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Chapter Text

The ugly little world Shen Qingqiu has built for himself comes crashing down around his ears one nondescript autumn evening.

He abruptly realizes that it's been a couple of days and the little beast is still locked in the woodshed, and that he needs to be let out before he manages to die of dehydration in there. He calls for Ming Fan, but annoyingly, cannot find his head disciple anywhere, and goes grumblingly to let the brat out himself, fan hand already itching to hit something.

But now Shen Qingqiu has stopped dead on the path to the woodshed. Disbelief and disgust spring up in his gut at the sounds that reach his sensitive ears. There is some sort of a teen dalliance occurring in this woodshed. Skin slapping against skin, a boy grunting like a pig. His first, furious thought is that the little beast is in there defiling his favorite disciple - he'd have to be blind to miss the way Ning Yingying orbits around the boy - and that he is going to kill him this time, actually kill him.

But then, he hears the second voice. And it is not Ning Yingying's. It's a second boy's. It is the unmistakable sound of soft, muffled sobbing.

Shen Qingqiu's body has carried him across the last few steps and flung open the door to the woodshed before his mind has caught up.

No, this is not what he first suspected. This is something much, much worse.

One boy, naked, on his knees. Hands tied behind his back. A rag stuffed in his mouth to quiet him. The second boy - older - still mostly clothed, rutting into him as he bends him over the woodpile. A hand fisted cruelly in the younger boy's curly hair, yanking his head back, providing a clear view of the tears running down his cheeks.

The scene hits Shen Jiu with all the force of a lightning bolt. Emotion electrifies him head to toe, too much and too many to parse, leaving no room for him inside his body. He feels himself step away, viewing the wretched tableau from outside himself.

It feels like ages have passed in the moment it takes him to process the sight, in the instant it takes the older boy to notice his arrival, to leap back and away from his victim and yelp, "Shizun!", hastily rearranging his robes. With no external support, unable to catch himself, the younger boy wobbles and tips over. He hits the ground gracelessly, crumpled like a discarded doll.

For a moment there is an awful silence. The part of Shen Qingqiu's brain that is still capable of noting down facts reminds him that he is perfectly capable of recognizing these two boys and referring to them by name. The older one is Hu Zhen, an acquaintance of his erstwhile head disciple. The younger one is Luo Binghe. Rage swells up, momentarily overpowering everything else. The fan in his hand splinters with the force of his grip.

"What," says Shen Qingqiu, low and deadly, "exactly is going on here?"

"Shizun," babbles Hu Zhen plaintively, "it was just a little fun. I mean, it's just Binghe-"

The fan cracks apart further, several splinters digging into his skin deep enough to draw blood. Shen Jiu feels himself faintly shaking with rage. "Get out," he orders hoarsely.

Hu Zhen looks taken aback at the force of his anger. "Shizun-" he protests.

Shen Jiu forces his hand open and allows the fragments of the fan to fall to the ground. "Get. Out," he hisses. "You have disgraced this sect and your master. Kneel at the foot of the peak and do not move until I return for you or I will make you regret the day you were born."

Paling a little, Hu Zhen gives a hasty bow and flees the scene of the crime.

Now it's only the two of them.

For a long moment, Shen Jiu can't make himself move. At some point his ears have started ringing; he feels dizzy, too light for his body. On the ground, Luo Binghe has curled into the smallest shape he can, trembling all over. Shen Jiu wants nothing less than to be staring but can't make his eyes rip away. For a long moment he looks at the brutalized form of his least favorite disciple and all he can see is pitiful Xiao Jiu, huddled on the floor of Qiu Jianluo's study and hoping his master is done with him for the time being. He can feel the imprint of phantom hands, squeezing and devouring. He shudders once, hard, nausea churning suddenly in his stomach.

Shen Qingqiu has always had a hawk's eye; mercilessly, it points out the details for him. Blood is trickling sluggishly down the inside of the boy's thighs. His back is still covered in the welts that Shen Qingqiu put there with a bamboo switch, now blue-green rather than purple-black, the worst scabbed over at the middle. A lump is swelling on his forehead, perhaps from the floor or the wall. The sensitive skin of his stomach is scraped bloody from being rocked against the woodpile, and Shen Jiu can already see fresh bruises forming in the shape of handprints around his hips.

The boy's eyes are red-rimmed and dazed, focusing on nothing; a few more tears slip out even as he's watching. In all the time Luo Binghe has been on Qing Jing Peak, Shen Qingqiu has never seen him cry. Not since that first day.

Luo Binghe is only a year or two older than Xiao Jiu was, the first time Qiu Jianluo raped him.

Shen Jiu has comforted girls and women in this situation before but has never had to do so with another boy. The difference it makes is overwhelming; he has always been able to keep composed in such situations but this time he feels he may float right out of his head from the press of his memories. Qiu Jianluo's taunting, imperious voice, his breath hot on Shen Jiu's neck. His cruel and clever hands that knew so many ways to cause pain. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Not now.

Gingerly, he kneels down next to the boy. Luo Binghe flinches badly, huge dark eyes flickering to his shizun's face and then away. Shen Jiu wants to be offended that the boy thinks he would do anything further to a person in this state. He wants to say, I won't harm you, but that would be ridiculous, wouldn't it? Half the bruises on the boy's body were made with his own hands.

