Chapter Text
The sun blazed mercilessly above the cracked earth, casting long shadows beneath the raised stone platform that overlooked the barren field. Heat shimmered across the dirt, distorting the outlines of the eager, or in some cases miserable, children below while a dry wind whispered through the sparse grass and rustled the edges of the great Cang Qiong Mountain in the distance. It loomed above them like a silent sentinel, unmoved by the noise or heat below.
On the platform, twelve figures stood in various states of composure and irritation. The twelve Peak Lords of the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect had gathered for the disciple selection that occurred once every ten years. It was, technically, a solemn occasion. A ceremony as old as the sect itself. But if one listened closely, the air above the field reeked not of reverence, but of gossip and contempt thinly disguised as polite chatter.
“Honestly, why he even bothers to come the disciple selection, I do not know,” drawled a nasal voice. “We already know he’ll keep picking up desperate little street urchins during his missions. Those too desperate to say no or recognise his depraved nature. How can anyone take him seriously?”
Shen Qingqiu stood apart from the cluster of his peers, as he usually did. The lord of Qing Jing Peak was garbed in flowing white and pale green robes, an intricate silver filigree clasp fastened at his collar. He held a white fan in his slender fingers, half unfurled. The paper fluttered in the breeze just enough to shield his expression without completely hiding it.
He pretended not to hear Qi Qingqi, but her voice always carried, deliberately so.
“A scholar should know when to bow to his betters. He must not be as knowledgeable as thought,” she added, not even glancing in his direction. She seemed to deliberately forget that amongst the twelve Peak Lords, he ranked second in seniority, just below the sect leader, whilst she ranked sixth.
Shen Qingqiu kept his head forward and flicked the fan open the rest of the way. It snapped with a soft clack, a movement as smooth and precise as any sword strike. He said nothing. Privately, he agreed for reasons of his own.
From the edge of his vision, he could see Mu Qingfang shift his weight awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. Liu Qingge, ever blunt and disdainful of verbal sparring over physical, crossed his arms and gazed silently over the field with a furrowed brow.
The field in question was a dusty, unyielding stretch of land about twenty li from the nearest village, roughly a third of the way toward Qiong Ding Peak. It was a traditional selection site, chosen for its brutal sun, uneven terrain made of compacted earth, and complete lack of shelter.
All of which, Shen Qingqiu supposed, was meant to reveal something about the nature of the potential disciples.
At present, the wide expanse was filled with dozens of children, some sweating and panting, others staring around helplessly, each holding a standard-issue iron shovel nearly as tall as they were.
Most were children of merchants, minor nobles, or wealthy cultivator families, and none were accustomed to such menial labour.
An older disciple from Qiong Ding Peak stood at the centre of the field, his voice loud and firm.
“You have until the gong sounds to get your shovel into the deepest hole possible. Begin.”
Immediately, a ripple of dismay echoed across the field.
“What do you mean, ‘deepest hole possible’? You mean for us to do manual labour!” one boy in silk robes protested.
“Are we to dig ourselves?” a girl in expensive violet embroidered robes whined.
“What about my attendant? I can’t…”
“No servants!” snapped a disciple patrolling the perimeter.
Several Peak Lords exchanged knowing smirks. Qi Qingqi tittered behind her fan.
“Well, they’ll learn quickly enough that pampering does not make for aptitude.”
Shen Qingqiu said nothing, though privately, he agreed… if for entirely different reasons.
He shifted his weight slightly, tilting his head as he scanned the field. Most of the children were bemoaning the heat, squinting at the sun, or poking at the dirt with hesitant shovels, as though they’d never held anything heavier than a chopstick before.
Then, movement caught his eye.
Near the edge of the clearing, a small figure trudged through the dust. A girl, no older than seven or eight by the look of her, thin as a reed and caked in dirt. Her robes, if they could be called that, were patched and sun-bleached. Her hair was tied up in a ragged knot. She looked like a child who had grown up on the edge of survival.
The other children were doing one of three things:
- Digging, brows furrowed with single minded focus.
- Crying, bemoaning their fate.
- Pouting, barely scraping the surface, fearful of damaging their expensive robes.
But she wasn’t doing any of those things.
