Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[ …loading <Character Role>...]

He opens his eyes. He’s sore all over, his hands ache from where they’re clenched around… something. He glances down — a shovel. 

He’s… digging?

Worry flashes through his mind. He doesn’t know where he is, he doesn’t remember how he got here. What was he doing? He’s digging a hole — why?

Crap. Had he finally snapped? Had he killed that fucker that was dating his sister, finally? Was he burying the body? 

He lets out a quiet sound, partially confused and partially anxious. He sits down on the ground, and his feet dangle into open space. He looks down.

The hole he had dug is deep. His feet hang without touching the bottom. He wonders how long he’d been at this.

There’s no body. 

Hm.

He squints. His feet are… weirdly smaller than he remembers. 

He decides he doesn’t want to think about it. He tosses the shovel down into the hole and, feeling inexplicably exhausted, lies down in the dirt. He curls up on his side, one hand dangling over the edge into the hole, and closes his eyes. 

“…?”

[ — configuration complete! <Character Role> successfully installed. Preparing for update….]

The warmth of the sun above him vanishes rather suddenly. He shivers, feeling cold, and turns his head to peek up at what has blocked out the light. Opening his eyes proves to be quite the task, like trying to force his eyelids apart after they’ve been sealed together with gorilla glue. 

But, he manages it. His vision is blurry for a few moments, but once it fades he can clearly see the person looming above him.

They are tall, with flowing robes and long, inky hair that hangs down to their waist. The top part is done up in a simple but artistic top knot. Their face is cold and impassive, a single sharp brow raised as they stare down at him from above an open fan. 

“Child,” they say lowly, with a man’s smooth voice. “What are you doing?”

He blinks up at the man. Or maybe it’s a woman with a deep voice? Who is he to determine someone else’s gender?

A yawn cracks his jaw, and he covers his mouth with the back of his hand. His sleeves are long and baggy, and he realizes suddenly that he is also wearing robes. Smaller robes. Because he is small. 

“Sleeping.” He mumbles, eyes half lidded. 

“Oh, why is that? Don’t you have a task to complete?”

“Mm?” He turns his head to peer back into the hole he had supposedly dug. “I’m all done.”

“Is that so.”

He gestures vaguely at the hole, closing his eyes and resting his head against the ground again. He’s too tired to hold it up any longer. 

“S’deep enough already.” He says. 

“How do you know?”

“M’tired.” He sighs, yawning once again. Why is this person still talking to him? Can’t they see he’s trying to sleep? Unhurriedly, he adds, “Can bury so many bodies in this. Deep enough.”

The person above him doesn’t respond for a long moment. He is dozing, almost finally asleep, when they finally respond. 

“Of course.” The person says, sounding a little peculiar. “Child, find me again when you wake. You will be my new disciple.”

He’s too tired to argue, or think about what that even means. Yawning again, he turns to nuzzle his face into the dirt and sighs wearily. 

“Okay.”

[ Installing Update….]

Ding!

Suddenly, he is awake. 

He sits up. The sun is much lower in the sky than it had been a few moments ago — hours ago, he now realizes. He’d slept for quite a while. 

Spreading his arms out slowly, hands grasping, he slides them against the dirt and finds purchase enough to push his heavy body into a sitting position. 

Now that he is risen again (ha), he’s able to get a better look at where he is. All around him, are children. Each of them has a shovel, and each is digging a hole. 

He glances down at his own hole. It’s still deeper than a grave. He’s been correct before, when he said he could fit multiple bodies in there. 

However, he now realizes; he is also a child. Somehow. So, saying that had probably been quite too morbid of him. 

He peeks again at the (other) children. They’re still digging. Most of them look like they’re about to faint. Some already have. Others, the tops of their heads can barely be seen from the holes they continue to dig. 

He wonders what the hell is going on. Is this some type of labor camp? Had he and these other children been trafficked? Are they being used to dig their own graves?

Oh well. His hole is too big for his new little body anyway. Besides…

With great effort, he hauls himself up onto his feet and stumbles a few steps away from his hole. He raises his head, and looks further around, finally seeing a line of tall adults who seem to be supervising this entire event. 

He watches them for a moment, their straight backs and their motionless faces seeming to be so untouchable by mere mortals. They look almost like paintings.

He looks for green robes, and begins to stumble his way across the dig site. 

The adults, as one entity, watch him in silence. He ignores their gazes and moves closer and closer to the one with the green robes, and then sits himself down at their feet. He crosses his legs and smothers another yawn into his dirty palm.

Ugh. Hadn’t he just woken up?

