Chapter Text
There is a boy digging a hole.
There should be nothing special about him. He is one of many children digging holes, each and every one eager to get a spot on Cang Qiong Mountain. At a distance, there was black hair and shabby clothes.
Yue Qingyuan could not look away from him.
Shen Qingqiu stood next to him, teal robes fluttering in the wind. Yue Qingyuan could feel him bristling, agitation steadily rising the longer that Qingqyuan found himself staring at that boy.
The one with the fluffy hair had already been tugged off; the one Liu-shidi had said held great potential, the one whom Shen Qingqiu had let young Ning Yingying drag up the mountain. The one that Yue Qingqyuan knew he should not have let Xiao-Jiu claim.
That boy had sat next to the one that Yue Qingqyuan was currently staring at. It was how he noticed him.
“That one too,” Shen Qingqiu snaps.
He startles; looks at Shen Qingqiu, then back down at the child below, then back at Shen Qingqiu.
“Who?” he asks calmly, knowing very well which one. Shen Qingqiu’s glare was unimpressed and scathing.
“You know who,” he hisses, sounding for a moment so much like young Xiao-Jiu that Yue Qingqyuan can’t help but smile. That, of course, only makes his friend bristle more.
“I… was considering letting him join Qiong Ding Peak,” he carefully replies, but he knows it is a losing battle. Shen Qingqiu has caught the scent, and Yue Qingqyuan for once protesting- however mildly- does not make the Qing Jing Peak Lord lose interest. It only does the opposite.
“Qing Jing Peak needs more disciples that aren’t spoiled nobles,” his fellow Lord sharply replies, “I want him.”
Yue Qingqyuan looks back down at the boy.
“Very well,” he says.
The boy is led up the mountain, offering them an awkward bow. It does not hide what caught Yue Qingqyuan’s attention. He feels guilty pleasure seeing Xiao-Jiu stiffen, the way his lips grow thin from behind the fan, a view only Yue Qingqyuan is granted from his position.
The boy peeks nervously up at them when there is no response. Green eyes wide, smudges of dirt on his cheeks.
He looks identical to Shen Qingqiu.
Shen Yuan kneels next to Luo Binghe and does his very best to not stare at the man before them. He does so by staring at his hands instead, at the very edge of his vision where he can glimpse the threadbare sleeves of Luo Binghe.
It’s really fucking hard to not look up.
Shen Qingqiu looks every inch a proper Immortal Cultivator.
He truly should not have been surprised by that. Shen Qingqiu may have been the scum villain of Proud Immortal Demon Way, but he was still an Immortal. Robes impeccable and gaze cold and elegance dripping off of every single movement. And yet, years living in this world, Yuan had let fading memories twist the descriptions of the antagonist. That must be the only reason why he was so side-blinded by actually seeing him.
Because Shen Qingqiu has long, black hair the color of ink. He has green eyes like jade and sharp cheekbones and a tilt to his mouth that is unique to him and him alone.
Except that Shen Yuan also has that. Black hair that’s not as sleek and long and pretty, but still blacker than most. His eyes are green, though the color of glass bottles from the real world, muddied and dull. His cheekbones might be sharp because of circumstances rather than genetics.
But he has the same tilt to his mouth.
It’s damning evidence, and he remembers how in the cursed web novel, Luo Binghe had revealed that Shen Qingqiu spent time in brothels. Shen Yuan has no idea about who his parents are; he almost assumed that the System had just plopped him into the world at five years old, that’s how blank his memory had been.
He would have preferred that to the reality in front of him.
Is this asshole my dad??? System!! Hey!!!
The System doesn’t respond.
It’s a fickle thing. Barely there at all, just enough to be vaguely useful in tracking the passage of time and pointing him in the right direction. It was the one to point him towards the mountain, to the time of trying to join the sect. Giving him that little extra push of reaching far above his station of a common street rat.
Shen Yuan wants to squirm.
The Peak Lord is just staring at them. He hasn’t even drunk his tea yet, and that is a whole other problem. He wonders if Shen Qingqiu will throw tea at both of them, or just Luo Binghe. Ming Fan wasn’t allowed inside at least, so that’s a small change. He had been subtly shooed off with Ning Yingying.
Shen Qingqiu picks up his tea and Shen Yuan twitches.
“... tell me,” Shen Qingqiu says, putting the tea cup down, “why did you come to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect?”
