Chapter Text
Master Wang Chun,
This master is interested in completing his Mastery in Mortal medicine. Is it possible for Master Wang to accommodate this master?
Many thanks,
Mu Qingfang, Qian Cao Peak Lord
Cang Qiong Mountain Sect
*
Master Qin Xia,
This master is interested in completing his Mastery in Mortal medicine. Is it possible for Master Qin to accommodate this master?
Thank you.
Mu Qingfang, Qian Cao Peak Lord
Cang Qiong Mountain Sect
*
Master Xiao Wen,
This one would like to complete a Mastery in Mortal medicine. Is it possible for Master Xiao to accommodate this request?
Many thanks,
Mu Qingfang, Qian Cao Peak Lord
Cang Qiong Mountain Sect
*
Peak Lord Mu Qingfang was many things. An excellent physician to be certain, outgoing enough with his friends, but all told, the man was an introvert. With patients, he played the part of the genial doctor, easygoing and calm. This facade encouraged people to confide their secrets in him, and Mu Qingfang was proud of keeping those secrets close to his chest. After all, in medicine, confidentiality was everything.
How else could a sect leader receive the best treatment, if he didn’t trust his physician to carry his secrets?
At any rate, Mu Qingfang’s reputation grew as he progressed up the ladder at Qian Cao. By the time he ascended as Peak Lord, he was known across China as the best physician in the land. Mostly, Mu Qingfang paid no mind to his reputation.
Not an overly proud person, he found that simply practising medicine and being somewhat self aware was plenty enough to keep him humble.
Now, as Peak Lord, he was supposed to be available around the clock in the event one of the other Peak Lords required treatment that only he could provide. Mu Qingfang had acquired three Masteries over the years: High Level Dual Cultivation, Surgery, and Cultivator Medicine. A self directed learner, he found having to sit around Qian Cao and wait for one of his martial siblings to have a medical emergency a poor use of his time. Surely there were other things he should be doing?
In the past he might have spent time with friends, however after he became Peak Lord, they just drifted apart. Now people that he used to call family were nothing more than distant colleagues. His head aches, and Mu Qingfang turns his thoughts back to the current issues.
Mortal Medicine.
During the past year, Mu Qingfang had studied the material carefully and he felt he had a good grasp of the topics. Many of the principles were similar, as cultivators could and did suffer poisonings which blocked their cultivation completely. Now he just needed to apprentice under a mortal physician. Unfortunately, it was proving a difficult endeavor.
His reputation was known among mortal doctors, and each one he contacted via letter, always demurred, feeling that Immortal Master Mu should study under the best. The top three doctors in the mortal realm had already responded this way, and Mu Qingfang was becoming discouraged.
And then, he had an idea.
He sent a polite request to Peak Lord Shen, requesting permission to use the Qing Jing library. Mu Qingfang feels like he used to be a frequent visitor to the large sect library housed on Qing Jing peak. The Lord of Qing Jing Peak, Shen Qingqiu, was known throughout the sect as an irritable man at best, and downright acidic and hateful at his worst. Personally, Mu Qingfang thinks that his reputation is overblown, though he’s not spent any significant time with him to know.
To his surprise, Shen Shixiong replied the same day with a short missive.
Be at the library at noon. This Lord will receive you then.
*
Shen Qingqiu was waiting at the appointed time, and Mu Qingfang greeted him with a bow. “Shen Shixiong.”
Peak Lord Shen was tall, and his bearing cold. His jade green eyes were ringed by thick lashes. His lips were thin, and slightly turned down at the corners. He’s wearing dark green over robes, decorated with embroidered cranes in flight done in white thread. A mutton fat jade token and a green tassel dangle from his belt. The man’s qi signature feels cool and refreshing to Mu Qingfang’s senses, almost familiar. Shen Qingqiu gives Mu Qingfang a long look through narrowed eyes.
Finally, Shen Qingqiu snaps open a fan. “Mu Shidi. You’re looking rather pale. What are they feeding you for breakfast over there these days?” His long fingers twirl the tassel at his belt idly.
Mu Qingfang blinks, not really understanding the question. “I practise inedia, Shen Shixiong.” Such a strange man.
Shen Qingqiu’s face twists unpleasantly. “Mu Shidi. Come.” Without a word, he turns and enters the library. As he passes under the doorway, Shen Shixiong loads his fan with qi and flings it back at Mu Qingfang.
Hackles rising, Mu Qingfang calls needles to his fingers to defend himself. But the wash of qi simply sweeps over him, feeling like nothing more than a pleasant Summer breeze. Shen Qingqiu pauses, looking back at him with a smirk, before resuming his steps.
Exhaling heavily, Mu Qingfang shakes the needles back into his sleeve. Was that truly necessary, Shixiong? As far as Mu Qingfang knows, he hasn’t done anything to earn the other man’s ire. He passes harmlessly through the security array into the Library.
Once inside, Shen Shixiong asks, “What is it you wish to study?”
