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Luo Binghe had dreamed the moment he would reunite with his Shizun a thousand times over a thousand ways. Would Shizun whisk him home the moment he laid eyes on him? Would he repent, beg forgiveness, or would it be Binghe falling to his knees pleading to be taken back, renounce his dirty blood and dedicate himself to Shizun?
He could picture every possible scenario, every minute twitch of Shizun’s face that he’d spent more time studying, more time learning to interpret than he’s devoted to guqin practice. He’d forced himself to live through them all until he could play his role, stick to the plan. He just had to stick to the plan. Shizun would have to take him back.
Admittedly, the plan had gone awry the moment he’d decided to go to Jin Lan city chasing after rumors of the Xiu Ya sword’s personal attendance to the plague. It was impulsive on his part, he knew, but how could he deny himself the sight of his beautiful teacher after so long? How was he meant to endure another day after starving for the man that was his salvation?
Oh, he’d found himself breathless, the word “Shizun?” slipping from his lips like a haunting prayer. The man who haunted his dreams and nightmares alike jumped, turning his gaze down on him from the top of the stairs. His cool viridian gaze alighted on him, locked and spellbound as Binghe felt.
That alone felt so much like home Binghe nearly broke down weeping then and there. It was only through sheer force of will, honed to a razor-fine edge in the same hell his teacher had condemned him to, that he stayed upright.
There were flashes of expression so brief anyone else would have missed them.
Alarm. Terror.
A hint of pain.
Just as quickly, Shizun would hide those expressions behind his fan. Maintain his dignity behind a cool mask, unfettered by mortal matters. Just like the elegant celestial he was.
That was what Luo Binghe had expected, at least. It was what he was watching for, the habits so familiar he could recite them by heart. His eyes were drinking Shizun in with the thirst of a man lost to the desert for a hundred years.
Luo Binghe waited for his next cue in the first act of their play.
But it never came.
Shizun’s hand went to his belt, drawing his fan with practiced grace to shield his thin face. A habit. Thoughtless in its execution, usually.
Yet halfway through the draw up, the windup to spread the fine painted silk out between them like a crane spreading its wings, he paused. Hesitated. Stopped, and laid his other hand over the still-closed guard.
A variable in an otherwise perfect script.
Binghe froze, his gaze sharpening. He had been paying close attention before, but now he was using his gaze to consume. He breathed in every detail he could. Damnit. He should have accounted for changes in Shizun like this. Even if it felt wrong, contrary to what he knew about the man. It had been two years. Binghe had changed, why wouldn’t Shizun have as well?
But what if it isn’t? a traitorous voice whispered.
Shizun (?) inclined his head politely, his face completely unguarded, lips curved in the barest ghost of a smile. “Binghe. It’s been a long time. This master is glad to see you are doing well.” He? It? Said with a tone that belied a respectful fondness.
Binghe stifled a wounded noise in his throat. No, this was wrong. It didn’t make sense. Didn’t Shizun throw him away? Didn’t Shizun reject him for his dirty blood? Hadn’t Shizun been repulsed, afraid of him a moment before? But how dare he act like nothing was wrong? How could Shizun welcome him back like nothing had happened with a smile that felt the same and so, so different?
Unless… Was this still Shizun he was looking at?
The crinkle of his eyes was different. He used gestures Binghe had never seen when he turned to speak with Gonyi Xaio, putting a polite distance between himself and everyone around him. The cadence of his voice had changed, sharper and more pointed than the gentle breeze his master used.
He was so warm towards Binghe. But he was warm in a way that felt foreign. An imitation. The weight of his gaze was not the one that looked at him like he was the centerpiece of the world, for good or ill.
Binghe could weep in joy if he wasn’t so sure that this wasn’t real. There were any number of reasons for a man to change, flowers and potions that would alter a man’s temper. It was everything he wanted, in the worst way possible. It was meaningless, because it wasn’t Shizun saying the words.
This was not his Shizun.
Or it wasn’t a coherent Shizun.
Whatever was going on here, it wasn’t Shizun accepting him the way he wanted. A man who was drugged was not a man making choices he wanted to.
Binghe’s thoughts spun into a vicious typhoon, razing all his carefully laid plans to the ground.
