, he shoves mouthful after mouthful of bland congee into his mouth, not giving himself even a second to say something he’ll regret.
It’s not until Shen Qingqiu clicks his tongue sharply and taps the table with a perfectly manicured nail two times that Shen Yuan realizes what a sight he makes. His cheeks flush, and a murmured apology slips off his tongue with a sheepish smile.
After that, he slows down and dines in a more…respectable manner.
Blessedly, not another word is spoken for the duration of their shared meal.
“It appears Shen-shizhi was stricken by a larger dose than we first thought,” Mu Qingfang tells the pair after a thorough exam of Shen Yuan’s meridian system and general wellbeing. “Typically, a single dose would wear off by the end of a single day, however, it appears Shen-shizhi managed to inhale double the dose.”
“And that means…”
Mu Qingfang smiles apologetically at the pained look on Shen Yuan’s face. “It will not wear off until the next sunrise. I recommend Shen-shizhi continue isolation should there be anything he wish not to say. However, well, unless…”
“Yes?” Shen Qingqiu asks, audibly irritated at the hemming and hawing, when Mu Qingfang trails off uncertainly. “If Mu-shidi has a way to cure this master’s disciple, he ought to share before his hair grays.”
“God, you’re so pretty when you’re snappy.”
Two sets of eyes — one stunned, one terrifyingly knowing — snap to a horrified Shen Yuan, who slaps his hands over his mouth and ducks his head. What the fuck?!
“Whenever the urge strikes you to share the cure, Mu-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu says, his voice a little strangled.
Mu Qingfang clears his throat. Slowly, Shen Yuan lowers his hands and sits up to listen close. “Ah, yes, well… Shen-shizhi may not be quite amendable to it, but from what I have gathered, there is a way to speed up the process of flushing the pollen out of your system.”
“I might literally throw myself on my sword if you don’t get to the point—Iamsosorry.” Shen Yuan is going to have to flee the sect. That’s it, that’s all that’s left.
Mu Qingfang, the blessing of a man that he is, takes the words in stride without flinching. Shen Qingqiu gives him a strange look, but otherwise doesn’t respond either. God, Shen Yuan would really like to sink into a hole now.
“Actually, Shen-shizhi is already enacting the treatment plan this one wished to encourage,” Mu Qingfang says. At the confused look Shen Yuan gives him, and the mild eyebrow raise from Shen Qingqiu, Mu Qingfang presses on to explain further. “To flush the poison out of your system quicker, it’s encouraged to just…let it take its course.”
“Oh, fuck me.”
Both Peak Lord’s, thankfully, ignore the crude huff.
Mu Qingfang carries on like it hadn’t been spoken at all. “Speak the truths as they come, holding them back is what prolongs the effects until it is naturally flushed out. With Shen-shizhi’s meridian system in the state that it is, this process may take until next sunrise, but it may take longer. The only guaranteed way, from what I’ve found, to flush out the poison quicker is to work with it rather than against it.”
“That is actually the last thing I want to do right now,” Shen Yuan snorts. He doesn’t even fight against it this time when the words bubble up in his throat. “I’d rather just lock myself in my room for the foreseeable future.”
A small, amused huff comes from beside him, and Shen Yuan is dazed for a moment when he realizes it was from Shen Qingqiu. His mask is back on in an instant, though, as if he had never made such a sound, and Shen Yuan is left feeling a little bereft.
Briefly, he wonders what it would sound like if he didn’t hold it in. If Shen Qingqiu laughed, full-bodied and whole-heartedly until there were tears in his eyes and his cheeks ached… He bets it would sound warm; it would sound—
“Beautiful…” he mumbles, absentmindedly, eyes drifting to his own lap.
Mu Qingfang raises an eyebrow at him but does not comment. Thank god, honestly. Shen Yuan clears his throat and shoves the thoughts away before they force their way up his throat and past his lips.
“It is, of course, Shen-shizhi’s choice how to proceed from here,” Mu Qingfang tells him, “but I have given my suggestion. It would be better if Shen-shizhi let the words out as they come. Perhaps in more ways than he knows.”
“Cryptic much?” Shen Yuan scoffs. Then, he winces. “Sorry.”
“Shen-shizhi needn’t worry,” Mu Qingfang chuckles, always the good-sport. “However, there are other patients this one must attend to, so if that will be all…”
“Ah, yes,” Shen Yuan jumps down from the bed he’d been sitting on to stand properly beside his shizun. He bows his head. “Thanking Mu-shishu for his guidance.”
“Yes…Mu-shidi has been most insightful,” Shen Qingqiu hums, although he sounds a bit less sincere than Shen Yuan. “Come, Shen Yuan, we have much to consider.”
Ah, that means Shizun is going to make him flush out the poison, doesn’t it…? Shen Yuan’s shoulders sink a little, anxiety curling in his belly. Quietly, he sighs.