Mu Qingfang brightens. “Disguises,” he says. When Shen Qingqiu arches an eyebrow, Mu Qingfang continues, “I am working on a Mastery in mortal medicine.” He meets Shen Shixiong’s eyes. Strange. It feels like Shen Qingqiu is actually interested in the answer. “For some reason, I’ve been having difficulty finding a mentor.”
Shen Qingqiu blinks, then snorts through his nose. “I wonder why?” The sardonic tone is clear.
“This Shidi has no idea,” Mu Qingfang says innocently, but his lips twitch upwards. Is Shen Shixiong actually joking with him?
“This way,” Shen Qingqiu says, and leads him up a set of narrow stairs. The second floor must have space expanding arrays because it is much larger up here than the outside of the building suggests. He catches Mu Qingfang’s expression. “Our library is the repository and sum of the entire sect. We’ve had disciples get lost in here for days.”
Reaching into his sleeves, Shen Qingqiu withdraws a jade token. He infuses it with his qi, and hands it over. “Speak into it the topic you seek and it will guide you. When you are finished, ask for the exit.” Their eyes meet. “I trust that you can handle things from here, as this lord has little idle time.” Unlike you, he doesn’t say.
Stiffening, Mu Qingfang bows. “Thanking Shen Shixiong.”
Shen Qingqiu gives him a long look. Then he waves a hand. “Go. Read your books,” he says softly, before turning on a heel and leaving without a further word.
Bemused, Mu Qingfang watches his shixiong depart, the long length of his black hair brushing against his back. That was surprisingly kind for Shen Shixiong, he thinks.
He finds the books he needs in one of the older sections of the Library. Diligently, Mu Qingfang studies the arrays, and plots how to change his appearance. It will take a great deal of spiritual energy, but he’s not worried about that at all. Over the years he’s had plenty of time to cultivate, and even recently passed a bottleneck.
He spends the rest of the day happily copying down notes, already thinking how to proceed.
The following week, Mu Qingfang tries out the new array. It did require a little preparation, as the focus had to be carved with the specific adjustments to his appearance.
The first attempt leaves him with a rather plain face. Mu Qingfang wrinkles his nose and tries again, a bit embarrassed at his own vanity. The following day’s attempt is much better, leaving him a moderately attractive looking young man with dark brown almond eyes, hair of a similar color, and a straight nose and full lips.
Eying himself in the mirror, he thinks he can live with this. He dispels the array and begins writing letters.
*
Within a month, Mu Qingfang has an appointment with a local healer. Xiang Daifu is a no-nonsense man who’s been practising in the town below the sect for nearly twenty years. In addition, Xiang Daifu has sent him a few letters over the years requesting assistance in treating a patient occasionally. Mu Qingfang is pretty sure he’s even met him in person at least once but he can’t clearly recall what he looks like.
Mu Qingfang flies down to the base of the mountain. He stores his sword and assumes his disguise. No longer a Peak Lord, he is now Lin Jinhai! He pulls his hair into a simple ponytail and secures it with an unadorned leather guan. He foregoes sect robes entirely, instead choosing plain brown robes that he usually uses while traveling.
Xiang Daifu’s apothecary is located behind the Blue Orchid restaurant toward the south end of town. On this side of town, the shops are patronised by the local people. There’s a shop that sells shoes and boots, and right next door a family of tailors lives over their shop.
The north end of the village main street has more expensive wares. At various times in his career, Mu Qingfang used to purchase tools for writing, inkstones and such. Most of the street vendors are on the north side, except one lonely man who sells pork buns every morning outside the Blue Orchid.
Mu Qingfang arrives at the appointed time and knocks.
“Come in!” The shout is muffled through the door.
Mu Qingfang lets himself in. The front room is cramped. Shelves of herbs fill the wall in ceramic cylinders and jars. There’s a potted plant hung from the ceiling, suspended in front of the one window. It reminds Mu Qingfang very much of the Qian Cao storeroom, being just as tightly packed with herbs, with a similar green scent.
There’s an older man sitting at a tall table who looks up as Mu Qingfang enters.
“Xiang Daifu,” Mu Qingfang greets, bowing. “This one is Lin Jinhai. Thank you for-”
“What’s wrong with you, boy?” Xiang Xue interrupts impatiently, removing his spectacles and setting them on the table. His face is lined around the mouth. His black eyes are sharp, the scleras reddened with fatigue. Half moon smudges of color under his eyes indicate lack of sleep. “I read your letter again this morning.” He gestures to a folded letter on the table, just beside a tea set. “Why hasn’t Lord Mu arranged something for you?”
After clearing his throat, Mu Qingfang says, “The training rosters have been settled for months. In order to train me now at this late date, one of the juniors would lose their place in the clinic schedule.” It’s nonsense, of course. Had one of the Juniors wanted to learn mortal medicine the peak would have accommodated them easily.
Xiang Xue snorts. “What are your thoughts on Lord Mu, boy?” When Mu Qingfang blinks, the older man waves a hand. “I think his reputation’s overblown, but I’ve only met the man twice.”
