Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

   Ming Fan was reaching his limit. Everyone could see it in the tension lining his shoulders and the way he chewed his lips. He wasn’t sleeping and only poked at his meals with his chopsticks if he even deigned to appear for their meals. His perfectly pressed robes were wrinkled, his hair not nearly as neat in its high bun.

Ming Fan was reaching his limit.

   Of course Luo Binghe was the one to make him snap.

   He tumbled face first in the dirt during their morning forms, tripping over his feet like a newborn fawn. Ming Fan, who led their forms with grace and ease froze mid movement, face contorting into an ominous mask of rage.

   “After a year on this peak, Luo-shidi still can’t be bothered to learn the basic forms?” he asked, striding towards Luo Binghe.

   “This disciple apologizes,” Luo Binghe said, sitting on his heels in the dirt, head lowered. “He’s trying—”

   “Trying?” Ming Fan barked out a laugh, causing Luo Binghe to flinch in surprise. It was a harsh thing, ripped from Ming Fan’s throat to unleash something that had been bubbling under the surface. “You’re trying? This, This , is you trying?”

   He grabbed Luo Binghe by the front of his robes, dragging him up until they were face to face. “Perhaps if you actually gave a shit, you wouldn’t be a lousy excuse for a cultivator,” he spat. “Try? You don’t even know what trying is, Luo-shidi. You’re nothing but a weak-willed little worm writhing around in the dirt with no ambition or drive. Do you expect to lay there squirming and not get picked up in a bird’s beak? What form of imbecile are you to be so unconnected to reality?”

   Ming Fan’s breath grew more and more ragged, chest rising shallowly as he struggled for air. A film of haze covered his eyes as blood began to drip from his nose.

   “You act so pitiful,” he growled. It was almost a gurgle as blood began to fill his mouth, slipping out between his teeth. “You want others to love you and protect you, Luo-shidi? To hold your hand through life like you’re a child? Poor Xiao Luo, son of a washerwoman, child of destitution. When will you fucking grow up and live in the real world?”

   He brought their faces close together as crimson tears dripped down his cheeks, the tang of his resentful qi burning Luo Binghe’s nose. “No one will come to save you,” he said. “No one will hold your hand through your life. All you have is yourself. Without initiative, you will die.”

   “Da-shixiong!” one of the disciples cried out as Ming Fan’s muscles spasmed and he released Luo Binghe who fell to his butt. Ming Fan began laughing, his blood soaking into the turquoise fabric of his robes. It was shrill, hysterical.

   “You’re such a fucking idiot, Little Beast!” he screamed, pulling out his sword. “A snivelling, wretched being who hungers for affection he doesn’t deserve. A monster in sheep’s skin. I won’t let you consume this sect in your never ending feast.”

   “Someone get Shizun!” Ning Yingying shrieked.

   “I’ll kill you!” Ming Fan roared, swing his sword in a wide arc—

   A gust of wind pushed him back and Luo Binghe turned to see Shen Qingqiu waving his fan, taking calm steps forward. He clucked his tongue at the sight of Ming Fan qi deviating on the ground. He was writhing on the ground, screaming in pain as if he were facing some horrific torture.

   “Seems he overextended himself,” Shen Qingqiu said, crouching down to place a palm on Ming Fan’s chest. He began filling Ming Fan’s body with calming qi. “Hush, you fool.”

   “Shizun…” Ming Fan whispered. “You’re alive…”

   “And what does Disciple Ming mean by his statement?” Shen Qingqiu asked, tone even. “Of course this master would be alive.”

   “He was going to kill you,” Ming Fan said. “I tried to stop him but I wasn’t strong enough. I’m sorry, Shizun. I’ll get stronger.”

   “If Disciple Ming tries such a thing, he might die,” Shen Qingqiu stated. “Look what a bottleneck has down to him already. He should stop spewing nonsense.”

   Shen Qingqiu pulled Ming Fan into his arms, looking over to the other disciples. “Disciple Ru, continue the morning drills in Disciple Ming’s place,” he said.

   Shen Qingqiu walked away, leaving them standing there awkward.

   “A’Luo…” Ning Yingying whimpered.

   “Da-shixiong really hates you, huh?” Ru Guiren said.

~*~

   Ming Fan woke up from death in a patient room on Qian Cao. It was a slow awakening, senses coming into focus one by one as if simply coming back to consciousness from a deep slumber. The first was his sense of smell, a sachet of herbs burning his nose, so strong that he could taste it in the back of his throat. It cleansed the tang of ash coating his tongue. The sun streamed onto his face, painting the back of his eyelids red, his bedroll catching on the callouses on his fingertips.

   It’s silent in a way he is used to, a quiet tension as if the whole world is holding its breath and awaiting something terrible. He can’t move, frozen on his bedroll, staring up at the ceiling of a building that should not exist.

   “Da-shixiong!” a voice pulled him out of his frozen state, a title he hadn’t heard in…

   How long has it been?

   Which life?

   He was all gawky limbs when he sat up, a sign of his youth. That deity had sent him quite far back if he was still this young. Standing, he found himself to be shorter than he was when he died, thinner with less muscle mass.

   Wait–he wasn’t thinner. He had starved to death, hadn’t he?

   No. The pit of ants–

   Luo Binghe’s sword–

   A failed tribulation–

   “Da-shixiong, are you up?” the voice called again, racketing through his skull. Mechanically, he worked through his old routine of getting ready, dressing in the robes he had once worn as head disciple. They were laid out in a pile next to his cot. He ran his fingertips over the fabric, savouring the feeling of the silk as he slipped it on. He pulled his hair up into a top knot, slipping the head disciple guan on before he opened the door.

   Mo Yingjie was so very young, baby fat still clinging to his sharp face and eyes wide and bright. His ponytail was tied sloppily, the curtain of his forelocks falling into his face. He was small, perhaps only twelve or so. He stared at Ming Fan, face lighting up.

   “Da-shixiong is finally awake,” he said. “I knew my shouting would wake you. Da-shixiong has been sleeping for so long.”

   “Stay behind me, Mo-shidi,” ash fell around them as Qing Jing was sieged, buildings set aflame in a ring of fire trapping them in the courtyard. The array blocking their qi painted the sky an eerie red, the only light with the sun blotted out.

