Work Text:
There was a habit they had formed during the two years since they had joined the Twelve Peaks. Yue Qingyuan’s shizun, Ling Liangye, had her Jingli Pavilion atop Qiong Ding Peak, on the eastern side of the peak. Within her home, their room was located southeast where, when the sky was clear, they could see all the way to the Eastern Sea. Since the two years they had joined the sect, and during the three days of the week when they stayed with her, the two of them had taken to doing each other’s hair on the balcony every morning and night.
As he felt his husband finish tying the ribbon he had threaded through his hair, qi thrumming through the fabric when he tied it with a Shou knot, Shen Qingqiu leaned back against his chest. He tilted his head backward, reaching up to pull the other down into a kiss that was just shy of dirty.
He couldn’t help the smile as they separated and Yue Qingyuan crouched behind him, passing his arms around his waist, bending forward so his chest was pressed against Shen Qingqiu’s back, chin resting against his right shoulder and cheek against his skin.
This moment of privacy, this small thing was mundane, but Shen Qingqiu had come to treasure it.
There was something wonderful in being able to witness the rising light of a new day and its end, the shadows of their past life cast away by the pale morning light and the starry sky; the outside view and the brisk air on his skin always were welcome reminders that he had left the depths of the Water Prison. Yue Qingyuan’s presence, whether it was at his back or seated between his legs, in Shen Qingqiu’s current position, was proof that this new life of theirs was infinitely better than what he had dared imagine once upon a lifetime.
This moment of privacy, this small thing was mundane, however, Shen Qingqiu had come to treasure it.
‘Yesterday was the day I met Wu Yanzi,’ Shen Qingqiu said as he looked up to the white blanket cast upon the sky, snow falling down as it had for the past week.
The weather had been similar when he had met the man. Qiu Haitang had insisted that Shen Qingqiu accompany the family to the market. He still remembered Qiu Jianluo’s strong grip on his shoulder as his scum owner had pointed out his scum master-to-be to him and the crowd gathered around him. The mocking in his voice as the fiend performed petty tricks he passed off as cultivation. As Qiu Jianluo had pointed out, it was nothing more than magical tricks, but commoners wouldn’t be able to see the difference.
Still, the slivers of qi Wu Yanzi had used had been more than what Shen Qingqiu had ever seen or felt from his former owner. While he had been wise enough to keep his opinion to himself, Qiu Jianluo had seen something in his expression that had earned Shen Qingqiu his tender mercies after they had gotten back to the estate. He could still picture the bruises long after they were gone and feel his determination to make contact with Wu Yanzi.
‘That was why Xiao-Jiu was in a foul mood yesterday,’ Yue Qingyuan hummed. He gently kneaded small circles into his sides. ‘Do you want to talk more about it?’
Shen Qingqiu watched a flight of homing pigeons circling around the dovecote in the Yinsong watchtower, gathering his thoughts, memories flashing through his mind. It took him a little while to decide for himself.
‘I killed him once for what he tried to do to you,’ he admitted, the fingers of his left hand curling like they had around the handle of the dagger he plunged into his old master, again and again. ‘If I ever meet him again…’
And they would. Wu Yanzi was a greedy one and there was no better event than the Immortal Conference to make easy money for someone as wily and deprived of any shred of decency as the fiend. The 30ᵀᴴ Immortal Conference of the Qin Dynasty, the one he had brought Shen Qingqiu to, had only been the last in a long line of Immortal Conferences he had attended.
They would meet there sooner or later.
‘I will kill him for what he did to me,’ he finished. ‘This is all this master has to say on the matter.’
Yue Qingyuan hummed again. Shen Qingqiu wasn’t surprised by his reaction; they both remembered what had happened during their reunion. On top of that, although Yue Qingyuan might be reluctant to kill, he was still a righteous cultivator and Wu Yanzi had been a blight upon the Jianghu for the majority of the time he had sullied the world with his presence.
‘Then this husband will do his best to support Xiao-Jiu in his endeavours.’ His husband chuckled before he kissed his cheek. ‘As he did once.’
He leaned forward, body fully embracing Shen Qingqiu, hands gently grabbing at him. Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes, fingers hovering above Yue Qingyuan’s thighs, warmth already spreading from his lower belly all over. Then he remembered what day it was and the hour. He stilled, then put his hands over his husband’s, safely away from further temptation.
