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The gall of that brute! That mud-brained oaf! That numb-skulled imbecile. Shen Jiu fumed, pacing up and down underneath the shelter of the inn’s narrow awning. Rain rushed like a waterfall from the steep roof and drowned out the noise of his frustrated footsteps on the damp, uneven wood. How dare Liu Yongge accuse him of trying to murder him? As if Shen Jiu was so incompetent that Liu Yongge would still breathe if Shen Jiu didn’t want him to.
He had done the right thing. Had protected his shidi’s back from his own inattention like an elder sect brother should. And these were the fruits of gratitude he reaped? Thoughtless accusations that would stain Shen Jiu’s reputation for years to come because they were spoken by the inexplicably popular pretty boy of Bai Zhan without proof, but the deepest well of righteous conviction?
He clenched his fist and squeezed his eyes closed against the unwelcome prickle of tears. He was crying out of anger and for no other reason. But if the brute saw he would have no face in front of the other man ever again. Control yourself he hissed viciously and dug his neatly trimmed fingernails into the fleshy part of his palm.
If it wasn’t for the abysmal weather with lightning crackling above and strong high winds chasing the clouds across the sky like spider silk, he would have returned to Cang Qiong immediately, even if he had to fly through the night. But he didn’t have a death wish, despite everything.
Shang Hua, the An Ding disciple accompanying them on this mission, had rented a single room at the inn for all three of them, unable to stretch their travel stipend further. Dread filled Shen Jiu at the thought of having to share a room with Liu Yongge tonight. It was hard enough sleeping soundly with any man in the same room, but Liu Yongge had proven repeatedly how little he cared for their bond as sect brothers and Shen Jiu specifically, and after today there was no going back from that. Shen Jiu doubted he could ever be comfortable in the same room as the looming presence of Liu Yongge’s hostility. He felt exhausted and drained, even at the thought of it. But what other choice did he have?
The door to the inn opened, a square of golden light illuminating the spot at Shen Jiu’s feet, and he whirled around, one hand already reaching for Xiu Ya.
Shang Hua blinked at him with wide eyes and an insipid expression on his soft, tan face. “Shixiong,” he squeaked. The An Ding disciple was a little older than Shen Jiu, though he didn’t look it. Shen Jiu had seen him around, running errands all over the peaks for years now, always nervous and twitchy and in a constant state of overwork and stress, but they had never interacted before this assignment and Shen Jiu was weary.
“What do you want?” Shen Jiu snapped.
“Uhm, I brought food?” Shang Hua phrased it as a question even as he held out a tray with two bowls filled with steaming rice swimming in a thin broth and topped with a few uninspiring pieces of mushy vegetables.
“Why?” Shen Jiu asked.
Shang Hua frowned. “N-nourishment?” he ventured.
Shen Jiu scowled and Shang Hua flinched, flailed, and almost dropped the tray. On instinct, Shen Jiu threw out both hands, one to steady the tray, and one to steady his shidi. He couldn’t let food go to waste, not even the suspicious kind.
“Thank you, shixiong,” Shang Hua murmured and ducked his head.
“I meant,” Shen Jiu said with mockingly clear enunciation, “why did you bring me food out here?”
“Ooh, right, I didn’t want to eat with Liu shidi because he’s in a mood and, well, he’s always in a mood and so scary, that scowl! And he really doesn’t know his strength, and he isn’t very careful with it either. And if I wanted bruises, I could just go to a sparring class, you know? But I don’t because who actually wants bruises? Not me! No, no, nooo.” He shook his head forcefully, the messy ponytail he kept his medium-length hair in flopping and almost falling apart. Shen Jiu had already learned of Shang Hua’s claim that it wouldn’t grow any longer, to his teacher’s despair, but secretly suspected the other man cut it. “And I don’t think you do either, so, food? Away from Liu shidi?” He held the tray up like a shield, the hopeful, disarming smile on his face frayed at the edges the longer Shen Jiu kept silent.
But there was no deception on his face, and he appeared genuine.
