Chapter Text
Luo Binghe, age fourteen, has once again been left to do things on his own.
At present, he’s making his way back through the forest at the foot of Cang Qiong Mountain the long way. He had been chosen to go along with a trio of his peers to retrieve very particular incense from town, despite being the only one of them who does not yet have a bonded sword or the means to fly. Departing under the watchful eye of Shen Qingqiu, the other disciples had made a show of letting them ride with them, but he had known that wasn’t going to last. It never does. They will behave in front of Shizun, an exaggerated performative courtesy that only ever lasts until those sharp eyes look away, and they always look away.
The group had made it to town, shoved Luo Binghe off to go and do the errands for their teacher by himself, and then spent time flirting with the local girls and bragging about their good backgrounds. Good backgrounds apparently didn’t account for rotten children, but Luo Binghe knows better than to say so.
He was grudgingly allowed to fly most of the way back with the others until Yang Hao had “accidentally” suffered a “qi disruption” and knocked him off. The boys (including Yang Hao) were too busy laughing to do anything about it as they flew on. So it goes. At least this time Luo Binghe fell a lot closer to the foot of the mountain. His dignity seems to be more wounded than his body. Shizun will likely punish him for coming back late and disheveled instead of his peers for abandoning him, but that’s not unusual. At least the walk will give him time to make up a reason for coming back on his own. Shen Qingqiu never seems to believe the truth. Something about Luo Binghe strikes him as inherently dishonest.
It’s summer, and the sun will still be out for hours. Maybe it won’t be dark when he gets home after all. He’d still like to train, if there’s time. He’s been working hard, though none of his efforts ever seem to amount to anything, but if nothing else, he's gotten better at evading qi deviations. He’ll figure it out eventually, even if he has to do it all alone.
Though tired, Luo Binghe’s senses are sharp, heightened from years of listening for danger and learning what to avoid to stay safe. Not far from him, he can hear the sound of someone moving quietly. He tenses. It would be just his luck to encounter some kind of unsavory individual in these woods, so far from Cang Qiong’s barrier. Before he can decide what to do, a young man in cultivator’s robes comes bolting through the trees, careful sneaking from a moment ago suddenly abandoned.
“Don’t go that way!” he shouts breathlessly as he sprints past. “Wolverine falcon!”
Wolverine falcons are uncommon and don’t normally spend a lot of time at the foot of the mountain, but Luo Binghe has seen them once or twice before and he knows they can be territorial. Sure enough, the beast crashes through the underbrush in pursuit, wings raised, sharp teeth on display from inside its open beak. It half-snarls, half shrieks.
Luo Binghe raises his hands, forms a basic seal and–
“Wait! No!”
The exclamation fumbles Luo Binghe’s concentration, but he still has a split second to change course. He alters his strike to stun, and the wolverine falcon keels over onto the ground in one piece. He startles as a hand lands on his shoulder. It’s the other cultivator again, panting as he looks back at Luo Binghe’s handiwork.
“Oh, good. You didn’t kill it.” He takes a step back and bows in thanks. He looks to be in his mid-teens. The young man is wearing the browns and greens of Tzu Jan Peak, untidy hair pulled back with a ribbon, round glasses perched on his nose. “Thanking Gongzi for his kindly assistance. This one was fortunate to encounter you. I’m Shen Yuan of Tzu Jan Peak.”
Luo Binghe gives a bow of greeting in return. How appropriate for him to run into another disciple of the sect while looking like this. “Luo Binghe, disciple of Qing Jing Peak,” he says.
“My shixiong, then,” the other boy remarks. “There’s no mistaking those green robes. A pleasure to meet you.”
Luo Binghe nods, then takes another look over the slumped form of the wolverine falcon slumbering in the grass. “Why didn’t you want to kill it?”
“They’re endangered in this region,” Shen Yuan explains. “My shizun was hoping to collect more information on their den locations, so I was lucky to find this one, but it was eating at the time.”
That would explain it.
“If it’s not improper to ask, what business did Qing Jing have in the forest?”
Luo Binghe’s face heats with embarrassment. It wouldn’t be appropriate to explain the dynamics of the peak to an outsider, even if that outsider was also a part of the sect. More significantly, though, it’s humiliating. He hadn’t expected to run into anyone or he would have prepared a better lie in advance. “This one participated in running an errand for his peak lord. Walking back makes for better training.”
Shen Yuan seems to buy this explanation. “Luo Binghe is a most dedicated disciple, then,” he concludes with an easy smile. He loses the formal edge to his words without a thought. “Let’s walk together. I should be on my way, too, and we can look for medicinal herbs for Qian Cao.”
This makes Luo Binghe apprehensive. Surely he means some kind of harm; the other boys always do. Even what sometimes seems to be a show of good faith is usually just a trap to make him lower his defenses or to make him inadvertently corner himself into doing something they can mock or tell on him for. Still, he wouldn’t dare say no. It would make him seem haughty, and there’s certainly nothing for him to be prideful of, higher ranked peak or otherwise. Instead, he agrees to Shen Yuan’s offer and quietly follows him back through the woods, watching and waiting for some sign of his true aim.
It takes over an hour to make it back to the foot of the mountain. In that time, he watches Shen Yuan inspect no fewer than ten different plants (though he only takes part of one); peek inside two different fallen trees; dive under a bush (for a sapphire-throated gecko, which he then carries on his hand for ten minutes until it decides to leave); and point out the types of every visible bird’s nest. He does all this while periodically throwing polite-but-interested questions Luo Binghe’s way, which Luo Binghe answers simply and evasively. Shen Yuan does not probe him for failures or try to mock, push, or ignore him. It’s very uncomfortable.
“You know, I feel as though we’ve met before,” Shen Yuan says as the imposing staircase appears before them. “Your name sounds familiar to me.”
That can’t be for any good reason. Luo Binghe is about as much of a nothing, no-name disciple as they come. Maybe the Qing Jing bullies are friends with the Tzu Jan disciples. This potential connection to the tiresome but familiar harassment routine relaxes him a little. That’s predictable and much easier to deal with than waiting to find out why Shen Yuan is being nice to him. He’s being nice so he can make fun of Luo Binghe with the others later, that’s all.