“Shen-shixiong?”

A fan sways lazily before the green-robes person’s face. They don’t answer. 

Shixiong, wow. That’s sort of outdated, isn’t it? It’s only used ironically nowadays. Is this person teasing his new… what? The person, Shen, had called him a disciple . Does that make them a shifu ?

“Ah, has Qingqiu-shidi chosen a disciple? It’s only…”

The fan snaps closed, sharply. “Yes. This master will now be leaving.”

“Oho?” The tall adult in the purple robes tilts their head, looking down at him in amusement. “What is the name of Shen-shixiong’s newest little disciple, then?”

That person, Shen, pauses. There’s a tick in their brow, as they slowly turn their gaze down toward him. 

Sleepily, he blinks up at them.

“Hm? Did shixiong not even ask?”

“Presumptuous of you, shidi.” Shen — shifu says slowly, still staring down at him. 

Then, they say to him, “Introduce yourself.”

Ah.

What should he say to that, though?

Ding!

[Update Installed! <Character Role> set!]

Hm. 

He smothers another yawn. Slowly climbing back to his feet, he turns to face the other tall figures and exerts some precious little energy in a bow. 

“Greeting immortal masters,” he says, quietly. “This lowly disciple is called Ming Fan.”

The fan disappears into one of Shifu’s billowing sleeves. They turn on their heel and begin to walk away. 

“This master will leave now to settle his new disciple into Qing Jing. Trusting the rest of the ceremony to martial family.”

“So haughty.” One of the other masters grumbles under their breath. They cast another look toward him. “You better watch yourself, kid. Your new master is not an easy person.”

Rubbing sleepily at his eyes, dirt clinging to his lashes, Ming Fan can only bow toward them again. He then turns to stumble exhaustedly after his new Shifu without responding. 

[Congratulations on a successful merge, host! Generating mission status…]

[MISSION: BECOME HEAD DISCIPLE OF QING JING PEAK] 

The newly dubbed Ming Fan lets out a sigh. Can’t he just sleep for a hundred years instead? Isn’t that what Immortal cultivators do? He’s so tired. Leave him alone.

[…]

[Mission status updating…]

[MISSION: BECOME HEAD DISCIPLE OF QING JING PEAK placed on backlog.] 

[(PRIORITY) MISSION: work hard and cultivate to Qi gathering stage! Host, this system believes in you!]

Walking behind his new Shidi, Ming Fan can only close his eyes in long suffering. 

Maybe he’d died, and this is hell.

Chapter Text

Three months later, his Shifu drags Ming Fan to Qian Cao peak. 

He swings his legs in the air as he sits on the examination table, rubbing at one eye while he absently listens to the two immortal masters talk. 

“How can you say there is nothing wrong with him? Did you even look?”

“Shixiong, there isn't much yet to look at. His meridians are still only a vague imprint of a network. Perhaps the child is just overworking himself?”

“Hmph.” Shifu makes a low noise of disagreement, but doesn’t speak to refute the theory. 

Ming Fan is an exemplary student. He’s always had pretty good academic habits. This new world, new body, doesn’t change that. Fresh from his last year of gruelling university, he knows all the best ways to study, he knows how to train information, he knows how to be diligent. 

The past few months, he’d already completed forty-three percent of the priority mission given to him by the system. 

Somehow, despite his perpetual exhaustion that seems to be nestled deep in his bones and refusing to leave, Ming Fan is several steps above his peers. 

“Could it be a mortal disease?” Shifu finally suggests. There’s a frown on his face. 

“… Mm, it’s possible.” Mu-shishu eventually replies, after some thought. “But, shixiong, if it’s that, then we need to find it’s cause as soon as possible. Otherwise, there’s the risk that it might follow him into his immortal life.”

Shifu doesn’t look surprised. His ever present fan snaps open to cover the bottom half of his face, and he just says, “I know.”

Weariness tugs insistently at the edge of Ming Fan’s consciousness, and he tips himself over to the side and gets as comfortable as he can before the familiar darkness encroaches upon his vision.

Echoing faintly as his hearing fades out, he catches Mu-shishu saying, “I’d like to keep him for a few days of observation, shixiong.”

“Yes.”

[Reconfiguring…]

Ah, stop already. It’s useless, isn’t it? It’s always useless. 

[But, host…. Something is wrong.]

That’s obvious. But this isn’t fixing it. All this does is give Ming Fan a headache. 

Maybe it can’t be fixed. 

[…]

“Ming-shidi,” a shixiong says when he returns to Qing Jing. The older boy’s eyes are bright. “Mu-shishu, did he fix it?”

