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“A-Yuan?”
“Jiu-ge?”
Perhaps the only person who looked more shocked than Shen Jiu—and certainly more shocked than the ragged assembly of Peak Lords trailing him—was Yue Qingyuan. Probably. Not that Shen Jiu spared that man even a glance.
No. Every shred of his attention was fixed, as it rightfully should be, on the boy—no, the man—standing before him. His voice was definitely, absolutely not choked.
“I thought you died,” he stated. Very calmly. Very rationally.
Behind him, he could hear the buzzing questions of the filth unworthy of breathing the same air as his precious A-Yuan.
Shen Yuan giggled—cutely, awkwardly—and shifted on his feet as if he were still five, caught trying to steal candied hawthorn because Shen Jiu had once mentioned liking it.
In one fluid motion, Shen Qingqiu closed the distance between them and cuffed Shen Yuan over the back of the head. Once. Twice. Again.
“Ah, Jiu-ge, it hurts,” Shen Yuan whined playfully, making a half-hearted attempt to escape before reaching out to hug him. Shen Jiu pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace.
“I thought you were dead. Fucking bear with it.” The little brat had the audacity to laugh. Shen Qingqiu never cursed—he eviscerated with eloquence, yes—but Shen Jiu did. Like a fucking sailor. He could practically hear the collective aneurysm of the Peak Lords behind him.
Liu Qingge—the brute, why was it always the brute?—interrupted Shen Jiu’s leisurely inspection of his Shen Yuan with a grunt demanding explanation, like the animal he was.
The sound made Shen Yuan grow shy—his sweet, poor didi—and try to pull away. Unacceptable. Shen Jiu held firm, and Shen Yuan settled into his arms with only a token protest. Good didi. Shen Jiu petted his hair lightly. A soft squeak, and then Shen Yuan relaxed fully against him.
“A-Yuan…” came the voice of That Man.
Shen Yuan’s gaze snapped upward. His smile wobbled; his eyes glistened. Shen Jiu turned so Shen Yuan could see, holding him even closer.
He felt the adorable, kitten-like tilt of Shen Yuan’s head against his shoulder—the confusion and felt the visceral urge to coddle and pet his didi like he deserved.
“Who… are you?” Shen Yuan asked, soft and bewildered.
Ah. Being held had loosened his didi’s reservations. Good. But the stares of the others… Shen Jiu gave a light, warning squeeze at the inner curve of his elbow. Shen Yuan immediately stiffened.
“Sect Leader,” he backtracked, formal and poised with an etiquette learned from somewhere else—Shen Jiu would pry out the where, later. “This Shen Yuan apologizes. He did not recognize the Sect Leader.”
That Man made a sound as if he’d been struck. “He is not worthy of recognition,”Shen Jiu breathed silkily near Shen Yuan’s ear, drawing immediate protests from the others. “Ignore them,” he continued, unperturbed, stroking his didi’s hair. And, like the good didi he was, Shen Yuan’s attention returned to him.
“Jiu-ge,” Shen Yuan whispered, eyes brimming with tears, “I found you.” He twisted in Shen Qingqiu’s grip, clutching the back of his robes, rumpling the expensive silk. “I finally found you.” His voice wavered.
He spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. As if searching for Shen Jiu hadn’t been a duty or obligation, but something he did simply because.
“I looked for so long. So hard. Every trail for Shen Jiu was decades cold.”
Shen Yuan pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, wearing that little crooked smile—the one from when his lip split taking a punch meant for Shen Jiu, before his core was strong enough to heal it. His voice was soft, something Shen Jiu could bottle and keep from the world forever.
“Then how did you find me?” The words slipped out, softer than Shen Jiu ever intended to show again.
“I didn’t. The kind jiejies at the brothels said if I wanted secrets found, my best hope was Shen Qingqiu—Peak Lord of Qing Jing, the brilliant tactician, the chief strategist of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, Second highest in ranking, the peerless immortal jade…” He smiled teasingly.
A fan whipped out and thwacked his forehead. Shen Yuan whined in mock pain, though not even a mark remained. The brat. Shen Qingqiu huffed as Shen Yuan laughed, carefree once more.
“I could forget anyone, Jiu-ge. Forget my whole life. But I would never forget you.”
Shen Jiu couldn’t bear to look at that painful sincerity, that boundless adoration. Someone choked behind him. Shen Yuan tried to glance over, but Shen Jiu could not spare even a second of his attention—not when it felt like lifetimes since they’d last met, mere decades as they may be.
“Who the fuck are you, anyway?” someone snarled.
Shen Yuan whipped his head around so hard his neck nearly creaked. Unacceptable. A twitch of Shen Jiu’s fingers, and the interloper fell silent.
“Did you just use the Gusu Lan silencing spell?” A-Yuan asked, eyes wide with wonder now rather than shock—a definite improvement. Shen Jiu smirked behind his fan. “The one they never teach outsiders?” Shen Yuan pressed, his infectious wonder colouring his voice. “Teach me,” he demanded, and was promptly thwacked again. He whined once more.
Then, an unfortunate throat-clearing beside them stole A-Yuan’s attention. Someone would meet a very unfortunate end soon. Shen Jiu glared.
Liu Qingge looked furious. Qi Qingqi wore the smirk of a banshee granted flesh. The rat, Shang Qinghua, was cowering. And of course, it was That Man who spoke next. Shen Jiu’s glare turned icy.