His words are slow and measured, and Yuan would never have guessed how cruel the man was if he hadn’t read it himself. As it is, he looks at Luo Binghe and Luo Binghe looks at him. Shen Yuan nervously bites at his lip. Luo Binghe gives a firm nod and sits up straighter.
“This disciple has always admired the many immortal masters on the mountain, their persons and demeanors both,” he says, and Yuan almost melts from the relief of not going first, “if he can enter the sect and find success in his learning, this disciple’s mother in heaven will be able to find peace.”
“Hm.” Shen Qingqiu looks at Shen Yuan.
Yuan clenches his hands in his lap and tries to not look like he is this close to throwing up from nerves.
It’s fine, he tells himself. They’ve already been accepted. Chosen, even! The protagonist won’t be kicked out immediately and neither will he.
“This… this disciple wishes to learn,” he says, not as rehearsed as Binghe, nerves making the words come stumbling out, “to become better than he is.”
He can’t get anything else out.
The silence settles, and once Shen Qingqiu realizes he isn’t saying more, all Yuan gets is another hm. It feels like a guillotine. Judgment, harsh and clear and he shouldn’t care but he does. He almost reaches to grasp at Binghe’s hand, only property and dredges of self-preservation stopping him.
Shen Qingqiu rises.
Yuan stares at the floor and tenses. He feels the man brush past them, the barest shifting of air.
“Ming Fan shall lead you to the dormitories,” the man says, “there, you will be told of the schedule that junior disciples must follow. Dismissed."
And he leaves.
Yuan sits frozen; heart beating so fast he feels like he can’t breathe. Next to him, Binghe shifts before he nudges gently at Yuan.
“Shen Yuan…?”
“I thought he would throw tea at us,” Yuan blurts out, turning to face Binghe. The protagonist blinks back at him, dark eyes confused.
“What? Why would Shizun do that?”
Shen Yuan feels his cheeks burn and he glances at the teacup. Left on the table, turning cold and barely drunk from.
“N-nevermind. I… I forgot myself. Slip of tongue.”
Why hadn’t Shen Qingqiu done it? He hadn’t even let Ming Fan stay. He had been cold and distant, and hadn't shown any reaction to their similarity even though he must have been just as shocked by it as Shen Yuan was.
Was it that simple? Was it the surprise that had saved them from being doused with tea? He frowns, confused, unaware of Binghe reaching for his hand.
“Shizun told me to show you around,” Ming Fan says, startling Yuan and Binghe, the latter snatching his hand back as they both leap to their feet to bow to their senior.
Not that Ming Fan can have been there for much longer than them, Yuan thinks. And he doesn’t think he imagines the flash of disappointment in Ming Fan’s eyes as the other boy takes in their dry, non-traumatized selves.
“We are honored by shixiong,” Luo Binghe says and Shen Yuan hurries to echo it, doing his best to ignore the way Ming Fan eyes him.
They get a tour; they are given time to clean themselves and they are given food.
Yuan throws up from eating too fast and too much. Binghe looks queasy as well, but handles it better and gently holds Yuan’s hair away from his face as he empties his stomach.
That’s the protagonist for you.
He met Luo Binghe two weeks before the entrance exam.
At the time, the base of the mountain had already begun to grow crowded; many were hoping to better their fortune, street rats and nobles alike. There had been fancy tents and carts housing merchants and scammers, there had been the kind of rogue cultivators that sold cheap (false) trinkets to give the test takers “a boost”. The less fortunate had shared campfires and theorized what one had to do to be accepted.
Shen Yuan had been very, very cold.
It was early spring and he had tried to wash off the worst of the dirt in the Luo river. It had been absolutely freezing, just like the name hinted at, but he in turn had been dirty and desperate. So cold as fuck water it was, but his clothes were thin and his hair was wet and he had been shivering like his very bones would come apart.
Luo Binghe had sat by himself, blowing softly at a growing flame, coaxing it into becoming something warming. He had noticed Shen Yuan who had lingered awkwardly at the edges of his vision. His eyes had been wary, but he had still waved Shen Yuan over.
He wondered if it had been just because Luo Binghe as a child had been kind in the web novel, or something else. Perhaps because he and Luo Binghe had clearly been the worst off of all the people there- Shen Yuan’s clothes had been reasonable at one point, but now they were in tatters and so dirty one could hardly guess their original color. Luo Binghe’s clothes were the same; the only clean thing on him had been his jade pendant.