“Yes, Shizun.”
Shen Yuan keeps his mouth shut the entire trip back to Qing Jing. His chest burns each time he doesn’t say something that the poison tries to make him, but it subsides quickly enough for him to deal with it. He’s a little surprised, honestly, that Shen Qingqiu hasn’t started pressing him to talk yet. Even as they alight from their swords, however, and enter the Bamboo House, he says nothing.
He simply sits at the table they had breakfast at that morning and sends Shen Yuan off to brew some tea for them.
Of course, this means Shen Yuan falls into a false sense of security much too quickly, happily brewing a pot of tea for two, serving up two cups, and sitting across from his master without even thinking to wait to be given leave to. Honestly, it would be incredibly disrespectful if that hadn’t been their routine for over a year now.
Shen Yuan wonders if he would let any other disciple get away with the things he lets Shen Yuan get away with…
“What a useless thing to wonder,” Shen Qingqiu scoffs. It’s only then Shen Yuan realizes he pondered his question aloud. He clears his throat and takes a sip of tea. “What other disciple would this master possibly grant such liberties to?”
“Ming Fan?” Shen Yuan suggests before he can stop himself.
At this, Shen Qingqiu actually snorts. “That fool is no better than an errand boy.”
Words bubble up in Shen Yuan’s throat, discomfort settling over his chest as he tries to suppress them. He squirms slightly in his seat for a moment, before finally giving up.
“I thought he would be your Head Disciple,” he confesses.
“Ming Fan?” Shen Qingqiu asks, eyebrows raised. He scoffs and sneers at his tea. “Shen Yuan has quite the imagination. This peak would sooner fall to ruins with no successor.”
Shen Yuan winces internally. RIP Ming Fan.
Silence falls over them for a few more moments as Shen Qingqiu slowly sips at his tea. He stares at Shen Yuan with considering eyes. In the end, he sets his cup of tea down and lets his demeanor shift into one that makes something warm and bubbly dance over Shen Yuan’s skin. This, this is what Shen Yuan likes about being Head Disciple.
No one ever gets to see this side of Shen Qingqiu. No one but him, a weirdly possessive voice whispers in his ear. When Shen Qingqiu speaks this time, it is with a considerably lighter tone — a more relaxed tone. Like he’s taken off the Peak Lord mask and stripped down to just him.
And god, if Shen Yuan doesn’t feel a thrill at being the one who gets to see him like this.
“Shen Yuan is quite adamant against flushing out the poison, it makes one question what it is he has to hide,” he hums, tilting his head to the side as he appraises his disciple. Something flashes in his eyes, something dark, something knowing. Shen Yuan tenses. “Does, perhaps, Yuan’er have a crush he does not wish this master to know of? On one of his shimei’s, maybe.”
There’s an almost teasing tone to his voice, but Shen Yuan can’t fully appreciate it due to the fact that he’s too busy choking on his tea. He sputters, incredulous, “sh-shizun!”
Thinking he’s struck gold, Shen Qingqiu persists. “Given that it does not interrupt your studies… This master can do little but give his blessing.”
Shen Yuan tries to ignore the way that stings.
“You’ve got it all wrong!” he insists, caught between not wanting to say anything he’ll regret but also not wanting to create any misunderstandings.
“Oh?” Shen Qingqiu prompts. “Enlighten this master, then.”
“I don’t have a crush on my shimei,” Shen Yuan swears. It’s only after he says it that he realizes his fatal mistake. Shen Qingqiu notices it, as well. He latches on with sharp claws.
“Not on your shimei,” he repeats, eyes narrowed. “Yuan’er does have a crush, then. Perhaps, a shijie—”
“No! No shijie, no shimei, I don’t—I’m not—” he cuts himself off sharply, breath coming quicker.
Shen Qingqiu, for what it’s worth, doesn’t press any further.
If anything, from the way his brows furrow minutely, he at very least feels some kind of way about pushing his disciple into such a state of frenzy.
And really! It’s so unfair!
Shen Qingqiu has plenty of secrets of his own he’ll never share with Shen Yuan, so why is he so insistent that Shen Yuan share his with him! Shouldn’t he know better than anyone why someone may not want to spill their guts?!
An expression flashes over Shen Qingqiu’s face like he’s been slapped — it’s gone in an instant, but Shen Yuan catches it and the guilty realization he’d spoken his thoughts aloud again hits him like a carriage at full speed. He shrinks down, shame darkening his face.
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t…” he tries to say he didn’t mean it, but the words get stuck in his throat. He knows why. They both know why. Right now, he can’t lie. He ducks his head. “Begging Shizun’s forgiveness.”
A beat passes. A quiet sigh.