   “I’m not a kid, Da-shixiong,” he said, knocking Ming Fan’s shoulder so that they were standing side by side. “I won’t let you die alone protecting us.”

   “You–”

   “This lord suggests that the venerable Head Disciple Ming stands down,” a familiar voice came from the thick smoke, the demons standing down to line up, creating a pathway for their leader to walk through. Blood red eyes glowed from the plumes of smoke before the figure became fully visible. Luo Binghe grinned at him, showing off sharp canines. “If he does, this lord may spare him and his people.”

   “Luo-shidi, what is the meaning of this?” Ming Fan growled, gripping his sword tight. “First you take our Shizun with promises that you will not attack and now you go back on your word? What more could you possibly wish for?”

   “My due reparations,” he said. “Won’t Da-shixiong repay this lord for all his actions?”

   “What does Luo-shidi want from this disciple?” Ming Fan asked.

   “Come now, Da-shixiong, let’s stop acting like we’re disciples,” he stepped forward. Ming Fan pushed Mo Yingjie back. “You are the peak lord in all but name and I am the emperor of the demon realm.”

   “This one is no master,” Ming Fan replied.

   “And yet Da-shixiong holds himself like one,” Luo Binghe laughed, close enough now that they could touch, that Ming Fan could try to impale him with his jian. He leaned forward until his breath was ghosting against Ming Fan’s ear. “Come with me to meet your end and I will spare all of them. Surrender and your dear martial siblings will live.”

   “How can I trust the word of a man who is already known to break it?” Ming Fan replied. Luo Binghe let out another laugh, grinning down at Ming Fan.

   “You used to be so different,” he said, reaching out to touch Ming Fan’s face. He didn’t flinch, didn’t back away in fear. Luo Binghe ran a clawed finger down his cheek, grin twisting wider. “Petty and immature. Rude and brash. A spoiled gongzi. It seems you decided to take after Shizun in his absence. It’s disgusting.”

   “Leave this sect, Luo-shidi,” Ming Fan said. “If you wish to do any harm, I will kill you.”

   “Shizun couldn’t stop me,” Luo Binghe drawled. “And we both know you are nowhere near his level. Don’t bluff. I was a disciple of Qing Jing myself, Da-shixiong.”

   “I will not let you take Qing Jing,” Ming Fan said.

   “I already have,” he replied. “Your shishu and shigu aren’t coming to your aid, are they? Not even Zhangmen-shixiong who cared for our dear Shizun so much is coming to your rescue. Ying-er will be happy to see the sect burn. Da-shixiong mistreated me and allowed for Shizun to mistreat her.”

   “All falsehoods,” Ming Fan said. “Luo-shidi knows–”

   “Stop calling him Luo-shidi, Da-shixiong,” Mo Yingjie said. “He’s no longer part of this peak, no longer worthy of being called our shidi. He’s nothing but a disgusting vermin–”

   Xin Mo plunged through Mo Yingjie’s chest before Ming Fan could get in the way to stop it, before he could silence Mo Yingjie and take back Luo Binghe’s attention. The man snarled, eyes blood red and pupils nothing but thin slits of black. Ming Fan lifted his sword, slicing Luo Binghe’s arm clean off. Mo Yingjie stumbled back, gasping.

   With his qi sealed, he was a mortal man, gasping for air as blood poured from his mouth onto his robes. Ming Fan tried to think of something to do, something that could save him. Eventually the light bled from his eyes and fell to the ground limp.

   “That hurt, Da-shixiong,” Luo Binghe said, walking past his motionless form to Mo Yingjie’s body. Blood poured from his severed arm, connecting with his stump to reattach it. It pulled Xin Mo out of Mo Yingjie’s chest. He flicked blood off the blade, turning back to him.

   “Looks like whatever chance for a deal is broken,” Luo Binghe stated. “Kill all of my dear shixiongs and shijies.”

   “Da-shixiong?” Mo Yingjie called out to him, grabbing his shoulder to shake him back to awareness. “Are you okay? Is your brain fried into mush from the qi deviation?”

   “Qi deviation?” Ming Fan echoed.

   “Da-shixiong had a qi deviation,” Mo Yingjie said. “Shizun saved him and brought him to Qian Cao.”

   “Well, this disciple should report to Shizun then,” Ming Fan stated.

   He followed after Mo Yingjie, out into the courtyards of Qian Cao. The sun burned, the dirt of the paths making him want to scrub himself clean. So many lives and he was back yet again. Another try in an endless cycle of failure and tortuous death.

   He had so many lives, watching his meaningless actions end in the demise of himself and those around him. He was a spectator in the story of much more important people. Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe, forever in opposition, were the center of this world, the suns that everyone else orbited. They clashed, creating a black hole that sucked everyone else into their shared devastation. They were too alike and too different, both secretly seeking the same things from people who could not give it to them and lashing out in anger when they could not get it.

   Ming Fan had watched, a small stone that contributed only a tiny ripple to the crashing waves of their downfall. He couldn’t save them, couldn’t kill them, could only wait for one of many possible fates that all ended in his demise, unnoticed and uncared for compared to those of his master and his shidi. Their tragic story was always remembered, a whispered tale circulated through the mortal realm and the Jianghu. No one remembered his shidi and shimei. No one remembered Qin-shijie or Zhu-shidi. They were all unimportant in the end, to both the world and the creators of their deaths.

   What was the point of another chance if it would simply end the same way?

   “It seems Disciple Ming is finally awake,” Shizun said. He looked his best, dressed up in seven layers of turquoise and white silk with a fan painted with begonias in his grip. He was elegant and poised, cool expression a perfect mask to the emotions hiding inside him.

   “This disciple apologizes for any inconvenience he brought to Shizun,” Ming Fan replied, bowing to his master.

   Luo Binghe had sieged not only their peak, but the entire sect when he came demanding Shen Qingqiu. At the time, he was still masquerading as a righteous cultivator, hiding behind the sleeves of Lao Gongzhu and the HuanHua Sect. He spoke of Shen Qingqiu’s injustice, demanding him to be put on trial for all his sins and crimes, a theatrical show of humiliation. A farce. They threatened to destroy the sect, to arrest or kill everyone.

   Shen Qingqiu had looked at his martial siblings who did not speak in protest, at Yue Qingyuan who did nothing but curl into himself with guilt. He glanced at his disciples who were trying to protest, barely held back by Ming Fan who had to bite his own tongue.