It occurs to him briefly that he could simply walk away. Toss Hu Zhen out of the sect and leave the boy to scrape the shattered pieces of himself back together on his own. His mind recoils from the thought.

Shen Qingqiu knows he is capable of many things. Of inflicting things, and ignoring them. But not this. Never this. Whether he hates this child or not.

He draws Xiu Ya and carefully cuts the ropes binding his hands. The boy gasps and snatches them under his body as if he fears they will be grabbed. Shen Jiu removes the gag next; it was tied in place with the ribbon usually used to tie back the boy's hair. Luo Binghe spits out the rag and wets his lips. He hunkers down further, gaze fracturing again, lips trembling. He seems to want to speak but cannot.

With only a little hesitation, Shen Jiu strips off his outer robe and drapes it over the boy. Luo Binghe is swamped in the delicate green fabric, and after a few moments the shape under the garment wriggles. His head reemerges, round-eyed with shock. Again, he tries to speak but no sound comes out; his lips are chapped and cracked and his fingers tremor visibly where they grip the edge of the robe to draw it tight around his shoulders. He doesn't look away from Shen Qingqiu for an instant. Though the gesture has jarred him from his blankness, his fear and bewilderment are still so large they swamp the room. As though he did not expect even that least modicum of decency.

But why would he? Shen Jiu thinks again. He stands back up to put distance between them, mind working furiously through the fog.

How could Hu Zhen have possibly thought this behavior would be tolerated? How could he try to defend his actions at all? A terrible thought seizes him; if he cannot trust Hu Zhen not to give in to his base urges, can he trust any of his male disciples? Are there others involved in this?

Shen Qingqiu clears his throat. "Has this happened before?" he asks sharply. "Do not lie."

The boy maneuvers himself up into a sitting position and slowly shakes his head. Though the hesitance could be taken as suspicious, his eyes are guileless and faintly confused.

Even as one knot of tension unwinds in Shen Jiu, another draws tighter. Good. That's good. But the bottomless well of sneering bitterness that lives inside him seizes on it, goes, So he hasn't really suffered like me, then. What gives the brat the right to act so pitiful? He banishes it away with a gritting of teeth, feeling only more ill all the time.

What now? The boy needs medical attention; he is bleeding enough that he may have internal injuries. Shen Qingqiu can hardly take him to Mu Qingfang. This requires discretion, and he doesn't trust the man to know what someone actually needs in the wake of an experience like this. No, there is only one place Shen Qingqiu can think to take him for help. The girls at the Warm Red Pavilion would know what to do; their rapport with Shen Qingqiu means they will be willing to do him a favor, and they will treat this child with far more kindness than he will be able to if he continues to handle it on his own. But this raises further problems. Shen Qingqiu cannot exactly order a carriage to take himself and an underaged disciple to a brothel. He suspects he would quickly find out there are things not even Yue Qingyuan will tolerate.

So they will have to go by sword. He doubts Luo Binghe wants to be pressed up into his space for the length of time it will take to get there; Shen Jiu himself does not particularly want anyone touching him right now, not after the memories this has dredged up.

But there's nothing for it, really. "Can you stand?" he asks.

Luo Binghe's expression tightens. His mouth opens again and this time his voice finally emerges, thready and cracked and so very small: "I don't know."

"Try," says Shen Jiu, impatiently.

Luo Binghe shivers visibly, looking away. But then his expression firms. So determined, even now.

It takes several tries for the boy to get his legs beneath him. He winces, flinches, has to use the woodpile to drag himself up and support him. His knees knock together before they lock stiffly in place. He tries to offer a watery smile upon completing the task, as if looking for approval even now. It's so astonishing at a time like this that Shen Qingqiu wants to slap it off his face. He does not, but something of the sentiment must show for the expression vanishes quickly.

Without any further explanation Shen Qingqiu throws Xiu Ya under his feet. "Hold on," he says brusquely. Luo Binghe blinks rapidly, face filled with uncertainty almost to the point of terror, but he knows better than to ask questions. He stumbles forward and gets onto the sword behind Shen Qingqiu.

They fly as fast as he dares. He can feel the heart palpitations, the stuttering of his qi, the pains that shoot through his meridians at random - all warning of an impending qi deviation. His last, though minor, was only a few months ago and he cannot afford to have another. He tries not to think of anything, to focus on circulating his qi. It is nearly impossible. Behind him Luo Binghe curls close, not touching any part of Shen Qingqiu directly. Instead his hands fist tight in Shen Qingqiu's robes, his forehead resting against them. The entire time shaking, shaking.

Shen Qingqiu is not a good person. He knows this about himself. He is a twisted, venomous creature and he embraces it. Even now a part of himself is wrestling with him, howling and inconsolable: No one helped me when this was happening to me. Why should it be different for him? There is a part of him even now- ugly and jealous and wounded- that wants to cast this child back into the hell he found him in. If he doesn't like it he can do what Shen Jiu did and snap. He should have to learn the way Shen Jiu did that no one will ever come for him. Maybe finally, finally the last of the light will die in his eyes.

The small form at his back keeps shaking. He can hear the boy's heartbeat, too-quick and unsteady. Even as those thoughts run through Shen Jiu's head there is a second dialogue, heady and insistent, gradually growing louder than the first until all he can keep thinking to himself is that There is a line. There has to be a line.