He was a child again, standing trembling in front of a man and witnessing the replacement of a peak lord right under everyone’s noses. Watching, bewildered, as they went through tests one by one only to shrug and declare that he was the same soul as before, when he so clearly wasn’t.
It happened once, His mind whispered traitorously, a coil of ice piercing his chest. It could always happen again.
No, NO. he told himself. That wasn’t what was happened. His unlucky and curious Shizun must have simply been exposed to something to cause this change.
He opened his mouth. Froze. Couldn’t bring his voice to the fore, lest he start screaming like a madman.
He wasn’t gone.
He couldn’t be.
Binghe wouldn’t allow him to simply leave him like that.
A quick glance around the room confirmed what he already knew: No one else had noticed. No one else had even registered that the man standing there now was different from the man who had stood there moments prior. And how could he expect they would? No one, no one had studied his master as closely as he had. Not one person in the world could match Binghe’s encyclopedic knowledge of all his little tells and quirks.
The conversation ran past him after, all meaningless colors and sounds. He stood unmoored, only just barely keeping his feet tethered to the ground, keep his breath steady, keep his racing heart locked in its cage of bones. He faintly registered agreeing to bring the dead demon to Mu Qingfang, where to go, a bid farewell. The cooing and fretting of the useless cultivators from Huan Hua fell to the wayside.
He found himself on the street, alone, walking with the Sower bound in dark cloth in his arms, thinking, thinking, thinking. He ran through his memory, all the beasts and spirits and monsters and demons and plants and pollens Shizun had waxed on about every chance he could.
This wouldn’t work. That could only take mortals. Those required preparation to assume another’s form. That wouldn’t have an effect on cultivators. This wouldn’t have a delayed effect like this. The symptoms were wrong for those.
Nothing matched.
But Luo Binghe was certain of one thing, at least: His master was still there, still in that body. That habitual motion couldn’t be faked. Those subdued twists of the brow and gleams of the eye the moment he laid eyes on Binghe were all Shen Qingqiu as he knew the man.
Whatever had stolen away his spirit in the middle of a roomful of cultivators might still be handled. He could still reverse this or cure it, whatever it took, and prove himself in the process. Then his master would smile and pat his head and throw his arms around his shoulders and tell him what a good disciple he was, that of course he was welcome to come home.
It had to be reversible. It had to. Shizun couldn’t vanish just as swiftly as he’d arrived into his life. Shizun just needed him to save him. Fix him. Protect him.
And if it was his master, simply altered by the years, he needed to understand EVERYTHING about these changes.
If it was an imposter, a body-thief desecrating the holy temple that was his master’s body...
Luo Binghe was already fuming with ideas for what to do to the filth that dared desecrate his master’s body. He might even go a bit easy if it returned what belonged to Binghe easily enough.
If it wasn’t, if Shizun really was gone, if it resisted…
Luo Binghe repressed a growl, his claws digging into his palm until they bled.
_____
The handover of the Sower’s body was as unremarkable as he’d expected. All the usual “How are you?” “Fine, thank you,” and “We thought you were dead.” that Luo Binghe was tired of already.
He had better things to do than make small talk with the Qian Cao peak lord about little things like ‘where he’s been’, ‘how did you survive’, and ‘what have you been doing these past few years?’ So he dodged the questions as politely as he could manage and stole away upstairs while the healer was busy with a suddenly screaming “volunteer” for the cure he was testing.
Luo Binghe’s steps were silent as he approached the lone room still lit within by a lantern. Binghe could almost imagine the scene of Shen Qingqiu, doused in the waning light of the evening sun, radiant. Eyes closed, knelt calmly on a cushion at the low table, calmly sipping at a cup of steaming tea.
Binghe hesitated, hand raised and ready to rap against the door. He had questions, so many he knew not where to start. What was going on with Shizun? What had changed? Did he miss him? Did he regret throwing away the child he’d so lovingly raised? Was that why he was so thrown off from his usual habits?
Did he really mean he was happy to see him again?
Luo Binghe shook himself. The only way to get those answers was to meet with his master, alone, without the distractions of other people. The only way through was forward.
His knuckles fall heavy against the wood. Knock, Knock, knock.