‘Back then, at this time, what was Qi-ge doing?’ he asked, to redirect his husband’s attention elsewhere as his hands slipped down; Shen Qingqiu knew he wouldn’t stay proper for long if he didn’t put a stop to things now. He, himself, was very aware that he wouldn’t bother putting a stop to anything if they went too far.
Their respective shizuns were easy-going, but Shen Qingqiu was doubtful they would let it slide if they were to be late on such an important day just because they wanted to get laid. They would probably forbid them from participating in the Xiangyou Jiansuo Ceremony for at least a full year.
With a lifetime of cultivation under his belt and stable meridians untouched by Wu Yanzi’s rot, the cultivation portion of his education had gone even smoother than how Shen Qingqiu had expected it to go. While he had guessed it would be much faster than his original struggle, managing to fully develop his golden core during his first year at the sect — only weeks after Yue Qingyuan had — had been a surprise.
Since they had been clear from the start about their intent to stick to the cultivation path, there had only been one requirement left for them to fetch their spiritual weapons: the approval of their respective shizuns. But much to his disappointment, both shizuns had strictly refused to let them participate last year.
Shen Qingqiu was certainly not willing to have to wait for who knew longer.
‘Qi-ge?’ he called when Yue Qingyuan’s silence stretched. His husband didn’t even seem to notice when he shifted, getting out of their seat to crouch in front of him so they were at eye-level. His eyes were unfocused and limbs limp in that characteristic way he got when his heart demons got too strong.
‘Qi-ge,’ Shen Qingqiu repeated softly, leaning forward. He passed his arms around the other’s neck, one hand playing with the silver ribbon embroidered with green dragons in his hair, the other cradling the back of his head.
It stung whenever he got the reminder of the unsaid words that still lay between the two of them. Two years were nothing compared to the lifetime they had spent apart but, in those moments, all the things they had yet to tell each other sounded like a threat hanging over their head.
These things can’t be rushed, Na Liangxian had said, talking about trauma and triggers when Ling Liangye had dragged them herself to Qian Cao, after witnessing one too many episodes.
‘Qi-ge doesn’t have to answer,’ he forced himself to say, reminding himself that while Yue Qingyuan might not be able reveal what was bothering him, Shen Qingqiu’s presence at his side had always helped. ‘Your Xiao-Jiu is there,’ he told him, pulling him forward, further into his embrace.
He tilted his head to the side.
Eventually, he felt Yue Qingyuan rest his face against the nook of his neck, his skin tickling as his husband breathed in his scent. Relief filled him when, finally, the other moved to put his arms around him too, his hold firm and strong.
‘So–’ Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat loudly.
‘Not yet. I will tell you one day…’ Yue Qingyuan said instead.
‘‘Just not today.’
The other nodded.
‘Take your time,’ Shen Qingqiu continued, stroking his hair softly. ‘This time, there’s no need to rush.’ Memories of a barred window came to his mind, the quiet sound of Qi-ge’s tearless ugly sobbing as he had walked away. ‘I’m already by your side,’ he added, tugging on the ribbon he had threaded through his soulmate’s hair hard enough to be a clear reminder. ‘Now and always.’
The winter Xiangyou Jiansuo Ceremony was notorious for being the least attended. This had been the reason Shen Qingqiu had originally chosen it; he had wanted to have as few fellow disciples around as possible when he retrieved his spiritual weapon. There had barely been twenty disciples, all peaks included, when he had originally gone through it.
That was why he was surprised when they followed Cai-shijie through the tall western gates of Nezha’s Altar, under the large obsidian curved blades forming an arch above their head. While the square was far from being packed to the brim, this time, there was easily double the number of disciples waiting for the occasion to get their own spiritual weapon.
There was the usual group gathered near the gates of the Zhiyin Caves, cultivators who had already gone through the ordeal but were yet to succeed in finding their match. The rest, hopeful first-timers, were mostly gathered in groups around their respective shizuns and the older martial siblings who had chosen to stay with them as mental support until the ceremony began proper.
‘We’re here!’ Cai-shijie announced loudly as she dragged Shen Qingqiu by his heavy winter cloak to the spot where their shizun was, people carefully getting out of their way. His shijie was grinning, all teeth bared. Her eyes were full of a sparkle that had yet to leave since she had gone all the way to the Jingli Pavilion to make sure they would be there in time.