   “If Peak Lord Shen gives himself up willingly, no harm will come to his sect or his disciples,” Lao Gongzhu said. “Surely they are all victims in some way.”

   Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes in acquiescence. He lowered Xiu Ya, sheathing it before stepping forward. He allowed himself to be bound by immortal binding cables as his martial siblings watched on and his disciples cried out in protest.

   Shen Qingqiu was a fool.

   “Disciple Ming should learn not to push himself in the future,” Shizun said. “His progress may be slow, but forcing it will only lead to destruction. Disciple Ming should take his time.”

   “This disciple is ill-fitted to cultivation,” Ming Fan replied. There was the slightest twitch to Shizun’s brows.

   “Can Disciple Ming elaborate?” Shizun asked.

   “It is simple, Shizun,” Ming Fan replied. “This event only shows that this disciple is fighting a losing battle. He is not suited to being a cultivator and would be better off in other avenues.”

   “Disciple Ming–”

   “This disciple wishes to leave Cang Qiong Mountain Sect,” Ming Fan kowtowed before his master, waiting for an answer.

   What point is there to participate in a losing game?

Chapter Text

   “Ru-shixiong! Xue-shijie!” Mo Yingjie cried, running towards them. His face was red, tears welled up in his eyes.

   “Mo-shidi, what is it?” Ru Guiren asked. He looked exhausted after only a few days as acting head disciple.

   “It’s Da-shixiong,” he said, sniffling. “I heard him talking to Shizun–”

   “Da-shixiong is awake?” Xue Zhen asked.

   Mo Yingjie nodded, tears slipping down his cheek. “He…he asked to leave the sect,” he sobbed. “Da-shixiong doesn’t like us anymore!”

   “What are you talking about Mo-shidi?” Ru Guiren asked.

   “Da-shixiong was acting strange,” Mo Yingjie said. “He woke up when I called for him but he kept on staring at me like I was a ghost or something. He didn’t remember that he had a qi deviation and he had me take him straight to Shizun. I…I may have stood outside and listened to their conversation and Da-shixiong asked to leave the sect. He said he was ill-suited to cultivation.”

   "Bullshit," Xue Zhen stated. Ru Guiren smacked her on the arm and she rolled her eyes. "Mo-shidi probably knows more swear words than you do, Ru-shixiong. Don't try to act all prim and proper."

   "Something is wrong with Da-shixiong," Mo Yingjie said. "He wasn't acting like himself. The look in his eyes was…scary."

   "Scary as in 'he's so pissed that he'll make us do laps' or scary as in 'Luo-shidi did something stupid and Ming Fan is going to kill him'?" Xue Zhen asked.

   "Scary like 'Da-shixiong might have been replaced by a skinner demon' scary," Mo Yingjie said, face flushing from the way his words sounded. "What if…what if the qi deviation messed up Da-shixiong and now the Da-shixiong we know is as good as dead?"

   "Gods, Mo-shidi," Ru Guiren said.

   "Yeah, what the hell?" Xue Zhen concurred. "Da-shixiong is Da-shixiong. He's always had a brain like a fried egg. He passed Shizun’s tea making ceremony on the first try and actually likes our morning laps. He's crazy already."

   "Besides, Mo-shidi," Ru Guiren patted Mo Yingjie on the shoulder. "Shizun would never let Da-shixiong leave the sect. No one is good enough at the etiquette stuff or likes paperwork enough to replace him. Da-shixiong is a one of a kind psycho."

   "A one of a kind psycho?" Ru Guiren jumped, turning to see Ming Fan. The young man was staring blankly at them. His robes were tied looser than normal, his hair not as neat and clean. Some of it was spilling out from his bun and framing his face which was pale and slightly sickly.

   "Da-shixiong! You're alive!" Xue Zhen cried.

   "I don't have to do your paperwork anymore!" Ru Guiren rejoiced.

   “You should’ve seen Luo-shidi,” Xue Zhen said. “You made him nearly shit himself with fear. He’s been practicing his forms in the courtyard ever since.”

   “That wasn’t my intention,” he replied. “I’ll have to apologize.”

   “Apologize? To Luo-shidi?” Ru Guiren laughed. “Come on, Da-shixiong. That’s not like you.”

   Ming Fan’s expression didn’t change from the blank slate it was. “Grievances grow and pile up,” he said. “One day those grievances will have to be repaid.”

   “What do you–”

   War cries rang across the peak as Bai Zhan disciples flooded the courtyard. The current head disciple, Zhu Zhangwei, led the charge.

   “Shit! A raid!” Xue Zhen cried. “Get behind us, Mo-shidi.”

   “I’m not a little kid!” he yelled, only to be shoved behind Xue Zhen and Ru Guiren.

   “One of them broke your arm last time and you couldn’t play the erhu for a month,” she replied. “Don’t be stupid.”

   Ming Fan let out a sigh. “How tiring,” he said, stepping forward.

   “Are you going to spar me, Ming-shixiong?” Zhu Zhangwei asked, the disciples pausing to make a ring around them.

   “Would Zhu-shidi really want that?” Ming Fan asked. “This disciple is afraid that he’s still rather weak from his qi deviation.”

   “If Ming-shixiong is too weak to fight then he might as well step down from his position,” Zhu Zhangwei stated. “He’s already quite easy to beat.”

   “This disciple may as well indulge his shidi,” Ming Fan sighed again as if it was the most tortuous task in the world. He didn’t pull out his sword, instead standing there and waiting for Zhu Zhangwei to approach.

   The teen charged forward and Ming Fan dodged a swing of his blade with ease. He stepped away from attacks, walking them around in circles as Zhu Zhangwei grew red with frustration. He made a sloppy move, overextending to try and reach Ming Fan and Ming Fan grabbed hold of his arm. He twisted it back, causing Zhu Zhangwei to release his blade. He walked him in a circle and Zhu Zhangwei went to the ground with Ming Fan’s knee pressed into his back and his arm bent back uncomfortably. Ming Fan pulled his sword from its sheath, pressing it to Zhu Zhangwei’s locked arm.

   “If you promise to cease attacking Qing Jing in my absence then this one will let you keep your arm,” Ming Fan said.