“I’m Luo Binghe,” he had introduced himself. Shen Yuan, who had been guessing as much, wrinkled his nose.
“Your namesake is really cold,” he told Luo Binghe, teeth chattering, and that had startled a laugh out of the future demon lord. Shen Yuan had felt a burst of warmth, of pride, and beamed happily back at him.
“I’m Shen Yuan,” he said, and they exchanged a very manly handshake.
Somehow in those two weeks, Luo Binghe not only proved why he was the main character, but he also seemed to decide Shen Yuan actually deserved the attention he was subtly angling for. They had spent their evenings mumbling theories on what the sect would be like in between Shen Yuan scratching letters into the rough dirt to practice reading and Luo Binghe showing him how to keep the fire alive. What they would do as cool, badass immortal masters. Which peak they hoped for. (any that would take them, of course)
By the time that the entrance exam began, it was only natural for the both of them to dig their holes next to each other.
The dormitories were crowded.
Not… bad crowded. Not like a modern sweatshop or like with the Jia family, he thinks. The beds weren’t squeezed together and there was one bed for each disciple and a tiny table for scrolls and future swords to rest at. And Shen Yuan had known they wouldn’t get separate rooms, obviously, though the mixed genders had been a surprise, but…
But still.
The back of his neck itches and he nervously smooths his hair down, making sure it’s covering his neck. He has to start tying it up soon and he doesn’t know what he will do then, but he will figure something out. For now, he’s just really, really aware of how the bullying started.
Because in the novel, Luo Binghe was the only one picked that time. The other disciples had been there for a bit longer and were sent from nobles and rich merchants and other scholarly types. The point was that Luo Binghe had stood out and been kicked out to the woodshed day one. And now they were two street rats inching their way into the dormitories of Qing Jing Peak, and Shen Yuan kind of missed having dirt on his face.
Everyone keeps staring at him.
There were whispers, all the time, and no one was talking to them yet, but the weird tension was super fucking noticeable that night as they all settled down and Ning Yingying kept chattering and he couldn’t- it wasn’t-
Shen Yuan buries his face in his wheat husk pillow and tries to slow his breathing. He absolutely fails and he wants to leave, but he knows people are still awake and he doesn’t even want to think about the trouble he would cause by sneaking outside on the very first night.
So he tries and fails to breathe like a normal person and doesn’t fall asleep until early morning.
( -10 coolness points ) the system cheerfully chimes as he drags himself out of bed at the morning call and Shen Yuan hiccups a bitter laugh.
Yeah, he doesn’t feel very cool.
They warm up and they run laps around the mountain. The new uniform feels itchy but clean, the high collar making it less nerve wracking to tie his hair up and out of the way. It’s white and green, matching the rustling bamboo and the fluffy clouds that are just a little bit too close to feel real.
Well, it’s called Qing Jing Peak. It makes sense that it feels like they could touch the clouds if they just jumped high enough.
It’s easier to ignore the stares when he is exhausted. Luo Binghe is nearly as tired as him after they run twenty laps, the System cheering him on without awarding any points.
They are given food and Shen Yuan pokes at it more than he eats it. He doesn’t want to throw it all up again like the previous day, and only Luo Binghe coaxing him makes him feel brave enough to eat some of it. If slowly.
They are asked about their writing and reading skills; nonexistent (Binghe) and barely understandable (Yuan) lands them in the beginner’s class which has, of course, very few members as the Qing Jing Peak is known for accepting scholars above all. Ink smudges his sleeves and hands and Yuan ducks his head as he is admonished for the sloppiness.
Look, he knows how to read! And write, but writing with an ancient brush and inkwell on rough paper is way different from a pencil in a textbook. And all the characters are just a smidge too different, too flowery.
Also it would be bad to admit he could read as well as he did, anyway. He looks like a street rat! Was one, too, and Shen Yuan has read enough novels to know what happens if a transmigrator gets too cocky too fast.
… and he is exhausted. He will blame his mistakes on that too, actually.
By the time they are free for the day, Shen Yuan would happily pass out and die in the shadow of the tree he and Luo Binghe found some distance away from all the hustle and bustle. He lays face down in the grass and doesn’t even care that he gets some of it in his mouth.
“I think my legs are gone,” Luo Binghe groans and flops down next to him.
Shen Yuan snorts a laugh, then coughs as he inhales dirt.