Qing Jing and Qiong Ding didn’t have many first-time triers this time. Excluding Shen Qingqiu, only four of his elder martial siblings had decided to try their hand at retrieving a spiritual weapon. Amongst them, he only knew Yin Biyu, whom he shared the more advanced gongbi classes with and saw whenever Shang Qinghua dragged them to family events due to her being one of his many, many cousins. Shen Qingqiu wasn’t surprised to see her ignore them: her nervousness was so intense she was looking down to the ground, chewing on the tip of her favourite brush with gusto.
The Qiong Ding disciples were double that number, but none that Shen Qingqiu truly remembered, even though they all greeted the two of them by name and Yue Qingyuan did the same in turn. It was when he caught sight of a disciple, fresh-faced and big-eyed, barely shorter than Shen Qingqiu and voice squeaking when he greeted them, that Shen Qingqiu realised the two of them were amongst the youngest of the batch. The rest were in their late teenage years or young adulthood already.
In hindsight, his shizun’s reluctance to allow him to go to the Zhiyin Caves this whole time made perfect sense. Binding with a spiritual weapon, especially for the first time, was a big deal. The bond between cultivators and their spiritual weapons was the most common form of soul bond and nothing rare; however, common did not mean mundane.
This bond was still a soul bond and once soulmates had acknowledged each other, it was a bond that would last a lifetime – in some cases, it would even last beyond the grave. Spiritual weapons refusing anyone else once their first handler died wasn’t unheard of, as were spiritual weapons who only accepted to bind themselves to their first master’s heirs and relatives.
Like people of many temperaments existed, so it went for spiritual weapons. Some, like Xin Mo, from what Shen Qingqiu had seen and experienced of the blade, were predatory assholes who only waited to prey on unsuspecting idiots who thought they were the ones in control.
Thus, in Cang Qiong, while it wasn’t a rule carved in stone, it was customary for peak lords to refuse any disciple under the age of 15 from participating in the Xiangyou Jiangsuo Ceremony.
‘Oh!’ Yun Liangxin was sitting legs crossed on top of a lion head, fanning snowflakes off his face. ‘Finally!’ He unfurled when he saw them, letting himself on the ground right next to Ling Liangye. The Qiong Ding peak lord was giving one of her disciples a hug and a few words of encouragement before she turned to them.
‘Shen-shizhi, Yue Qi,’ the Qiong Ding peak lord greeted with a smile. ‘This master is glad to see you.’ In the darkness, her face lit by the warm lights of the lanterns and Firefly’s Gazes, her purple eyes seemed brighter, full of an eerie glint. ‘I know you need no encouragements, but you will get them nonetheless,’ she said, moving to hug both Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan at the same time. ‘Keep faith in yourself, in your ability to choose the right partner, and in your future partner to choose you well. Do listen to what the weapons tell you…’
‘And pay mind to the images they show you. Weapons are like people; when they show you what they are, believe them,’ Shen Qingqiu parroted the Wan Jian peak lord’s words back at the sect leader.
The speech was the one he used during the first of a few mandatory classes to prepare disciples for their first Xiangyou Jiangsuo Ceremony. It was customary for peak lords to attend that first class; Wei Qingwei had just ripped the speech straight from his shizun so Shen Qingqiu had heard it often enough it was burnt into his memory.
His shibo nodded while chuckling at his impertinence. Her gaze went to Yue Qingyuan. At 17, he had shot up like a bamboo sprout, standing now a full head taller than her. It should have been ridiculous to see her stand on the tip of her feet to pat the top of his head but it managed not to be.
‘Remember what’s most important.’ She stepped back, patting Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder on her way, then folded her hands in front of her. ‘There is no shame in coming back empty-handed. Do not rush.’
There was no shame there but both he and Yue Qingyuan had gotten their respective spiritual weapon on their first try. They were now in a better position than they had ever been before. There would be no reason for them to come back empty-handed.