Shen Jiu is a monster. He knows. But he is not that kind of monster. He refuses to be.

When they arrive at the brothel, he circles around and lands in back. The girls know him; they'll let him in if he asks. But he's barely sheathed Xiu Ya before there's a gasp and a tug at the hem of his robes. He whirls only to see that the boy has folded into a full kowtow on the ground.

"What is the meaning of this?" asks Shen Jiu, holding on by his last thread.

"Please!" gasps the boy. "Please, this- this disciple knows he has disgraced himself but please, please don't send this one away-"

"Quiet," Shen Jiu says, feeling very, very far away.

The boy, Shen Jiu's outer robe loose around his shoulders, does not quiet. He hunches further, spine a perfect curve of desperation. "Please!" he begs, voice thick with tears. "Shizun, don't sell me-"

Shen Jiu feels himself go white. Shen Jiu feels himself lose it. He lashes out, bowls the small form over with a harsh kick to the side. Then he stalks forward and hauls the boy up by the scruff, locking a hand around his wrist and dragging him to the back door of the brothel.

The boy is crying messily now, without restraint, but he doesn't try to break away. He staggers meekly after Shen Jiu, whimpering quietly in fear and pain. It goes to show that he still doesn't understand just how much worse it could get. If Shen Jiu thought someone was trying to sell him again, he would kick and claw and scream and bite until he couldn't anymore.

He makes it to the door and knocks. It's Xiang-er who answers, looking rather alarmed at the sight of him accompanied by a half-dressed, sobbing child. Shen Qingqiu can't handle this anymore. He hears himself describe the situation, crisply and concisely. He lets go of Luo Binghe's hand, quite quickly ceasing to hear anything else around him. His feet carry him to his usual room, which is thankfully empty, and he sits down heavily on one of the cushions.

How- how dare the child say that to him. Accuse him of being- the worst kind of scum, of being a slaver. How could he seriously expect-

He stares at his hands in the dim light, shaking, shaking. Splinters are still embedded in his dominant hand, the small streaks of blood long since crusted over. Qiu Jianluo's mocking laughter echoes in his ears, and his every muscle strings tight with the expectation of long-ago pain. His qi churns uneasily, flocking and bunching in his meridians like a school of frightened fish.

Shen Jiu buries his head in his hands and waits.

Chapter Text

Luo Binghe is sobbing so hard that it takes awhile for him to calm down enough to realize that he is not, in fact, being sold.

One of the women has been trying to get his attention for some time now, and her words finally filter through. "Master Shen told Xiang-er you were hurt, won't xiao-gongzi let her have a look?"

Luo Binghe shrinks back into his cocoon of blankets at the very concept, which is how he notices that in the time he has spent sitting here crying, he has been wrapped in no less than three different blankets. Even as he's thinking this, another woman passes behind him and drapes a fourth blanket around his shoulders. There are maybe half a dozen of them in here, though the one who called herself Xiang-er is the only one up close.

There's nothing he would like less than to disrobe and show them all his shame. He feels small and humiliated and he doesn't know what he's doing here and he doesn't know what it meant that Shizun looked at him that way. His body is a canvas of fatigue and pain that he's trying his very best not to think about, which would become impossible if he had to show them his injuries. The deep, persistent throb between his legs turns into a shooting pain all the way up his spine whenever he moves wrong, which is most ways, so he is trying to stay very still. His head is still pounding. His shoulders are stiff from being strung up and wrenched around, and his back is aching like it's one big bruise, and his scalp is sore from having his hair yanked, and he-

He doesn't want to think about it. His breath hitches, and his vision starts to swim, and then-

Something warm and fragrant is shoved under his nose. It's a cup of tea. "Ah, thank you, Jiaojiao," Xiang-er is saying, and Binghe looks up to see a girl who doesn't seem much older than he is, balancing a tray in one hand and holding the cup out to him in another. Not wanting to be rude, he fumbles a hand out of the blanket cocoon and takes it. Jiaojiao sniffs, sets the tray down on a low table, and flounces off to the other side of the room.

The steam and scent of the tea are grounding. A vague, gripping nausea has been distracting him from his hunger and thirst, but when he takes his first sip, he becomes acutely aware of how dry his mouth is. He swiftly drains it despite its near-uncomfortable temperature, and when Xiang-er refills the cup and hands it back to him, he finds himself suddenly on the verge of tears again.

"Why are you all being so nice to me?" Luo Binghe croaks. No one has taken care of him like this since his mother died.

"We know what it's like, hon," says one of the women from across the room.

Xiang-er nods sympathetically. "And Master Shen asked us to look after you, and we like him a lot around here," she says.

"He isn't going to fuck you," calls one of the girls next to Jiaojiao, and Xiang-er turns red the same moment Binghe nearly chokes.

"Shut up a-Zhi, I know that!" she snaps. "He's far too honorable."

Another girl bats her eyelashes and clasps her hands dramatically, turning to Jiaojiao to say, "She still thinks maybe someday, after she's paid off her contract-"

"Zhenzhen!" Xiang-er shrieks.

"I don't think even then," a-Zhi cuts in, looking back over with a raised eyebrow. She has sharp, slender features and a cool collectedness. "I don't think he's interested in sex at all."

"Well I think he's a cutsleeve," says Jiaojiao, and Binghe does choke on his tea this time, and bursts into a coughing fit which nearly causes him to spill the rest.