Instead, she walked slowly with her shovel slung over one bony shoulder, glancing around the field with a narrowed gaze. She circled clusters of children, avoided a clump of rocky terrain, and paused at a patch of tall grass near the far side of the clearing, just in front of a dense line of bushes and trees.
Shen Qingqiu narrowed his eyes.
The girl dropped her shovel, not in frustration, but with the casual certainty of someone who had come to a conclusion. She sat beneath the only bit of shade in sight and began watching the other children work.
“Well,” Qi Qingqi sniffed beside him. “At least that one knows her place. Clearly too lazy or stupid to even try.”
“She has no business being here if she isn’t even going to attempt the test,” murmured another Peak Lord.
Shen Qingqiu tapped his fan gently against his palm. “Perhaps,” he said quietly, “she sees no point in wasting her effort.”
Qi Qingqi scoffed. “What effort? She’s hiding from the test, likely planning to cry her way into a pity placement. Grimy little thing. I suppose you’d like her on your peak, Shen Qingqiu?”
Her tone turned sharper, insinuating.
He did not turn to face her. “I accept only those with talent,” he replied calmly, eyes still fixed on the girl.
“Ha!” She laughed. “Or those with soft cheeks and no parents.”
Several heads pivoted. Liu Qingge made a low sound, part disapproval, part impatience. Mu Qingfang frowned but kept silent.
Shen Qingqiu raised his fan and obscured his expression entirely. His face remained a picture of serenity, but his shoulders had gone stiff beneath the pale green silk.
She knew nothing.
She always spoke as if she did.
But she wasn’t worth the breathe.
“Perhaps we should focus on the candidates,” he said evenly.
As the minutes passed, Shen Qingqiu continued to observe the girl beneath the tree. She was watching everyone… how they moved, where they chose to dig, how they positioned their bodies. She tilted her head occasionally, as if considering a problem.
Some of the Peak Lords directed their disciples towards certain candidates, eager to recruit them for reasons he could not care for.
And then, just as the Qiong Ding disciple called “One minute left!”, the girl stood, stretched, and calmly disappeared into the bushes.
Liu Qingge snorted. “Coward. She knows she failed.”
“Shame,” said Qi Qingqi. “I might let her fetch water for my disciples. I do hate the idea of her ending up a prostitute. Though I imagine you would enjoy that, Shen Qingqiu.”
The Qing Jing Peak Lord said nothing. His gaze remained fixed on the empty patch of shade.
When the gong sounded, low and echoing, the field fell still.
Children wiped their brows, stepped away from shallow trenches, and some collapsed to their knees. A few looked smug. Most looked disappointed. Sweat shone on every brow.
Then, from the bushes, the girl re-emerged, dusty, calm.
And shovel-less.
Several heads turned.
“Where’s her shovel?” someone whispered.
The Peak Lords began their descent, their silks rippling like banners in the wind. Shen Qingqiu waited until the others had gone ahead before following, his fan half-unfurled, casting a dappled shadow across the upper half of his face.
The older Qiong Ding disciples made their rounds with measuring rods, calling out the depths of each hole.
“One chi.”
“Two.”
“One and a half.”
“Four!” someone shouted, surprised. “Not bad.”
Then they reached the girl. One disciple raised a brow. “Where’s your shovel?”
“In the crevice,” she said simply, jerking her chin toward the trees.
The disciple frowned and pushed through the bushes. Seconds later, he called out, “There’s a fissure. Natural rock split, looks ancient. The shovel’s down there. Depth is... ten chi. Maybe more!”
A murmur ran through the crowd.
“She cheated!” one boy shouted. “That’s not fair!”
“She didn’t dig anything!” another cried.
The girl stepped forward, brushing dust from her arms. “You were told to get the shovel into the deepest hole possible, not dig one.”
The boy sneered. “But you didn’t even…”
“… try?” she cut in, voice cool. “I didn’t dig. I’m scrawny and my arms are weak. If I’d tried to dig a hole, I’d be lucky if I managed half a chi. So, I looked for an alternative approach. It’s not my fault the rest of you were too busy crying over getting a little dirty.”
Gasps rippled among the children. Some of the Peak Lords stifled amusement. One or two looked affronted.