Poison? Unlikely. Shang Hua was kept as busy and on as short a leash on Cang Qiong as Shen Jiu was. Where would he get the time, opportunity and funds to get a subtle enough poison to be undetectable in such a simple meal? And why would he then waste it on Shen Jiu when there were so many more profitable targets? No, spit was much more likely, but Shen Jiu had eaten much worse during his young life and he was hungry. And also, it was tempting to find someone who was as unimpressed by Liu Yongge as he was. Sometimes it felt the entire mountain was fawning at the Bai Zhan disciple’s feet, if only out of self preservation from his quick judgement and propensity to solve every problem with his sword or his fists. It felt strangely refreshing to find someone who held the same opinion. Though it could still be a trick. He narrowed his eyes. But for what purpose? The mutual dislike between Shen Jiu and Liu Yongge was no secret and couldn’t be used as leverage.
“There is nowhere to sit out here,” he finally offered. Shang Hua’s shoulders slumped in obvious relief.
“No worries, shixiong,” he prattled on. “Follow me.”
He scurried out into the rain, quick and nimble, zigzagging around puddles like a rabbit. Shen Jiu, seeing his dinner vanish into the deluge, reluctantly followed. Thankfully, they didn’t have to go far and only his outer robes were damp when they reached the barn on the opposite side of the paved courtyard, right next to the gate facing the now empty and half flooded main road passing through the village. Seeing the other boy struggle, Shen Jiu pushed Shang Hua’s elbow to the side and opened the door for them, and they hurried inside.
With the door closed, it was dim inside the building but reasonably warm and dry. A horse snorted at their entrance and a donkey glared at them suspiciously over a wooden partition. It smelled like sawdust and sweet, dry grass.
“Ta daaah,” Shang Hua singsonged nonsensically and nodded towards an empty, sturdy wooden cart tucked away in a corner. They clambered up and settled cross-legged on the inbuilt bench, little more than a wooden board nailed to two blocks, where the driver would sit while steering.
Shang Hua set the tray down between them. Shen Jiu eyed it suspiciously, but Shang Hua was leaving him the choice of bowl and didn’t appear to nudge him towards one in particular. Shen Jiu picked up one bowl–still warm–and sniffed it, then tasted the broth with the tip of his tongue for good measure. It tasted exactly as it ought to taste, bland and salty, with no spices to speak of and even less meat. With one last suspicious glare, Shen Jiu tucked in. His cultivation wasn’t strong enough yet to support inedia, wouldn’t be for many years yet, and he was starving.
After a few minutes of silent slurping, Shang Hua swallowed a mouthful of rice and lowered his bowl. “I asked the innkeeper, and he doesn’t mind us hunkering down here for the night. It’s not the most luxurious, but it’s warm and out of the rain and we can sleep here free of charge since we are already renting a room inside. I told him Liu-shidi snores.”
Shen Jiu’s eyebrows shot up. “You want to sleep in the barn?” he asked incredulously.
Shang Hua’s eyes darted towards him, then down to the floor. His shoulders hunched in on himself even at this slight sign of censure.
Shen Jiu didn’t like it. What use to him was a timid little mouse? But he smoothed out his frown and was rewarded by Shang Hua’s body unclenching just slightly.
“No?” Shang Hua asked. “I thought…I assumed…if you rather want to sleep in the room with Liu-shidi, of course…”
“No!” Shen Jiu snapped. “I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to.”
Shang Hua fiddled with the hem of his sleeve. “I saw what really happened. On the mission,” he confessed in a low, urgent voice. “I saw that you only killed a demon behind Liu-shidi's back. It wasn’t fair of him to accuse you like that without looking for the facts. He didn't even ask me and I was right there.”
Shen Jiu jumped up, almost upending his bowl and making the cart wobble. “Don’t you dare tell him,” he said, looming dangerously over his cowering shidi.
That was the last thing he needed. He could already hear Liu Yongge scoff in disgust at Shen Jiu’s belief that he, the prince of Bai Zhan, would need protection. Or worse, an insincere and disbelieving apology.