“Raise your head.” Shen Yuan hesitates but does as he’s told. Shen Qingqiu frowns as he looks over Shen Yuan’s, his brows knit together. “Yuan’er…has only spoken the truth. This master should not have pressed.”
A weird, uncomfortable tension hangs over the air now. Shen Yuan hates it. It’s exactly what he’s been trying to avoid. Partly, at least. Like yeah, there could have been worse outcomes, or he could have said something worse, but the atmosphere…
It’s heavy, now.
Maybe it’s finally settling in for them both. Shen Yuan is poisoned to not only speak the truth and only the truth, but he’s being compelled by this damn poison to say them as they come to mind. It’s downright wicked. He can hold back the words, but he can only hold back so much.
Right now, Shen Yuan has very little agency over his own mouth.
“This is all Shang Qinghua’s fault,” Shen Yuan mutters.
Shen Qingqiu perks up at the words, his lips parted like he’s about to question him. No words end up coming out of his mouth in the end, though. Instead, he presses his lips tightly together and frowns. Ah, Shen Yuan feels a little bad now, for some reason.
“Yuan’er has no reason to feel bad,” Shen Qingqiu sighs, making Shen Yuan jump slightly. “He is…entitled to his privacy.”
If he’s entitled to his privacy, why did that sound like it was so painful to say? Ah, who would’ve thought the aloof Xiu Ya Sword was really such a little busybody, curious about his disciples love lives. The whole cultivation world would laugh in his face if he suggested it!
“Why is Shizun so curious anyway?” Shen Yuan asks.
Shen Qingqiu tenses. It’s the slightest shift in his demeanor, but after five years of constantly being around him, Shen Yuan could read even the most infinitesimal change. It’s not weird, it’s…it’s…Shen Yuan doesn’t need to defend himself! Certainly not in his own thoughts!
“This master was merely following Mu-shidi’s treatment plan,” Shen Qingqiu says, and Shen Yuan feels a little miffed at the fact he can lie so blatantly when Shen Yuan has to bear his most embarrassing thoughts to the world. “After all, we cannot have Qing Jing’s Head Disciple out of commission for so long, should the poison persist, and at the present Shen Yuan is a gaping security risk.”
Okay, yeah, that’s fair. Still, though, his love life?
“Is it truly so baffling?” Shen Qingqiu scoffs. Shen Yuan doesn’t know if he said his thoughts or if they were written on his face. Either way, Shen Qingqiu taps his fingers against his teacup and continues, “Yuan’er is of marrying age, it is not so preposterous to imagine he has had such thoughts.”
Shen Yuan’s face wrinkles of its own volition and he looks down at his cup. “Not about my shimei.”
“Mu Qingfang has told this master your meridians could be healed,” Shen Qingqiu says, mercifully not commenting on that loaded statement. The abrupt change in subject still draws a confused noise from Shen Yuan, though. “Is that correct?”
Shen Yuan hesitates. “Ah, well…yes, but—”
“There are many benefits to Dual Cultivation,” Shen Qingqiu interrupts, voice taking on a sterner tone. “Yuan’er has meridians that can be healed, yet he chooses to continue cultivating with a scarred system.”
Shen Yuan bites his inner cheek to shut himself up. His chest aches.
“Is the concept of it so unappealing you would rather willingly stunt your growth?”
“It’s not that, I just—” Shen Yuan flushes, ducks his head, but still, it doesn’t stop the next words from tumbling out of his mouth just barely loud enough to qualify as a whisper. “It’s only appealing if it’s with Shizun…”
Silence.
Deafening, horrifying, suffocating silence.
Shen Qingqiu stares at him, all pretenses dropped, gaping. Meanwhile, Shen Yuan finds his head filled with a screaming so loud and shrill only dogs could hear were he to release it into the world via his larynx. He can’t believe he just said that. He can’t believe he just said that. Oh, god, he just said that—he just said it, he just SAID IT!
Too busy short-circuiting, Shen Yuan misses the way Shen Qingqiu fumbles when he reaches for his fan. He only snaps back to the real world when he snaps it open and covers his face all the way to the bottom lash-line of his eyes.
“Yuan’er—”
“Please forget I just said that,” Shen Yuan begs.
Shen Qingqiu falters. Hesitates. “Do you truly want me to?”
“No,” fuck this truth pollen!!!!!!!!!! “Shizun—please—please don’t kick me out, please don’t—don’t—you can be disgusted and hate me—” ah, why does his chest hurt so much, he’s saying the words he thinks… “—just don’t…don’t make me leave, please, I can’t…I don’t…”
A few moments pass, Shen Yuan’s breath coming labored and unsteady. Fuck, fuck, he just told his shizun — the former Scum Villain to be — he wanted to have sex with him!