The girl turned to the Qiong Ding disciple that gave the briefing earlier.
“What were your exact instructions?”
He repeated them.
She turned back to the crowd. “There. Not once did he say we couldn’t use a pre-existing hole. You all just assumed. And then wasted your energy moaning about the sun and your servants instead of thinking or observing your surroundings.” She smiled, thin and sharp, entirely unrepentant. “If that’s the kind of thinking you bring to cultivation, I doubt most of you will survive your first real demon encounter.”
Silence.
Even Liu Qingge looked momentarily stunned.
Qi Qingqi stepped forward, lips pursed. “You’re clever, for a gutter child. I’m willing to be magnanimous. I’ll take you into Xian Shu Peak.”
The girl pivoted her head slowly. “No.”
Everyone stared.
Qi Qingqi blinked. “What?”
“I said no. I don't want to join your Peak.”
A thick silence dropped over the clearing. Even the cicadas paused their droning, as if nature itself was unsure how to proceed.
Qi Qingqi stared at the dirt-covered child with eyes that flashed, not with understanding, but with growing outrage.
“You… what did you just say?” Her tone was deceptively light, but her jaw had tightened.
“I said ‘I don't want to join your Peak’,” the girl repeated evenly, voice stripped of fear or apology. “I won’t join Xian Shu Peak.”
A collective inhale swept across the field. Disciples and children alike turned to stare, their mouths parting, expressions shifting from shock to incredulity. No one refused Qi Qingqi. Certainly not like that. And especially not while looking like they’d crawled out of a drainage ditch.
Shen Qingqiu observed the unfolding scene from just a few paces behind, white fan now closed and resting idly against his shoulder. His gaze was calm, mildly inquisitive The silence from the other Peak Lords was telling, a blend of curiosity and discomfort.
Qi Qingqi blinked, slowly.
“You do realise what I’m offering you?” she said, voice tighter now, sharp with condescension. “The honour of entering Xian Shu Peak, the most refined and esteemed peak in all of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect?”
The girl turned towards her fully. The sun caught the edge of her face, gilding the trail of grime along her cheek. Her eyes, however, were clear. Cold, even.
“With all due respect, Peak Lord Qi,” she said, “I’d rather not be surrounded by daughters of rich families who think that money makes them cultivators. You pointed out two girls earlier and said you’d take them because their parents wrote to you. Not because they were skilled. Just because of their background.”
A ripple of gasps travelled through the gathered crowd. Even the Peak Lords shifted. Qi Qingqi’s spine straightened like a snapped bowstring.
Several of the Peak Lords looked at the girl in surprise. Either her hearing was better than a dog’s, or she was already demonstrating basic qi-based sense enhancement.
“You were listening to a private conversation?” Qi Qingqi asked, tone darkening.
“I was observing,” the girl corrected. “That’s what cultivators are supposed to do, isn’t it? Watch. Learn. And react accordingly.”
Qi Qingqi’s lip curled. “You’re covered in filth, barely old enough to hold a brush properly, and you think you can lecture me?”
The girl didn’t flinch. “I don’t have servants. Or family money. If I joined your peak, I’d spend the rest of my life being bullied by girls who think their names are worth more than effort. I’m not stupid enough to choose that. You yourself already singled me out by calling me a filthy child. That’s no different from telling your disciples I’m fair game for mockery and cruelty. So, I ask you, honourable Peak Lord Qi, with that as my future, why would I join your peak?”
The tension between them crackled like an unsheathed sword.
At the back of the group, Liu Qingge made a quiet grunt. Whether it was amusement or disdain, no one could quite tell. Mu Qingfang kept his gaze steady but faintly intrigued.
Shen Qingqiu said nothing, though the faintest shift in the air around him suggested interest.
The girl twisted away from Qi Qingqi, stepping confidently across the dry field. Dust kicked up around her bare ankles as she came to a halt in front of Shen Qingqiu, tilting her head back to meet his gaze directly.
“You’re the lord of Qing Jing Peak, right?” she asked.
Shen Qingqiu nodded, looking down his nose at her.
“I want to join your peak.”
Silence fell again, heavier this time. Not just among the children, but the elders too. Somewhere near the edge of the field, a younger disciple let out an audible breath. No one dared move.