“No, Shidi,” Luo Binghe says. Shen Yuan looks to be a year or two older than he is, and with his own lack of skill, it feels a little silly to have to call him a younger martial brother. “Perhaps you’ve confused this one with someone else.”
Shen Yuan frowns thoughtfully. “That might be.” He pulls his sword from his side, sturdy and reliable-looking. It shines with a faintly blue light and he carefully steps aboard and bows lightly in farewell. Luo Binghe had not noticed the sword before, and yet at no time had Shen Yuan considered using it against the wolverine falcon or mentioned using it to fly home. “It’s time I returned home. My thanks again for the rescue and the good company!”
Luo Binghe watches, baffled, as Shen Yuan soars eastward to his peak. He could have flown back at any time, but chose to keep him company instead? No, that can’t be right. Still, he looks east even as the figure vanishes, even as it causes him to trip on his way up the stairs.
===
Shen Yuan stops by Qian Cao to drop off the stalk of evening bells he found. The disciples there are happy to hear it’s in season early and that the leaves haven’t yet been nibbled by insects, and they resolve to go down themselves to look for more tomorrow. He chats with them about other things they’d like to keep an eye out for, and then heads back to Tzu Jan Peak.
When he arrives, his shizun is holding up a large unfurled scroll depicting an ancient battle against demons, and he and a group of older disciples are poring over the details together, looking for specific features amongst the demonic beasts and trying to identify each. Shen Yuan inserts himself among them without pause and his gimme cat immediately springs from the shoulder of one of his peers and onto Shen Yuan’s, chirping pleasantly.
“Hello, Xiao Yingzi,” he whispers, scratching under her little chin. “Help me catch up, will you?”
The group manages to identify everything in the scroll artwork and determine how many of these beasts are still known to roam the borderlands in the present day. The other sects are considering trying to bring back some such monsters for the Immortal Alliance Conference in a few years’ time, and they’re starting early. Even with the event such a long way out, there’s a lot to prepare and many different arrangements to be made among the sects. Some anticipation is already starting to build.
Afterwards, Shen Yuan sits and talks with his fellow disciples. As a like-minded crew, they mostly exchange stories of their most recent creature encounters or their progress on rehabilitating the wounded beasts under their care, and the others are interested to hear that wolverine falcons do have dens on this side of the mountain. Everyone’s in a good mood, but the moment Shen Yuan mentions his chance meeting with Qing Jing disciple Luo Binghe, their faces fall.
Wu Min looks around to make sure they’re not being listened to before leaning in.
“Shen-shixiong,” she says seriously, “there’s talk that the Qing Jing peak lord torments that disciple. It’s hard to say, coming from another peak, but…”
“I’ve heard that, too,” says Sun Wei. “Be careful. Shen Qingqiu isn’t someone whose bad side you want to be on. I think maybe Luo Binghe is someone best avoided…”
This whole thing seems patently absurd, but Shen Yuan concedes he’s quite sure he’s heard the same. He just didn’t manage to put the name and rumors together. That must be why Luo Binghe had seemed familiar. Still, what is a peak lord doing, harassing a teenaged boy? Given Qing Jing’s place in the peak rankings, it’s little wonder not much has been done about it, but that doesn’t make it any better. Could someone really end up on the Qing Jing peak lord’s bad side for simply being nice to the wrong disciple? If all of this is true, wrong side or not, Shen Yuan intends to extend a hand.
It feels like the right thing to do.
===
It takes a bit of doing, but Shen Yuan finds small ways to keep in touch. He greets Luo Binghe any time they cross paths elsewhere in the sect and makes pleasant smalltalk with him even while others seem to keep their distance. Most, however, seem to not take notice of him in the first place. He can’t have that! Shen Yuan had noticed right away that the boy had the radiance of a small sun, burning bright even behind fading bruises and scratches. As he continues to find reason to reach out, the more this quality becomes apparent.
Though he was initially polite but distant, Luo Binghe seems to conclude quite quickly on his own that Shen Yuan doesn’t mean ill, and crossing that particular bridge makes an enormous difference. He brightens, and it’s nice to see some of that distant look on his face go away when they spot each other.
The more Shen Yuan invites him to come and look for snakes with the Tzu Jan Peak disciples or help make sure no one gets hurt doing observational sketches of the scorpion jackals, the more Luo Binghe seems to become determined to have reason to come and help. He soon becomes a very willing errand-runner, happy to hold Shen Yuan’s scrolls or help move supplies. Shen Yuan does feel a little sorry reducing him to a kind of lackey, but he seems to like helping and it does get him away from the ongoing harassment Shen Yuan has heard he receives from his peers back on Qing Jing Peak. Maybe being friends will work out for the best.
====
Luo Binghe thinks this may be the most welcome he’s felt in the presence of others since before his mother died. It’s a little startling to think running into one boy by accident in the woods would give him such a thing. It’s almost unbelievable. He has never had any luck at all; maybe all of it was being saved up for this.
He feels more like a person when Shen Yuan invites him to come down the mountain with him and his shidi than he does at any other time, and he’s happy to do anything they want or need, even if that amounts to sitting on rock faces for hours until a particular creature shows itself, or helping to carry their things. It’s better than being forced to kneel or getting strung up for his incompetence. Shizun will probably hear of this soon and he won’t be pleased, but he’s never pleased. It won’t make much of a difference. Luo Binghe ironically gets in more calligraphy and sword practice when he’s with this group than he ever did on Qing Jing anyway.
The Beast Peak disciples are an amiable, rowdy bunch, excitable and humble. Shen Yuan fits in with them very well, and Luo Binghe is pleased his friend has peers that suit him. Even their peak lord, a friendly, large man with a scar across his face, is approachable, a kind of fun and loud uncle. (Naturally, Luo Binghe’s own shizun has nothing good to say about him.)