Stretching his arms above his head, Ming Fan says, “There is nothing to fix.”

“What? But….”

“Thanking shixiong for his concern. Does he have the class work that this shidi missed during his incarceration?”

A nearby shijie sighs. 

“Ming-shidi, you were a patient, not a prisoner.”

“The beds in Qian Cao are uncomfortable.” He says quietly, looking down. He’s even more tired than usual, after being there. 

He glances up to find the two seniors watching him closely, frowns on their faces. 

“Shixiong?” He prompts. “The class work?”

There’s a brief moment where nobody moves. Then, the older boy sighs.

“Shidi is such a diligent student. I gathered it from the hall masters for you. It’s in my dorm. I’ll get it for you.”

“Thanking shixiong again.” Ming Fan bows. Rising, he smothers a yawn into his sleeve and ignores the concerned looks from his seniors. 

“Shijie hopes that Ming-shidi is not overworking himself.”

“This disciple is not. Thanking shijie for her concern.”

“Shijie wishes Ming-shidi would take it easier.”

“This disciple only wants to be a good student. Respectfully asking shijie and shixiong to please leave it be.”

The seniors can only sigh at him.

[Update stalled. Reconfi—]

Hey, didn’t he say to leave it be?

He feels more awake when there is a sword in his hands. He has to be aware of his surroundings at all times, or he won’t ever be trusted by anyone to go night hunting, especially alone. 

It’s an emergency protocol. The system dials up every single one of his senses times ten so that, together, they can temporarily overcome the constant haziness of sleep. 

At first, this was a generalized power up. It didn’t target anything specific. However, the first time he was knocked back in a practice spar by his opponent, the system realized they’d overlooked something important. 

“Shidi!” His opponent drops their sword and falls to their knees beside him as he shudders and pants, hands hovering over him but not quite touching. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Unable to speak through the pain, Ming Fan grits his teeth and shakes his head. With no other course of action available, he allows himself to fall onto his side and closes his eyes as the system is forced to cut off his pain receptors entirely. He’s plunged into absolute darkness.

[Emergency Protocols: updated successfully]

[Apologies to host….]

It wasn’t your fault. 

[…]

Ming Fan always feels much more awake when there is a sword in his hand. He is an exemplary student, his forms are stable and perfect, and he doesn’t flinch even if he’s cut or hit. 

He can’t feel it. 

Shifu drags him to Qian Cao again. Lately, the man looks increasingly annoyed by Ming Fan’s very existence. 

“Apologies to Shifu.” He says quietly on the sword flight to the doctor. 

Shifu glances down at him, brow visibly furrowed. “What now?”

“This lowly disciple troubles Shifu too much.”

“Stop spewing nonsense.”

This time, after looking him over, Mu-shishu nods his head decisively. 

“Shixiong, I’m not yet sure how it’s possible, but it seems your disciple is yang-deficient.”

“Shidi is right, it surely is impossible. Wouldn’t he be deviating, if this is the case?”

“No.” Somehow, the doctor looks even more confused. “There’s no imbalance.”

“So then, his Qi levels are simply extremely low?”

“This is also not the case. His levels are in fact very high. It’s only that his yin levels are much higher than his yang.”

“Shidi, that’s an imbalance.”

Shaking his head, Mu-shishu only looks helplessly up at Shifu. 

“Shixiong, this one is uncertain of how to explain it. His Qi is balanced, but his yang is much lower than his yin. It’s as if they’re being held in stasis by something, on the very verge of deviation but never falling into it.”

“Being held in stasis by… what?”

“… I can’t say. I… don’t understand it.”

Mu-shishu has never seen anything like it. 

Never seen anything like the system. 

Hey, the help is appreciated, really. But, maybe you should… leave?

[If the system abandons host, host will die.]

Isn’t he only troubling you, though? And everyone else.

Besides, didn’t he already die?

System, maybe you should just leave. 

[…]

[loading additional perk…]

Hey, what are you doing?

[It’s fine, host. Go to sleep for now.]

Ming Fan reached out a hand to wrap in his Shifu’s robes. Strong hands catch him as he passes out more abruptly than usual on the flight back to Qing Jing. 

[(PRIORITY) MISSION UPDATE: Qi Gathering Stage reached! Congratulations, host!]

Chapter Text

“This master is taking some of the older disciples down the mountain for a training mission.” Shifu says.

Ming Fan blinks up at the man, and then nods when he realizes that Shifu is waiting for an answer. “Yes.”

“It will last only three days. During that time, you will stay in this room and complete this pile of paperwork.”