His thoughts must have shown on his face because Ling Liangye added, ‘That applies to the both of you. I—’
The gong sounded the beginning of the first day of the Ox month. The north side of Nezha’s Altar was where the entrance to the Zhiyin Caves was located. The massive doors were carved directly into the side of the peak, thin lines in the rock coursing with streams of iridescent qi like rivers in the land, forming the intricate spells that kept the gates to the Zhiyin Caves closed but for one shichen at the dawn of each new season, then for a shichen two weeks later.
The gates slowly shifted inwards, revealing a square that mirrored Nezha’s Altar in its construction. Small silhouettes were roaming about, the Wan Jian disciples who had elected to live in the Zhiyin Caves for the better part of the year, and who would be there to provide help if needed.
‘Your shijie will eagerly wait for your return.’ Cai-shijie’s eyes formed crescents as she reached out to pinch their cheeks, then pat them. She ignored Shen Qingqiu’s scowl, proceeding to ruffle his hair without a care. ‘Be good.’
‘Have fun,’ his shizun grinned at them. Then, he clapped his hands to attract the attention of all the disciples present. ‘Don’t cause or get into more trouble than necessary and be smart about it,’ he boomed.
‘Take care of each other,’ Ling Liangye added, much softer than her fellow peak lord but with no less presence.
‘Why are you all acting like we’re going on a faraway mission?’ Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help but say. He pointed at the door, trickles of disciples slowly going in. ‘We’re just here. It’s only two weeks, that’s not enough time to miss someone.’
‘Isn’t it?’ his shizun retorted, waving his fan at Yue Qingyuan. ‘If t—’
‘Thank you for your guidance, shizun, Ling-shibo.’ Shen Qingqiu bowed to the sect leader, one hand grabbing his husband’s. ‘See you in two weeks.’
Yue Qingyuan, fortunately, got the message and breezed through his proper thanks and goodbyes. He then let Shen Qingqiu guide the two of them to the opened gates, the cold wind whipping their hair and snow sticking to their hair and clothes. Still, the warmth of their linked hands and entwined fingers was more than enough to chase the chill away.
The Hall of the Crowned Cicadas was long and narrow. When he had first been there, the right side of it had barely been more than rubble. There had been gauges in the stone, in the walls but also the ceiling and ground, bits of the dusty carpet ripped away. A few pillars were barely hanging, only a meagre stone in the middle kept intact by the talisman carved into its surface.
Only a few weapons had been there, none of which had reacted to his presence when he had walked to the end of the hall. There, in the middle of an artificial pond had been Xiu Ya. He remembered the glare of it colouring the water silvery blue, its singing in the back of his mind getting stronger as Shen Qingqiu approached. Even before he had wrapped a hand around its handle, he had known they were meant to be.
This was not the Hall of the Crowned Cicadas that Shen Qingqiu remembered.
It was pristine, with high pillars decorated with frescos – impressive scenes of beasts fighting all over the stone in that characteristic Shanzhu style, highlights made with powdered precious gems that made them glitter under the glow of their Firefly’s Gazes, qi-made winged light balls fluttering around. With the red carpet embroidered with golden thread and the white and steel-grey banners of Wan Jian leading further into the room, the Hall looked like a throne room.
The pond was still there at the end of it, its basin a lotus throne that had been unrecognisable by the time Shen Qingqiu had stepped into the hall. Four statues of cicadas in flight stood above it, holding lit incense that filled the air with the scent of peach and pear. This hadn’t been during his first life.
Behind the pond lay the sculpture of a circle. This hadn’t been there either; not in its intact form anyway. Still, Shen Qingqiu recognised the geometrical patterns inscribed into the pale granite from the bits of broken stone that had been strewn all around, even into the water. Now, there was a sword in the circle, the tip of it stuck into the base. It was obsidian black, with golden filigrees all over its long length, glowing like sunlight coursed through them.
He had never seen it fully unsheathed, but that intricate handle — and the large hand resting upon it — had been burned into his memories.
Next to him, Yue Qingyuan was pale, eyes fixed on Xuan Su filled with something that was not the anticipation his husband should have been filling with. Maybe this was just nerves, Shen Qingqiu thought, squeezing his husband’s hand hard enough that the other looked at him. When their eyes met, he brought their foreheads together.
‘Isn’t Xiao-Jiu afraid?’
Shen Qingqiu pressed his lips against Yue Qingyuan’s skin, to smoothen the lines of his frown.