Zhou-shishu jovially tells his disciples about how he got the scar any time they ask, and he gleefully alters and evolves the tale every time he tells it. Luo Binghe has already heard at least four different iterations by now, but Zhou Qinglin’s thunderous, enthusiastic voice means he also doesn’t tire of hearing the man talk. (Shen Qingqiu, meanwhile, has drily claimed the scar came from a bad brawl with Liu Qingge and Wei Qingwei when they were head disciples.)
All of his disciples like him, and Luo Binghe has heard that not only is Zhou-shishu is always the first to dive headlong into tall grass to catch snakes, but he’ll also fight absolutely anything single-handedly to protect his disciples and knows how to treat nearly every kind of field injury. Although seemingly boisterous and noble, he is capable of such perfect quiet and stealth that he can catch birds in his hands, but he also teaches his disciples to be respectful of the natural world. He cares for the physical and spiritual well-being of those under his instruction. Luo Binghe thinks he’s very admirable.
Today when Zhou Qinglin dismounts from his sword, he swings a massive bulky creature off his shoulder and thuds it onto the ground. A gaggle of disciples gather around immediately, chattering to each other with interest.
“Got this from the Bai Zhan Peak disciples,” Zhou Qinglin explains. It’s been killed very cleanly and the disciples aren’t shy about lifting its dead limbs to look at its scale pattern or roll it over and open its mouth to investigate the three rows of teeth. “He’s a beautiful specimen. No scars from territorial fighting! These alligator locusts were an invasive species from the southern border, but we managed to drive them out about ten years ago. Look at the remarkable legs — they’re strong jumpers and they use demonic qi to fuel their wings and cross longer distances in a single bound.”
Shen Yuan is whipping out his notes in an instant, getting down on one knee to lift and inspect the long, narrow wings, balancing his accordion book on his lap and drawing on it with charcoal using his free hand. He has impressive focus. Someone else thinks to hold the creature’s wings before Luo Binghe can offer to help, but he’s pleased when Shen Yuan still beckons him over to have a closer look.
He shyly crouches close to his friend, but he’s more interested in looking at Shen Yuan’s thoughtful expression than the dead beast’s golden eyes.
====
The disciples keep a wide variety of creatures at the peak, sometimes injured and in need of rehabilitation, sometimes merely for study, but others are kept as companions. Once he begins frequenting the peak, Luo Binghe quickly learns Shen Yuan has one of the latter such creatures himself. It’s a strange and spindly little thing, like the shadow of a cat stretched to strange proportions, too lanky in some places and not enough in others. Its long whip of a tail is a line of barbs and its wings are thinner than fine paper. It doesn’t look like it should be capable of flight.
“Her name is Yingzi. She’s a thorny bat-winged treasure cat,” Shen Yuan explains as the creature perches lightly on his shoulder and gives Luo Binghe a wary chirp. “We just call them gimme cats, though.”
“Gimme,” it says in a strange little voice, reaching out one clever clawed foot.
Luo Binghe startles at the unexpected speech, but reaches out a finger so Yingzi can hook her little claws around it and inspect it. She doesn’t seem impressed.
“They like humans and are very social, but they can be pests.” Shen Yuan fishes a spiritual stone from within his sleeve and carefully hands it over. The cat exaggeratedly devours it with a crunch, then rubs her little head against the side of his face. “They only eat valuables and some types of glittering beetles.”
“You feed spiritual stones to an animal?” Luo Binghe is taken aback. He knew Shen Yuan was kind, but this sort of indulgence is really quite surprising.
Shen Yuan laughs. “Not usually. That would be expensive. Still, she deserves a treat sometimes when she’s meeting a new person. Right, Xiao Yingzi?” He scratches the creature’s head fondly, and she seems to gloat with delight. Luo Binghe wonders how petty it is for him to be jealous of a cat.
Yingzi narrows her golden eyes smugly in Luo Binghe’s direction. “Gimme.”
===
“This master has heard Luo Binghe now calls a disciple of Tzu Jan Peak his shixiong,” Shen Qingqiu says almost conversationally one afternoon after making Luo Binghe bring him tea. He waves his fan lightly, looking haughty and scholarly as he slowly paces the room. It’s hard to believe Luo Binghe used to want his approval so badly. He knows that no matter the answer, he’ll pay: if he says no, Shen Qingqiu will ask if he’s calling him a liar; and if he says yes, well…
“Perhaps this disciple finds his peak lacking,” Shen Qingqiu suggests calmly at Luo Binghe’s lack of answer, but his eyes are cold and dark.
“No, Shizun,” says Luo Binghe, looking down at the ground. A bitter anger burns within him like smoldering charcoal. Why couldn’t this man have shown him the least bit of kindness? He would have dedicated himself wholly to Qing Jing and to Shen Qingqiu if given so much as half a reason to. Now it seems like there’s no reason to bother, not when Shen Yuan will offer him kindness without Luo Binghe having to beg or prove himself worthy.
He recently began calling Shen Yuan shixiong because he seems more like one than a shidi. Maybe Luo Binghe can figure out some way to move to Tzu Jan, and then Shen Yuan really would be his senior. On top of having joined the sect sooner, he’s two years older and more experienced; it seems right to call him that, and Luo Binghe likes doing it.
“Perhaps,” continues Shen Qingqiu, the fan snapping shut in his hand, “this disciple feels his peak lord did not teach him any manners.”
Shen Qingqiu can flog him and isolate him and humiliate him all he wants. If tolerance is the price he must pay to stay with Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, Luo Binghe will murmur his deference and apologies, and nothing more. He no longer belongs to Qing Jing or any other peak. He is Shen Yuan’s alone.
===
“You know what I think is best about the world, Binghe?” Shen Yuan starts without looking up from his scroll of notes. Lately, he’s been addressing him in this easy, fond way, and the level of familiarity in it makes Luo Binghe feel warm. “There’s no creature that doesn’t belong. There’s a place for everything.”
Luo Binghe clings to this. He clings to it as Shen Qingqiu calls him a beast and a wretch and other worse things, as he always has; he clings to it as his peers mock and harass him, echoing their teacher’s insults; but most importantly, he clings to it as he kneels the wood shed, trying to keep his breath steady as he bandages his own wounds.