“Foolish child,” Shen Qingqiu tuts, clicking his tongue. He closes his fan with a flick of his wrist, baring his pink-dusted face to Shen Yuan in all it’s gorgeous glory. He narrows his eyes sharply and Shen Yuan looks away. “You’ve been coveting your own master, is that it?”
“…Yes, Shizun,” Shen Yuan admits. “But I—”
“How deep do your feelings run?” Shen Qingqiu interrupts.
Shen Yuan buffers.
What? What is this? “Are you trying to humiliate me before kicking me out?”
“How lowly do you think of me?” Shen Qingqiu is…visibly appalled by the question. He snaps back quickly enough, though. He sets his fan down and pushes himself to his feet, rounding the table. “Answer this master. How deep do your feelings run?”
“I…” Shen Yuan blinks, watching his shizun get closer and closer. He doesn’t…he’s not even sure himself, he’s never—he just thought—without giving himself time to think too hard about it, Shen Yuan swallows and lets his tongue run wild.
“This disciple would set the world on fire if you asked,” he says on an exhale, taken aback by his own passion. “I would re-write fate as many times as it took to see you living free and getting all that you deserve.”
“And what does this master deserve?”
Shen Qingqiu’s voice is quieter, lower, as he sits down beside Shen Yuan. He’s much closer than societal standards would allow for a master and their disciple. Two fingers lift his chin and turn Shen Yuan’s face to look at Shen Qingqiu, though, and Shen Yuan finds he’s too breathless to care. He stares into Shen Qingqiu’s eyes for a moment, dazed and mesmerized by the depths they hold. He doesn’t even realize he’s started leaning towards his shizun.
“Yuan’er,” Shen Qingqiu coaxes, tilting his head back to look down his nose at Shen Yuan. “What do I deserve?”
The answer comes all too quick and with a single, shuddering breath.
“Peace.”
A wounded noise punches out from one of them — Shen Yuan isn’t sure which, and he doesn’t have long enough to find out before there are soft, soft lips pressed against his own in a searing kiss.
Shen Yuan’s head spins, and for a moment, he doesn’t react. The moment Shen Qingqiu starts to pull back however, he surges forward to keep their lips together, his hands darting out to grip the collar of Shen Qingqiu’s robes like a lifeline. His eyes squeeze shut, his heart pounds in his chest like it’s trying to escape, and he gasps for air against lips he never thought he would get to touch.
And oh, oh, yeah. As Shen Yuan feels arms slip around his waist and tug him close, as his head tilts just slightly to deepen the kiss, as teeth scrape against his bottom lip and coax his mouth open just a bit, as his chest burns with something hot and real and right, he realizes just how true his words before were.
“I can’t believe I’m in love with Shen Qingqiu,” Shen Yuan gasps, half-lucid, when they part for a moment of reprieve.
Pressing their foreheads together, Shen Qingqiu laughs—laughs—and wow, Shen Yuan was right before. It really is a beautiful sound. It’s a little hoarse, a little croaky, since he just finished half-kissing the life out of his disciple, but it’s enough to send Shen Yuan’s head spinning once more.
“You do…this does mean you feel the same, right?” he asks, blinking rapidly.
“Disciple Shen talks too much,” Shen Qingqiu deflects. There’s a timidness to his voice Shen Yuan would never imagine even in the same sentence as Shen Qingqiu, though. It’s an answer enough in and of itself. Shen Yuan’s lips stretch into a wide grin.
“I can’t believe Shen Qingqiu is in love with me.”
Shen Qingqiu lets out a strangled noise, and a sharp pinch to his waist makes Shen Yuan squeak. “Shut up, little fool.”
A short, bratty, “make me,” tumbles past Shen Yuan’s lips before he can thoroughly think through the consequences.
However, even when something dangerous flickers through Shen Qingqiu’s eyes and he finds himself suddenly hefted into deceptively strong arms, Shen Yuan can’t find it in himself to regret his words for once. Well, maybe this pollen wasn’t such a bad thing, after all?
It got him this, didn’t it?
“Shizun, where are you taking me?” Shen Yuan asks, his eyes widening when he realizes the path they’re headed. He already knows. Still, he asks, just for confirmation.
Shen Qingqiu’s lips quirk up in a prideful smirk. He stays silent until they’ve crossed the threshold of the Peak Lord’s bedroom to carefully, but unceremoniously, drop Shen Yuan onto his bed. Only then, his outer robes slipping down his shoulders and his gaze imperious as he stares down at his disciple, does he answer Shen Yuan’s question.
“We,” he emphasizes the word with the dropping of his outer robes, “are fixing your meridians.”
Shen Yuan shudders, his eyes following the falling robes before snapping up to Shen Qingqiu’s face once more. Mouth dry and skin hot, Shen Yuan’s last coherent thought stays blessedly within his mind.
Ah, this is going to be fun to explain to Mu Qingfang …