“Imagine if we had been chosen by Bai Zhan Peak,” he says once he’s done dying to the choke hazards of nature. He turns his head so that his cheek is pressed against the ground, eyes on his friend. Shen Yuan laughs again when Luo Binghe grimaces.
“I don’t know what’s more tiring, the learning or the running,” Luo Binghe says, but then he smiles happily up at the tree above them. The leaves are a deep emerald green, the crown thick enough they can only catch brief glimpses of the orange sunset sky past it. “But we’re here! Both of us. Isn’t that amazing, Yuan?”
The protagonist says my name so familiarly, Shen Yuan thinks happily, proud of his accomplishments. Two weeks! How far he had come.
“It is,” he agrees, moving so that he is also laying on his back, mirroring Luo Binghe. The sun is setting, but not yet so low that they have to crawl their way back to the dormitories.
His smile falters.
“Do you think that Shizun…” he begins, only to falter. Shen Yuan feels more than sees Luo Binghe turn to look at him. Wiggling closer until their pinkies brush, and Shen Yuan has to resist the childish urge to take Binghe’s hand and squeeze for comfort.
“... you’re very similar,” Luo Binghe says slowly and carefully. He clearly wants to know more, but Shen Yuan has no clue what to even say. He didn't know he would be related to the Scum Villain! How many comments hadn’t he left on Proud Immortal Demon’s Way about how Shen Qingqiu should be castrated? And here he was, very likely the asshole’s child. Hadn’t the guy been married or something? Did the future wife of Luo Binghe abandon Shen Yuan because he looked like a tiny copy of the most evil dude ever?
Shen Yuan sighs and presses his hands to his eyes, grounding down with a groan.
“A-Luo! A-Yuan!” Ning Yingying’s cheerful voice cuts through the air like a bird’s chirp and Shen Yuan scrambles to sit up, twisting to look at her. His heart beats too loudly in his chest from the surprise, but he still manages a polite (though weak) smile at her.
“Shijie,” he greets, brushing away grass from his clothes, cheeks flushing with embarrassment at his own behavior. Luo Binghe, who sat up almost as quickly as he had, offered a smile at her.
“What are you doing?” the girl asks, her orange ribbons fluttering in the breeze. She is all chubby cheeks still, just a year older than them, and definitely a very cute child. He just wishes she wasn’t so… sudden. And so familiar, so quickly. They met yesterday.
“We were recovering from today,” Luo Binghe says, and Shen Yuan dares to sneak him a grateful smile for the save, being given an understanding one in turn before Binghe focuses on Ning Yingying, “it was a lot to remember.”
“First day is always a lot,” the girl cheerfully agrees, flopping down next to Luo Binghe in a tumble of limbs and ribbons. Luo Binghe scoots away to give her space, bumping into Shen Yuan instead. They spent enough time huddling around a tiny fire before the exam, so Shen Yuan doesn’t mind.
“How long has Shijie been a disciple?” Luo Binghe asks.
Shen Yuan takes two grass blades and begins to twine them. Is this when Luo Binghe and Ning Yingying become childhood sweethearts? Friends with something more? Is he supposed to scuttle off and fade into the background now?
He never did figure out if he was a brand new NPC or an unused plotdevice. Maybe he was here in the original, too, but so minor his name was never brought up. Shen Yuan wrinkles his nose at the thought.
“Two years,” Ning Yingying says, then she peers around Luo Binghe to stare at Shen Yuan, “you look so much like Shizun, A-Yuan!”
He twists the grass too hard.
“Um,” he chokes out, “y-yes, this one does.”
“That’s a good thing,” she assures him, mistaking his unease about being related to a Scum villain for something else, “Shizun is very handsome and refined! He is the smartest Lord of all the Peaks, I’m sure! He plays qi better than anyone, it’s beautiful, and he doesn’t let anyone tell him what to do if he thinks they’re not worth listening to.”
So he’s a snob and a bitch, Shen Yuan doesn’t say.
“That’s reassuring,” he mumbles instead and Ning Yingying continues to prattle on, comparing traits here and there before she dives into a different subject. Twice she asks if they are related and twice Luo Binghe runs interference like he is taking a bullet, like Shen Yuan is the president and he’s the bodyguard.
Having the protagonist on his side is such a relief.