“Yes.”

“You are not to leave until the paperwork is finished.”

Ming Fan eyes the tall stack of paperwork that sits so innocently, looming, on Shifu’s desk. 

He nods. “Yes, Shifu.”

Shifu watches him for a long moment. Then, with a swish of green robes, he turns toward the door. 

“Meals will be brought to you by your shixiong. Do not disappoint this master.”

“Yes, Shifu.”

Really, when has Ming Fan ever disappointed anyone? He can’t do that. Impossible. 

The stack of paperwork is tall. 

“Be sure to take breaks and rest.”

“Yes, Shifu.”

Shifu glances over his shoulder once, and then steps outside. The door slides shut behind him with a sharp, resounding clack. 

Ming Fan wets his ink stone, reaches for the first document, and smothers a yawn into his fist.

[Host should sleep…]

He’s halfway finished by the next day. Tugging another document toward himself, Ming Fan curls sleepily over it and skims the words. The calligraphy swims nauseatingly in his vision. He closes his eyes and rubs at them with ink-stained hands. Dark smears decorate his sleeves and face. 

“Almost done…”

The shixiong who had entered a few minutes ago bearing a tray of breakfast is watching him closely. He’s still holding the tray, the food untouched, and his brows are scrunched with worry. 

“Shidi…”

[Host…]

“Finish… I’ll….” Ming Fan blinks slowly, eyelids heavy. With a thump, he collapses forward onto the desk, dead to the world. 

“Ah, shidi…!”

The shixiong sets aside the tray and hurriedly kneels beside him. Gently sitting Ming Fan up, he can see that the boy is obviously already asleep. There’s dark circles beneath his eyes after so many times powering through the usual urge to fall unconscious, and the shixiong knows that there will be no waking him now. 

With a sigh, the older boy gathers Ming Fan into his arms and lifts him up, carrying his small shidi over to a cot that had been set up in the corner of the room. So far, it’s sheets are still as pristine as they had been when it was first made. 

He lays Ming Fan down and covers him with the blanket. Leaving the tray of food and tea on the desk, the shixiong quietly blows out the candles and shuts the door on his way out, one last look of concern thrown over his shoulder. 

This will definitely be going into his report to shizun…

A few minutes go by. Inside the study it is dark and motionless, silent. 

Finally, the cot shifts. Ming Fan sits up shakily, and the blanket falls to the side. Standing, he makes his way back to the desk and looks over the next document with a blank stare.

Ignoring the food for now, he picks up the brush once again. Head tilted to the side, he readjusts his grip several times to test out the dexterity of his fingers. 

At last, he lowers the brush to the page and begins to paint stroke after stroke. 

“It’s alright, host.” He whispers, voice nearly monotone, slightly hoarse. “This system will finish it for you.” 

The mission team returns one day earlier than Shen Jiu had said they would. 

Ming Fan is curled up on the cot, blanket tucked securely around his shoulders, breathing softly into the pillow. His eyes are closed, and they have been for three hours now. 

The paperwork on the desk is finished.

Flipping through each document slowly, page by page, Shen Jiu reads them over carefully and finds that there are no mistakes to be seen. 

His expression darkens. 

This was enough paperwork to last at least five days. 

He’d told Ming Fan to have it done before he returned only because he wanted to ensure that the blasted child would stay put in this room while Shen Jiu was away from the peak and unable to keep an eye on him. 

He never expected him to actually finish it!

“Did he sleep at all until now?” He asks sharply, and the disciple that kneels before the desk raises his head. 

“Shizun, he did.”

“And he still managed to finish?”

“Shizun…” the disciple hesitated, a strange look on his face. “Shizun, he….”

Shen Jiu glances at him with a severe stare. He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. 

“Out with it.” He demands, calm. 

“Shizun… Ming-shidi did half of it while he was asleep.”

Shen Jiu’s eyebrows twitch. 

“What?!”

With a yawn, Ming Fan sits up, as energetic as a spring onion. 

One that’s slightly wilted. 

He pats at his face with both hands, feeling that it’s still puffy with sleep. His bones feel heavy. 

A spring onion that’s really expired, actually. 

“Ming Fan…”

He blinks, turning his head. Shifu and the shixiong from earlier — what’s the boy’s name, anyway? — are both looking at him. Had he interrupted some sort of meeting? The shixiong looks like he’s being scolded for some reason. 

“Shifu.” He responds promptly. “Good morning.”

“It’s after sunset.”

“Good evening, Shifu.” Ming Fan corrects immediately. 