Shizun’s voice answered. “So Liu-shidi DOES know how to knock. Someone get a scroll, this is a momentous occasion to mark down in Cang Qiong’s illustrious history.” he says, and the slight mocking bite to the tone is the only thing undercutting the rage at hearing his Shizun call out for another man late into the night.
The door burst open, the frame of the wood cracking under his grip, tearing into the room like a storm.
Shizun, sat on his bed, dressed down to his inner robes, his hair in his slender fingers being worked into a braid. The sight only stoked the flames of his ire. Why was Shizun waiting here in a state of undress so late at night? For another man?
Luo Binghe’s smile sharpened, qi boiling in his veins as those forest-deep eyes whirled on him with a sting of frost, mouth open in a snarl ready to spit venom before locking onto his disciple.
A curl of satisfaction nestled in his heart as the scolding died on his master’s tongue, the name of Liu Qingge withering as he stopped. Saw Binghe. Reassessed.
Luo Binghe put on a practiced smile, dusting the splinters off onto his robe, “Sorry to disappoint, Shizun, this lowly one-”
“Out.” Shizun demanded, with the same tone of reprimand he used for unruly disciples.
Binghe paused. “Begging Shizun’s forgiveness, but-”
“No. Out.” Shen Qingqiu leveled a stern look, lacking the same viciousness he was willing to tear into Liu Qingge with, but firm and icy.
His lips curled in displeasure as Binghe continued to stand in his doorway. “In case Binghe hasn’t noticed, this master is underdressed. Completely inappropriate. Binghe will go outside and WAIT until this master calls on him. Whatever you have to say can wait until this master is put together enough to allow another into his room.”
Binghe did see the logic in that. If it was Shizun and his famously thin face, then it would hurt his case to refuse this. And he wasn’t turning him away, rejecting him outright, just asking him to wait.
That, and Binghe couldn’t very easily focus on the matter at hand looking at Shizun’s unbound hair and last two sleep robes exposing the graceful dip of his jade neck. Binghe’s teeth itched to sink into that soft pale flesh, leave his mark there.
On the other hand, Binghe needed to be sure that this would actually lead to the talk he so desperately needed to have. A tense, anxious corner of his heart screamed that if he took his eyes off the man he would vanish or change once again.
Binghe stared back, the air tense between them. “Shizun swears he will speak with this one in earnest if this disciple steps out? He will answer this one’s questions?”
Shizun, who had grown increasingly tense the longer Binghe stayed rooted in place, gave a terse nod after a moment of calculation. “This master so swears. This master will answer to Binghe.”
A small knot in his heart came undone. That was enough, for the moment. With a bow, he turned back and stepped outside, shutting the door behind him.
The wait was too short and far too long all at once. Binghe nearly leapt out of his skin when he heard the smooth voice of Shen Qingqiu call out to him. “Come in. have a seat.”
Luo Binghe had to stop himself from tearing the door off its track in his haste. Measured, he slid the door open, greeting his Shizun with cupped hands.
His eyes roved over the figure of his master, seated at the low table just like he’d pictured before. Shizun hadn’t bothered to put up his hair, leaving it braided for sleep even as he wore each of his fine green layers. A pot of tea, steaming, sat waiting, and Binghe felt split between the petulant disappointment that his master had not allowed him to serve him, and grateful that his master was welcoming him so. He stepped inside and settled on his knees, each step nearly silent in their grace.
Shen Qingqiu reached for the pot, but Binghe was swifter, grabbing the handle with a smile. “Shizun, please, allow this one.” he requested, though in his heart he knew he would sooner rip the pot from Shizun’s grip than allow this small honor to be taken from his greedy hands.
Shen Qingqiu paused, brow furrowing in annoyance instead of that familiar indulgence, and a quiet sigh passed his lips. “Very well.”
That acquiescence was all Binghe needed. Though the tea was already brewed (Binghe knew he could have done better if his master had allowed him,) Binghe’s pour was impeccable, the stream flowing soundlessly from the spout. Shen Qingqiu took his cup, taking a sip with a small hum of approval.
