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It's a spring morning and Yue Qingyuan wakes up with unease. He usually does, but this morning it's more prominent. When an hour later the Qing Jing Peak’s head disciple runs into Qiong Ding like the world's ending, he finally learns why.
Shen Qingqiu woke up that morning without memories. He doesn't recognise any of his disciples. Doesn't know where he is. Doesn't remember his own title or age, or even his name.
Yue Qingyuan sends the head disciple with a frantic summon to Mu Qingfang and flies on his sword straight to the Bamboo House.
He catches sight of Shen Qingqiu peeking out the window of his personal room. Shen Qingqiu is very tense as he stands near the wall, stealing glances at the world around the house. When their eyes meet, he tenses even more and steps away. From the glimpse he's caught, Shen Qingqiu looks like the last time he ever saw his Shen Jiu, haunting his every dream—lost, panicked, trying to keep a brave and challenging face.
There’s no time to waste.
Just as he reaches the door to the house, Mu Qingfang catches up to him, looking just as ruffled as he himself feels. There's still no sign of Shen Qingqiu‘s head disciple.
Mu Qingfang knocks.
The muffled rustling from inside comes to a hectic stop.
“Is Shen-shixiong inside?” Mu Qingfang asks.
He nods.
“Qingqiu-shidi,” he calls in a tone as gentle as possible which will still reach him through the door. “It's Yue-shixiong and Mu-shidi. These ones have heard there may be some need for our assistance. Please, open the door.”
“What exactly happened?” Mu Qingfang asks as they wait for any sound from the inside.
“I don't know much. He woke up with his memories gone.”
“Is he still his age?”
“From what I could see, he is. Why is Shidi asking—?”
The door opens just a smidge; they instantly quieten down and look on.
“This Mu-shidi greets Shen-shixiong,” Mu Qingfang says with a polite bow. “May he and Zhangmen-shixiong come in?”
Shen Qingqiu looks at him with distrust so obvious on his face, it’s like it’s a treasured piece of jewelry. It looks nearly comfortable on his face. Lived-in. Not forced at all. As if he hasn’t hidden even the smallest emotion for years from anybody who isn’t himself.
His fan is nowhere in sight.
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes find Yue Qingyuan’s then and time seems to stop for just a moment. His eyes widen, his lips part just slightly.
“Shidi,” Yue Qingyuan says softly through the hope expanding in his throat.
Shen Qingqiu’s grip on the door relaxes. Slowly, he pulls the door open and steps back.
Mu Qingfang gives him another courteous bow and steps inside, but Shen Qingqiu only spares him a short glance and fixes his eyes back on Yue Qingyuan.
The look carries the weight of expectation. For once, it doesn’t feel like a noose on his neck.
He steps into the bamboo house with a gentle smile. “Thanking Qingqiu-shidi.”
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes lower.
From that point on, Mu Qingfang takes over — he’s not the peak lord of Qian Cao for nothing. He introduces them both and explains his role in the sect without making it seem like it’s anything but a routine small talk, mentions Shen Qingqiu’s own role and him having disciples, and how one of them became worried earlier and called for help to aid him in this shocking, for sure, development.
“If Shen-shixiong allows, this Mu-shidi would like to check on the state of his meridians by performing a non-invasive qi examination.”
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes immediately fly to Yue Qingyuan.
Yue Qingyuan’s chest constricts. He offers a delicate nod.
Shen Qingqiu clears his throat, then looks back at Mu Qingfang. “I allow.”
Mu Qingfang explains every step of the process as he holds out his hand and requests Shen Qingqiu to offer his own. Shen Qingqiu complies, once again looking tense. Seeing the inside of his wrist uncovered, Yue Qingyuan is struck with the feeling that, even if non-invasive, a qi-examination looks frighteningly intimate. While his eyes are fixed on the point where the tips of Mu Qingfang’s fingers touch Shen Qingqiu’s wrist, he feels heavy eyes rest on him, unblinking.
He looks up. Their eyes meet again. Neither looks away.
“Interesting,” Mu Qingfang mutters, then describes some further examination he wants to do and explains what he’s about to do every step of the way.
Minutes pass like this. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t look away from him unless it’s required for an examination.
Eventually, Mu Qingfang steps away and addresses them both.
“Shen-shixiong’s state is not dangerous nor permanent. His qi seems to have been disturbed in his sleep, but it’s becoming stable again. His mind is a little preoccupied with the disturbance, and in an effort to protect him from any perceived potential harm, it’s protecting his memories by holding them locked behind a spiritual barrier. It shouldn’t be tampered with; it’ll unlock by itself when Shen-shixiong’s qi stabilises fully.
“His memories are locked, but his heart and body remember,” he continues, giving Yue Qingyuan a look. “He should spend the remaining time resting, but it’s not discouraged he does so in the company of somebody he trusts.”
That Shen Qingqiu doesn’t immediately object—that he doesn’t object at all—needles at Yue Qingyuan’s heart.
When Mu Qingfang leaves, Yue Qingyuan dares a step closer.
“Xiao Jiu?” he asks in a gentle tone.