   “What the fuck, Ming-shixiong?” Zhu Zhangwei struggled under him, trying to push Ming Fan off. Ming Fan pressed his shoe into Zhu Zhangwei’s cheek and bent his arm further back, making the teen let out an involuntary shriek.

   “Is that your answer, Zhu-shidi?” Ming Fan asked, letting his sword slice slightly into Zhu Zhangwei’s forearm. Zhu Zhangwei went still, barely even letting out a breath.

   "I won't attack Qing Jing,” he replied.

   “And your martial siblings?” Ming Fan asked, putting more pressure on the blade.

   “They won’t either,” he choked out. “I swear it.”

   Ming Fan released his arm, putting his blade back in its scabbard. “Honestly, Zhu-shidi,” he sighed. Zhu Zhangwei was frozen on the ground, unmoving. Ming Fan crouched down, lifting his face with the pommel of his sword. “You go around acting like you’re the strongest disciple in the sect. I indulged you for a while, but I realize it was detrimental to your growth. You’ve grown complacent and weak.”

   He leaned closer, all humour bleeding from his face. “If you pull this bullshit again, I’ll show you how weak you are and kill you, hm?” he said. “Sound good?”

   “Y…yes…Ming-shixiong,” Zhu Zhangwei croaked, face white. Ming Fan smiled, rising to his feet.

   “Aish, you’re all so childish, so overly confident,” he laughed. “Against a real opponent you’d all be long dead with bugs preying on your corpses.”

   “Since when was Da-shixiong so strong?” Xia Lu said what the other frozen disciples were thinking.

   “I’m not strong at all,” he replied, brushing a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “This one is actually pretty poor at cultivation. Shidi and shimei will all surpass this one eventually.”

   “You said for him not to attack in your absence,” Xue Zhen said. “Is…is it true? Is Da-shixiong…are you leaving?”

   “Ah…” he went quiet for a moment before finally saying, “This one will be leaving Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. Once Shizun has selected a replacement and this one has trained them then this one will depart from the sect. It should hopefully be within the next year.”

   “You can’t just leave!” Mo Yingjie cried. 

   “This one is no longer suited to cultivation if he even was before,” Ming Fan replied. “The qi deviation has done a lot of damage.”

   “But you just scared the shit out of Zhu-shixiong and kicked his ass!” Xue Zhen argued. “How are you not suitable to cultivation? What damage?”

   “It–”

   “I’m sorry Da-shixiong! It’s my fault!” a voice cried out.

   It was then that he saw him. The scrawny boy– demon, monster –with the large black– red, blood red –eyes. Air was squeezed out of Ming Fan’s lungs and he stood there, staring at their doom. He tried to breathe, to force air in, but it snagged in his throat and caused him to wheeze.

   “Da-shixiong?” the demon called out. It snapped something within him. He pulled out his sword, ready to cut off the demon’s head.

   “They really thought they could kill me,” Luo Binghe laughed, kicking away the burning body of one of his former shixiongs. Ming Fan stared blankly at them, hands trembling. “All of them wanted to protect their dear Da-shixiong.”

   He looked down at Ming Fan, a grin twisting on his face. “What did you ever do to make them regard you with such care and loyalty?” he asked. “Anything? From what I could tell, you were simply a brash, stuck up bully that liked to throw your weight around. They all died for a man they don’t even like. A man that did nothing for them but create their end.”

   Ming Fan let out a roar, rushing forward to strike Luo Binghe with his sword. His blade clashed with Xin Mo, the force sending shockwaves through his arms. He swung several times, uncaring of the ache in his bones as Luo Binghe parried effortlessly. The demon got bored after a while and simply ran Xin Mo through Ming Fan’s stomach.

   It burned, sending waves of agony through his body. He choked, unable to breathe as Luo Binghe watched on with a smile, some of Ming Fan’s blood on his cheek.

   “This is too quick a death for you,” he sighed. “I’ll have to save you so that I can give you a longer, more enjoyable death.”

   He bit his tongue, letting blood fill his mouth before he grabbed Ming Fan’s face and—

   There were bugs on Ming Fan’s skin, underneath the flesh and digging into muscle. There were ants in his mouth, crawling down his throat and biting biting biting until he can’t speak, can’t breathe–

   Get them off. He needs to get them off.

   He dug his fingers into his skin, trying to get them out. Why can’t he get them out? Why can’t he touch them?

   Oh.

   Ming Fan began to gag, trying to throw up the blood inside him. It was too late but he had to try. He had to get them out.  

   "Da-shixiong, stop it!" Hands grabbed his wrists and he stared into Mo Yingjie’s face. Reaching up, he touched warm flesh, tears welling in his eyes as he cupped the boy's face.

   He studied every aspect of it, the soft curve of his brows, the slight crookedness of his upturned nose. He had run into a wooden post on his first night of lantern duty and broken it like a little fool. His eyes were too large for his face, big and soft and sweet. He was far too doe eyed to seem capable of malice. When he smiled, he would show off every tooth, his mouth curving into a heart.

   He would grow, his baby fat dissipating to reveal a sharp face that was a disparity to his soft features. He would grow taller and stronger and yet he would still smile with all his energy and being. He would still be his sweet little doe eyed shidi.

   The sweet shidi he couldn't protect because he's too rotten and weak.

   "What have you done to gain their loyalty and care?"

   Why must he be so powerless against fate? Why must he watch them die? Why must he remember all these horrible fates when he is helpless to do anything to change it?

   “I’m sorry,” he whispered, tears dripping down his cheeks. Mo Yingjie’s cold, blood-spattered face stared back at him. Every version of it. How many times had he watched him die in his past lives? How many more times would he have to see it? “I’m sorry.”

   “D…Da-shixiong…” Mo Yingjie said.

   Ming Fan pulled him close, held him tight in hopes of shielding him from the world. If he could give his life to save them, he would give everything up. He would welcome oblivion for the chance that they may live long enough to venture into the world and make their own lives.

   “What have you done to gain their loyalty and care?”

   What could he do? Every attempt, every life he failed. No matter what he did he could not save them. He could not change the outcome, could not save he world from its inevitable end.

   He did not deserve to be their Da-shixiong, their guardian and protector.

~*~

   Shen Qingqiu had never had such a visceral reaction to Ming Fan’s presence. The boy was boring, average in every way possible. He was decent in cultivation, decent in looks, and decent in intelligence. Someone so basic and ungifted was a perfect puppet to carry out his will.