Binghe took his own cup, noting the scent and taste as he took a sip. Shizun was a scholar of the arts, an enthusiast of various forms of tea and their preparation. Shizun could make even the most dreadful quality of leaves taste like the finest brew. Shizun was too particular, too practiced to make an error in the steeping process.
This tea wasn’t one of the blends Shizun liked. It was also steeped far too strong, the astringency biting the tongue. Shizun tended to take his tea milder and sweeter than this.
Shizun would accept tea like this, back in the early days of his discipleship when Binghe was still learning how to brew and was making every possible mistake while he tried to cater to his teacher’s preferences. But he would only finish a cup this bitter if Binghe made it. Anyone else, even himself, and he would take one small sip and conveniently “forget” to finish it until after it had gone cold.
Luo Binghe watched the bob of Shen Qingqiu’s throat as he swallowed the tea down, all the wrinkles smoothed out of his face. Relaxed. Pleased. He was enjoying his cup.
Binghe analyzed all this and spoke a conclusion he’d desperately hoped was wrong before his mind could catch up. “You’re not my shizun.”
Luo Binghe regretted it as soon as it left his lips. The tension was thick enough to cut with a blade. Stupid! How could you say it so abruptly! Binghe admonished himself. At worst Shizun would think he had rejected him as his master, and then he would never get to go home!
Yet the look on Shen Qingqiu’s face was more stunned than insulted, shifting quickly into an intense calculation. Inside his mind, words were likely being measured, the perfect reply being calculated. Risks and benefits being weighed against the other.
“… well that is rude to say. And not quite accurate, besides.”
Binghe felt the cup slip from his grasp, clattering to the table and spilling steaming tea all over the table. Shen Qingqiu’s gaze flicked to it impassively. Any other day Binghe would take that as a cue to rush to clean up the mess before it stained the table, but that was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. He couldn’t breathe.
It had been a gamble. A long shot. An impossible guess. But face that looked like Shen Qingqiu and wasn’t spared him a knowing smile, aware of the conclusion he had come to, of the accusation he had levied.
It was acknowledging he was right. This wasn’t the Shizun he knew.
A low growl rumbled in his throat, demonic qi flaring dangerously, pressing down on the small form wearing his beloved’s face. “Where is he?”
The fake tilted his head, a small smile gracing his lips. Mocking him? He couldn’t tell. “Which one?”
Binghe’s claws dug into the table. “Do not toy with this Lord. The Shizun that gave me medicine. The shizun that took a blow for me. Nurtured me. Took me into his home.” Binghe seethed, quietly noting the imposter’s words and their implications. Did it know about the Shen Qingqiu from before the deviation? If he spoke incorrectly, made a mistake, could the wrong Shen Qingqiu be the one that returned?
The very thought made his chest feel like it was stabbed through with Xiu Ya once more.
The fake took a sip of the damning tea, considering his words. When it answered, it spoke with a casualness that was reminiscent of those who lived in the slums and on the streets. “He never left. He just needed to, hm, take a step back for a moment. Center himself. So I stepped in. Not the first time I’ve had to, hopefully the last.”
Binghe set his jaw so he didn’t snap his teeth at it. So Shizun was still there. Trapped in his own mind? Possessed? Binghe couldn’t allow himself to feel relief just yet. “Then you will return him. Immediately,” he demanded, putting the full weight of his authority as Demon Lord behind his words.
The thing just shrugged at him. “I can’t. It doesn’t work like that.” It chuckled as his expression soured, “Ah, don’t misunderstand. It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that, well, it’s for his sake that I’m here at this moment, I believe. I didn’t really choose this, I don’t think any of us did. It was just what was apparently needed at the moment. Admittedly, there’s many things I don’t understand about our situation. It’s all still a working hypothesis.”
Binghe knew better than to take it for its word. It seemed too relaxed for an imposter that was unmasked. Either it was very confident that it couldn’t be excised, or it was speaking true. Supposing it was, it would explain the slight exasperation to its tone. Perhaps this had been going on long enough that it was past the point of panic when something went wrong.
Or, it could be a very adept actor. It was arrogant, either way. “Explain what you can.”
“Hm. That’s quite a large order. How do you want it. Chronologically? By relevance?” it responded flippantly.