The girls are too engrossed in their argument to even notice. "I keep telling you Jiaojiao, you've got it wrong," says Zhenzhen, rolling her eyes. "Master Shen hates men. You haven't seen him really go off on an aggressive patron yet."

Xiang-er nods enthusiastically, finally transferring her attention back to Binghe. "He chases off the troublemakers," she explains. "He's such a gentleman. He only comes here to sleep - actually sleep. Cuddle at most."

"He takes the massages, though," Zhenzhen points out.

"Yes, but he doesn't get off on them!" Xiang-er insists, and this is all - well it's rather affronting to hear anyone discuss his shizun like that.

"Shizun," he speaks up finally, uncertainly, "Shizun comes here often?"

He's heard the rumors, of course, but he's always tried to ignore the more unsavory rumors about his shizun. Now it seems he's finding out that they're both true and untrue at the same time. Why would Shizun frequent brothels but never sleep with any of the women?

Zhenzhen coos. "You're his disciple?"

Abruptly, Luo Binghe remembers that might not be true anymore. The man hadn't responded to his frantic pleas outside the brothel at all, and he remembers the pinprick-pupiled look of disgust Shen Qingqiu had worn while he was huddling miserably on the woodshed floor. Luo Binghe ducks his head to hide the renewed burn of tears and says in a wobbly voice, "I was at least. I don't know anymore."

"Don't worry," advises the last of the women, an older one who has drawn closer to them while he looked away. "Master Shen is the last man who would judge you for this."

"a-Hua," Xiang-er warns.

That can't be true, Binghe is thinking. Shen Qingqiu judges him for everything, even when he wouldn't judge any of the other disciples for it. Luo Binghe isn't stupid; he knows his shizun hates him. Luo Binghe has still held out hope all these years that he can someday change Shen Qingqiu's mind, because the man chose him at the beginning, saw something of worth in him once. No matter how harsh the punishments become and no matter how slow his cultivation progresses, Shizun has still kept him, so he must not have entirely given up on Binghe yet. But Luo Binghe has never seen his shizun look like he did in the door of the woodshed today, white-lipped and shaking with rage, and he can't help the feeling that this is finally something he cannot come back from.

"But," he says thickly, "I'm a disgrace."

"The only one who's a disgrace is your rapist," says a-Zhi sharply, and Binghe flinches, ducking his head. He doesn't want to confront the ugly word.

"I could've fought harder," he whispers. The words sound hollow, broken. "I should've-"

The other boy only had to threaten him a little to get him to take off his clothes. Stupidly, Luo Binghe didn't suspect what he was going to do, thought he'd be satisfied with the humiliation and go away. He tried to fight back when the boy started grabbing at him, but he could've fought harder. It's just, after shixiong slammed his head into the woodpile, he got scared. He's been beaten into unconsciousness before, but every time his vision starts to go black he's afraid he'll never wake up again.

Maybe he should've let the boy beat him into unconsciousness. Then he wouldn't have had to be awake for what would happen next.

"Even if that's true," says a-Zhi, "he's the only one at fault. He's the one who decided to-"

a-Hua cuts her off by laying a hand on her arm, then turns to Binghe. "Sometimes there's nothing you could've done," she says gently, and the raw compassion in her eyes takes his breath away. "Don't you think you must've tried the best you could, and he was he just stronger than you?"

Luo Binghe bursts into tears again. He really did try, but his body was still stiff from its most recent beating and weak from lack of food, and he wouldn't have succeeded no matter how hard he fought. It's a bitter pill to swallow, the realization of his own weakness. He knows he has to protect himself- that no one else will- and it feels like there's a whole new kind of danger to look out for from the other boys, now. If this happened once, what's to stop it from happening again?

"a-Hua," Xiang-er scolds her, "we're supposed to be cheering him up!"

They hesitate, hovering as he cries. Eventually, a-Hua moves closer and starts rubbing his back softly through the layers of blankets. "Sweetie," she asks, "are you hurt very bad?"

He bites his lip and refuses to answer, wanting to give in to the motherly care but afraid and ashamed. The gentle touch disturbs the welts on his back, and in this moment, it's not even the injuries from the assault that he's worried about the most. These women all seem to like Shen Qingqiu a lot; what if, when they see how his shizun beats him, they decide Luo Binghe doesn't deserve all their kindness?

"I know it's hard, but you have to let us help you," a-Hua coaxes. "Won't you show us where you're hurt?"

"I don't want to," he gasps, "I don't want anyone to see."

"It's nothing we haven't seen before," Jiaojiao tries to argue.

At that moment someone new enters the room. She's older than the rest and they straighten at her air of quiet authority. "Sisi!" Xiang-er exclaims.

"How about after a bath?" Sisi asks, speaking directly to Binghe.

"I can have a bath?" he sniffles, feeling a little hopeful despite himself. Right now he feels so disgusting. A bath sounds like a blessing.

Sisi nods. "Master Shen is paying."

Luo Binghe finds that hard to believe, but the words don't rearrange themselves while he thinks about it. "Shizun is still here?" he asks, voice wobbling.

Sisi hesitates, but nods again. "He's waiting for you," she says.

Hope beats a little harder against his breast. "...And I have to let you see after?"