Shifu continues to stare at him for a long few minutes. Ming Fan sits patiently, waiting, as the seconds each tick by inside his head. With each tick, he feels drowsier. 

Blinking hard, he pats slaps his cheeks with both hands, trying his best to stay awake.

“Ming Fan.” He turns, and finds that Shifu is now once again sorting through the finished paperwork. “Did you do all of this?”

“Shifu said to,” Ming Fan blinks, a little confused, “so this disciple did.”

“I see.”

There’s another beat of silence. Ming Fan frowns, suddenly worried that he’s misunderstood something. 

He struggles out of the blanket and rises from the cot, stumbling a few steps over to kneel before the desk beside his fellow disciple. 

The shixiong watches him with the same worried frown that seems to be permanently etched into the older boy’s face. Shifu’s face is unchanged, but he watches him too. 

“Shifu….” He says quietly, uncertain. “Did… did this disciple do wrong…?”

A dark look crosses Shifu’s face. With a snap, the fan opens to cover his mouth. 

“No.” Shifu says. “Ming Fan did not do wrong.”

Even more confused, Ming Fan blinks. “Then…?”

“Chu Ruizhan, take your shidi back to his dorm.”

The shixiong climbs to his feet. He reaches out a hand and pulls Ming Fan up along with him. 

“Yes, Shizun!”

Shifu begins to sort through and organize the paperwork. When they’re almost out the door, he pauses. 

“Take him to eat dinner, first. The kitchens have set aside the usual.”

“With the medicine from Mu-shishu, Shizun?”

“What else? Begone.”

“Yes!”

Ming Fan does not struggle as he’s dragged away, even though he’s about to be once again force fed that disgusting undistilled acid slog that calls itself a prescription. 

He still feels like he’d done something wrong, somehow. 

“Shixiong,” he murmurs, tugging on the older boy’s sleeve.

“Hm?”

“Do you think… is Shifu angry with this lowly disciple?”

Chu Ruizhan slows down a bit. Instead of dragging him, he now has one hand loosely closed around Ming Fan’s upper arm while the younger boy walks beside him. Glancing down, he frowns. 

“No, Shizun is not mad. Ming-shidi, please don’t worry.”

Pursing his lips, Ming Fan decides to leave it be. If they both say it’s nothing, then who is he to doubt them?

Hey, System? Do you think so?

[Host is overthinking it. Master Shen is not angry with Host.]

Ming Fan blinks, and then makes the executive decision to just forget about it. 

After all, if even the system says so, then it must be true.

Chapter Text

These past few weeks, Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu has had a peculiar little shadow that dodges his every step.

Little doesn’t even seem to cut it, actually. This disciple is tiny, quiet, and occasionally absent only to suddenly reappear as if he hadn’t been missing at all. 

And the entire while, Shen Qingqiu — abrasive, cold, indifferent and near-menacing Shen Qingqiu — has done nothing to send the disciple away. 

In fact, the Peak Lord of Qing Jing appears almost doting, if such a word could ever be applied to the man. 

In any case, it’s due to this that the little disciple — Qing Jing’s most junior disciple, if the gossip mill is to be believed — is popping up in places wherein he really and honestly should not have any business being.

Places such as here, in the Peak Lord meeting hall. 

“Shen-shixiong,” Wei Qingwei begins slowly, directing a blank stare down. He receives an equally blank stare in return, carried on toward him by two sleepy, childish eyes. “Might this shidi ask —”

“No.” Shen-shixiong answers immediately, fan swaying imperiously before his face. 

“I just don’t think —”

“Regardless.”

“Shixiong,” Ju Qingsong attempts to help, also regarding the child in their midsts with a dubious gaze. “It’s only —”

“This master cannot recall asking for Ju-shidi’s input.”

“Ah…” The beast taming peak lord casts Wei Qingwei a loose shrug, as if to say ‘hey, I tried,’ and sits back down. 

Shidi! You give up too quickly! Wei Qingwei sighs. 

He glances back toward the child, who blinks sleepily and lifts a tiny hand to smother a yawn — looking like a baby animal in doing so, which actually might be the real reason why Ju-shidi had given up so quickly. 

Wei Qingwei glances toward his martial brother and resists the urge to facepalm at the adoring gaze Ju Qingsong is directing toward the little disciple. 

Shidi, please… this isn’t another infant beast for you to raise. This is an actual, real child….

One that really, really shouldn’t be here?

“This sect leader officially opens the biweekly peak lord meeting.” Yue Qingyuan says, not even glancing toward the child standing beside Shen Qingqiu’s elbow. 

The kid barely reaches the table. All they can see of him are those big, sleepy eyes peering up over the tabletop at them curiously. 