   His little puppet wasn’t behaving accordingly, though. The moment he entered the bamboo house it was obvious. Ming Fan acted tough in front of his martial siblings but like a meek little mouse before Shen Qingqiu. He wished for approval and praise and feared punishment and disappointment like a smart child. Today, he entered and looked Shen Qingqiu straight in the eyes, his gaze sweeping over Shen Qingqiu’s form as if he was analyzing every part of him.

   “It seems Disciple Ming is finally awake,” Shen Qingqiu said. Ming Fan stared back at him, the gaze in his eyes lacking any fear or respect.

   Instead, there seemed to be some strange form of pity.

   “This disciple apologizes for any inconvenience he brought to Shizun,” Ming Fan replied, bowing to his master. At least he still knew some ways to act respectful.

   “Disciple Ming should learn not to push himself in the future,” Shen Qingqiu said. “His progress may be slow, but forcing it will only lead to destruction. Disciple Ming should take his time.”

   “This disciple is ill-fitted to cultivation,” Ming Fan replied. What the hell was the boy saying?

   “Can Disciple Ming elaborate?” Shen Qingqiu asked, flapping his fan lightly.

   “It is simple, Shizun,” Ming Fan replied. “This event only shows that this disciple is fighting a losing battle. He is not suited to being a cultivator and would be better off in other avenues.”

   “Disciple Ming–”

   “This disciple wishes to leave Cang Qiong Mountain Sect,” Ming Fan kowtowed before him waiting for an answer. Shen Qingqiu stared at his disciple in disbelief.

   “Disciple Ming is bold to ask for such a thing,” he said.

   “This disciple is making the best decision for Qing Jing Peak,” Ming Fan replied, sitting up from his kowtow to look at Shen Qingqiu once again, meeting his eyes straight on. “This disciple has not been a good head disciple and is undeserving of his position. The chances of this disciple’s cultivation facing no more complications is unlikely and this disciple’s cultivation is already weak.”

   “Is Disciple Ming questioning this master’s judgement?” Shen Qingqiu asked.

   “To last as head disciple and succeed in cultivation would be fighting an uphill battle,” he replied, a smile curving onto his lips. “This lazy gongzi would rather not deal with the struggle.”

   Shen Qingqiu was still fuming after the boy left, pacing around the bamboo house with fury. How dare he?

   The qi deviation must have done something to his mind, must’ve rid him of his survival instincts and turned him into a complete and utter fool. Shen Qingqiu had given him the privilege of being head disciple and he was throwing it all away?

   You’re such a vile man that even your most loyal disciple has grown sick of you.

   He threw his fan, watching it shatter against the wall. Regret instantly filled him, soothing some of the fire burning under his skin. He walked over, picking up the broken remnants of the fan and stuffing it into his qiankun sleeve. He grabbed a new one, using it to fan the heat away from his face as he stepped out of the house.

   “Da-shixiong, it’s okay,” the shrill voice of one of his younger pests cried out. “Please let go. You’re suffocating me.”

   He followed the whiney voice to one of the main courtyards. Ming Fan was kneeling in the courtyard, getting his robes dirty while squeezing the life out of one of his shidi. The boy was trying to break free, panic in his eyes as Ming Fan stared on despondently.

   Wait…

   Was the fool crying?

   “Shizun!” Xue Zhen cried, the girl melting with relief at his presence. “Da-shixiong must’ve had another qi deviation. He suddenly freaked out and now he won’t let go of Mo-shidi!”

   “It doesn’t seem like a qi deviation,” the brute’s head disciple was on his peak? Were they doing another of their stupid raids? The boy was holding his forearm, face pinched.

   “How would you know?” Xue Zhen spat. One of the disciples had to hold her back from tackling him.

   “Disciple Ming, release your shidi,” Shen Qingqiu commanded. “It is unbecoming of a head disciple to be blubbering on the ground like an idiot.”

   “Da-shixiong,” the boy pushed against Ming Fan’s hold again. “Please let go.”

   Shen Qingqiu clicked his tongue. “No wonder Disciple Ming asked to leave the sect,” he said. “He has lost all sense.”

   “Sense?” Ming Fan echoed. He looked up at Shen Qingqiu, but his gaze was far away, looking straight through him. “How funny coming from a man with no sense himself.”

   “What did Disciple Ming just say?” Shen Qingqiu growled.

   “How funny,” Ming Fan released the boy, rising to his feet to face Shen Qingqiu head on. “Coming from a man who does not even know his disciples names. A man who is too busy being consumed by himself that he cannot look out into the world and see others. He’s too busy holding hope that his dear brother will tell him the truth, too busy yearning for a love that he will never receive. Too busy being afraid that all his secrets will be revealed and his life will come undone.”

   Ming Fan stepped forward. “He waits and waits, his resentment growing so strong that all he can do is take it out on the world around him,” he spat. “He loathes himself and his foolishness so much that he wishes to destroy those he deems too similar to himself. He wants control so he picks a sycophantic weakling to be his head disciple. All the while he doesn’t give a fuck about those he is meant to care for and protect! He doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but himself!”

   Ming Fan let out a laugh, fresh tears dripping down his cheeks. “Tell me, Shizun,” he said. “If one of us were to die, would you even bother to grieve or would you just find a new one to take our place? You’re an intelligent man blinded by your own foolishness. Would that blindness cause you to forget us? That would only be possible if you remembered us in the first place.”

   “Disciple Ming–”

   “You will die alone and unloved, destroyed by your own self-hatred,” he stated. “And you will drag every one of us with you because our loyalty is yours. But what have you done to deserve our loyalty and care?”

   Ming Fan turned around, walking away to the disciple dorms.

   The qi deviation definitely melted his brain.

Chapter Text

   "Mu-shidi." Mu Qingfang was surprised to see Shen-shixiong willingly coming to his peak. The man hated Qian Cao with a passion he didn't understand, only coming when one of his disciples was near death.

   "Ah, Shen-shixiong." Mu Qingfang smiled, setting down the herbs he was making a poultice out of. "What can this Qingfang do for you?"

   "This Master needs you to fix his head disciple," Shen Qingqiu stated, a fan covering the lower half of his face up to his eyes. "Something is wrong with him."

   "Ming-shizhi?" Mu Qingfang asked. "He must still be recovering. What is troubling Shen-shixiong?"