"Yes," says Sisi, though she looks sympathetic. "Master Shen said there was a lot of bleeding. We have to treat your injuries, or it could get worse."

He doesn't want to think about that. He doesn't want to think about any of that. But the lure of a bath is a powerful one. "Alright," he says in a small voice.

Sisi nods decisively. "Jiaojiao, a-Hua, you can stay and help me for a bit. The rest of you - shoo before the madam notices you slacking."

*

The bath turns out to be a mixed blessing. The warm water is wonderfully soothing on his aches and pains, and it's good to get the grime off, to feel a bit more clean. But he has to look at his body to wash it, he has to touch it and move it, and there's dried blood flaking off into the water, and it makes him think too much about what happened to his body, and his stomach pitches violently and then -

- well, then he's throwing up over the side of the tub.

There wasn't much in his stomach other than a cup of tea, but the nausea doesn't subside so quickly, and he's still retching by the time a-Hua barges in to help. Binghe blanches and tries to scramble to his feet, not wanting to get in trouble for making a mess. "I'll clean it up!" he says hastily, but halfway out of the tub remembers that he is still very naked, and still very injured, and a-Hua has frozen, staring at him with an expression of surprised pity on her face.

"Oh, sweetheart," she murmurs. "Who's been beatin' on you?"

A shiver goes through Luo Binghe from head to toe, and his foot slips out from under him, and he falls hard back into the wooden tub with a splash, which jars all his injuries, and he feels something start to bleed again, and he decides that maybe he should just stay under the water until he drowns. Unfortunately, he loses his nerve around the time his chest starts involuntarily heaving for air, and pops his head above the surface to see that a-Hua has been replaced by Jiaojiao, who is scrubbing at the floor and glaring at the dishrag in her hand as if it has personally offended her.

"Thought you said you were his disciple," she says in a tone of accusation.

"I am," Binghe insists. I think. I hope.

"Then why are you getting beaten like a servant?" Jiaojiao shoots back.

"...I'm not a very good disciple," he offers meekly, sinking lower down in the water. The girls haven't made him feel ashamed since he got here, but for this shame burns in him like a brand. No one but Ning Yingying has ever protested Shizun's treatment of him, and he's not sure how to feel about it.

"Knew there was no such thing as a gentleman," she mutters. "He the one who molested you, too?"

Binghe splashes himself upright out of pure shock. "No!" he protests. "Shizun would never do that! He - he saved me!"

The realization crystallizes as he says it. Everything has been such a blur, he's barely had time to process his shizun's behavior today. Luo Binghe was terrified when Shizun found him like that - any time the other disciples hurt him, Shizun ignores it at best or punishes him for it at worst. But Shizun chased the other boy away and immediately took Binghe here to get help. Sure, he did kick Binghe earlier, but Binghe was making a scene. Shizun took off his own outer robe to cover him.

While Binghe is sitting there having his worldview violently rearranged, Jiaojiao scoffs disgustedly. "You're hopeless," she says.

Then Sisi herself reappears with a towel and a bowl of plain congee, shooing Jiaojiao out of the room.

Sisi waits until he's dried himself off and then she helps him lie down on his stomach on a cot. The following examination is the second most humiliating thing he's ever experienced in his life, after, of course, the thing that took place earlier today. And it hurts, and now he's shivering all over and crying again, which is stupid because he promised himself when Shizun dumped that cup of tea on his head that he wasn't going to cry here ever again, and he kept that promise to himself for years, but at some point after that boy gagged him with his own ribbon to stop him saying things like Shixiong stop and shixiong no and shixiong please he'd started crying and it doesn't really feel like he's stopped since then. He feels vulnerable, detestable, like a snail stripped of its shell.

He must get lost in his own head for a bit because the next thing he knows he's sitting in a pile of cushions next to Sisi, and he's not naked anymore, and the bowl of congee has been placed in his hands. His body is pressed up against the warm line of her body, like a mother and a child. Reddening, he scoots a little away from her.

"Feeling better?" Sisi asks.

"Yeah," he croaks. He still doesn't really feel like eating, but long habit and experience have ingrained in him that he should always eat when food is available, because he doesn't know when next it'll be. He shoves a bite of congee in his mouth, ignoring the faint trembling of his hand.

"You have some tearing," she tells him. "But it looked worse than it was. No stitches necessary."

He nods numbly, and things are quiet for a while as he forces himself to eat. When Luo Binghe has finished the congee and set the bowl aside, Sisi finally speaks up. "Do you feel safe with your shizun?" she asks.

Luo Binghe stiffens. If anyone asked him that question yesterday, he would have immediately started dissembling to hide the fact that the answer was no way. Now, though, he doesn't know what to say. He can't really claim that the answer is yes, after the man has caused him so much pain with unkind hands and unkind words, except Shizun has done nothing but help him today. It's almost enough to rekindle some of his dying dreams. Besides, he should be a filial disciple, refute the idea that Shizun has done anything wrong.

But he's silent for too long, and Sisi nods, as though confirming something to herself. "If I'm going to send you back with him, I think there's something you should know," she says matter-of-factly. "Don't mention it to him at all. a-Jiu is a deeply private person, and I just don't know what he'd do."

Luo Binghe doesn't dare to breathe. Sisi steels herself, long nails crinkling in the fabric over her knees. "a-Jiu... he hates men. Fears them, really. To those of us who've been here longer, it's obvious that... he had very bad experiences with men when he was younger."