‘This master can still hear its singing, the same as I could last time. Come,’ he said, with a glance at Xiu Ya, eyes half-closed to enjoy the notes of its melody. He tugged on Yue Qingyuan’s hand. ‘They’re waiting for us.’
At the end of the room, in an alcove that had been covered in rubble, was a Firefly’s Gaze. Shen Qingqiu narrowed his eyes. The ball of light floated right next to a figure half-sprawled on the stone like it was a seat. Shang Qinghua was reading over a thick scroll, brown curls in disarray and dark smudges all over his hands and face.
Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat loudly, enjoying when the An Ding disciple startled, the scroll falling on the ground with a thud.
‘Ah, Shen-shixiong.’ His eyes went to Shen Qingqiu, Yue Qingyuan, and then behind them, before coming back to him. ‘Yue-shixiong.’
‘No wonder Fan-shishu is despairing over Shang-shidi’s lack of a spiritual weapon,’ he said curtly. The teenager had been using the nook as an improvised room, his mat covered in scrolls and writing material right next to it. ‘You’re not looking for one.’
Shang Qinghua shrugged. He didn’t speak more, the silence stretching as he unfurled, tucked his fallen scroll under an arm. He waited until he was out of Shen Qingqiu’s reach to wave at them.
‘This shidi wishes his shixiongs good luck!’ His grin was annoyingly knowing as he turned to leave. ‘I’ll come back later so please be done by then!’
That little asshole! Forget Xiu Ya and Xuan Su. They had plenty of time left to bind with them, he sh—
‘Xiao-Jiu.’ Yue Qingyuan shook his head. He turned to Xuan Su, squaring his shoulders and tensing his jaws like he was going to war. His grip on his hand went tight enough that Shen Qingqiu winced in pain. ‘Let’s get this done first.’
He caught it from the corner of his eyes; Yue Qingyuan’s hunched position, shoulders shaking and grip so tight around Xuan Su’s handle that his knuckles were white. His husband was surrounded by a massive amount of qi, enough that it manifested in flecks of gold like a sandy mist.
Shen Qingqiu sighed, then lowered his hand, not sparing a glance at Xiu Ya. Water splashed all around as he rushed out of the pond, urgency filling him. As he approached his husband, the air got heavier, crackling like a thunderstorm about to land.
‘Qi-ge,’ he called. Dread spread through Shen Qingqiu’s body when only the harsh sounds of Yue Qingyuan panting answered. The feeling was familiar, lost but not forgotten. Never forgotten.
He hissed when sparkles of qi stung his cheek. Still, he kept his eyes on his husband. It didn’t take long for him to reach the other, yet it felt like the few steps that separated the pond from the circle sculpture stretched into eternity, the qi saturating the atmosphere, fighting against his approach.
When he eventually crouched in front of Yue Qingyuan, Shen Qingqiu called his name again, putting a hand over his.
In the silence that followed, Shen Qingqiu forced himself to stop, breathe deeply. Then, he properly looked at his husband.
Yue Qingyuan’s gaze was distant. His eyes were bloodshot and trickles of blood were coming out of his orifices. The lines of his frown were harsh and deep, sweat gathering all over his brow, streaming down his face and falling to the ground like tears.
This, he realised. This was the face of a man making the mistake of a lifetime. They had been warned, over and over again, about foolish disciples trying to force a bond with a sword that wasn’t their intended. Soul bounds could but should never be forced.
He remembered how Yue Qingyuan had never unsheathed Xuan Su. He remembered the shards of it laying upon a dark hanfu. He remembered Yue Qingyuan’s lack of enthusiasm about this venture.
Then, as the skin of his fingers brushed on the handle of the sword, as memories of a past life that wasn’t his poured into his head, so did the rage. That one, that was all his.
‘WHAT KIND OF IDIOT, ARE YOU?!’
Shen Qingqiu managed to yell between pants, hands curled into the lapels of his husband’s hanfu, straddling him. He was shaking, both from the fury, the effort of pushing Yue Qingyuan away from Xuan Su and keeping him down to stop him from remaking a mistake that would have cost him again.
He didn’t know what was more maddening: Yue Qingyuan’s recklessness in a situation that required none, or the stubbornness that had let him carry misplaced guilt for an entire lifetime. All of the things that they could have done without dying first; a lifetime lost to stupid misunderstandings that had never been cleared.