Twice, Mu Qingfang thinks. He barely remembers once. Amused, Mu Qingfang says, “People say that-”
“No.” Xiang Xue says firmly. “Don’t tell me what people say. Think for yourself, boy! Now, give it to me honestly.”
Mu Qingfang sighs. “I think Lord Mu would be much happier being a physician first and Peak Lord second. I think he misses seeing proper patients.” The words feel true after he says them, and he feels strange.
The older physician snorts. “He’s a doormat. Just imagine, Jinhai, sitting around and hoping for someone else to become ill, just to have something to do.”
After opening his mouth, Mu Qingfang closes it again. “That’s…” He frowns, looking down. It’s true he hasn’t protested the current state of affairs much. It hadn’t seemed like it would do much good, to be honest.
Expression softening a bit, Xiang Xue waves him forward to kneel across from him. “Well, since those fancy Lords up on the mountain can't be bothered to teach you, I suppose this old man will have to do it.” He grins, revealing a chipped front tooth. “You better hope to have proper shoes on today, Jinhai. We’ll be running back and forth, you’ll see.”
Over tea, Xiang Xue explains that he’s the only doctor for this town. He tells Mu Qingfang that he has some medicine for cultivators as well. “Plenty of folks from that fancy sect would rather see this simple doctor. Ridiculous!” He scoffs. “They can fly can’t they? Then they should fly across the bridge up there and get treated properly. What am I supposed to do that Qian Cao can’t, hm? And here I am having to buy spirit stones because those idiot kids keep qi deviating on my front porch!”
Eyes widening in alarm, Mu Qingfang leans forward. “Who-”
“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies,” Xiang Xue retorts. “Down here in the valley, we keep confidences to ourselves, boy, and gods above help you if I find you have floppy lips.”
“Yes, Xiang Daifu.” Mu Qingfang says hastily. “Jinhai will abide.”
Xiang Xue fixes him with a long look before nodding. “Good.”
*
The patients start coming shortly after that. Xiang Xue stands back with his arms crossed and has Mu Qingfang conduct the interview and assessment. Then he has to come up with a list of differential diagnoses, and tell Xiang Daifu what he thinks is actually wrong with the patient.
Over the course of the morning, Mu Qingfang diagnoses two pregnancies, a sprained ankle and a necrotic foot ulcer. The entire process is very like his early discipleship, except Xiang Xue is much kinder than his Shizun was.
The older physician watches Mu Qingfang carefully, narrowing his eyes while Mu Qingfang speaks with the patients and offers his suggested treatment.
After the first wave is complete, Xiang Xue says, “Well, Jinhai, what do you think?”
Mu Qingfang thinks for a moment. “I wish I could do more for them.”
Exhaling heavily, Xiang Xue says, “Yes.” Gruffly he adds, “I suppose your skills are not bad. You’re good with patients. Sometimes that can’t be taught.”
After lunch, Xiang Xue announces they’re going for a walk. “Some of my patients will never come to me. I have to go find them.” They walk up the street and Xiang Xue buys some pork buns. “Jinhai, do you have one of those storage pouches?”
“Yes, Xiang Daifu,” Mu Qingfang says, producing an empty qiankun pouch from his belt and handing it over.
“Perfect,” the older man says and starts stuffing buns in. “Here,” he says, handing the pouch back. “You’ll need these for later.” He narrows his eyes. “They’re not for you, by the way, so don’t eat any.” Hastily, Mu Qingfang nods, and tucks the pouch away safely.
Xiang Xue takes Mu Qingfang down the back alley behind the Blue Orchid. The pathway is well worn into the weeds and grasses back there, and gradually it slopes away from the main street of the village down into the woods.
“One thing you better learn, Jinhai, is that not everyone can afford a roof over their head. If that’s the case, you’ll find people trying to live by the water. They can fish, they can make huts out of bamboo and clay, plus they can keep clean, too.” Xiang Xue meets Mu Qingfang’s eyes. “It’s the poorest among us that have to work the hardest to keep their humanity about them.”
Mu Qingfang thinks about that while they wander down the path.
Closer to the river, he sees the huts. Xiang Xue goes to each one, calling inside and checking on the people there. He introduces Mu Qingfang as “one of those boys from up the mountain, but he’s teachable at least.”
High praise indeed.
He meets young mothers heavy with child. He meets kids running around barefoot through the woods. He meets other kids splashing in the river, catching fish with their bare hands and crowing jubilantly.
He meets people of all ages, who are just trying to live another day.
Mu Qingfang talks to person after person, offering food to those who look hungry. The buns go quickly and so does the time. It’s so easy to fall back into medicine: take a history, perform a physical exam, think about differential diagnosis, rule things out and come to a conclusion. Discuss treatment options and figure out what works best for the patient.
He loves taking care of people. How could he have forgotten? How could he have allowed himself to be chained to a desk, to a single Peak when there’s so much good he could be doing out in the world, just down the mountain?
Xiang Xue watches a couple of kids scarf down their buns. He grumbles, “Always eating me out of house and home. See if I come back next week!”