A-Yuan froze before offering an amiable smile.
“Ah, this one apologises—” he began, starting to kowtow.
Shen Jiu caught him by the elbows. “Stand properly,” he said, bonking his head once more with the fan. “You never need to kowtow to them.” He spoke as if they were filth beneath his boots. Outraged mutters rose from the crowd.
“Gege,” Shen Yuan murmured, sweet as White Coral Honey, “they are Peak Lords. I should…”
“No.” Shen Qingqiu refuted instantly.“A-Yuan is worth a thousand of them.” His worth could never be measured for he was one of the only things still tethering him to this planet. He would not be debased. Not like he once was. Not in front of them. Never again.
“But still—”
“But nothing. You are my brother. You will be treated as such.”
A suspicious mutter of “Didn’t look like that” came from behind them. Shen Yuan grinned sheepishly before looking back at Shen Jiu—as he always should—and smiled reassuringly, as if Shen Jiu were a creature that needed gentle handling. Normally it would raise his hackles, but this smile was all sorts of soft and adoring he had never imagined seeing again. Shen Yuan raised a hand to cup his cheek, and…
Shen Jiu melted like fucking butter. He would conquer worlds for this man. Kill for him. Do anything to feel this safe, this warm, to keep him here. Forever.
He swore that when Shen Yuan finally pulled back, it didn’t feel like loss. It didn’t echo hollowly from the festering pit behind his ribs.
Shen Yuan bowed—ignoring Shen Jiu’s very explicit instructions. “This one is Shen Yuan, courtesy name Shen Qingchun. This one is—”
“Wait. Shen Qingchun?” Shang-fucking-Qinghua coughed out, interrupting yet again. He didn’t even tremble under Shen Jiu’s glare. “‘Green Jade Seeking Justice’—the elusive master swordsman? The Keeper of Lost Souls? The Destroyer? The Saviour? That Shen Qingchun?”
Shen Yuan’s smile tightened with each title. He had grown so much. Shen Jiu had missed so much—but he did not miss his discomfort. That could not stand. He would carve that little mouse into pieces and feed him to spiritual cats.
Before he could begin, Liu Qingge—the muscle-headed brute—interjected, pointing at Shen Yuan. “You. You saved me in Xie Hua City. What are you doing with this scum? You should know what he’s done before claiming kinship.”
“Perhaps the muscle-headed brute thought—” Shen Jiu began dangerously.
“Fuck you.” Shen Yuan’s voice cut through, deliberate and low, tension radiating from his entire body. “You Do Not insult my brother. Especially not in front of me. Do you understand?” His calm was that of a gathering storm. It made Shen Jiu want to breathe him in.
Liu Qingge bristled, cheeks flushing ruddy. “He’s a lecher! A scum who ruins his cultivation, a backstabbing bastard—”
A knife whistled past, so close it would have impaled Liu Qingge’s skull had he been any slower.
“That was a warning,” Shen Yuan said coldly. “Your tongue is next.”
Qi Qingqi moved as if to intervene, but Shen Yuan’s voice carried, clear and sharp. “He is a cutsleeve—he physically cannot desire women without intervention. He hates people with a passion, so he cannot leer. And if he wanted you dead, you would have been dead long before anyone thought to accuse him. Think before you speak, Peak Lord.”
Qi Qingqi looked as though her entire worldview had shattered. Liu Qingge cycled through shades of green and purple. Yue Qingyuan—That Man—wore his usual weepy, guilty, pathetic expression.
“Xiao-Jiu, had I known—”
“Don’t call me that.” Venom dripped from his words, anger boiling up at that cursed name—until a hand touched his elbow, a gentle tug drawing his gaze back to A-Yuan. The fury drained away. He wanted to slump into those arms and never let go.
“When did A-Yuan get so intelligent?” he whispered, as if his heart weren’t threatening to cave in. As if someone speaking for him were common. As if it weren’t something to be cherished, fought for, earned.
“For all you know, this master could have done all they say.”
“Did you?”
Shen Yuan asked simply, as though he would accept any answer.
“No.”
“I know,” he breathed out.
As if it were that simple. As if anything in Shen Jiu’s fucking life had ever been that simple. As if his word alone could be trusted—without fighting, clawing, proving, only to be doubted every time. As if belief came first. As if lying wasn’t expected.
How long had it been since he didn’t have to explain himself? Since he wasn’t pre-judged as a villain?
How long had it been since he was trusted?
And the only answer he received, from the sweetly smiling man before him, was:
Always.
.
.
.
Oh.
He remembered now.
The festering bitterness, the cold fury that had calcified into a shield—it all crumbled before a truth so simple it was devastating. This was why. This was the reason a wretch like him had endured the unendurable, had scratched and schemed and survived. Not for power, not for vengeance, not for the hollow title of Peak Lord.
It was for this.
For the weight of a brother in his arms. For the unshakable trust in a single glance. For a soul who looked at the monster the world saw and whispered I know.
Shen Jiu would live for him. He would fight the heavens, shatter fate, and claw his way through any hell to ensure their survival. He would do it all, if it meant he got to stay—alive, present, here—with him.
He drew A-Yuan back into his embrace, not as a shield against the world, but as an anchor within it. The hollow echo behind his ribs filled, not with silence, but with a single, resonant vow.
He would do it for this.