You are not ready, Xuan Su had told Yue Qingyuan again.
Yet, his idiot of a husband would have kept going had Shen Qingqiu not been there to shove him away. He could still hear Yue Qingyuan’s screams: during the backlash that had destroyed half of the room, during the ritual that had bound him to Xuan Su in a far more intimate way than it should have been, during his forced imprisonment in the Lingxi Caves. He could feel the lingering pain tied to the memories and the tug inside Yue Qingyuan whenever he had been away from Xuan Su for too far and too long.
‘Why? Why? Why?’ There were no answers from Yue Qingyuan, neither vocally nor in his expression.
Yue Qingyuan had been begging to be let out, blade and nails biting into the walls long after his voice had broken. He had screamed himself raw after he had arrived at the Qiu Estate and found its embers still burning.
Faced with Shen Qingqiu himself, he had kept silent, however, only repeating sorries over and over again.
‘Qi-ge.’ He thumped on the ground with a fist. ‘Did you think so little of me that you thought I wouldn’t have understood?’ Qi-ge had recklessly risked his life to come back as fast as possible, while Shen Qingqiu had been at his breaking point and used his best opportunity at the time. In the end, it had all come down to awful timing. There was nothing they could have done to counter the worst of luck.
Shen Qingqiu lowered his soulmate’s hanfu, splaying his hand over the heart and the network of raised scars on his skin. Under his palm, he felt Yue Qingyuan’s fast heartbeat. He looked up when a large hand wrapped around his wrist.
His breath caught in his throat. Even if he wasn’t making a sound, Yue Qingyuan’s face was scrunched. Yue Qingyuan, whom Shen Qingqiu had never seen tear up, even when his heart had been broken again and again. There were fat tears at the corners of Yue Qingyuan’s eyes, the tracks of them glistening on his cheeks.
Shen Qingqiu couldn’t even be bothered retrieving their mat from his qiankun pouch. He lay down on the cold ground, ignoring the wetness of his clothes. Then, he rolled on his side to bring his doofus of a husband close to him, placing his head against his chest.
He let him cry his heart out, one hand massaging his scalp while he let Yue Qingyuan grip his other far too tight.
‘Your Qi-ge was ashamed he couldn’t keep his oath,’ Yue Qingyuan admitted later, between two sniffs. ‘Xiao-Jiu was so mad.’
‘Of course you were,’ Shen Qingqiu replied. The rage was still there, in his belly and in his throat. He wanted to spit it at the other, lash out. Once, he would have done it. But this was a new life, where he was doing better; where they were doing better.
Shen Qingqiu forced himself to breathe. ‘Your Xiao-Jiu was mad because he thought you had forgotten about him. I’m actually furious right now, you know.’ He punctuated his sentence by tugging at his idiot husband’s hair. ‘Don’t say sorry, it’ll make it even worse.’
Yue Qingyuan’s chuckles were muffled into the fabric of his hanfu.
‘I’ve heard your reason for hiding this whole thing. This master thinks Qi-ge is a complete idiot but he understands. Now, however, what’s your excuse this time?’
His husband only hugged him tight. Shen Qingqiu sighed. He knew Yue Qingyuan well enough that it was probably one of his rare lapses in judgement: the kind when he got overwhelmed by his heart demons and couldn’t properly think anymore. They would have to go see Na Liangxian once they got out of there.
Xuan Su was right. Yue Qingyuan wasn’t ready.
‘Listen to everyone for once, you stubborn mule.’ He kissed the crown of his head, then pulled on his hair so Yue Qingyuan looked up at him. ‘I waited for you once, I will wait for you again. It doesn’t matter how long it takes for you to be ready for Xuan Su,’ he said, looking at Xiu Ya still half in the pond, the singing notes of the blade like the melody of a guqin.
Yue Qingyuan made a loud noise before he brought his hands up to cup his cheeks. Shen Qingqiu let the other bring him down into a kiss. When they separated, his husband was grinning, both of his cheeks dimpling. He felt his heart swell in his chest as the other brought their foreheads together.
‘Qi-ge will do his best not to make you w–’ He stopped himself half-sobbing, half-laughing when Shen Qingqiu glared. ‘I will do my best not to rush.’
‘I will hold you to that then.’