“Are there any pressing matters that someone would like to bring up before we begin with the usual?” Yue Qingyuan asks. 

Well, that’s just begging for one of them to point out the elephant in the room, isn’t it? 

Wei Qingwei stands up from his seat. 

“Zhangmen-shixiong,” he says slowly. “Are you really going to let Shen Qingqiu bring a child into a meeting of sect higher ups, where highly confidential matters might possibly be discussed?”

Shen Qingqiu snaps his fan closed before the sect leader can even open his mouth. 

“It is not unheard of for peak lords to bring along a disciple to meetings, to act as an assistant or even scribe.” The man flatly explains himself. 

“He’s like, four.” Wei Qingwei points at the tiny child.

Said child stares at him with half-lidded eyes, and smothers a small, oval-shaped yawn into his sleeve. It’s painfully adorable. The kid turns and tugs gently on the edge of Shen Qingqiu’s sleeve, and what’s shocking is that the man actually lets it happen .

Huh. Maybe the cold and aloof Shen-shixiong is actually soft on kids? No one would have ever imagined. 

“Shifu,” the child murmurs quietly. “Ming Fan is actually not four.”

Unable to fight the urge off, Wei Qingwei presses a palm over his mouth to smother the grin that pulls at his lips. 

“Hush.” Shen Qingqiu, in an uncharacteristically patient way, directs toward the child. “Shifu knows already.”

The child — oh, Ming Fan, was it? — nods seriously. He turns toward the rest of them (all of whom watch him like they’ve never seen a child in their lives before, honestly), and states, “Shifu always knows everything.”

“Ah.” Ju Qingsong claps both hands over his face, which is red and flustered. Poor man’s never been able to hold out well against something ‘cute.’

Which, admittedly, this kid definitely fits. 

Little Ming-shizhi seems to take it as a sound of agreement though, because the child nods once more. He smothers another yawn, one big enough to crack a grown man’s jaw. He leans into the side of Shen Qingqiu’s chair, head tilting slowly over until it comes to rest just barely against Shen Qingqiu’s forearm. 

Shen Qingqiu purses his lips, and whips the fan open to cover the expression. He sighs out quietly, “Ming Fan.”

“Nap.” Ming Fan mumbles, eyes falling shut. 

Sure enough, it’s barely three breaths later that the kid is completely passed out. 

Still kinda standing upright, somehow. 

A little weird, but Wei Qingwei has seen weirder. 

“I see.” Qi Qingqi says in a hushed voice that is still loud enough to be carried down the hall. She sits back in her chair and raises one eyebrow sardonically. “He can, obviously, take lots of notes like this.” 

Shen Qingqiu mutters something into his fan, eyes narrowed at her. For a moment, Wei Qingwei — who sits rather close to the man — swears that the mutter sounds like the words “ You might be surprised. ”

He’s not really sure though. More likely it was some cleverly worded insult toward their only shimei. 

Though, in such a case, Shen Qingqiu would have said it directly to her face instead of muttering it into his fan like this... 

Maybe, since the kid is asleep on him, Shen Qingqiu doesn’t want to risk waking him should he invite a fight? After all, these sect siblings gathered here all tend to get rather rowdy when they are high strung. 

How… thoughtful. Responsible. 

Wei Qingwei tilts his head to the side, quietly watching his shixiong for a moment. Slowly, he sits down without another word. 

Out loud, he hears Shen Qingqiu actually heave a disgruntled sigh. 

“He’s going to Qian Cao today.” The lord of Qing Jing admits waspishly. “This master found it more efficient to transfer him directly into Mu Qingfang’s hands after the meeting than to make another trip later.”

“It’s greatly appreciated, Shen-shixiong,” Mu Qingfang slides into the conversation like cool, soothing water. “I’m sure my patient can be made more comfortable in the meantime,however. Would it be permissible for this shidi to move Ming Fan-shizhi to his own chair?”

Shen Qingqiu is quiet for a long, considerable moment, obviously thinking it over. Just an hour ago, Wei Qingwei would have expected the man to acquise immediately to the offer, glad to get the brat out of his personal space, but —

Well. If Shen Qingqiu didn’t want the kid around, he wouldn’t have brought Ming Fang along with him to the peak lord meeting, huh?

Wei Qingwei raises his sleeve up and carefully, mindfully hides a smile behind it. He says nothing as he watches along with his other martial siblings as Shen Qingqiu eventually agrees and goes with Mu Qingfang to move Ming Fan to one of the daybeds in the more informal area of the hall — which honestly is mostly there for the Feng Shui and Wei Qingwei truly doesn’t think it’s ever been sat or laid on before. Ming Fan-shizhi will be the first! Lucky kid. It seems that he is very pampered. 