   "Disciple Ming has grown…rebellious," Shen Qingqiu said. Mu Qingfang waited for him to elaborate but he didn't.

   "Pardon?"

   "He had quite the outburst where he openly insulted this master in front of his shidi and shimei," Shen Qingqiu stated. "His disrespect is unlike him."

   "Yes, Ming-shizhi has always been quite the model disciple," Mu Qingfang said. "This Qingfang will visit Ming-shizhi and see if he can diagnose the core of this issue."

   Shen Qingqiu turned in a sweep of robes and walked out without saying another word. Mu Qingfang let out a sigh.

   "You're allowed to be soft hearted, Shixiong," he said to himself as he turned back to his herbs.

   It was strange for Ming-shizhi to openly censure Shen Qingqiu. The boy was as obedient and loyal as they came, a starry eyed young man who admired the grace and power of his master above all else. A boy who wished more than anything to gain the same power, the same strength and elegance. Mu Qingfang didn’t doubt that the young man would become a decent cultivator in his own right someday if he took care of himself. He had the drive to do so and the passion.

   Sadly, his fear of mediocrity and failure have led him down a path of self-destruction.

   “This disciple greets Mu-shishu,” the boy bowed to him, announcing himself loudly. He wobbled slightly on his way up from his bow, stumbling backwards. Mu Qingfang reached out to grab his forearms and steady him.

   “Ming-shizhi,” Mu Qingfang gently guided him over to the table in his office. He poured out some tea from the pot he kept warm with a heating talisman, putting the cup in the boy’s hands. He stared down at it, face flushed. “Are you alright? What brings you to see me?”

   “This disciple would like to ask Mu-shishu for some aid,” he replied, face growing redder. The words came out strained and he squeezed the porcelain cup in his hands. He had a stubborn pridefulness that matched Shen Qingqiu’s. Mu Qingfang almost let out a laugh at the obvious likeness of the two.

   “What does Ming-shizhi need?” Mu Qingfang asked.

   “Something to keep this disciple awake,” he stated quickly. “I have a lot of assignments to grade and my qin showcase is coming up but I keep falling asleep in class and it is unbecoming of–”

   “Slow down, Ming-shizhi,” Mu Qingfang placed a hand on his forearm. The boy startled as if he’d forgotten Mu Qingfang was even there. He kept his head lowered, continuing to stare into his tea.

   “I can’t become like Luo-shidi,” he said. “If I mess up, then Shizun will see me as just like Luo-shidi.”

   “Ming-shizhi, have you been resting? You are not at a level to be going without rest,” Mu Qingfang said. “If you get more sleep–”

   “Then I’ll run out of time,” Ming Fan replied. “Shizun needs me to complete my work in a timely manner. I have deadlines. I can’t just–”

   “Then perhaps I should talk to Shen-shixiong,” Mu Qingfang said. “You are not equipped to be under this much—”

   “I can do what’s expected of me,” Ming Fan stated. “I just need to stay awake.”

   “What you need is rest,” Mu Qingfang replied. “You are young and being a head disciple comes with a lot of difficulties and responsibilities. Perhaps Shen-shixiong should have waited until you were older and further along in your cultivation. You could burn yourself out.”

   “This disciple can do all that is asked of him,” Ming Fan said, setting the teacup down on the table. “He apologizes for bothering Mu-shishu.”

   He did burn out, in the end. That qi deviation was something that should have been prevented. Shen Qingqiu’s neglect of the boy’s health was a sign of a bigger issue within the peak, perhaps within the sect. His shixiong obviously cared for the boy, but he also did not push for the boy to rest or get help. Perhaps Ming Fan did not feel comfortable asking for it either, and did not want to appear weak.

   Mu Qingfang stared down at the herbs on his work table. What a mess they all were.

~*~

   Ming Fan locked himself in his room, hands trembling and head pounding. He looked around at the place he once called his home and felt nothing but disgust. He grabbed the tea set his family had sent him and threw it against the wall, watching it shatter. He snapped his fancy hairpins, ripped his nicely embroidered robes and smashed his erhu against the floor.

   When he was done, he stood in the center of the room staring at the destruction he created and started laughing. He couldn’t help it. The sounds bubbled up in his throat and exploded forth into the room.

   He’s lost his mind. Dying so many times has made him lose his mind.

   “I talked back to Shizun!” he laughed, ripping his hair crown off. Why did he use to put his hair up so goddamn tight? “Who knew it would be so…satisfying?”

   As soon as the elation came, it dissipated, crushed by an overwhelming amount of grief. He suddenly couldn’t breathe, falling to the floor. His chest was too tight, a squeezing pain that resembled the feeling of Xin Mo piercing his chest. The thought made flashes of that monster’s face appear before him and the tightness grew worse until he couldn’t even wheeze.

   Da-shixiong….

   Da-shixiong….

   “Da-shixiong,” the demon called out, grabbing him by the chin. He tilted Ming Fan’s face back and forth, studying him like a horse for sale. Would he check Ming Fan’s teeth too? “You look…different than I last remember you.”

   “Fuck off,” he snarled. Struggling against the immortal binding cables had rubbed his wrists raw, but he still struggled anyway.

   “You won’t be able to slit your wrists doing that,” Luo Binghe said. “I’ll just mend you up again after letting you bleed out.”

   "Do you think what you're doing is justified?" Ming Fan asked. "You just killed children. Children that had never even met you."

   "They have Shizun and your influence," he replied. "They would grow to become just like you."

   "You're such an idiot. You always have been," Ming Fan said. "So clouded by emotions. You're hurt that people didn't like when you didn't give full effort? You're hurt that Shizun would throw a demon into the abyss? You–"

   "If you don't shut up, I'll rip out your tongue," he replied, eyes flashing.

   "You just don't want to face that you've taken things too far," Ming Fan said. "You want my apology for your sad life? I'll never give it to you. You're undeserving of it, you–"

   Luo Binghe grabbed his face, claws digging harshly into his flesh. He leaned in. "Are you trying to goad me into killing you?" He asked. "Da-shixiong is so obvious."

   He was dragged through HuanHua Palace, paraded around for Luo Binghe’s wives to see. He caught Ning Yingying’s gaze in the crowd. She watched him be dragged to his death with no expression on her face. That traitor.