(“If you behave no better than a beast, perhaps you should be treated like one,” Shen Qingqiu had said coldly as he uncoiled the whip from around his hand.)
There’s a place for everything reverberates in Luo Binghe’s chest like a heartbeat.
===
Shen Yuan now knows for certain.
It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together. Injuries this serious can’t come from other disciples without a peak lord either enabling it or looking the other way. In fact, as unbelievable as it seems, the most likely explanation is that Shen Qingqiu himself is the one issuing this degree of punishment. For what, Shen Yuan can’t even begin to imagine. It makes him incredibly angry, a hot-and-cold fury that clenches in his chest and tenses his shoulders. What kind of cultivator conducts himself like this? What kind of teacher ? It’s disgusting. Luo Binghe’s dismissal of his own injuries and his refusal to seek treatment at Qian Cao Peak seals Shen Yuan’s suspicions more than anything else.
Luo Binghe has been reluctant to make any kind of sudden movement today, his breath shaky and clipped, and finally Shen Yuan can’t take it anymore. They’re mercifully back at his own peak today, and it’s bright and sunny, which means most of his fellow disciples have scattered into the mountains and forests to look for creatures to catalogue or observe. (There are some rare birds that come out in this weather.) He and his friend sit in the now-abandoned disciple dormitories, quiet except for bird song outside the window. Luo Binghe lets out a controlled breath as he shifts his position.
“Take your shirt off,” Shen Yuan orders without thinking. It’s the kind of voice he would use to order even his own older brothers into looking after their scrapes, and Luo Binghe visibly startles at the tone. “Show me where you’re hurt.”
“Ah, it’s nothing, A-Yuan, I—”
“I said show me.”
Looking defeated and miserable, Luo Binghe reluctantly unties his disciple’s robes, flushing with humiliation as he carefully brings them down his shoulders. There’s no casual shrug like boys normally undress with. He’s trying not to hurt himself.
As Shen Yuan expected, his back is a latticework of angry red lines, visible through badly self-applied bandaging, covered in dried blood. Shen Yuan’s anger at the Qing Jing Peak lord softens into an aching pity over his friend’s mistreatment. This isn’t fair. Luo Binghe would never do anything wrong. He’s fought his peers before, but they’re always the ones who start it, and he has a right to try to protect himself. Nothing justifies this.
“It’s not that bad,” Luo Binghe says immediately. “It’s— It happened on a mission. It was my own fault. I— I didn’t ask for help because I was embarrassed.”
He flinches as Shen Yuan gently tries to unwrap his injuries. Is he really trying to cover for his horrible teacher? Shen Yuan can’t begin to understand, but he also doesn’t want to scare his friend away from trusting him to help, so he won’t press. He would love to go to his own shizun for help, to explain in no uncertain terms that he knows Shen Qingqiu is a monster, to petition for a means to remove Luo Binghe from Qing Jing Peak, to…
“Then next time, ask this one,” Shen Yuan says seriously. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Yes, Shen-shixiong…”
He goes to collect the medical supplies for the dorms — he and his peers are forever encountering scrapes and stings and bites — and then carefully disinfects and bandages the whip wounds. Of course it was a whip. Nothing accidentally encountered in nature would leave these marks. Luo Binghe is very brave about it, keeping back his hisses of pain despite how much it must hurt. Maybe he’s used to this. Maybe he’s used to worse.
Despite her usual arrogance, Yingzi seems to understand the gravity of the situation and has crawled into Luo Binghe’s lap, where she purrs with the strange, rumbling intensity of a collapsing building. Petting her apple-sized head gives Luo Binghe something else to focus on. He manages to steady his shaking breaths.
“Thanking shixiong for helping this one,” Luo Binghe murmurs as Shen Yuan knots the last of the bandaging. He’s retreated into formal speech, cowed by the unexpected ferocity of Shen Yuan’s reaction, which was by no means his intent.
“You don’t need to talk like that,” Shen Yuan says more kindly as he packs up the supplies. He can’t turn this on Shen Qingqiu, not when Luo Binghe clearly doesn’t want to at this stage, so he carefully redirects his rationale. “I’m angry that your… fellow disciples would make fun of you so much that you think you can’t ask for their help. We’re all martial siblings. We should be able to trust each other.”
Luo Binghe quietly puts his shirt back on, the movements a little easier now that he’s bandaged more securely, his wounds treated. They should heal faster this way, too.
“I trust you ,” he says softly.
Shen Yuan smiles, and the expression must be a little too honest and brotherly or something, because it makes Luo Binghe’s face go red and he dips his head to hide it. He should’ve remembered things like that can embarrass the younger boys. It’s a cute expression, though, boyish and honest.
“It’s not anyone else’s fault that I’m not a good cultivator,” Luo Binghe adds with a note of dismay.
“Binghe, that’s not true. I know you’ll be a great cultivator someday,” Shen Yuan declares. “I just feel it. Back at home, my family always said I had great insight. They joked that I may have been a fortune teller in a past life.”
He’s already seen how fast his friend can learn if given proper instruction. Everything he does has improved by leaps and bounds just from the tips and guidance he’s gotten from the Tzu Jan disciples. “So… maybe everyone is hard on you now, and they’re wrong, but don’t let it stop you. I’ll always be your friend and you can always come to me for help, even someday when you’re stronger than I am.”
“No one could be stronger than Shixiong.”
This is so transparently untrue that Shen Yuan laughs. “We’ll see about that,” he says, “but thank you.”
Though the punishments don’t seem to stop, and Luo Binghe is forever claiming to have tripped down the stairs or fallen from a flying sword or encountered some type of demon crisis, Shen Yuan checks every wound. And Luo Binghe lets him.
===
A few months later, the sect leader leaves on a brief trip, and this opening is immediately exploited by demons. There’s an invasion; the rainbow bridges are severed, cutting off the connection between the peaks. A number of disciples get stuck at Qiong Ding Peak, as central as it is. Shen Qingqiu, the only peak lord present as a matter of circumstance, takes the lead in resolving the matter, and the demons agree to do a best-out-of-three set of fights.