One of the pregnant women laughs. She’s holding a toddler on her hip. “Don’t let him scare you off, Lin Daifu. Xiang Daifu comes by without fail every week to check up on us.” She leans in closer. “You didn’t hear this from me, but a cultivator fell out of the sky a day ago. He’s staying with Ye Zhong in one of the huts at the water’s edge.”
“Jinhai, go down to the shoreline and see if you can find them. You’ll be able to do more good than me.” Xiang Xue sounds annoyed about it.
*
Mu Qingfang trots along the river’s shoreline, heading south. Over time the huts become sparse. And then he finds a crater in the ground with evidence of wheel ruts in the muddy banks. Following the trail, he arrives at a hut cobbled together from bamboo poles, clay and tied rushes. “Hello?” He calls. “Does anyone need a doctor?”
The door is nothing but a canvas flap, and a man pushes past it. He’s older, and thin. His hair is silver, pulled back into a straggly ponytail. “You’re a doctor?” He asks suspiciously and Mu Qingfang nods.
“Lin Jinahi,” Mu Qingfang uses his false name. “I hear a cultivator fell out of the sky?”
The man snorts. “Ye Zhong. I got him to drink some tea, that’s about it.” He shakes his head. “What kind of sect are they running up there? How did they lose a man and not notice or care?”
Mu Qingfang can’t answer that. “I wish I knew,” he says. “Please lead the way.”
Inside is a one room dwelling. Mu Qingfang feels suppressed qi coming from the bundle of muddly robes.
“He’s lucky I was fishing,” Ye Zhong tells him. He kicks restlessly at the dirt floor, sending a puff of dust up. Mu Qingfang doesn’t wince, but it’s close. “He might have drowned, landing face down like that.”
Mu Qingfang moves closer. At first all he sees is a lump of muddy robes. There’s a patch of yellow or tan here and there. A head full of brown hair, and a man of slight stature. Carefully, Mu Qingfang crouches down and turns him to his back. “Shang Qinghua?” He murmurs in disbelief. Mu Qingfang finds the man’s wrist, and scans. Broken bones everywhere, ribs, wrist, ankle. The skin around his neck is dusky, the edges crusted with dead and peeling skin in the shape of a hand. Mottled purple bruising extends along his jaw, and there’s more scattered across both upper extremities.
He begins transfusing qi, thinking quickly. While he does happen to have emergency supplies with him, he doesn't have much to treat a cultivator besides his own qi. Fortunately, Mu Qingfang really did earn his reputation the hard way. Through long hours and a sustained effort.
He closes his eyes, and focuses. The outside world falls away as he loses himself in cataloging Shang Qinghua’s internal injuries. Quickly, he decides on a treatment plan. First, stabilize the patient.
Shang Shixiong's heartbeat is strong, if a bit rapid. One broken rib has punctured a lung, causing it to collapse. Efficiently, Mu Qingfang loads his fingers with qi, sharpening it to a razor’s edge. He slices Shang Qinghua’s robes away, exposing his chest and abdomen.
He has no clean supplies, no team to hand him things. There’s only he and…wait a moment. There is another doctor nearby! Mu Qingfang spares the moments to send Xiang Daifu a qi message. “Xiang Xue, I need your immediate assistance, please follow the messenger back to me.” He adjusts the array in his hand and releases it. His palmful of qi coalesces into a bluebird and flies off.
Laying a palm against Shang Qinghua’s side, he directs his qi inside the man’s thorax. He finds the ends of the broken ribs. “Apologies, Shixiong,” Mu Qingfang murmurs. “This will hurt. Just bear with it.” He flexes his qi, bringing the fragments out of the lung and the ends of the broken rib back together.
Once done, he applies his attention to the pleura, the lining of the lung which allows it to move smoothly inside the chest wall. Mu Qingfang’s spiritual sense allows him to grasp the internal schematics. He then adjusts his qi, lengthening it, and thinning it. In moments, he’s able to pull the pleura together and seal it. The qi sutures will have to do.
“Jinhai!” Xiang Xue’s shout floats in.
“In here,” Mu Qingfang calls back. He leans down, pressing his ear against Shang Qinghua’s chest. If he’s done everything right…
Shang Qinghua inhales, and Mu Qingfang hears breath sounds from the no-longer-collapsed lung. Exhaling in relief, he looks up just as Xiang Xue crouches down next to him.
“Damn it, Qinghua.” The older man grumbles.
“You know him?”
At Mu Qingfang’s nod toward the patient, Xiang Xue says, “He shows up like this at least once a month. See those frost burns? He gets them a lot. Who in the world…”
Xiang Xue watches as Mu Qingfang lays a palm on Shang Qinghua’s abdomen. “Is he bleeding internally?”
“No, thankfully.” Mu Qingfang says with relief. “I managed to fix his pneumo and seal his ribs back together.” He rolls his shoulders backwards. “I don’t suppose you have anything for those burns?”