He grit his teeth. Shizun was still in there, and who knew if this creature could still hurt him. “Start with who you are, what you are, and why you stole his body.” He demanded, crossing his arms.
It smiled like he had just said something funny. “Hm. Does that make a total of four or five misconceptions in one conversation? I lost count. Not a record, by far, but amusing. As for my name… I never chose one, really. I was called Jiejie, but that’s not really a name, is it?”
Luo Binghe paused, narrowing his eyes. “Then you claim to be a female spirit of some sort?” It wasn’t unheard of for a woman’s spirit to possess a man’s body. It wasn’t common, though. Most human spirits preferred bodies that matched the gender they had in life. Shizun had spoken at length about how incongruity between the gender of the body and the soul could sow discord, heart demons, and qi deviations. It was very difficult for the dead to possess a cultivator, but if Shizun had been weakened by Without-A-Cure at the time, it was plausible.
But the imposter just smiled as though he’d said something nostalgic and very silly. “No. I thought so for a long time since I always felt closer to being a woman than a man. However, we were wrong, as we found after the qi deviation. Our situation is more complicated than that.”
It- She tapped her fingers against the table. “If I had to put it to words… I believe what I am is a piece out of a whole. A-Yuan, the one you think of as ‘Shizun,’ is another piece, one that appeared or was thrust into the forefront after the qi deviation when you were 14.”
Binghe’s eyes flew wider at the admission. True, this… Piece of a whole, as she called herself had been fairly forthright, if her words were to be trusted. But more than that, she was aware of the qi deviation, aware of the Shizun that had loved him. If she had been around then, the same tests that had failed to detect spirits and possessions would have failed to notice her just like the new soul that was his Shizun.
It was a tidy explanation, if it was true. More than he’d ever been told from Shizun. A selfish, greedy corner of his heart fluttered at the possibility that a wealth of secrets, everything he’d ever wanted to know about Shizun was just being offered up like this. This ‘Jiejie’ was spilling secrets that his closed off Shizun would sooner hide than reveal. Maybe they were of the same origin.
The more he thought about it, the more he wanted it to be true. He would know secrets about Shizun no one else knew. An idea of why Shizun had chosen him, what made him decide he was worthy… why he changed his mind. How to get him to change it back. It would make things so easy with the answers she was so freely giving.
Binghe knew better. He knew better than to trust so quickly. But he wanted this glimpse of an opportunity so, so badly. Even if it was a trick, even if it was an illusion.
A-Yuan. He wanted to taste the name, savor it on his lips. Instead, he nodded, his lips feeling dry. “You say you are a piece. A piece of what, exactly?”
“A mind.” She answered simply.
Luo Binghe’s brows furrowed. As a master of dreams, he had delved into the minds of many, teased out their memories and subconscious. He was very familiar with the workings of a mind, at least a dreaming one. A dreaming mind was like layers, all blending together into a representation of the person themselves and all they’d lived through. Sure, you could call one part a separate “piece” from another, but it was akin to pointing to a blur of wet inks mixing on a painting, calling this piece “black” and that piece “dark blue.” They didn’t have boundaries to them. They certainly didn’t name themselves, or speak with their own voice like a person.
Meng Mo hadn’t told him anything like this could happen. A mind broken into pieces. The old leech was less than useless ever since he’d mastered dream arts, he thought.
Meng Mo must have heard that remark, and Luo Binghe felt him puff up in indignation at the idea. To think this child is still questioning this elder. Do you have no respect for the wisdom of your elders?
Binghe scoffed internally. Then please, let Elder Mo enlighten this one. he thought, his tone far from respectful.
Meng Mo huffed, but didn’t remark on his disrespect. He knew all too well who was in charge here. This elder has not encountered a mind in two parts like she claims. But, it is not unheard of for a mind to…. Split a piece of itself off, to protect the whole. This master has only seen it in his youth, in one who had endured something terrible in their life. The mind, to protect the whole, severed the connections to the memory of the event, as much as it could. Like cutting out a piece of rotting flesh. While awake, the person lived never remembering whatever terrible event took place, but the connections were still there, through their emotions. Reacting to similar events with fear, though they did not know why.
Binghe mulled this over, stuffing the elder demon back into his dark corner and ignoring his protests.