Elder Skyhammer gives Luo Binghe no quarter.
It’s disappointing but not surprising to find that Shen Qingqiu doesn’t seem to care whatsoever about the fight. Any time Luo Binghe has a moment to steal a glance, his shizun is idly toying with his fan or his eyes are elsewhere. He seems to have lost interest long ago, though he continues to pretend to pay attention in order to save face. Disciples gasp and grimace every time Luo Binghe fails to evade a swing of that earth-shattering hammer, and the times it clipped him or knocked him back have left him battered and bloody. His body aches. If not for what he’s been able to glean from Shen Yuan and his peers, would he be dead right now? That Luo Binghe is managing at all is certainly no thanks to Shen Qingqiu. The man would rather he die in front of a crowd than do anything to ensure his success. If he died, would Shen Qingqiu even be watching ? Maybe he wouldn’t even be pleased. He just wouldn’t care about an insignificant problem resolved without fanfare.
The anger curls like flames, enough to protect Luo Binghe from the feel of loose rocks skidding under his palm as he tries to keep himself from being knocked back from a kneel. Anger will make him stronger, but it will cloud his head, make him clumsy. If he dies here, Shen Qingqiu will not care. If he dies here, he will never see Shen Yuan again. The former infuriates him, but the latter is sobering, steadying. Thank goodness Shen Yuan is away from the sect for a few days, safe from the chaos of the demon invasion, doing a mission with his peers. The mountain must be safe when he comes back, and the first step is getting rid of these demons.
Didn’t that demoness say they’d leave if they lost? This is the third match. If he can win, they’ll go. He has to win. He has to live.
===
The inner disciples of Tzu Jan Peak return to learn they just missed a terrible invasion of demons, who had taken full advantage of the sect leader’s absence in their attempted takeover. Things are a mess. Qiong Ding Peak is covered in the detritus of battle, the ground marked with trenches and pits, broken rock scattered everywhere. It will be a real headache for the An Ding Peak disciples to get sorted out. There are people bustling all around, assessing the damage and hauling debris.
While Shen Yuan was not expecting to hear news of a demon invasion, he’s even less prepared to hear about the hero of the hour: Luo Binghe, put forth for combat by none other than Shen Qingqiu, fought and actually defeated an elder demon. Shen Yuan cannot rush fast enough to the infirmary, but he learns — as he somehow expected — that Luo Binghe had declined any kind of treatment. He seemed to bounce back remarkably well from his physical injuries, in fact.
“You know what young men are like,” says the head disciple. “They feel like they’re immortal!”
===
The night after the battle, Luo Binghe falls into a restless sleep in the woodshed, his prospects of a good sleep not improved by his injuries. He’s already recovered quite well, something he attributes to his improved cultivation of late, but he’s still sore and tired. He dreams of a horrible shifting void, colors and feelings that fail to shape into anything of meaning. A sense of foreboding pervades every part of it, the vague feeling of being watched making it hard for him to try to find some kind of footing or direction in this place. It feels like being trapped in a box with no way out, and the certainty of this makes him afraid. He reaches wildly in all directions, desperately searching for an exit, or at least some kind of foothold.
He searches for what feels like a long time, not quite falling nor walking, unable to determine if he’s making progress as the scene around him shifts constantly in a dim kaleidoscope of color. It’s bleak here. At the very edge of his perception, Luo Binghe feels the distinct curl of demonic qi, like sinister shadows. Did a demon bring him here? He’s not sure he has the strength to face another one so soon. As his morale begins to wane, he thinks hopelessly about how Shen Yuan’s presence would make this horrible place more bearable. If only he were here.
Despite feeling more like a place than a dream, Luo Binghe continues to find no landmarks whatsoever. Instead, the space seems to have neither a beginning nor an end, no walls or sky. No matter how long he struggles, it remains formless and immaterial. He can’t determine if he’s going in circles or merely not moving at all, as the blurring and reforming shapes around him continue to give no real sense of position. The further he goes, the more he becomes stricken with the sense that he can make no progress at all. It feels as though he’s spent hours running in place, reaching for the vague semblance of images around him that dissipate at the slightest touch.
A hopeless, angry frustration wells up within him. Luo Binghe has never been lucky. If he were lucky, his mother wouldn’t have died; if he were lucky, he wouldn’t have ended up with Shen Qingqiu for a teacher; if he were lucky, why would he fight the demons, become hero of the day, and then end up in a place like this? And he’s alone, as he was always meant to be. Maybe Shen Yuan would know something about cultivation or demons that could get him out of this mess, but Luo Binghe had never thought to ask about dreams. If he were a better student, he might know something himself, but things have been stacked against him from the beginning.
On the cusp of giving up entirely, he finally spots something in the distance — a real, solid shape. A person.
Luo Binghe rushes for the person, and as he gets closer, it becomes more and more apparent that this is the familiar broad shape of Shen Yuan. Luo Binghe’s heart sighs in relief. The building frustration melts away in an instant. If Shen Yuan is here, there’s hope after all.
“Shen-shixiong!” he calls out. It’s definitely him, all casually-untidy robes and comfortable ease, though he looks baffled by their mutual locale.
Shen Yuan looks away from what generously could be called the sky, and his eyebrows arch in surprise. “Binghe! Where—?”
“I think it’s my dream,” Luo Binghe admits. The bleak greys and dull reds of abstract shapes swirl and dissolve around them moodily. He’s not surprised his dreams would look like this; up until quite recently, the real world felt a lot like this, too. “I… thought Shixiong would know what to do, so maybe that pulled you in.”
Shen Yuan seems less perturbed than he should be, but that’s part of what makes him such a good shixiong.
“Well, if you reached for me, then you needed help,” says Shen Yuan. Luo Binghe inwardly breathes another sigh of relief. “I’ve heard of dream demons; maybe there was one among the invaders.”
At the far reaches of his awareness, Luo Binghe can feel the heat and darkness of demonic qi more clearly than ever, curling like small flames at the edge of a clearing. It doesn’t feel closer, but it’s more noticeable somehow. “If it’s hiding, maybe it’s not very strong. Maybe the two of us would be able to defeat it.”