Snorting, Xiang Xue rummages through his satchel. “I see this so often with him, I started making up some pouches to keep on hand. Sanqi, Hong Jing Tian, and duǎn è huánglián, ground to medium consistency. It needs to be steamed until it forms a thick ointment and then you apply it directly to the skin. It speeds up healing and prevents infection.” Xiang Xue hands over a small pouch of herbs wrapped in silk gauze.
“If you can gather some wood, or scraps, I can easily start a fire,” Mu Qingfang says, and the older man nods.
Within minutes, Xiang Xue returns with a variety of branches and dead wood. There’s already a firepit nearby, so he tosses them in there before calling Mu Qingfang over. “It’s ready, Jinhai.”
Mu Qingfang doesn’t have a suitable receptacle to lay the pouch in for steaming, so he creates one with his spiritual energy. In moments, he forms his qi into a concave disc. He pours some of his stored water in, then drops the medicinal pouch into it.
It doesn’t take very much effort to hold the thing steady, but Xiang Xue gives him a sharp look. “Jinhai…”
Frowning, Mu Qingfang does not look at the other doctor. “Yes, Daifu? Forgiveness, this requires some concentration.”
Xiang Xue exhales heavily. “Nevermind,” he huffs.
It doesn’t take long to heat up the water, and soon the pouch is soaked through. Mu Qingfang plucks it out with his fingers, and allows the spiritual energy to dissipate harmlessly. “Xiang Daifu, now what?”
Leaning in closely, Xiang Daifu talks Mu Qingfang through using the medicinal pouch. He gently lays it against the frost burned skin, and slowly covers the injured skin with the resultant ointment. Once that’s finished, Mu Qingfang says, “Xiang Daifu, I need to bring Shang Shixiong back to the sect for further treatment.”
“That’s fine, Jinahi.” Xiang Xue stands up, and dusts off his robes. “You did well today,” he says shortly and Mu Qingfang looks up at the man. “You’re a good doctor.”
Mu Qingfang smiles, touched. “Thanking Xiang Daifu. This one is grateful to be training with you.”
Xiang Daifu waves that away. “I’ll see you in a couple days.”
*
Mu Qingfang flies Shang Qinghua right up the mountain to Qian Cao peak. The doors of the Healing Pavilion sense him approaching and open on their own. It’s one of the more amusing perks of being the Peak Lord. Inside, he spies the junior disciple manning the intake desk.
“I have Peak Lord Shang, who needs treatment immediately,” Mu Qingfang tells the boy, and strides right past him to the large treatment rooms in the back of the pavilion.
“Shixiong…?” The boy calls, uncertain, and Mu Qingfang doesn’t stop.
In the back hallway, Mu Qingfang gets Shang Qinghua onto the exam table. These rooms are equipped for emergencies, and have talismans ready to go at the doorway. He charges one, and it lights up, before crumbling to dust. This will call whichever senior healer is currently working.
While he waits, Mu Qingfang runs another scan. Good. Shang Qinghua is breathing better, and he continues to not be bleeding internally.
“You.” A woman says sharply, and Mu Qingfang glances over at her. This is Wu Yanshin, second most senior healer on the peak after himself. Her black hair is tied back into a neat bun. “What’s your name? Who is this?” She looks upon him severely.
Ah, Mu Qingfang thinks, chagrined. He forgot about his disguise. Now, if he removes it, he’s going to lose all face with his subordinate. He swallows. “Wu Shijie,” he says respectfully. “This Lin Jinhai was training in the village below with Xiang Xue Daifu. We were treating patients by the river, and were told a cultivator fell from the sky recently. We investigated and found Peak Lord Shang critically injured. Xiang Daifu and I were able to stabilize him for flight, and I just arrived.”
Wu Yanshin approaches the table, eyeing Shang Qinghua before moving to the sink and washing her hands. “Treatment thus far?”
“He has several broken ribs, a pneumothorax on the right and frost burns around the throat. I-” Mu Qingfang grimaces. “I sealed the fragments and the causative rib back into place and then mended the pleura before transfusing qi. Xiang Daifu prepared a treatment for burns which formed into ointment, applied as you see.”
Wu Yanshin narrows her eyes. Silently, she presses her fingers to Shang Qinghua’s wrist. She meets Mu Qingfang’s gaze. “I don’t recall meeting you before, Lin Shidi.”
Mu Qingfang ducks his head and lies through his teeth. Wu Yanshin is entirely too smart for this to be effective. “Apologies, Shijie. This one has been rotating through the outer peaks and has earned time off. I sent a message to Xiang Daifu requesting some mentoring, and he agreed.”
Stiffening, Wu Yanshin says, “And why would you not just send that request to Healer Xie?” She releases Shang Qinghua and crosses her arms over her chest. “Do you have a problem taking direction from women too?”
Lips parting, Mu Qingfang feels distressed for several reasons. What does she mean, too? “No! Of course not!”
“Perhaps share how you were able to perform a treatment of the highest level?” Wu Yanshin continues verbally shredding him. “One that of all the Healers on the Peak, only Lord Mu is capable of doing?” Her eyes narrow again. “Give me your wrist, Lin Shidi.” It is not a request.