Fears them? He can't imagine his shizun being afraid of anything. And he has no idea what a bad experience is supposed to be, either. What happened to Binghe tonight, that certainly counts as a bad experience, but... surely, surely she isn't implying that that could have happened to Shizun- his mind balks at the thought. Surely- there are plenty of bad experiences a person could have...

Sisi sighs and goes on while he's still puzzling over it. "I know a-Jiu is an angry person. But even if your shizun... doesn't protect you from other things-" and they probably both know it's not just a matter of not protecting- "I want you to know that you'll never have to fear that, not from him. He'll be decent to you about it."

Luo Binghe has always thought of his shizun as someone pristine and flawless, not someone who could ever be harmed. But Sisi said - when he was younger. Shizun in his mind is a fixed and unchanging jewel, beautiful and cruel. But he is human too- he must have been young once, vulnerable once. And if what she is saying is true; hurt once, and badly.

He still feels that he hasn't grasped exactly what she is trying to tell him- or maybe, just doesn't want to - but he feels his understanding of the universe reorder itself a bit, one more time. And it fuels a new ambition inside him, subtly different from his need to prove himself to shizun: he wants to become someone shizun can trust. And that should still sound ludicrous to him but-

Somehow, he really does feel a little less anxious about returning to Qing Jing now. He thought he would feel ashamed every time Shizun's eyes are on him from now on, remembering what Shizun knows, what he saw- But maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe this is one thing Shizun really won't blame him for, one thing he really will protect him from.

...Maybe, things are going to be okay.

...But first. "Can I have a hug?" Luo Binghe asks tentatively.

Maybe it's odd to want to be touched after all that, but he feels no threat from her. Like with his instinct to eat food before it can be taken away, he never knows when he might have the opportunity to receive physical comfort again.

Sisi looks like she wants to cry. "Sure, kid," she says.

It's a good hug.

Chapter Text

Shen Jiu comes back to himself to find Sisi kneeling by his side, taking his hand in hers and carefully picking the splinters out from under his skin.

Shen Jiu has known Sisi for a long time. He's known her since he was 16 years old and still having frequent night terrors, locking himself in the woodshed half his nights just to steal snatches of sleep away from all the male disciples. She probably knows him better than anyone, at this point. Isn't that a funny thought.

"Where did you find that boy?" she asks neutrally.

His first thought is that of course Luo Binghe would comport himself with such a lack of dignity that no one would guess he was the disciple of a cultivation sect. His second thought is that of course they would not assume that the brutalized child he had brought them was one of his own charges.

"He is from my peak," Shen Jiu says stiffly. He can't quite make himself say the boy is his disciple. It would feel like admitting a failure, that he had not kept this from occurring. And after all, when has he ever really treated Luo Binghe as his disciple?

Sisi goes very still, and looks up at him with clear, piercing eyes. You're not going to make me ask, are you? those eyes are saying. If you don't say it, you know I'm going to have to ask.

It doesn't look good, frankly, that he's brought the child here instead of to an actual healer. But he's not about to air his quarrels with Mu Qingfang to her here and now.

"It was one of the older disciples," he bites out. "Hu Zhen. He will be on a carriage back to his hometown by morning."

Hu Zhen had never shown signs of this kind of degeneracy before. He's lucky Shen Qingqiu didn't simply take his head off with Xiu Ya on the spot. He's going to have to re-assess all of his disciples with a new eye; apparently, the fact he reared them himself does not preclude them from turning out into beasts, but then what could a monster raise but another monster? Briefly, Shen Qingqiu fantasizes about returning and tossing every one of his male disciples off the Peak. Starting over with only the girls and Luo goddamn Binghe. What a sight that would be! What would the rumors say about him then?

Sisi makes another neutral noise in the back of her throat. She likely doesn’t think it severe enough punishment. To be honest Shen Qingqiu agrees. “If I had killed him, there would be far too many questions," Shen Qingqiu points out. "My martial siblings would spare no benefit of the doubt for me."

The casual mention of murder does not surprise Sisi. She knows what he is capable of. She once watched Shen Jiu nearly beat a man to death in a blind rage, after that man had throttled her.

"I'm going to go check on them," Sisi says, picking the last of the splinters from his hand. "I'll be back."

Shen Qingqiu nods wearily and settles himself back against the pillows. His breaths are starting to come in shorter, quiet panting more than anything, and he can feel a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. He needs to meditate right now, or he's going to qi-deviate in the middle of the Warm Red Pavilion.

He doesn't meditate so much as sits there in the dark and thinks.

He only has so much time to get ready before he has to see Luo Binghe again. He knows, with a bitter certainty, that what has happened changes things, whether or not he wants it to. It will be some time before he is able to look at the boy without the shadow of this disaster coming to mind. A part of him feels ill at the idea of raising a hand to the boy ever again; another part of him, spiteful and ugly, wants to go on and beat the boy just to prove that he still can.

Shen Qingqiu hates that child. Even now, he hates that child.

It's not any one thing. The boy was the perfect storm. A street rat, just like him, but at least he'd had a mother who loved him, when Shen Jiu's had sold or abandoned him when he was too young to remember. Shining, unfettered potential, when Shen Jiu's was permanently tarnished and scarred. Entering the sect at just the right age, brimming with hope, when Shen Jiu had been sixteen and fresh out of two consecutive hells.