“Only one way to find out.”
Shen Yuan seems to believe Luo Binghe is better fit to lead in such a place, so Luo Binghe heads in the direction of the distant feel of demonic qi. It seems almost useless; they travel for what feels like a long time without seeing anything. The landscape, it can be called that, shifts and warps, removing any sense of direction. The ground and sky above them are still undefined, empty, but Luo Binghe doesn’t give in to frustration. He wants Shen Yuan to think he’s brave. Furthermore, he needs to get his shixiong out of here.
“We have to find something eventually,” Shen Yuan says with a certainty that makes Luo Binghe believe him. “We can’t really be the only things here if a demon is the cause of all this.”
As if prompted by his conviction, the shifting, unending nothing gradually resolves into a town as though a dense fog is clearing. Colors tumble down and form into shapes, abstract at first, then quickly refining into proper buildings. They’re suddenly entering an unremarkable town full of literally featureless people. Despite being busy and crowded as though it’s peak market time, it’s oppressively quiet. The silence and the faceless spectres unnerve him much less than the locale itself.
This is no random dream street invented by a demon. Luo Binghe knows every precious hiding place, every important corner for seeking pity or food. He spent years as an orphan in this town, fighting to survive before his mother found him and took him in. Seeing it again makes him feel cold. It’s difficult not to remember how helpless he felt here, how much of a struggle it was to find enough to eat, or ways to keep warm and dry in the cold and rain, or how to evade the stronger, older children who were living through similar circumstances. Resentment turns in his chest.
“Do you know this place?” Shen Yuan asks.
Luo Binghe tears his eyes away from the best corner of the main street. That was always a gamble. He was attacked by the others many times for trying to seek help there, but when it worked out, he received much better fare than anywhere else.
Luo Binghe nods faintly. “It’s… close to where I used to live.”
The tension in the way he says it seems to prevent Shen Yuan from prying.
“It’s just a dream,” he reminds, and the surety of his voice steadies Luo Binghe a little. “We won’t be here for long. Come on.”
He gladly follows his friend away down the side streets, trying not to glance around at the surrounding buildings, all attached to unpleasant memories of a hard life. He tries to focus on Shen Yuan’s profile as they walk apace. A part of him would like to reach out and hold onto his sleeve like a child, to reassure himself that Shen Yuan is the one real and material thing here in this illusory town full of bad memories. Luo Binghe’s faint thrum of anxiety is comforted by the sound of Shen Yuan making casual comments as they go, noting the way the shapes around them seem to have resolved into something clear and realistic, but the faces of the people have not. They agree that maybe the way through is on the other side of town, and that passing through may bring them to the demon they assume created this place.
In the eerie silence, a sound a block away catches Luo Binghe’s ear easily. He and Shen Yuan head in that direction, expecting to find some kind of clue, but instead, they come upon a group of shouting children.
“They have faces,” Shen Yuan notes with surprise.
They do; all of their features are rendered with great clarity, but that’s not much of a surprise to Luo Binghe himself. He has never forgotten the face of any person who ever tormented him, and these boys are no exception. They’re not shouting while playing a game; each of these ragged youths have gathered for the express purpose of jointly attacking another child, a boy of four or five who is curled up in a ball on the ground, trying to shield himself from their attacks. If Shen Yuan has said anything more, it’s lost to Luo Binghe, now focused intensely on the scene before them.
“You think you can take our corner?” says the oldest. He kicked the hardest, Luo Binghe recalls. On cue, that same boy punts the helpless child’s back several times, but the small boy doesn’t make a sound. “We have seniority around here.”
“That’s right,” says another, trying to stomp on the small boy. “We can help you remember.”
Suddenly it’s not like he’s watching anymore. Luo Binghe feels that he is that five-year-old in the alleyway. He can feel the kicks and punches and hear the anger and contempt in the other children’s voices. They jeer and assault him, talking about how maybe they’d be doing him a favor if they killed him here. He’s helpless and afraid, already doing everything he knows how in order to keep safe, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting. Hits are raining down on him and so are cruel words, and he can’t take it anymore–
“Stop it!” shouts 15-year-old Luo Binghe, his head pounding.
“Binghe, wait, they can’t–”
Before he can stop himself, he’s rushing at the leader of the rogue children. For a moment, there’s gratification in the punch he throws, colliding easily with the boy’s face, before it becomes as though he’s struck himself. The images blur like watercolor and the scene fades, but it’s too late – Luo Binghe staggers back against the wall, head reeling, breath stolen. He can still feel all the beating and insults thrown at his child self, magnified tenfold, but now he also feels like someone has reached into his mind and struck his thoughts themselves. He sees stars. His head throbs. What is there in this world besides being lonely and hated?
Warm hands settle on his shoulders, and his vision clears enough to see Shen Yuan standing before him, his face concerned. Some of the pain subsides just from looking at him.
“Shixiong,” he breathes.
“Everything here is just a dream,” Shen Yuan reminds, neither stern nor gentle, “but all of it comes from you. If those are your memories, it seems attacking them will hurt you.” His eyes, deep and black, reflecting the green of Luo Binghe’s robes, are kind and focused as he looks Luo Binghe over in assessment. “Will you be alright?”
Luo Binghe nods dizzily and looks away from that gaze.
At Shen Yuan’s insistence, they take a few minutes to collect themselves before continuing on. It doesn’t take long for the space around them to resolve into something else. Luo Binghe’s heart jumps to his throat when he recognizes this space, still more like home to him than any place on Qing Jing Peak, poor and simple but made warm by his mother’s love. There’s his younger self, rushing to help her, in good spirits despite the woman’s clearly ailing health. It’s hard to see her like this.
“Binghe, it’s not real. It’s a memory.”
Shen Yuan’s voice is steadying. Luo Binghe nods mutely as he watches this memory play out, and the next and the next and the next. He’s too late to help his mother. He’s beaten and harassed by the master’s children. He’s alone and miserable and humiliated, again and again and again. The real Luo Binghe’s chest is tight, full of anger and despair. His head pounds. He can feel the distant demonic qi a little closer now, like flames encroaching upon him. Can Shen Yuan feel it, too?