Taking a deep breath, Mu Qingfang tugs his sleeve back and offers his arm. She scans him quickly and her eyes widen. Internally, he winces and his temples throb warningly.
“Is this a joke to you?” Wu Yanshin demands, poking him in the shoulder. “Tell me, Mu Shixiong, do you think it’s funny to treat Xiang Daifu like this? He is a respected physician, and just because he is a mortal doctor, he is certainly entitled to know who exactly he is apprenticing! Or is Lord Mu too good to just ask Xie Yanmei for help?”
Mu Qingfang straightens his back. With a gesture, he whips off the disguise, revealing his usual face and bearing. “This is why, Shimei,” he snarls. “Xie Shimei is busy! How could I ask her to interrupt her day to teach me things I should have known by now? And do you think I somehow failed to use my own name to find my own mentor? Every single physician took one look at my name and demurred.”
“Xiang Daifu doesn’t care about-” Mu Qingfang waves a hand in the air. “He cares about results. He’s a good doctor, and he truly cares about his patients! And they care about him! This Mu could do much worse than to be like Xiang Daifu.” Vaguely, his head aches, and he ignores it.
Wu Yanshin opens her mouth, but Mu Qingfang forges on, “And another thing! I am not Shizun! I don’t have, never had, any problem with women being fine doctors! You would have been a great Peak Lord, Yanshin, but Shizun chose me, and that’s not my fault!”
Suddenly exhausted, Mu Qingfang runs a palm over his face. “Do you remember being a disciple?” He does, but the memories feel far away. Strange. Hadn’t they been close once? Wait, had they? He should know this! “What happened, Yanshin?” Why does he have a gaping hole where his friends (he thinks) should be?
“You chained yourself to a desk, Renshu,” Wu Yanshin says icily. “You insisted that you had to be here in case any of the Peak Lords needed aid, and no one but you would do. You made it clear that you thought you were better than everyone else, so we let you have your way.” She looks down at Shang Qinghua and shakes her head. “Here he is, your very own Peak Lord to fix. Are you happy?”
Wu Yanshin takes a deep breath, sucking her teeth. Then she turns to leave.
He knows the answer to the question, though it feels like he’s been hiding it from himself all this time. “No,” Mu Qingfang says before she makes it to the doorway. “And I haven’t been for a long time.”
Without looking back, Yanshin says, “Actions have consequences, Peak Lord Mu.”
*
Listlessly, Mu Qingfang sits on the edge of the exam table, one hand on Shang Qinghua’s wrist for a qi transfusion. While he does this, his thoughts wander. The thing is, Yanshin wasn’t wrong, exactly.
Younger Mu Qingfang felt very much that he had something to prove. He recalls distantly taking Wu Yanshin’s insistence on spreading the load around as a slight against his abilities. He had no idea that the other healers took that as Mu Qingfang thinking himself better than them. He shakes his head, and the dull ache spreads from his temples to his occipital bone.
He wasn’t better, is the thing. He was just lucky.
Lucky that Shizun picked him. Qian Cao was not like other peaks. Patient care was much more important than any perceived status, at least, he thought it was! All this time, has Mu Qingfang turned a blink eye to the strife on his own peak?
Bleakly, Mu Qingfang can’t remember the last time anyone called him by his given name. Renshu. It used to be something Yanshin and Yanmei called him all the time. How come he can’t remember when they stopped? Frowning, Mu Qingfang sifts his memories. Why can’t he remember when they stopped? His head throbs, and he turns his attention once more to his unconscious shixiong.
He remains at Shang Qinghua’s bedside, until the man awakes. The Lord of An Ding wakes all at once, jolting his wrist free from Mu Qingfang and using it to block a blow that never comes. Hesitantly, Shang Qinghua peeks over his arm and his eyes widen.
“Mu Shidi? What, um.” Shang Qinghua looks around. “Oh, shit. How did I get here?” His brows furrow. “I fell…”
“You did,” Mu Qingfang confirms. “A mortal physician and his apprentice found you and arranged transport to the sect. I treated your ribs, and your punctured lung, but it was Xiang Daifu that had the correct treatment for your frost burns.” He adds, “How do you feel?”
Frowning in thought, Shang Qinghua carefully shifts in the bed, sitting up. “Wow, a lot better than before, but, uh, not great.” His eyes meet Mu Qingfang’s. “You know how it is.”
“Are you having any trouble breathing? Any pain from the frost burns?” Mu Qingfang asks smoothly. Shang Qinghua shakes his head. “Well, your cultivation is recovering quickly. I don’t see any reason you can’t return to your home, provided Shixiong rests for a couple of days. I need to make up some pouches for you to use on your neck.” Shang Qinghua just nods, tracking Mu Qingfang’s movements.
Rising to his feet, Mu Qingfang says, “Very well, I will get to work on that and be back shortly with instructions.” He nods at Shang Shixiong and leaves.