He was pulled out of his thoughts abruptly. “If Binghe does not believe me, he is welcome to try to enter our dream realm to see for himself. I would love to see some of my theories confirmed or disproven.” She offered.
Binghe schooled his expression into a placid smile. “And what makes Jiejie so certain this Binghe does not believe her?”
She rolled! Her eyes at him! “I watched Binghe grow from a boy,” she answered, “Binghe tends to fall quiet and look to the ceiling when he’s thinking hard about something. You opened the discussion accusing me of being a possessive spirit. And I’m well aware of how… unbelievable my story sounds.”
“If Jiejie did not think her story believable, then why tell it in the first place?” He countered, not even hiding the sarcasm to his tone. “Surely if she knew she would be so distrusted, why reveal herself? Why not come up with a better story?” Why invite him to a place as vulnerable as Shen Qingqiu’s dreamscape? Did she really think she could lay a trap strong enough to get the upper hand?
She was welcome to try. Luo Binghe would crush the attempt and burn this parasite out.
There was a moment of silence. She stared at him, gaze firm. “Because it is the truth.” she answered.
Binghe didn’t have a response to that.
They sat in silence for a moment, the tension settling between them. Binghe took this time to clean up his spilled tea and she wordlessly poured him another cup.
It tasted worse than the first one. The tea had gone cold, and now it didn’t even have the pleasant warmth to make it enjoyable. The astringency had pushed its way to the forefront. Instead of being wet and refreshing, it felt more like ash on his tongue, robbing him of moisture.
He nursed the cup, pondering his options, whether her words were true, whether entering Shizun’s mind was a risk he was willing to take or a violation he would have to beg forgiveness for.
She’d poured herself another cup, downing the whole thing in one go like a cup of crude wine. “This tea,” She remarked, setting down the cup and wiping her mouth on her sleeve like a monster, “Tastes like ass.”
Luo Binghe did not laugh. He did not snort. But some small crack must have shown in his reaction because her face split into a huge grin, full of childish mischief. It was so unguarded, so open, like the Shizun he’d imagined behind all his careful poise and the shield of his fan. His silly, sweet Shizun.
His heart ached. He’d always wanted to see a smile like that on that face. To be the cause of so much joy.
He took another sip. She was right. The tea was terrible.
“You could have waited for this one to come in and brew it.” He remarked.
She smiled at her cup. “Binghe is right. I should have. But I wanted to welcome you home properly.”
A lump lodged itself in his throat, his eyes feeling hot. It wasn’t real. He couldn’t let his guard down. Couldn’t believe her words. Not yet.
He wanted to.
He wanted to believe in it. That some piece of Shizun missed him. Wanted him back.
She kept speaking, as though to fill the silence between them. “I’m not… saying all of this only because it’s the truth, though.” He perked up, listening acutely, “When I was pushed to the front, I wanted things to be… better. Try to smooth things over again. Or, failing that, take the brunt of your ire.”
“You thought this one was angry at Shizun.” He concluded.
“A-Yuan did. I wasn’t sure. But he seemed convinced you hated him for betraying you.” She told him.
He tried not to show how much that hurt. “I don’t hate- I don’t want to hate Shizun. I just want to talk. I want to know why this one wasn’t enough. I want to come home.” he admitted. A thought occurred to him, a hope that maybe- “Can... Shizun hear us right now?”
She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at the table. “I don’t think so. He’s usually so closed off. Fitting for his name- Yuan, as in the character for ‘wall.’ We all don’t always… hear each other.”
He wanted to sigh. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. Why would Shizun stay to listen to a demon like him, even if he was able to?
“Sometimes it’s like waking up from a nap, and you don’t remember what happened while you were asleep. Others it’s like watching the world through someone else’s eyes. Some of us aren’t aware of anything.” Something sad shone in her eyes, “I like it best when we’re both aware of each other. When it’s like someone is in the room with you, so you’re not alone.”
He leaned his head against an arm, listening. Even if it was a lie, it was at the very least an entertaining story. If he kept asking, would she eventually slip up, contradict herself? She seemed confident in her tale, and Binghe was confident he could detect any cracks in her story. In the meantime… it wouldn’t hurt to keep her talking. The story she was spinning was interesting if nothing else.