Shen Qingqiu regarded her without expression. He flicked his fan open, the snap making several of the candidates and even some of the older disciples jump. He looked down at her over the edge of his fan, eyes sharp, calculating.
“Interesting. You could have chosen another peak,” he said at last. “Even now, I dare say Mu Qingfang would take you to Qian Cao. You seem competent enough.”
The girl looked at Mu Qingfang, taking note of his medical garb. “Perhaps. But I’ve little patience for whining, and I’d sooner poison someone to silence them than offer aid. So, it’s probably a bad idea to have me around anything I could do that with.”
Several of the Peak Lords, Mu Qingfang included, looked at the girl as if she grew two heads. She was the only one to notice Shen Qingqiu’s eyes crease minutely, as though what she said amused rather than disturbed him.
“Indeed,” he fanned himself lazily, walking around the girl no taller than his hip. “But that does not explain why you desire my peak.”
“Because you noticed me,” she said simply.
He raised an eyebrow.
“You were the only one watching what I was doing. Everyone else either ignored me or assumed I wasn’t worth it.” She paused. “But you looked. I’d rather learn from someone who thinks before they speak. Who watches. Learns.”
The words landed with more weight than they had any right to. There was something sharp and old behind her eyes, something far older than her years.
Shen Qingqiu paused in front of her, as though contemplating a puzzle he’d just been handed.
“And what makes you think Qing Jing Peak is suitable for someone like you?”
The girl didn’t hesitate. “Because I want to survive.”
That answer was unexpected.
She glanced back briefly toward Qi Qingqi and the cluster of well-fed candidates in silk.
“I don’t want to be taught that my greatest asset is a pretty face. Beauty fades. One blade can take it all away. I’d rather learn how to think. How to live.”
Then, more quietly, almost too softly to hear: “And I think you did too, once.”
Shen Qingqiu said nothing. But continued fanning himself.
He studied her again. Her posture, though slight, was steady, her voice unadorned yet sure. There was steel in it. Iron without polish.
“What is your name?” he asked.
The girl raised her chin.
“Zhaodi. I have no family name.”
A pause. It lingered.
No name meant no clan. No status. A girl not just overlooked but deliberately forgotten by the world.
A girl with nothing.
Shen Qingqiu snapped his fan shut with a soft clack.
“Then Zhaodi,” he said, voice cool and clear, “from this moment, you are now a disciple of Qing Jing Peak.”
A stunned silence settled.
It broke a breath later in whispers, mutters, and low exclamations.
“She turned down Peak Lord Qi…”
“… and chose Qing Jing Peak?”
“Did she say she had no name?”
“Shen shibo really accepted her?”
Qi Qingqi turned, face pale with fury. “This is a mistake. She’s manipulative. A liar…”
“She has spoke only the truth,” Shen Qingqiu replied smoothly, fan tucked into his sleeve once more. “And that is more than I can say for others.”
He offered no further explanation.
With a turn of his white and pale green robes, he began walking back toward the winding path that led up the slope to his peak.
Zhaodi followed.
She didn’t look back.
Qi Qingqi stood frozen in place, eyes narrowed, hands clenched at her sides. Nothing to hide her fury.
Liu Qingge exhaled, loud enough for a few nearby disciples to glance his way.
“Let’s see how long she lasts,” he muttered.
Mu Qingfang rubbed his temple, making a mental note to keep an eye on the girl if she ever came to his peak.
As the girl’s silhouette disappeared with Shen Qingqiu into the treeline, the whispers rose again, and none could quite shake the feeling that something important had shifted.
The path to Qing Jing Peak wound upward through thickets of pale-barked trees and moss-covered stone, shaded from the relentless sun now sinking behind the curve of the western peaks. The shadows lengthened, casting long lines across the worn trail. Zhaodi followed in silence, her steps careful but steady, as Shen Qingqiu moved ahead without looking back.
His long white robes stirred softly in the breeze, edged in pale green that matched the soft shimmer of the Qing Jing Peak sigil stitched into his collar. His posture was straight, elegant. Neither rushed nor dragging, like someone who had learned long ago that he never needed to hurry for anyone.
Zhaodi kept pace.