Out in the hallway, disciples pass by. Mu Qingfang acknowledges them as they pass, and heads to the stockroom. Inside are most of the shelf stable herbs they commonly use and he wanders through the aisles looking for ingredients.
“Peak Lord Mu?”
The voice is soft and familiar. Mu Qingfang raises his head and smiles a little in spite of his worsening headache. “Healer Xie.” All at once, he wonders if Yanmei feels the same way that Wu Yanshin does.
“When did you get back?” Xie Yanmei says, coming closer to him. She has a jar filled with a viscous brown liquid.
A memory surfaces: Years ago, Yanmei and Yanshin used to meet him in the dining hall for breakfast. He always ate scallion pancakes, and the girls had congee. They used to laugh and gossip, and commiserate about the toils of medicine. Mu Qingfang stopped eating at the dining hall after he was made Peak Lord, feeling that it was inappropriate. Now, looking back, he wonders if that wasn’t when everything started going wrong.
His vision fills with tiny black spots, and he blinks them away. “Earlier today,” Mu Qingfang says. What is going on with him today?
Yanmei hasn’t changed much over the years. Her hair is still a deep and shining black, pulled away from her face and braided down to the ends. Her eyes are warm brown and still, after all this time, so very kind. Mu Qingfang’s head pulses warningly and he ignores it. “Have breakfast with me tomorrow,” he says impulsively, and her eyes widen.
Xie Yanmei searches his face, a small line between her brows.
“In the dining hall,” he adds hastily.
“Ah. Peak Lord Mu,” Xie Yanmei says delicately, and then he knows he’s going to be rebuffed. “This healer has plans to eat with Healer Wu, so…”
Mu Qingfang brightens. “She’s welcome, too,” he says eagerly. Xie Yanmei just gives him a long look. “Oh,” he says softly, deflating. “I see. Think no more about it. It’s just that…”
From far away he gets an impression: two girls and a boy climbing the great stairs together. Two girls and a boy digging together on the evaluation fields. Two girls and a boy at a table in the dining hall, crowded in close, heads together and laughing.
Why can’t he remember properly? Helplessly he shrugs. “I miss you both.” It feels true, and as soon as he thinks it, he feels like his head is impaled by a spike.
Yanmei sighs, looking down at the jar of snail mucin in her hands. “We haven’t gone anywhere, Lord Mu.” She meets his eyes. “I will tell Yanshin you’re joining us at the usual time.” She slips behind him, and places the jar on the shelf, before turning away and leaving silently.
In silence, Mu Qingfang collects his ingredients and spends the next half shichen making pouches of medicine for Shang Qinghua. In short order, he hands the medicine over to his Shixiong with instructions to return to Qian Cao with any issues or concerns.
Shang Qinghua, now dressed in a clean set of An Ding peak robes, gets to his feet.
“Thanks, Mu Shidi.” He gives Mu Qingfang a bow and leaves.
Mu Qingfang rubs his forehead, and decides he’s done with this day.
*
He sleeps restlessly and not very long, but at least the headache is more reasonable in the morning. Stress, he tells himself while he sips his morning tea. Once that’s done, Mu Qingfang readies himself. It’s been a long time since he had breakfast with Wu Yanshin and Xie Yanmei. At one point, they practically lived in each other’s sleeves, they spent that much time together.
And then, it all fell apart. After ruminating on those disciple years for half the night, he was able to recall more information. Why has it taken so many years for him to realize? Past Qingfang had been preoccupied with making Shizun proud, and focused on his duties, exclusively. The girls stopped reaching out, and just moved on with their lives, becoming nothing more than distant colleagues.
He dresses carefully, more carefully than he does for Peak Lord meetings. Instead of emphasizing his position, he chooses to emphasize the opposite. Regular Qian Cao robes, hair in a ponytail (his former signature) secured with a deep blue ribbon. He forces his shoulders to relax. He smooths out the thin mustache and glares at himself in the mirror. It makes me look older, he thinks. He grimaces once more at his image, and leaves the house.
For all that he hasn’t set foot in the dining hall in years, it’s much the same. The servers dishing out food in the back of the room, the premade pancakes under a warming talisman and great pots filled with congee. There’s a long table with teapots and ceramic jugs of hot water on heating talismans.
Mu Qingfang serves himself some pancakes, and fills a cup with green tea before finding his old table. As far as he can tell, neither Wu Yanshin nor Xie Yanmei have arrived yet. In fact, he tries to prepare himself that they may not come at all.
He sips his tea and waits.
Several disciples glance at him from other tables, and then double take. One side of Mu Qingfang’s mouth pulls up in amusement. He’s certain they’re doubting their eyes right now.
“Well, so you did show up, after all,” Wu Yanshin says, pulling out a chair and sitting down. She sets her bowl down none too gently. “Yanmei will be here shortly,” she adds tersely. She eats a spoonful of cereal and chews slowly.
It’s awkward, completely opposite how things used to be. But that was years ago, and Mu Qingfang can only deal with now. “How have you been?” He ventures, and Wu Yanshin’s eyes narrow.