   "Shizun will be so happy to see you," Luo Binghe said. “He’s been so lonely in the water prison and now he’ll have a visitor.”

   He pulled Ming Fan deep into the recesses of the palace, down to the prison his master was trapped in. When the water parted, Ming Fan was met with Shen Qingqiu’s form. He was in the same robes he had worn to the trial, long torn apart and soiled. His hair was loose and ratty, his body covered in dirt and grime. Where his left arm should’ve been was nothing but a bloody, rotting stump.

   “Shizun, you have a visitor,” Luo Binghe said, forcing Ming Fan to his knees before the man. Shen Qingqiu didn’t even bother to look at him. “Da-shixiong has grown so much in our absence, hasn’t he?”

   He grabbed Ming Fan by the chin again. “I realized what’s different about Da-shixiong,” he said. “While dressed in such finery, Da-shixiong almost looks pretty. During our disciple days he was such an ugly thing. It’s why Ying-er was never interested in him. Now, with so much gold and silk, he almost looks like a proper young master. Adulthood has truly favoured Da-shixiong. Don’t you agree, Shizun?”

   Shizun said nothing.

   “I killed all your little disciples,” Luo Binghe continued. “But I couldn’t let Da-shixiong off with an easy death. How do you think I should kill him?”

   “Luo-shidi is foolish if he thinks Shizun will give him a response,” Ming Fan said. “Then again, that’s all he’s ever been.”

   “It would be so easy to rip you limb from limb,” he snarled. “And yet you still act impudent. You still act above me.”

   “Perhaps I am,” Ming Fan said. “At least I am not letting a cursed sword rule my life. At least I am of sound mind.”

   “I’ll torture you until you beg me to free you, until you call me your lord and bow to me,” Luo Binghe said.

   “Then Luo-shidi will have to wait for eternity,” Ming Fan stated.

   Luo Binghe dragged him to his feet, and pulled him out of the water prison. Ming Fan looked back at Shen Qingqiu once and gave him a smile. Shen Qingqiu looked back through his curtain of hair blankly.

   “Ming-shizhi.”

   Luo Binghe took him to another part of the prison chambers, a seemingly endless pit of darkness. He shoved Ming Fan in, the impact breaking several bones in his body when he smacked against hard stone.

   “Have fun, Da-shixiong,” Luo Binghe said.

   “Ming-shizhi.”

   Something small crawled onto his skin followed by another. It was a few seconds before needles of pain began shooting through his body. It was so overwhelming that he couldn’t breath, trying his best to bite back his screams.

   “Ming-shizhi.”

   They crawled onto his face and he tried to close his eyes and shut his mouth but they still got in. They wouldn’t stop biting and now he couldn’t breathe because they were in his throat and his ears and—

   “Ming-shizhi!” Ming Fan awoke on the floor of his dorm room. Mu Qingfang was crouched over him, hands on Ming Fan’s shoulders. The look of panic on his face melted away slightly into pinched relief. “Ming-shizhi, is this why you haven’t been sleeping? Have you been having night terrors?”

   “Mu-shishu…” he tried to think of what to say, heart still racing. The crawling feeling on his skin hadn’t faded and he wanted more than anything to just dig his nails into his skin. “How did Mu-shishu get in?”

   “Ming-shizhi was screaming,” Mu Qingfang replied, slowly sitting Ming Fan up. It allowed Ming Fan to see his broken door. “How is Ming-shizhi doing after his qi deviation? He left Qian Cao before this master could do a proper check up on him.”

   “This disciple is fine,” Ming Fan said. Mu Qingfang was trying to be subtle, but Ming Fan could feel the man’s qi snaking slowly into his meridians.

   “It seems there’s no damage to Ming-shizhi’s meridians,” Mu Qingfang said. “But the master heard that Ming-shizhi had an…outburst earlier.”

   “It was just some leftover resentment,” Ming Fan replied. “This disciple will apologize to Shizun and his shidi and shimei. Mu-shishu has no reason to worry.”

   Mu Qingfang let out a light sigh, his expression pinched. When he was stressed, a slight wrinkle would form between his brows and there was the slightest squint to his eyes. The minute twitch of his jaw showed he was hesitating to say something more. Mu-shishu always held himself back to be a neutral person. He didn’t take sides openly but one could tell his stance if they looked at him close enough.

   “If Ming-shizhi is having night terrors, then this master can make medicine for him,” Mu Qingfang finally said. It wasn’t what he wanted to say. It was the most mild and neutral response he could give.

   “Mu-shishu should just say what he pleases,” Ming Fan stated. “Others will misunderstand his vague words. Having no stance is still a stance and his lack of decisiveness may anger some or make others feel unheard.”

   “What does Ming-shizhi mean?” Mu Qingfang asked.

   “This disciple won’t be needing night terror medicine,” Ming Fan said, rising to his feet. He walked out of his room, leaving Mu Qingfang still sitting on the floor.

   “Da-shixiong!” Ming Fan turned to the voice that called. He stared at Luo Binghe, frozen in place.

   Why the hell won’t the boy leave him alone?

~*~

   “What happened to your arm, Zhu-shidi?” Qin Huizhen asked. The man was sporting a bandaged arm that he kept cradled close to his chest. He’d been the one to call their emergency meeting, something entirely unlike him.

   “Ming-shixiong,” Zhu Zhangwei replied.

   “What does that mean?” Liu Mingyan asked. “Is he awake?”

   “He threatened to cut off my arm,” Zhu Zhangwei said. “Something happened to him. He said he’s leaving the sect.”

   “Holy shit,” Bao Guiying said as she set out tea and snacks on the pavilion table. “What did you do to piss him off?”

   “Was it one of your raids?” Chu Fen asked. “Were you trying to attack while he wasn’t there? No wonder he was angry enough to want to cut off your arm.”

   “Was Ming-shixiong always strong enough to do that?” Liu Mingyan asked.

   “No,” Zhu Zhangwei said before his face flushed red. “Maybe. He said he’s been holding back against me. The look in his eyes made it seem like he was actually going to kill me.”

   “Did you shit yourself?” Zheng Zhihao asked, grabbing a lü dou gao and stuffing it into his mouth. “Ming-shixiong isn’t even scary. He’s Shen-shibo’s lap dog with an inferiority complex.”