Envy, envy, envy. A bitter poison he just can't spit out. But that isn't all of it.

Luo Binghe has always possessed a curious mixture of meekness and defiance, seemingly tailor-made to aggravate Shen Qingqiu no matter what he does. It's maddening to watch his weary optimism. It's sickening to hear him defend things to Ning Yingying (almost as sickening as it is to see the girl dance at his heels in the first place). The way he submits to his abusers every time without complaint, yet refuses to ever give up - pitiful, contemptible, incomprehensible. Doesn't he know no one is coming to save him? What is he waiting for? What would it take to finally stamp out that hope?

(What would Shen Qingqiu feel if he finally succeeded in doing it? Would he feel satisfied? Or would he only feel emptier, would he only be more sick?)

The reasons, the excuses, the justifications, have only piled up the longer Luo Binghe has stayed at Qing Jing Peak. If Shen Qingqiu has made it clear what the boy can expect by staying here, well, isn't it only Luo Binghe's own fault if he continues to subject himself to it? The boy's unshakable resolve becomes its own provocation; what disrespect, to not bow to the contempt of everyone around him. His earnestness and sincerity is only evidence of unfathomable stupidity. Shouldn't he know by now that the world will only eat him up and chew him out, and yet he still dares show such naivety? Unteachable. Unteachable! Shen Qingqiu should throw him off the peak.

But he never does. He keeps him right there, right where the objectionability of his presence will hook deeper into Shen Qingqiu with every passing day. It's convenient, isn't it? To have someone to vent your anger on. To have someone no one will stop you from hurting.

(Shen Jiu feels like he is going to throw up.)

Shen Qingqiu has always been harsh on the male disciples, he has always found a sort of vindictive pleasure in the misfortunes of others, but whatever is going on between himself and Luo Binghe is something else. And yet it still doesn't approach the magnitude of what Shen Jiu had suffered.

But why should it?

(Why shouldn't it? a part of him howls back, abandoned and hungry and hurting, but he well knows that not interfering in, or even laughing at, the cruel fates the world dishes out is far different than orchestrating them himself.)

He is a remorseless killer. He is lowborn scum. He has only ever really cared about himself (and, once, Qi-ge). But why on earth should he become a monster of the sort from Shen Jiu's nightmares?

He hates that boy. Oh, even now he hates him. For existing, for breathing, for forcing him to think about any of this at all. He hates him remorselessly, relentlessly, without logic, without end, like picking at a scab so it can never heal, like a dog returning to its vomit, the way he hates himself.

Exactly the way he hates himself.

It's not as if he has never thought it. He simply hasn't allowed himself to think it.

Something about Luo Binghe has always inspired disgust in him where in anyone else it would inspire pity, and now he's forced to stare at the reason why: he's made the child into a twisted reflection of himself, or perhaps more accurately they were always skewed mirror images, and their meeting simply the worst kind of fate.

But that boy is not Xiao Jiu (no matter how he reassures the clueless girl at his side that nothing so very bad is happening to him) and he is certainly not Qiu Jianluo (no matter how bitterly bright and shining he may be).

And there has to be a line.

The vicious cycle that he has slipped into benefits no one. Luo Binghe has been serving a sentence for sins that have nothing to do with him, and Shen Qingqiu - all it has done is claw into his wounds, reopened to rot and fester. He's been unbelievably self-indulgent with himself in truth, letting himself be worked into his frothing rages, letting that venom spew out from where it belongs deep inside the well of him. If he thinks about it, his qi deviations have been closer and closer together in the past few years - ever since he took in that boy. Poisoning himself with the inherent reminder of everything he'd rather forget, taking out that anger on the same child and in turn only driving the parallel further home. How long would it have been until one of those qi deviations turned fatal?

It'd be easier, of course, to send the boy elsewhere. Anywhere else. Especially if it is a matter of self-preservation. But Shen Qingqiu is a proud man, and a stubborn one, and he has never let go of anything, whether grievance or gratitude. And how would he explain that to Yingying?

He will not submit to this, to the weakness caused by the demons of his past. He never learned kindness, would not know where to start, but perhaps he can manage not being cruel. (One step at a time. No one's asking you to love him(yourself). Just be less cruel.)

Distantly, he notes that his hands are no longer shaking. That his breathing is deep and steady, that just one of the thousand weights has been lifted from his chest.

Well. Maybe he should have tried meditating here sooner.

*

When Sisi returns, she doesn't kneel. She stands in front of him, brow furrowed. "a-Jiu, what is happening on that mountain of yours? That boy is beat all to hell."

Ah, he's disappointed her. But then, there is not a person who has thought Shen Jiu might be worth something who has not been disappointed in him.

He says nothing. What can he say?

"a-Jiu," she repeats, more sternly than he's ever heard her speak. "Is he going to be safe with you?"

Safety is a farce and a sham, he refrains from saying. Instead he steeples his fingers in front of him. "I am going to fix it," he tells her stiffly.

Notably, she doesn't offer to take the boy off his hands. She doesn't mention an alternative to sending him back. Life with a man who beats him is still a better life than anything Sisi might be able to provide for him; at least he gets fed on Qing Jing. Usually. She nods slowly, and he bites back the bitter laughter that brews in his stomach at the concern on her face. He comes here year after year to feel safe in the company of women, and now she wishes she could keep a boy safe from him.