She wipes her mouth with a napkin and sets it down. “Well, Peak Lord Mu-”
Thankfully, Xie Yanmei arrives at that moment, gaze swiveling between the two of them. She sits down next to Yanshin. “Shijie. Shixiong.”
“Meimei,” Wu Yanshin says sweetly, “Did you know that Lord Mu has been trying to find a Master to teach him Mortal medicine?”
Mu Qingfang rubs a palm over his face.
Xie Yanmei frowns. “How come you didn’t…” Her lips turn down, signaling her upset.
Quietly, Mu Qingfang says, “You’re one of the busiest healers on the Peak. How could I ask you to take on more work?”
Wu Yanshin presses her lips together so tightly they go white. She shakes her head. “See, Meimei? I told you. He’s not our friend anymore.”
“Hush,” Yanmei says, glaring. She turns her attention to Mu Qingfang. Stiffly, she says, “I should hope that Lord Mu knows he can call on this one for things like that.”
This one. Lord Mu. It makes Mu Qingfang’s chest hurt.
“So who have you been apprenticing under? Wang Chun? Qin Xia?” At his silence, Xie Yanmei’s get deeper. “Xiao Wen?”
Mu Qingfang exhales and stares into his teacup. “I wrote to all of them. Every single one of them said I should look for a more enlightened Master.” He forces himself to take a bite from his pancakes. “I then wrote to Xiang Daifu under an alias, and requested his aid.”
Xie Yanmei sets her elbow on the table, leaning on her outstretched fingers. “Well. That was…a choice.” The words are diplomatic enough, but the corner of her lips twitches.
Feeling much like his nineteen year old self being scolded, Mu Qingfang hunches a little. “I found an array to help me alter my appearance.”
Wu Yanshin glares across the table. “Mu Qingfang.”
“I know!” He cries. “Look, I know. I’m going to confess when I see Xiang Daifu tomorrow.”
Yanshin takes a deep breath, clearly gearing up to give him a thorough scolding. Hastily, Xie Yanmei flares her qi, erecting a privacy barrier. Without missing a beat, Yanshin says, “What is wrong with you? Seriously, WHAT? It is unbelievable just how much of a mess you are! Gods above, is it so hard to have a conversation? You know damned well that Yanmei would forgive you, if you ever bothered to ask! You great blockhead, did it not occur to you that we might miss you too?!”
Nodding, Xie Yanmei says, “Honestly, Qingfang, you went about this so poorly, it’s making me wonder if you had a deviation sometime along the way and sustained mental damage.”
Mu Qingfang’s words come before he thinks. “Maybe I’ve always been this way.”
“You were much less of an idiot before you ascended," Yanshin says sourly. She crosses her arms over her chest. “Meimei, just scan him already. I see your fingers itching from here.”
“Wrist,” Xie Yanmei says firmly, and Mu Qingfang extends his arm. Her spiritual energy feels the same after all this time. Crisp and fresh and soothing. “Your cultivation is fine.” In moments, she releases him, leaving Mu Qingfang feeling bereft.
“Bullshit,” Wu Yanshin snaps. “He’s not fine.” Her eyes meet his. “Wrist.” Mu Qingfang sighs, and lets her scan. Her eyebrows furrow as her qi cycles through his system. “Meimei, check again. There’s something…” Her head snaps up. “Who put a memory block on you?!”
“A what?” Mu Qingfang replies stupidly. “I don’t have a--”
“Shut up,” Wu Yanshin growls. “Meimei? Do a deep scan of Yintang and Taiyang meridians, then tell me I’m not crazy.”
Nodding grimly, Xie Yanmei takes Mu Qingfang’s wrist again, sending her qi through his cultivation system again. His head throbs, and he winces. No fool, Yanmei asks grimly, “Headache?”
“Yes,” Mu Qingfang says. “Since yesterday.”
“You’re not crazy, Jiejie,” Xie Yanmei says to Wu Yanshin who looks triumphant. She withdraws her energy and fixes her attention on Mu Qingfang. “Someone placed a rather large block on a chunk of your memories, and what’s more, they made it so it would not show up on a surface level examination.”
Wu Yanshin snorts, crossing her arms over her chest. “I wonder who could have done such a thing. That bastard! Just one punch,” she says. “It would have been so satisfying.”
“Uh, who?” Mu Qingfang feels idiotic and the girls exchange glances.
Finally, Xie Yanmei takes a deep breath. “Before I tell you, I need to ask you some questions, Lord Mu.”
“Just call me Renshu,” Mu Qingfang says impatiently, and both women just stare at him. “What?”
Delicately, Xie Yanmei says, “The last time we called you that, you told us that we needed to address you with the proper respect.”
Mu Qingfang sets his jaw. What is going on? “I don’t remember that. At all. And it doesn’t sound like something I’d say.”
Wu Yanshin exchanges glances with Xie Yanmei then says, “I think we better go somewhere more private. It’s clear that Lord- that, Renshu has been cursed, and not just for a short time.” Her eyes are troubled. “I can only ask his forgiveness for taking his past words as face value and not investigating further.”