Shang Hua scoffed. “As if anyone would believe me anyway,” he said bitterly. His smiling, placid, nervous mask cracked for the first time that day and revealed the jaded, cynical reality underneath. Shen Jiu relaxed–finally something real, finally something he could use–and cautiously sat down again.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
Shang Hua shrugged. “Liu-shidi never listens once he made up his mind,” he said. “Too righteous, ah!”
Shen Jiu snorted. After years of Liu Yongge beating him up during training and spreading rumors about Shen Jiu’s dishonorable behavior, he disagreed with putting any sort of positive spin on Liu Yongge’s motives, but talk about killing with faint praise.
“Why does he have to be this way?” he muttered darkly, not expecting an answer. But Shang Hua perked up, like a student who could finally answer a question with confidence.
“He’s just too good! Effortlessly strong, effortlessly brilliant with weapons, effortlessly good at cultivation.” Shang Hua grimaced. “Well, no, he does put in effort. It’s not fair to say he doesn’t. But every effort leads him somewhere, you know?”
Shen Jiu, who had struggled against his own twisted cultivation since before he truly knew what cultivation even was, who, with his late and difficult start, had to work thrice as hard to be on the same level as his peers, knew exactly what he meant. “He got so used to doing right that he forgot he can be wrong.” Shen Jiu said.
And it was only going to get worse. Liu Yongge had not been named succeeding disciple yet, but it was only a matter of time counted in weeks, not years. He had shot through the ranks like a cork released from the bottom of a pond and nothing less but the very top would do.
Shen Jiu too was in close consideration for the position of succeeding disciple, though nothing had been made official yet. He hated how inadequate Liu Yongge’s easy success and casual disdain made him feel. He had worked so hard. He deserved to be here too.
“Exactly! And Tang-shishu isn’t helping,” Shang Hua added and oh, his tone so bitter, his words so biting, there was a story there.
“How do you mean?” Shen Jiu had taken pains to avoid any interaction with the Bai Zhan Peak Lord Tang Chunguo more or less successfully. The student was bad enough, he didn’t want the master.
Shang Hua grimaced, his expressive mouth down-turned. “They are meant to protect us, you know? Bai Zhan, I mean. That’s the only reason the peak even exists. To protect the rest of us while we work outside the sect. Especially An Ding’s trade caravans because with the carts and horses we are slow and unwieldy and we need many disciples to help, too many to only take those of us who have fighting experience or our own sword.”
Shen Jiu glanced at the generic, unbonded spirit sword Shang Hua wore at his belt and could barely handle well enough to use for flying, but said nothing. He was quite content to let Shang Hua talk and Shang Hua seemed content to air a lifetime of grievances in a single shichen.
“I overheard Tang-shishu once. He was talking to one of his hallmasters. He said–” Shang Hua cleared his throat. “He said An Ding disciples are like ants. Hardly worth the effort needed to protect them from getting stepped on, because when one dies, ten more will take their place.”
Shen Jiu stifled a gasp. He had known that An Ding, despite being fourth in seniority, got little respect from the other Peaks, but to hear it put so bluntly–no wonder Liu Yongge saw any mission except the most difficult of demonic monster hunts as beneath him, if this was the example his master set.
“We Qing Jing disciples are always sent out on our own too,” Shen Jiu said, on the edge of a realization, a deep frown on his face. “Even when it’s a group of scholars and disciples with little experience in combat. Last month, one of our teachers was badly hurt.” Teacher Feng had lost an arm and almost his life. He was not even a poor swordsman, but a spiritual cultivator’s physical strength was finite. Even just a couple of combat specialists from Bai Zhan would have made all the difference against the Bloodvine Stranglers teacher Feng’s excursion group had encountered. Shen Jiu hadn’t realized it was supposed to be different. It had always been this way ever since he joined Qing Jing and he was too used to depend on no one but himself to question it. But he should have. Wasn’t this at the core of Cang Qiong’s twelve specialized peaks? That apart they were vulnerable, but together they stood strong? But where was this famed togetherness?
“Qian Cao groups get escorts on their gathering missions,” Shen Jiu pointed out, seething at the implication.