“He’s like a little pandiger cub.” He hears Ju Qingsong squeal under his breath, when the two peak lords are out of ear shot getting the kid settled across the room. “Qingsheng, don’t you think?”

“…. He is cute.” Rong Qingsheng agrees.

“Right? I kinda wanna steal him and —”

“And have Shen-shixiong hunt you down to forcibly remove your kneecaps for the offense? I wouldn’t help you, if he does.”

“Qingsheng! So mean! You are right, though. Maybe just to borrow?”

“Get your own disciples, for heaven's sake.”

The two peak lords across from Wei Qingwei shut up as soon as Shen Qingqiu and Mu Wingfang return to the table. 

There’s something different, too, like both their attention is now half-preoccupied by the thought of the child snoozing obliviously across the hall. 

There likely won’t be a lot getting done at this month’s meeting. 

It makes Wei Qingwei press his sleeve into his mouth even firmly, struggling not to smile. 

So . Shen Qingqiu isn’t really as cold-hearted as he tries to appear, is he?

Chapter Text

Try meditation, the system said. 

It’ll be fun, it said. 

Ming Fan has been a disciple of Qing Jing for around one full year by now, maybe plus a half year as well — he isn’t too certain about time, in this life, as days tend to blend together more often than not, thanks to an incredibly unreliable sleep schedule. 

Sleep is not a routine, not at all. Sleep is an elusive bird, highly prized due to its rarity, that flits about with more skill and grace than you’ll ever have, to evade the grasping hands that try to catch it. All the while trilling mockingly down at you. 

Extremely neener-neener of it. Incredibly immature. A very mean bird, sleep is. 

All this to say; Ming Fan has been cultivating at least one full year. 

He has completed the Qi-Gathering Stage thanks to copious reminders and helpful timers (which all have very obnoxious alarms that only Ming Fan can hear, lucky him — the worst part is that it works. Alas.)

Cultivation comes in many forms, practices and methods and techniques. Yes, all of these are a different category. Meditation falls under one of them but is not, essentially, cultivation in and of itself. 

You can cultivate by meditating, but not all meditation is cultivation. 

Obviously, Ming Fan has meditated for cultivation before, because cultivation meditation is one of the very first things they teach any newly minted disciples of the mountain sect . Par the course, he underwent the class himself fresh and droopy-eyed almost immediately after being conscripted, post digging his own child body’s grave and all that. 

Ming Fan still isn’t sure what the entire hole-digging fiasco had been about, but at this point he isn’t sure he wants to ask. It’s probably very important to the sect, if it’s how they choose their disciples from the riff raff.  

So yes, Ming Fan has meditated. Ming Fan had meditated while awake, standing, sitting, lying down. Ming Fan has meditated while asleep, too. He isn’t sure how, really, but it happens, and the system always seems so pleased about it all that Ming Fan hasn’t found the heart to question that, either. 

Meditating to cultivate — vastly different from meditation in the typical sense. It’s all turned inward — so inward that you run the risk of tunnel vision and losing yourself. But, that’s what it’s all about; digging deep enough to actually discover yourself. Digging the trenches, the direction of the circuits that your qi will run along all throughout you, as you slowly coax it into form from within yourself. Digging out the impurities and uncovering that very first stone in the long and arduous path to immortality, which seems to be the apparent goal for nearly everyone here. 

(Ming Fan found that out about six months in, which really helped him figure out a few road blocks he’d been encountering with the qi circulation gig. He’s still not quite sold on the idea, but Shifu seems please with any progress he makes towards The Goal, so Ming Fan doesn’t see any reason to not try and strive for the best. The best is obtainable, after all. The best is all that he can give.)

Digging holes really seems to be a running theme in this life. He wonders what that’s about. 

Anyway, he’s great at digging holes, and so he is great at mediation. It works out. 

It’s the other meditation, the normal one that normal people do — the ones who don’t dig holes in the pursuit of heavenly immortality, that is — that Ming Fan is…

Not really the best at. 

See, that mediation not only involves looking inward — not to dig holes and play archeologist with your own soul (which is fun, interesting, and exciting) but to instead find peace or something (which is boring, and monotonous, and he’s died before so didn’t he find peace already? Isn’t that what death is? System, don’t sigh at him, he’s right.) — it also, in fact, involves extending yourself outward, to find peace in the world around you.  