“You speak as though there’s more than you and Shizun, in that mind.” he prompted. And, as expected, that was enough to get her talking again.
She rambled. Like Shizun. Excited, a favored topic, speaking with her hands and her eyes lighting up like the sun.
“Well, it took me a long time to explore the corners of our mind. Sure some of the teachings A-Jiu learned under Wu Yanzi were a foothold, but it was so much easier to get in touch with the seperate parts if you weren’t aggressive about it. There was so much more to /learn/ after the qi deviation left everything in chaos, and someone had to step up and put things in order, and I was the only one whole enough to and A-Yuan was busy /being/ us. There’s a lot of parts that feel more like shards, like little moments trapped in time, or spend most of their time trying to hide away. Over the years some of us changed over time, like me. I wasn’t always present, I was more like… a warm blanket for A-Jiu.”
She spoke as though once the words started, they just came spilling out all at once. Like there was finally an outlet for her rambling. She grabbed her fan, tapping it against the table.
Binghe perked up, eyes locking on the fan. That habit was familiar.
Shizun?
Words continued to pour out. “And when we lost you, I had to do so much more. A-Yuan really doesn’t take care of himself, someone has to be there to make sure he eats and sleeps regularly. The Sword Mound is peaceful and all, but does he really need to spend six shichen staring at it? Ah, not that it’s like I’m a grieving widow who lost their soul, don’t believe what your Ning-shijie says.”
As he stared, they flipped the fan open and shut, getting lost in their own thoughts. And it was- he didn’t know how else to explain it, but now that he knew how to look he could see it was /them/ and not just her. Oblivious, they flipped the fan open, waving it in front of their face.
Then his -yes, his- brow furrowed in irritation. “I mean, really, Binghe, You would think they all believed this master couldn’t take care of himself. Nagging hens, the lot of them. And don’t get me started on Zhangmen-shixiong. He barely let this master off his own peak for this very mission. Really, is the title of Peak Lord just for show?”
Binghe’s vision of Shizun was blurry as he snapped his fan closed and looked over in his direction with indignation. Binghe blinked and his vision cleared, in time to see Shizun’s face fall in open concern.
“Shizun.” he cried, voice cracking. It could be a lie, an act, but he knew in his soul it wasn’t and it was everything just to see Shizun ramble at him again like nothing had changed. “Shizun, shizun-!”
Shizun scrambled up and scooted over to Binghe, cupping his cheeks in his hands and wiping his eyes with his thumbs. “Aiyah, what’s with all the tears, hm? Aren’t you grown by now? Bleating ‘Shizun, shizun’ like a little lamb. Isn’t my Binghe getting too old for this?”
Binghe sobbed harder, throwing himself into his master -for he was certain it couldn’t be anyone else- and buried his face into his chest, hiding away in his robes like he had as a child.
Binghe felt one hand raise up, pause, and bury itself in his curls. Shizun stroked his hair just like he used to, until all his tears had been wrung out. Even then, Binghe did not let go. Not as long as Shizun was willing to indulge him. Not as long as he was right where he was meant to be.
When Shizun spoke again, it was with a growing sense of confusion. “Binghe… Does Binghe remember when we- Did anything strange happen after the- When we met in the brothel?”
Binghe laughed a little. “Answering Shizun… a lot happened. This disciple still doesn’t understand, but is hopeful that A-Yuan will enlighten this one.”
Shizun made a hum that meant something like “Ah, yes, I see.”
It took two heartbeats for Shizun to start sputtering like a dying fish. “Wait, Binghe, where did you hear that name?!” he asked scandalized and thoroughly baffled.
Binghe pulled his face away, his eyes shining with satisfaction. So that was one thing she hadn’t lied about.
Teasing, he grinned. “Where does Shizun think this disciple heard it? This one only could have heard it from Shizun.” he teased, enjoying the growing fluster on Shizun’s face.
It was absolutely worth listening to that strange story.
And getting smacked lightly on the head with a fan in reprimand for his teasing.
After all, Shizun was still here. And maybe the fondness Shizun- all of them- had in their heart for Binghe wasn’t as distant as he thought.