Eventually they have to trudge back to the dormitories. He spots Shen Qingqiu in the distance on their walk, the Peak Lord gazing down from his bamboo house at all the disciples making their way to bed. Shen Yuan wonders if he is looking at him, specifically. If he can see him and Luo Binghe and if so, who is he staring at the hardest? Or perhaps he is staring at Ning Yingying who is walking backwards to keep them in her sight, laughing as she bumps into the other junior disciples.
And then they are inside, the door sliding shut and the soft shuffling of uniforms being shed and blankets being moved and bickering and muttering of their peers all around.
Shen Yuan makes sure to pull his blanket over his head this time. It muffles the sound of his fellow disciples, making it easier to pretend no one is staring. This way, he can instead focus on how much his body aches from the busy day.
He manages to sleep; but not restfully.
Yue Qingyuan’s black and gray robes stand out amongst the green of Qing Jing Peak. Like a drop of ink on green silk, everyone notices and everyone wants to do something but they don’t quite know what.
However, Shen Yuan hasn’t slept for three weeks in any way that matters and he is really, really fucking tired. The Sect Master of Cang Qiong Mountain is a mere blip on his radar as he scrambles past, focused on getting to the baths before everyone else.
“Disciple Shen Yuan,” the Lord of Qiong Ding Peak greets and Shen Yuan freezes mid yawn, slowly turning his head to stare.
Yue Qingyuan smiles at him. It’s a very nice smile, kindly and patient and inviting for a nice little chat. He is a handsome man, forever young the way many Immortal masters were, but warm , somehow.
Horrified, Shen Yuan finally remembers how to bow.
“S-Shibo! This humble disciple greets you,” he stutters as he does so, “can- that is, can- may I be of assistance? To Shibo?”
He wants to die, actually. Just melt on the spot, evaporate. Yue Qingyuan was one of those characters that had always intrigued Shen Yuan when he read Proud Immortal Demon Way. A character so powerful he never even drew his sword, who had the respect of demons and humans alike? He had wanted to know what Yue Qingyuan’s sword looked like, he had wanted that fight scene so badly.
Instead his death had been horribly written, utterly anticlimactic.
And now he knew Shen Yuan’s name. Which was wonderful and horrible all at once, because there were certainly many different reasons for such a thing.
“This master does require assistance,” the man says, and Shen Yuan dares to exit his bow. He tries to not fidget and fails miserably, fingers twitching, “this one needs a guide to your Shizun’s whereabouts.”
Oh fuck off.
“Mn,” he gets out, then clears his throat, “this disciple would be honored, Sect Leader.”
Obviously Yue Qingyuan knows where Shen Qingqiu lives. It’s a blatant lie, but one he can’t call the Sect Leader out on. He doesn’t wrinkle his nose or glare at the man, but for a short moment his nerves disappear as he tugs his sleeves down to cover his fingers, as he stands up a little straighter.
The corners of Yue Qingyuan’s mouth twitch. His eyes sparkle, and that is so, so weird that Shen Yuan hurriedly turns away to lead them to their doom.
“Have you and your fellow disciple settled in well?” Yue Qingyuan asks as they walk up the winding stairs of Qing Jing Peak. The stairs are worn down the middle from generations of people walking them. It’s the kind of detail that sometimes just slams into Shen Yuan, reminding him that all these twelve years are real.
“Are you speaking of disciple Luo Binghe, Shibo?” he asks, but who else could it be? They were the only two new disciples as far as he knew.
“Indeed. Your master was most insistent on having both of you join Qing Jing Peak.”
Shen Yuan stumbles.
Yue Qingyuan steadies him, for there’s a real danger of just falling all the way back down like a rolling ball and also possibly breaking his neck. Shen Yuan can feel his entire body burst into humiliating flames because what kind of disciple nearly dies on the stairs??? It’s embarrassing enough that he only manages a stuttered thank you before he speeds ahead, nerves too jittery to allow a slow pace.
For a cultivator, though, it’s probably still about as slow as a snail.
“He- yes! Yes, both of us disciples have settled in well,” he rambles, too aware of the swish-swish sound of robes behind him, of how the bamboo house is getting terrifyingly closer for each speed-walking step, “we are currently being given the privilege and honor of learning how to read and write, so that we may catch up with our seniors! It’s- it’s very nice.”
Holy shit, nice??? Nice?????