So, yeah, there’s no digging. Lots of, Ming Fan doesn’t know, petting leaves or something. Checking in on your soul, kinda like opening the bedroom door and sticking your head in and going “are you winning?” and something like that. 

The flat side of a closed fan taps him gently against the head. Not hard enough to hurt — Shifu never does that, he’s much too refined — but enough to say all it needs to without words having to be spoken aloud. 

Ming Fan opens his eyes and rubs at them. He can already feel the pout twisting at his plump little baby lips. He has given up on trying to restrain such mannerisms, not that he’d ever given it much effort. He has limited energy to spend at any given moment, and it’s just easier to go with the flow of the body’s natural behaviors, as it frees him up to focus on more important tasks, such as his studies, and training, and following Shifu around. 

Shifu had tried to get him to stop, in the beginning. Ming Fan is certain that he probably really had tried. Shifu is a dignified immortal master of the scholarly pursuits, lord of a mountain peak, powerful and lofty — not just all of that, however; Shifu is also an incredible introvert who dislikes being around people. It’s obvious. Even a blind infant can see it. And Ming Fan is an infant, yeah, but he isn’t blind, nor is he stupid. 

It’s only, Shifu has the nicest voice to listen to, and the prettiest hair to watch sway with every motion, and the softest green robes to tangle his tiny baby fingers into the hems of. So Ming Fan just ended up following him around like a particularly persistent leech, and Shifu is too nice to tell Ming Fan to go away.  

It’s only a little frustrating, that it’s been a whole year and he hasn’t really grown much, if at all. Must be some sort of malnourishment. 

[According to the backstory file within the character settings—]

No, he doesn’t actually care. Just idle, passing curiosity. Like wondering why the sky is blue, but not having any actual interest in learning the scientific reason that makes it thus. Okay?

(Because blue light has shorter wavelengths than other colors, so it scatters in more directions. It’s gas molecules Georg.)

Ming Fan shakes the thought away and pretends it didn’t happen. Who needs science when you’re in a world of magic? A physics professor in the place before he died be shaking her first at him in rage, but Ming Fan doesn’t care.

[Knowledge is strength, Host.] 

And now the system is pouting. Maybe they’re rubbing off on each other. 

[It can mean life or death, especially in this world setting! You should always—]

The fan smacks Ming Fan in the head, again. He tunes out the rest of what the system is saying and turns to give Shifu his full and undivided attention, like the man deserves. 

Shifu’s brow is at a slant as he stares down at Ming Fan. 

“You’re very distracted today.” He says, voice nor expression reflecting any of his thoughts. 

Ming Fan reaches up to rub at his head where he’s been whacked, shoulders slumping. The pout pulls at his lips something fierce. 

“Normal people meditation is hard.” He replies. 

[That’s right!]

“Hm.”

“It’s hard to look in and out at the same time.”

“Mm.”

“This disciple’s eyes can only look one way at a time.” Ming Fan says mulishly, eyes drilling pinholes into the floor, demonstrating his point very nicely. “If I try to look two ways, my eyeballs hurt.”

[That’s right! There is no frame of reference at all!] 

The system might still be a little miffed at being interrupted. 

But, it can’t be helped? Shifu can interrupt anyone he wants. You can’t just look at him and tell him he can’t do that. Ming Fan would love to see someone try. 

Shifu starts tapping the tip of the fan against his chin.  

“They don’t even dig.” Ming Fan adds that in there too, because it needs to be said. 

After all, in a world of digging holes, what kind of worthwhile pursuit doesn’t have a little dirt and shovel involved? Let Ming Fan return to his roots! As far as he is concerned, in this life, he was born digging. 

“Mm.” 

The wooden legs of Shifu’s chair scrape against the floor as he stands from his desk. Circling around it, he comes to a stop beside the kneeling Ming Fan and unceremoniously tosses something at him. 

A heavy weight drops over his shoulders, and Ming Fan is encompassed instantly in warmth. It makes his eyes even droopier — he hadn’t even realized he’d been swaying toward the floor until this blanket had come into play.  

“I’m trying to stay awake though…” he mumbles into a mouthful of nice, soft green fabric. 

Shifu doesn’t have an expression, but that’s normal. 

“Don’t fight it. Be obedient.” His voice is sharp and stern when he speaks, but that’s normal too. 

 

His eyes are two green, still pools of unfathomable thoughts, and Ming Fan smiles beatifically at the sight as his eyes close for good.

Having something nice be the last thing he sees before an impromptu nap always puts Ming Fan in a good mood when he wakes up afterwards. 

He’ll have to try the dig-less meditation again another time.