Shen Qingqiu’s eyebrows furrow in concentration, but soon untense once more in resignation.
“I don’t know who that is,” he confesses. And then, with a look begging for something, he adds, “I don’t know who you are, either.”
Yue Qingyuan freezes on the spot. He thought that, maybe, Shen Qingqiu’s memories of the past were the ones that remained… Ever since he opened the door, he looked at him like Xiao Jiu looked at his Qi-ge, way back when…
“All I know is,” Shen Qingqiu continues, barely above a whisper, “I have this feeling that I can trust you.”
Yue Qingyuan’s heart stutters.
“I can trust you.”
Thump-thump, goes his heart.
“You have to come back for me! Promise me, Qi-ge!”
“I promise.”
Thump-thump.
“I should have known you’d forget about me. Did you plan to leave me from the start?”
“No, I’d never—”
“Liar.”
Thump-thump.
“Xiao Jiu—”
“Don’t call me that. Don’t talk to me.”
“Yue—?” Shen Qingqiu stutters over the word, clearly unfamiliar. “You, are you alright?”
“—but his heart and body remember.”
…
After everything that’s happened, he still…?
Shen Qingqiu shifts. “Should I call the healer—?”
“No need,” Yue Qingyuan says, shaking his head.
Shen Qingqiu pats the place on the bed next to him. He takes it. They sit in silence that’s neither comforting nor uncomfortable.
Shen Qingqiu hasn’t used their titles. He can skip them, too.
“I’m Yue Qingyuan,” he says. “I used to be called Yue Qi. And your name is Shen Qingqiu. You used to be known as Shen Jiu. We knew each other as children.”
Shen Qingqiu’s face clears off all remaining confusion. “So that’s why,” he mutters to himself, then turns to Yue Qingyuan with—
—with a smile.
“We’ve known each other that long?”
It’s heavy, knowing that there’s still trust, buried somewhere deep enough not to be forgotten or hidden, something elemental enough to remain when everything else is gone. Something undeserved, yet still existing even when not nurtured.
He swallows the knot in his throat. “There were some years we spent apart.”
Shen Qingqiu doesn’t look like he minds.
But he will, once he remembers.
I must tell him, he thinks, looking at the face he knows so well, unfamiliarly relaxed. You’re taking advantage, Yue Qi.
“I’m glad we’re back together, then.”
The confession lodges in his throat and refuses to budge. It’s the first time since—
No.
It’s the first time in his life that he has seen Shen Qingqiu, under any name, look so content. If he can stay this way even just for a moment, who is Yue Qingyuan to take this away from him?
“You’re the lord of this peak,” he says instead. “Would you like to go outside and see it? I could show you the rest of the sect, too, if you wish.”
A look flashes over Shen Qingqiu’s face and his posture tenses. “I don’t want to leave this place.”
“—his heart and body remember.”
“We can stay in, then,” Yue Qingyuan assures right away. “You tend to keep tea in this place. I could make some for us…?”
What’s happened here that I’ve missed? he thinks. What scares you? What worries you? What has you locking yourself in?
You happened, he answers himself right away. You’ve brought him here, you’ve failed to protect him, you’ve failed to make this place safe for him.
Not that he hasn’t tried. But when his offers of help have been rebuffed time and time again—
“I’d like that,” Shen Qingqiu says thoughtfully. “I think I enjoy tea.”
So Yue Qingyuan heats the water and finds the tea kettle and two tea cups. And when he looks for Shen Qingqiu’s remarkable collection of tea leaves, he stills in surprise.
All but several jars have not yet been opened, and the one that’s nearly incomparably used up is—
“Does Zhangmen-shixiong truly think so little of this shidi that he’d try to buy his time with gifts?” Shen Qingqiu asked him when Yue Qingyuan held out the jar of fragrant tea leaves with both hands in an offering.
Yue Qingyuan said, “Of course not, this shixiong would never dare. He only deems today an occasion too important not to celebrate.”
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrowed over the edge of his fan. “And what would that occasion be?”
He smiled. “The anniversary of Shen Qingqiu’s chosen birthday, of course.”
A huff. “Pathetic.”
After that, when asked if the tea was up to his taste, Shen Qingqiu claimed he’d thrown the leaves away. Yue Qingyuan had no reason not to believe him.
He holds the familiar jar in his hands as the image of Shen Qingqiu’s lack of regard he’s built over the years in his mind shatters.
If that was a lie, what else was?
What are you thinking? he wants to ask. What are you feeling? Why won’t you tell me?
You haven’t told him, either, he reminds himself right away.
He opens the jar and puts some of the remaining tea leaves into the kettle, then pours in the hot water.
Shen Qingqiu is already kneeling at the low table, waiting for him. In the light filtering through the window, wearing fewer layers than usual, with his hair guan nowhere to be seen, he looks like a dream longed for yet forgotten upon the first morning blink.
Yue Qingyuan places the tea set between them and settles at the table.
When your memories are back, he vows inwardly—to Shen Qingqiu, to himself, to the gods themselves—as he fills their cups with the fragrant tea, I’ll bring you more.
And I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything.
And I hope you’ll tell me everything, too.