What exactly did he think he was doing? Torturing that child is self-torment as much as it is self-gratification.

"He shouldn't need further treatment," Sisi says finally. "Just go easy on him for a bit. You’ll find him at the back door.”

Shen Qingqiu nods and hauls himself to his feet. He wonders if all of the girls' opinions of him have been irrevocably altered. They shouldn't have expected much from him; they all know the ways of men. Funnily enough, that was the last thing on his mind when he brought Luo Binghe here. He just knew that he- they- needed the kind of safety only women could provide. How funny would it be if the boy has ruined this for him too, he thinks, and then bites down hard on that thought. Of course even he knows it isn't the boy's fault. How exhausting.

"a-Jiu," Sisi sighs as he heads out the door. "Don't be a stranger."

You're still welcome here, she is saying to him. Still, she doesn't drape herself around his shoulders in goodbye as she might have before. He knows their relationship is a transactional one, that she only has so much room to voice any displeasure she may feel. He tries not to read too much into it.

Shen Qingqiu goes to retrieve his disciple without looking back. He'd prefer to spend the night here, try to get the haunting memory of Qiu Jianluo out of his mind. But that's not in the cards for him tonight.

*

Luo Binghe looks better than he did. Less fragile and certainly less weepy. He looks up at Shen Qingqiu uncertainly, the bruises on his face turned sallow in the light of the lanterns.

Shen Qingqiu doesn't want to look at him.

"Well? Get on," he says brusquely, stepping onto Xiu Ya. "Unless you'd rather not return to Qing Jing Peak?"

Luo Binghe blanches. "No! No, I'm coming!"

Gingerly, the child steps onto the sword behind him. Throwing himself right back into the lions' den. What keeps him clinging to the hands that knock him away? Perhaps it's the simple fact that it had worked for him, once. He knows the boy's mother was not his biological one; he must have done something to convince her to care. He had gotten accustomed to that taste of human companionship, had got it into his fool head that being alone is a worse fate than being hated, that being hated is a fate one can change. Perhaps that's the crucial difference between them. Shen Jiu learned very early on to hold no hope on either account. It would be so easy to detest him for that extra bit of luck.

(Shen Jiu has never taken the easy route to anything anyway.)

His weary mind guides the sword, taking them straight to the foot of the bamboo house. Wordlessly, he lets himself in, but senses that the boy still lingers on the doorstep behind him, fidgeting. Shen Qingqiu turns back and raises an eyebrow.

Luo Binghe flushes. He bows deeply and says, "This disciple deeply thanks Shizun for his kindness!"

Ugh. Such earnestness. If this were anyone else, he would think he was being mocked. "Such displays are not necessary," he says archly.

Luo Binghe fidgets some more, then starts down the path. Shen Qingqiu watches him go for a moment. The boy is still limping, and rather badly. And he's headed toward-

"Boy," he calls before he can stop himself. "Where are you going?"

Luo Binghe turns, abashed. "To- um, ah- to sleep, Shizun?"

The woodshed. He's heading back to that damn woodshed.

Now, Shen Qingqiu doesn't really care that Luo Binghe has been sleeping in the woodshed all these years. It's barely a hardship- at least he has some space to himself. But.

Is he really going to make that child go back to the same place he was assaulted a bare shichen ago?

"You can-" starts Shen Qingqiu, and shuts his mouth.

The only worse place for Luo Binghe to be right now would be in the disciples' dormitories. They would be like sharks scenting blood. The other disciples probably wouldn't even believe that Shen Qingqiu had sent him there, not unless he announced it himself.

They stare at each other for a moment across the path. Luo Binghe is growing very tense. Like a rabbit in the sights of a hawk, knowing he has no place to run.

Is Shen Qingqiu really doing this?

Shen Qingqiu is really doing this.

The boy could shiver it out for one night with no shelter, it wouldn't kill him. His mouth opens anyway. "You can," he grits out, "sleep in the side room for tonight."

The brat just stares at him.

"In the bamboo house," Shen Qingqiu elaborates, a muscle ticking in his forehead. “Just for tonight."

Luo Binghe's mouth opens and closes like a fish's.

"Well?" Shen Qingqiu snaps. "Get in before I change my mind!"

The boy scrambles across the threshold at a truly impressive speed considering his injuries. "Shizun!" he wails, overcome, and oh, for the love of the heavens-

"Cease the waterworks, brat!" he snarls. "And don't cling to me!"

"Yes, Shizun," says his least favorite disciple, with a wide, watery grin, ducking back and out of hitting range, and oh but he does want to slap the expression off his face, so soft and open as if he's learned nothing at all. Well, he reminds himself, fists have failed to impart the lesson so far. Better to try something else.

"Get that look off your face," he says, tiredly. "There's already a bed made up. Don't touch anything."

Belatedly, he is really very glad that he decided to pay for that bath if they were going to be sharing space like this. Shen Qingqiu sees himself off to bed with the cold certainty that he will not sleep a wink between the little beast in the other room and the memories rattling about his mind. But, somehow... listening to the boy's soft snuffles through the wall... Sleep finds him more easily than it has in a long, long while.

One step at a time, Shen Qingqiu thinks to himself, drifting off. One step at a time.