“It pleases this master to hear so,” the Sect Leader says and for the shortest moments, the most brief of seconds, Shen Yuan feels relief as they reach the bamboo house. He has already ruined his image. Perhaps Shen Qingqiu won’t be so bad now, since Shen Yuan has already made an utter fool of himself in front of the Sect Leader.
This illusion lasts until he realizes that Shen Qingqiu is not inside the house.
He is, in fact, outside of it. By the door.
Glaring.
Ming Fan is next to him, arms heavy with scrolls, eyes darting between them all. Shen Yuan feels his very soul flutter with dread.
“Zhangmen-shixiong.”
It sounds like the winds of winter; Shen Yuan shivers, then flinches as Shen Qingqiu’s eyes land on him. They are narrow the way knives are sharpened, and Yuan is quick to avert his own.
“Qingqiu-shidi,” the suicidal Sect Leader says, stepping forward. He brushes past Shen Yuan, robes fluttering in the wind as he offers an amicable smile towards the Qing Jing Peak Lord, “this Zhangmen hopes he is not interrupting anything of importance.”
Shen Yuan does not have to look up to feel the temperature drop below freezing. He stands frozen, wondering if Luo Binghe will miss him when Shen Qingqiu makes the inevitable decision to simply kill everyone present.
“Leave.”
Shen Yuan startles.
“Both of you,” Shen Qingqiu says, not looking at Ming Fan or Shen Yuan, jade green eyes focused solely on Yue Qingyuan.
They scramble.
The stairs down are long and winding, shielded with bamboo in short bursts. It’s easy to get out of view quickly, and what Shen Yuan should do is keep running. If the scum villain tells you to beat it, that is what one must do.
However, curiosity killed the cat.
Shen Yuan stops and ducks low behind an aesthetically placed rock. Ming Fan stops as well, confused, before he picks up on the sounds of intense Peak Lord discussion.
Then Ming Fan looks outraged; but he also ducks down, tilting his head to listen. It doesn’t stop him from sending Shen Yuan disapproving death glares, and of course that makes him feel all itchy with nerves. But he needs to know why Yue Qingyuan would show up where he isn’t wanted and it must have something to do with Shen Yuan, considering the lies of needing a guide. And if there is something he has learnt from the world, it’s that learning anything you can is only beneficial.
“Qingqiu-shidi appears to be doing well,” Yue Qingyuan says after a moment, “That is a comfort. This one wished to see how the new disciples were settling in, and have only heard good things so far.”
What, the five minute long walk of Shen Yuan tripping on stairs???
“And since when has Zhangmen-shixiong felt the need to visit new disciples?” is the cutting reply, “one would think Cang Qiong Mountain’s leader would be busy with other duties, rather than visit disciples not of his own peak.”
Oh wow. Holy shit.
“I seek only comfort for all members of our sect. Disciple Shen Yuan spoke well of his education. This one only wished to praise Qingqiu-shidi for his excellent teachings,” is warmly replied.
“One would think Zhangmen-shixiong is doubting this one’s skills rather than praising them, as he felt the need to visit himself rather than trust the reports,” Shen Qingqiu hisses back, barely loud enough for the two disciples to hear. But the venom drips from each word, enough that they both shudder.
“I hold nothing but respect for Qingqiu-shidi’s way of teaching. I… confess to being curious, as disciple Shen Yuan… as this one had considered disciple Shen Yuan for Qiong Ding Peak. I’m only glad that Xiao-Yuan is settling in well under his Shizun. It’s comforting to see your relationship grow.”
Shen Yuan flushes at the Xiao, confusion and horror battling for dominance. The way Ming Fan looks seconds away from an aneurysm doesn’t help, and there is of course the small detail of Shen Qingqiu never having spoken to Yuan after their first meeting, meaning there is no fucking relationship to ‘grow’.
There are some assumptions being made and I will be the one punished for it! Please stop talking, Sect Leader!
Shen Yuan can almost feel it in the air, the shift going from acid to murder. He is half-certain that Shen Qingqiu’s spite changed the direction of the wind itself.
“If you are implying something, you should stop,” Shen Qingqiu says in the way a bear trap slams down, “I claim no relationship to that child. If you seek to curry favor with him based on false assumptions, then do it somewhere else! For I will not tolerate favoritism based on falsehoods and idiocy on my Peak.”
“Xiao-Jiu–”
“Yue Qingyuan, speak no more. Leave and don’t mention that child to me ever again.”
That’s their cue to leave.