Shang Hua shrugged. “I suppose even Bai Zhan’s thick heads can, you know, see the use in protecting their doctors.”
“But not scholars and traders and workers,” Shen Jiu spat. There was a wellspring of rage sitting in his chest, close to spilling over. He wanted to stab someone. He wanted to burn the whole rotten mountain down to the root. He wanted to bash Liu Yongge’s stupid pretty face in with a shovel.
“Eeeexactly,” Shang Hua replied, exhaling on a sigh. “This world is a horrible and unfair place. Trust me, bro, I should know.”
Shen Jiu ignored his unseemly familiarity. And why not be familiar? They were obviously stuck in the same mudhole, struggling to stay afloat while their betters used their heads as stepping stones to cross with their boots dry and unsullied. Shen Jiu had worked himself to the bone, swapping his gutter rat origins for the mannerisms of a young master, but what had it really gotten him in the end?
“What about shizun, and yours?” he asked dully. “Don’t they care?”
“Ehhhh,” Shang Hua wiggled his head and hand in tandem. “I have a theory. They are super old, right? Like, centuries old.” He waited for Shen Jiu to nod. “They have seen so many disciples come and go. I think they forgot what it’s like to be on that side of things. And they know we will reincarnate, so if one of us dies, they just shrug and move on because, from their perspective, we will just pop up somewhere else a few years later. They don’t really care that it doesn’t look like that from our point of view. They have their favorites tagged anyway, and it’s only now that they want to ascend and need someone adult to take over that they are becoming a bit more careful with those.”
Shen Jiu’s eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”
Shang Hua blinked, then laughed nervously. “Oh, you didn’t know? Well, I don’t know either, of course, how would I, right? But I have eyes, you know? And I think some disciples have been at Cang Qiong before. In previous incarnations, I mean. Really high cultivation can preserve all memories of past lives, but even low cultivation helps. Haven’t you noticed how some disciples are really good at what they do, despite being too young for it? Or seem really familiar with, well, everything on the peaks?” He waved his hand vaguely in the air, apparently to illustrate a nebulous sense of everything.
Shen Jiu licked his too dry lips. He hated, hated how much sense this made. “Who?”
Shang Hua looked at him with wide, sympathetic eyes, but thankfully without pity. Shen Jiu would have hated to have to punch him. “Most of those set to become succeeding disciples, I think. Liu Yongge for sure. Tang-shishu went to his family sect to snag him when he was still really young. Mu Fangming as well. Learning medicine takes so much time. He is only a couple of years older than us, but one of Cang Qiong’s most talented doctors. Yue Qingyuan too. He is the only one who was already named succeeding disciple, but he hasn’t even been here as long as I have.”
Shen Jiu sat stone-faced and tried not to flinch at the mention of Yue Qi. That wound was still open and bleeding. He doubted it would ever heal.
“And, well, you, Shen-shixiong. I don’t know about the others, but I’m sure there are more.”
What was there to say? He could deny it, but Shen Jiu was not one to flee into useless fantasy. It was reality or nothing for him. Life had given him little choice in that matter. And hadn’t he always thought that there was something eerily familiar about the bamboo forests of Qing Jing? About many of the books in the library? About the poem that hung on the wall in the Peak Lord’s office?
“What about you?” he asked.
“Oh no. No, no, noooh. Definitely not. I’m nothing. I’m nobody.” Shang Hua shook his head so vehemently that his ponytail finally came loose and his hair spilled over the collar of his robes. “Whoops,” he muttered with a nervous little laugh and picked up his hair ribbon and several pins before they could get lost.
That was quite a vehement denial. And wasn’t Shang Hua a bit too informed about the going-ons at Cang Qiong? He would not pry, but…
“How do you know? Maybe you just don’t realize. You said succeeding disciples were more likely to have been here before.”
Shang Hua stared at him. “Yeees?” he finally said. “Succeeding disciples, which I’m not.”
Shen Jiu raised a judgemental eyebrow. “Liu Yongge is as good as one. And so am I. They sent you with us on this mission to judge how well we would get along. You have to at least be in the running. It makes no sense otherwise.”