His younger self is digging holes. His younger self is having his hopes dashed by Shen Qingqiu’s dropped cup of tea. His younger self is recovering alone in the woodshed after being beaten by his shizun for the first time. Luo Binghe is alone and is no one and is nothing. He watches his peers at Qing Jing treat him badly before they even know his name. He watches Ming Fan take his jade pendant. Luo Binghe’s heart and head both feel like they could explode with grief and rage. Everyone treats him like this, over and over again, no matter what he does or where he is, like he exists to do nothing but suffer. He can’t think straight through the throbbing pain in his head. The thought of seeing anything more is unbearable. What will come next? Predictions of a lonely and miserable future? A meaningless and painful death, unmourned? Before the next images can fully form, he lashes out with all his strength.
The burst of qi hits Shen Yuan square in the chest. The sight of him crumpling snaps all of Luo Binghe’s thoughts back into place. He had no idea Shen Yuan could move like that, deft and fast like a deer. Around them, the newest scene is shattering like glass before it can completely materialize, colors falling away into nothing.
“Attacking the visions will only hurt you,” Shen Yuan reminds weakly as Luo Binghe drops down beside him in shock. Shen Yuan rubs at the place where he was struck as though it was only a punch from a child, but his hand shakes as he does so. His face is ghastly white. Maybe it’s not possible to cough up blood in this place, because otherwise Luo Binghe is sure Shen Yuan’s mouth would be stained with red.
“Shixiong, why–?”
“I said you could come to me if you were in trouble,” Shen Yuan says. He’s grimacing as he tries to get up onto one knee and Luo Binghe rushes to support him. “I’m not worthy of being called Shixiong if I don’t try to protect you.”
Is he hearing this right? It was one thing – precious enough, but completely different – for Shen Yuan to be willing to treat his wounds and reassure him. Shen Yuan did that sort of thing for all kinds of living beings, including monstrous ones. It was something his own shizun taught him. It was something all the Tzu Jan disciples tried to do.
“But now you’re the one hurt instead…”
“That’s not your fault,” Shen Yuan says patiently. “We agreed this is the work of demons, after all. Demons are known to cause trouble.” He coughs but smiles. (Still no blood; Luo Binghe’s guess must be right.) “The only remedy is to get stronger so we can beat them at their own tricks.”
Determination blazes in place of Luo Binghe’s old fury. That’s right. If he can become strong, he can keep the demons away. He can make sure nothing like this happens again. He can be the one to protect Shen Yuan next time, like he deserves. Shen Yuan deserves anything and everything Luo Binghe can do for him.
“I understand,” he says with conviction and means it. “I won’t let this happen ever again.”
“Ah…” Shen Yuan’s eyes smile, even though he looks terrible, his face paper white. “My Binghe, trying to do everything on his own,” he muses. His.
Yes, yours, thinks Luo Binghe. Yours and no one else’s.
“As your sect brother, I’ll always be beside you.” He gives Luo Binghe a pat on the shoulder that lasts a beat longer than usual. “Help me up?”
Luo Binghe feels a little stunned by this development, the idea that someone could care for him this much. Shen Yuan takes his arm and, with some difficulty, rises to his feet. He looks unsteady. Luo Binghe’s arm tingles from where Shen Yuan held onto him. He wants to be relied on like this again and again. Every touch makes him feel warm, hopeful, alive… He clears his thoughts deliberately. No, he needs to respect his shixiong and be a good sect brother.
A old man’s voice sounds from all around them, laughing with sinister delight.
“Well done, boy!” it says, disembodied. “You’ve broken through this elder’s barrier after all.”
The idea of facing this demon while one of them is hurt is frankly unacceptable. Neither of them is in any condition to fight, but Luo Binghe decides on the spot that he’ll do whatever he has to in order to ensure Shen Yuan leaves without any further injury. He’ll fight on his own if he has to. He’ll die if he must.
“Will you not let me look upon the young hero who has accomplished such a feat?”
“You might as well answer,” Shen Yuan suggests quietly, nudging him. “He’s probably the solution to this puzzle.”
“It was the sacrifice of my shixiong that made this possible,” Luo Binghe answers aloud coolly. “This one is merely an ordinary disciple.”
“Is that what you think?” The voice is amused, but almost mocking. “Well, regardless, he’s of no interest to me. We can’t have a run-of-the-mill cultivator present for our talk.”
Before either of them can wonder what that means, Shen Yuan collapses on cue. Alarmed, Luo Binghe immediately moves to try to rouse him.
“Don’t bother — he’s just going to take a little nap, a dream inside a dream, while we talk business.”
A shadow appears, more distinct than the shifting nothing of the dream void. The vision before him seems like it’s not quite able to resolve itself into a solid shape, but it billows and churns in a way that sometimes looks like a vision of an older cultivator in black robes. He has a long beard and certainly looks the part of a respectable, if sinister, elder. He must have many years of experience. He folds his shifting, immaterial hands behind his back and looks over Luo Binghe with a grandfather’s authority.
In their talk, Luo Binghe learns this demon is Meng Mo, a dream demon. He tells the boy how he’s seen his memories, how he understands his mistreatments and his unsatisfactory teacher. He could do better.
“That’s true,” Luo Binghe concedes somewhat dimly, “but only Shixiong has ever believed in me.”
“Would you like the power to protect him?” Meng Mo asks leadingly. “I could help you to find it — power you can’t imagine. Power that makes anything possible: incredible strength, the ability to topple kingdoms, to cross a country in a single day. This elder senses you have tremendous potential, something locked away deep inside.”
“What kind of potential?” Luo Binghe asks warily.