The further they climbed, the quieter the world became. The noise of the selection grounds fell away, swallowed by the rustling of leaves and the low hum of cicadas settling in for evening.
It took two hours, but they eventually reached the Peak of Scholars, Qing Jing.
Somewhere far above, the faintest sound of a waterfall whispered through the branches.
Qing Jing was beautiful. Not in the garish, pruned way of rich gardens or noble estates, but in the effortless serenity of a place untouched by pretence. The path curved through bamboo groves and gentle slopes, and every so often, Zhaodi caught glimpses of white pavilions nestled into the mountainside, their eaves curved like the brushstrokes of calligraphy.
She felt out of place in all of it.
Her clothes were threadbare. Barefoot and itching with sweat and old dust, she still kept her back straight. She would not show weakness. Not now. Not after everything.
Ahead of her, Shen Qingqiu came to a stop near a smooth platform of stone where a pale green pavilion overlooked a valley blanketed in mist.
The scent of moss and rain lingered between the stones, a quiet balm after the heat below. He turned, folding his hands behind his back. His expression, as always, was unreadable.
“This will be your home,” he said.
Zhaodi looked up at him. “For how long?”
His eyes flicked over her. Not cruel, not warm. Just measuring.
“That depends on you.”
She nodded once.
He tilted his head slightly.
“You knew what to say to gain my attention. That’s not the same as earning your place.”
“I know,” she replied quietly.
“You’ll be treated no differently from any other disciple. I do not tolerate laziness. Nor self-pity.”
“I’m not asking for kindness.”
“You’ll get little of it here.”
Her lips curved, almost a smirk. “I’m used to that.”
There was a pause.
Then, to her faint surprise, Shen Qingqiu drew his fan from his sleeve and flicked it open again. The gesture was fluid, practised. He raised it to eye level. Not to shield himself from the sun, but perhaps from something else entirely.
“You speak as though you’ve suffered greatly,” he said lightly.
“I have suffered,” she replied. “But I don’t expect that to matter here.”
“No,” he agreed. “It doesn’t.”
Another pause.
Then, softly, he added, “But it might. Later.”
The words startled her more than anything else he had said. There was no warmth in his tone, only the faint echo of recognition.
Zhaodi looked past him, toward the edge of the cliff where the mountain dropped into cloud. The sun was almost gone now, and everything was tinged in soft grey and violet.
She could almost pretend she was alone again, with the wind and the road and her next meal just out of reach.
But no. That wasn’t true anymore.
For the first time since she’d clawed her way through the underbrush and stumbled into the back of the selection field, the silence gave her space to think. And with that space came memory… unbidden, unwelcome.
But as the stillness deepened, another life pressed against her eyelids. Unwanted. Unforgotten.
Glass and concrete. Sirens in the distance. Cold tiles under bare feet. The constant pressure of being less than enough. Unwanted. Too loud. Too clever. Too angry. The cheap metallic smell of the man who’d reached for her when her father handed her over without a glance.
Zhaodi closed her eyes.
She had fought to survive long before this world, long before mountains and qi. Yet somehow, impossibly, this world was kinder than the one that birthed her.
She opened her eyes again, found Shen Qingqiu watching her. Not quite frowning. More curious, as though seeing a strange insect that might grow wings if given the chance.
“I don’t expect you to favour me,” she said softly. “But I’ll give you no reason to regret this.”
He did not smile. But the edge of his mouth twitched, faintly. His fan snapped shut.
“See that you don’t.”
He gestured toward a stone path leading up toward a smaller, two-storey pavilion nestled further up the path.
“You’ll stay there. A senior disciple will bring you robes and supplies. Bathe. Dress. Then you will perform the disciple tea ceremony. You will then be shown to your room by a senior disciple. Training will begin at chen shi.”
Without waiting for acknowledgement, he turned and began walking again, disappearing into the mist with the same quiet detachment he’d shown all day.
Zhaodi stood alone for a moment.
Then, wordlessly, she turned toward the stone path. Her feet ached. Her skin itched. Her stomach growled faintly in protest. She ignored it all.
She was no longer in the dirt.
No longer kneeling.
She was on a mountain now. Nothing on earth would make her come down.