“I. Uhm. No. Wait. What?”
Shen Jiu ignored him. “We will help each other,” he decided, and then had the pleasure of seeing Shang Hua’s jaw drop. “A business arrangement. We will spar with each other to become stronger. I will teach you how to handle a sword and get your own.”
“Shixiong, what?”
“I will also teach you how to fight dirty. You will become a succeeding disciple within three years, even if I have to kill you to manage it.” Shen Jiu continued mercilessly. He would also kill Shang Hua if he tried to betray him. But it was unlikely. They wouldn’t be friends, nor brothers. He would never trust anyone like he had trusted Yue Qi every again, or more fool him. But a mutually beneficial alliance? That would work.
“Shixiong,” Shang Hua wailed.
“Quiet. When you go on missions, you will call on me. I can mostly pick my own assignments these days. We will protect each other. I will not give these brutes on Bai Zhan the satisfaction of getting hurt. Will you?”
“I–no?” Shang Hua looked desperately confused and quietly panicked, but there was a spark of defiance in those placid eyes. Good. It would do for now.
“Now spend your time thinking of what you can do for me to repay me for my help.”
Shang Hua bit his lower lip. “I know places. Things. Where to find them,” he finally offered. “Cultivation treasures, herbs that can strengthen our cultivation. Shrines that will give us real heavenly blessings.”
A satisfied smile curled over Shen Jiu’s lips. The little An Ding rabbit had hidden depths. He would have been satisfied with first choice of books, tea, paper, and ink the sect imported. But this was so much better. He would show that Bai Zahn brute. Just you wait, Liu Yongge, he thought darkly. Just you wait. I will live my life so well, you won’t know what hit you.
***
Tiny bonus scene 1
“We should kill him before he wakes up,” Shen Qingqiu decided.
“What? No! But he is so pretty!” Shang Qinghua wailed.
Shen Qingqiu glared. “What did you just say?”
“Just look at him, shixiong. Have you ever seen such cheekbones? They are just like in my–uh–a book I read. The ideal man!”
Shen Jiu rolled his eyes and raised Xiu Ya. The demon was strong. Too strong. Even fighting him together, they had been lucky he had collapsed when he did.
“Wait, no!”
Shen Qingqiu paused. He wasn’t an unreasonable man and over the years, Shang Qinghua had proven his usefulness and ingenuity more than once. If he had an argument against killing the demon and bringing his head back to Cang Qiong as a trophy beside the demon’s admittedly striking features, he was willing to listen.
“He’s the only son of the current Mobei-jun, the king of the northern demon kingdom. A strong contender to the throne if he manages to kill his uncle and defeat his father. Which he will! I promise! If we save his life, he will own us a favor. A big one. Could be useful!”
Shen Qingqiu narrowed his eyes and pointedly didn’t lower his sword. “What use do I have for the favor of a demon?” he asked, mostly to see what Shang Qinghua would say. The favor of a high level demon truly wasn’t such a bad boon to have in reserve. If it worked as Shang Qinghua said. Which, annoyingly, it likely would. His shidi was rarely wrong about such matters. One of his more irritating traits.
“Uhh, also, stability! Political stability. We want political stability in the demon realm, right? We can’t keep killing off all the sort of decent demon rulers, no matter how much Huan Hua says we should. Right? Right?” Shang Qinghua nudged him in the side with his elbow, a hopeful grin on his sunny face.
Shen Qingqiu sighed and lowered his arm. “Fine, get him into the cart. I will keep watch,” he snapped.
“Why is it always me doing the manual labor,” Shang Qinghua grumbled. Despite his complaints, he lifted the demon easily, body strengthened by years of training and manual labor and supplemented by his surprisingly decent cultivation, and plopped the demon prince of the north onto the bed of their rickety cart.
The gratitude of a demon king would be vastly more useful than that of a demon prince. Hmm. He would have to plot with Shang Qinghua on how best to arrange it.