“I don’t know. Perhaps something greater than even this elder. If you followed my path of demonic cultivation—”
Luo Binghe angrily refuses. What is he if he’s not striving to be a good and upright cultivator, someone his shixiong can rely on? He needs to be strong the right way, the way that Shen Yuan will think is respectable. Demonic cultivation is completely out of the question. But Meng Mo explains the seal on Luo Binghe’s power is weakening. This potential will soon begin to leak out whether he means it to or not. He may as well make the most of it. Meng Mo could teach him how to suppress it, how to keep it from being detected. He would seem just like any regular cultivator. No one need know the truth.
…Maybe demonic cultivation isn’t so bad, Luo Binghe reasons. He would still do his regular training and abide by all his sect’s values. It would be good to have this kind of back-up strength, the strength to protect what matters. And besides, Shen Yuan has never really said anything disparaging about the demons. They belong somewhere in the world like everything else, surely. He has called them troublesome and tricky, but never evil. Maybe… he can tell Shen Yuan about his demonic cultivation once he’s learned a few things and can show him how powerful and useful it will be.
“This lowly one accepts Shizun’s instruction,” Luo Binghe finally concedes, bowing to his new, secret master. “But if you do anything to harm or threaten my shixiong, I’ll make sure there’s nothing left of you.”
Meng Mo bursts into bellowing laughter. “Shixiong again! Boy, this elder is beginning to think you’re more his shadow than a person! But that anger within you is good. We’ll put it to good use.”
===
Shen Yuan wakes with a gasp. It’s not quite dawn, but he knows he’s been tossing and turning for hours. First he and Luo Binghe were navigating a strange nothing, and then suddenly he was somewhere else.
He had dreamed of a strange, tidy home with plain white walls full of shining glass-pane windows. His family was there — his older brothers and younger sister, all four siblings joining their parents for dinner in a strange dining room. There was no question these people were his family (there’s no mistaking his oldest brother’s cowlick, or his sister’s laugh, or their father’s specific way of clearing his throat), but at the same time, everyone had seemed different somehow. They had been clothed in strange, simple outfits, all colorful cotton, no layers or robes or wide sleeves, almost like sleepwear except that everyone wore it together in the daytime. Their hair was short, too — even his mother’s, cropped to her shoulders and without her favorite jade hairpin. But Shen Yuan had belonged in this space with them somehow, participated easily in their strange conversation, called them by their names…
He feels sweaty and unsteady thinking about it, the situation familiar but wrong. Has he dreamt about this before?
“Shixiong!”
Luo Binghe comes crashing into the dormitory like a tempest, scrambling up from his hands and knees after tripping on the threshold. It’s lucky Shen Yuan’s roommate has left on a night hunt. Luo Binghe throws himself to Shen Yuan’s bedside before he can do more than sit up. How long was Shen Yuan asleep for? Even with their peaks relatively close together, without a sword to fly on, Luo Binghe would have had to run over here the long way, and —
“Shixiong, are you hurt?” he asks urgently.
“No, Binghe, I’m fine. What about you? What did that demon want with you?”
“Nothing,” Luo Binghe says seriously. “He… wanted to test my strength because I defeated Elder Skyhammer. When we broke the barrier, he vanished.”
“That’s a relief. I feared you’d need to fight another demon already. They’re sneaky; you may not have seen the last of him.”
“He was weak,” Luo Binghe explains. It’s only half a lie. He figured out that Meng Mo is merely a parasite at this stage, the soul of a demon who can no longer maintain a real form, his body destroyed. “I don’t think he can cause any more trouble. Shixiong, I… Do you think that demon was evil? Is it the nature of demons to want to cause destruction and pain? Should… should good cultivators want to exterminate them?”
Shen Yuan looks baffled that he’s asking. “They’re a part of nature, like anything else. I’ve said it before: everything belongs somewhere. Who am I to say demons don’t deserve to exist? They sometimes cause problems and commit evil deeds, but so do people.” He pauses. “Did you run all the way here?”
Luo Binghe nods feverishly. He had to be sure his most important person was safe. There would be no point in demonic cultivation or anything else if Shen Yuan came to harm. He needs to be strong in order to protect him, or everything will go back to being meaningless like it used to be. “I- I can return to Qing Jing now that I know Shixiong is—“
Shen Yuan grabs his wrist before he can pull away, and Luo Binghe looks from it to his face questioningly. He suddenly feels warm all over.
“It’s late,” Shen Yuan says. “Just stay here for the night.”
That’s entirely reasonable. Luo Binghe nods once in understanding and prepares to find some place out of the way to lay down and get a few hours of sleep. At least the walls here are better-made than his usual fare. The cool night air will trouble him less. But before he can find somewhere to settle down, he finds that Shen Yuan is moving over in his own bed.
“Come on. There’s room for both of us.”
“You… you would let me share with you?”
“Of course,” says Shen Yuan, like it’s nothing. “Where else would you sleep? I can’t offer my roommate’s bed when he’s not here to ask. He doesn’t wash his sheets enough anyway.” He cracks a smile.
Feeling almost dizzy with surprise, Luo Binghe carefully slides into bed next to Shen Yuan. This is the first real bed he’s ever slept in, but moreover, it’s the first time he’s ever been given a chance to share this level of camaraderie with anyone. The space beneath the blankets is warm.
“Well, good night!” Shen Yuan offers pleasantly, settling back down and closing his eyes. “I’ll ask Shizun what to do in the morning. I don’t think you should go back.”
Luo Binghe is wide awake now, stunned by the casually-offered safety of this bed, by Shen Yuan’s perpetual offhanded kindness, by the —
“Wait,” he whispers, but his friend is already asleep again, like it’s so easy and nothing has happened. “Wait, Shixiong, what did you mean by —”
There’s a rolling chirp by the open window and Luo Binghe startles. Yingzi has returned from stalking insects in the dark.
“Gimme,” she says before leaping down and gliding neatly to the bed. She lands with all four feet on Luo Binghe’s leg, looking at him with her judgemental luminous eyes.
“Will you let me stay, too, Yingzi?” Luo Binghe asks quietly.
The creature pays him no mind and begins to make exaggerated dough-kneading motions on his leg, purring loudly. She eventually settles like a little slug, legs tucked under her, in the small space between Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan. Luo Binghe thinks he can live with that.