***
Tiny bonus scene 2
“What have you got there, shixiong?” Shang Qinghua asked and nudged Shen Qingqiu to the side with his elbow, despite there being more than enough space in the small pavilion overlooking the Qing Jing training yards. Shen Qingqiu glared, but moved aside. He was in too good a mood today to be snappish.
“That’s my little beast,” he said with quiet satisfaction. “A strong physical cultivator. I stole him from the brute at the last disciple selection.”
Shang Qinghua went perfectly still. “Oh?” he asked with a casualness that sounded entirely faked. “Why didn’t I hear of that?”
Shen Qingqiu frowned. “You were busy with that inventory snafu with the spiritual steel for Wan Jian. You sent your hallmaster to the selection, remember?”
“Ohhh, yeah, don’t remind me, bro. That was brutal. I thought Wei Qingwei was going to murder me for real.” He cleared his throat. “Sooo, any specific reason you wanted that one? He’s not your usual type, is he?”
“No, that’s why he is perfect. I don’t trust Bai Zahn. Just because they are behaving now doesn’t mean they will behave in the future. Liu Qingge wanted that one, so he must have potential. I want to train him up to protect my lot on missions. A heavy hitter to their brains.”
“Right,” Shang Qinghua said. He sounded like he was choking and his fidgeting was worse than usual.
Shen Qingqiu ignored him.
“So I was thinking,” Shang Qinghua continued. Shen Qingqiu didn’t look in his direction, but he was listening. Annoyingly, Shang Qinghua was worth listening to at least seven times out of ten. The remaining three times had to be endured, because how was one to tell the difference beforehand? “A warrior needs brains and brawns, doesn’t he? You shouldn’t neglect his four arts, nor the rest of his schooling. You don’t want to give him preferential treatment, do you? Let him skip classes and the like.”
Shen Qingqiu frowned. It was a good point. He didn’t want a student of Qing Jing to bring shame upon the scholarly reputation of his peak. Skipping classes? The gall! “Very well,” he said agreeably.
“Great! Haha, that’s–great, really, shixiong.” A pause. “Just one more thing, though.”
“What is it, Shang Hua?” Shen Qingqiu snapped.
“Nothing much, nothing much at all. Just one of my silly ideas, really. But if you want Luo Binghe to protect your Qing Jing students, wouldn’t it make sense if he liked them enough to want to do that? I’m only asking because Ming Fan just tripped him on purpose and it would be quite a shame if Ming Fan tripped into, say, a pit of acid spitting man-eater ants one day and Luo Binghe didn’t care enough to fish him out, right?”
Shen Qingqiu eyed him from the side. “That is quite a specific example, Shang-shidi,” he replied evenly.
Shang Qinghua laughed, a nervous titter that became more high-pitched as it went on. “Oh, just something I read in a book. Don’t worry about it, shixiong. I’m just saying, I think Ming Fan just broke Luo Binghe’s nose. Maybe you should give him medicine? He isn’t Bai Zhan, no matter how he cultivates or what Liu Qingge wants. He is one of yours, isn’t he? They should take care of him while he is small, so he will take care of them when he is big.”
“Ming Fan,” Shen Qingqiu snapped, vicious and loud enough to carry across the field and make Ming Fan freeze mid motion. “What do you think you are doing? This is your shidi you are menacing. Save your teasing for the Bai Zhan brutes who deserve it and take care of your sect brother. Go, bring him inside and get him medicine and think of your wrongs.”
Ming Fan straightened and saluted. “Obeying Shizun,” he called, voice shaky. He helped Luo Binghe up and despite his bloody nose, the young boy threw Shen Jiu a sunny, grateful smile as they passed.
“Aww,” Shang Qinghua cooed under his breath.
“I have also been thinking, shidi,” Shen Qingqiu said conversationally.
“Oh?”
“Indeed. I have been thinking that I didn’t give you the little beast’s name, and yet, you knew it just now.”
Shang Qinghua took a hasty step back, then another two. “Haha, look at the time, shixiong, I’m so late, unbelievably late for a thing. A meeting, yes. Gottagobye.” He scurried off.
Shen Qingqiu sighed, then went inside to supervise his disciples. Best not to trust the quality of first aid one child could provide for another.