   “You weren’t there, Zheng-shidi,” Zhu Zhangwei snapped. “Besides, he’s not a lap dog. He is filial to the sect and to his master. Isn’t that admirable?”

   “He’s not very loyal if he’s leaving the sect,” Liu Mingyan said. “I wonder what happened. Du-shidi, do you know?”

   “Ming-shixiong left before Shifu could check him,” Du Cheng replied. “He went back to his peak with one of his shidi. The qi deviation he had was pretty bad, though. Perhaps it did permanent damage.”

   “He kicked ZhuZhu’s ass,” Bao Guiying said. “He’s fine, maybe even better than he was before.”

   “It could be his mind,” Wen Min replied. A gold-speckled tri-horned toad was sitting on her shoulder, hidden slightly by the fall of her hair. “Shifu’s former shijie experienced a qi deviation and went mad. It’s why he was selected to be the peak lord in her place.”

   “So Ming-shixiong lost his mind,” Liu Mingyan said.

   “Maybe he’s scared he’ll qi deviate again and die,” Li Hai stated, fiddling with the fabric of her blue-grey sleeve. “So he wants to leave.”

   “He’s the only Qing Jing disciple I can tolerate,” Zheng Zhihao said. “We can’t let him leave.”

   “Then we just need to make it clear to him that we need him,” Qin Huizhen stated. “He’s younger than all of us so he might think he’s easily replaceable. We need to make Ming-shidi know that he is valued as our peer.”

   “Wonderful,” Liu Mingyan said. “Zhu-shidi should confess his undying love to him.”

   “Shut the hell up, Liu-shijie,” Zhu Zhangwei glared at her. “This isn’t one of your novels.”

   “But you have the perfect set up for enemies to lovers,” Liu Mingyan sighed in disappointment. “You’re no fun, Zhu-shidi.”

   “And you’re a pervert,” he replied.

   “How harsh and untrue,” she said. “Now, shall we begin planning project ‘spoil the spoiled gongzi’?”

   “That’s a horrible name,” Zhu Zhangwei said.

   “Come up with a better one,” she challenged.

   “Project ‘Ming Fan appreciation’,” Li Hai said.

   "Li-shijie, that's not any better," Liu Mingyan stated.

   "Project 'Save the only tolerable Qing Jing prick'," Zheng Zhihao said.

   "Don't call Ming-shidi a prick," Qin Huizhen said. "Or any of the Qing Jing disciples."

   "They're feral and snooty at the same time," he argued. "One of them bit me. I think she had rabies."

   "If she had rabies then you would have rabies, Zheng-shidi," Du Cheng said.

   "Project 'Save our scholar'!" Bao Guiying yelled, banging her fists against the table.

   The squabble over a perfect name continued for half a shichen and resulted in nothing.

Chapter Text

   Ming Fan was staring, frozen, at Luo Binghe. His dark gaze made Luo Binghe feel like he himself couldn’t move. His robes were a mess, his hair hanging loose around his face which made Luo Binghe’s mouth go slack.

   It was shorter than he expected.

   Luo Binghe had so much he had to say and yet no idea how to say it. He needed to apologize and beg for forgiveness because Ming Fan was going to leave because of him. Luo Binghe had done something to make Ming Fan hate him so much that he couldn't even stand to be around him. Luo Binghe needed to fix this because they needed Ming Fan.

   Luo Binghe finally understood why Shizun chose Ming Fan as head disciple when he watched him beat Bai Zhan's strongest disciple. It revealed how truly strong he was, how much effort he put in to be able to triumph over the war peak with ease. It made sense for Da-shixiong to always be frustrated with their incompetence, with his incompetence. Every time they slipped up or made mistakes, they were making all of Ming Fans hard work and dedication seem insignificant because they were ruining his image. How can the head disciple be good if he shidi and shimei are so horrible?

   Perhaps they were all ignorant to his efforts. Sure, everyone knew he followed every rule and hung onto every word Shizun said with adoration and determination. Sure, they all knew he barely slept and barely ate and spent most days surrounded by paperwork when he wasn't sitting in as a teaching aid or attending lessons himself. All of that never seemed as impressive as it should have, though, because it was Ming Fan. He made it look effortless while still making mistakes and being scolded by hallmasters and Shizun. He kept going and never took a break and simply faded into the background when he wasn't being antagonizing.

   Luo Binghe felt a great deal of shame for not noticing how truly amazing Da-shixiong was.

   “D-Da-shixiong…” he sputtered out, still frozen by Ming Fan’s gaze. He gathered his confidence and bowed, staring down at his boots. “Da-shixiong, this disciple asks for forgiveness and guidance.”

   Ming Fan was silent, an unsettling thing since Ming Fan had always seemed like he loved to talk.

   Luo Binghe finally straightened out, looking up at Ming Fan’s face. Without his shoulders hunched, he was imposing, his expression blank and gaze haunted.

   “Da-shixiong?” He called out hesitantly.

   “Why should Luo-shidi want this disciple’s forgiveness?” Ming Fan asked, stockstill. A growing dread filled Luo Binghe’s gut.

   “This disciple has disgraced Qing Jing Peak with his lack of skill,” Luo Binghe said. “He has disappointed Da-shixiong with his lack of improvement. Da-shixiong, this disciple has tried to improve but he is incompetent and needs guidance. He–”

   Ming Fan let out a snort, making Luo Binghe pause. Ming Fan’s shoulders were shaking with repressed laughter. It exploded out of him, sharp and harsh like a slap to the face. Luo Binghe blinked, trying to process the hysterical sound.

   “Guidance?” Ming Fan laughed. “Luo-shidi doesn’t need guidance from this one. It would do him little good.”

   “Da-shix–”

   “Luo-shidi will not have to deal with this disciple and his abuse much longer,” Ming Fan’s expression grew solemn once again. “He should just forget about this disciple.”

   Ming Fan turned back around and walked away, leaving Luo Binghe to process his words. Abuse? Why would he say such a thing? Luo Binghe wasn’t being abused by him. Ming Fan was harsh, stuck up at times, and perhaps a tad bit of a bully, but he wasn’t doing major harm to Luo Binghe. His anger and frustration was all understandable. All reasonable.

   Is that why he’s leaving? Does he feel guilty for attacking Luo Binghe during his qi deviation?

   Luo Binghe could feel his face growing warm and his eyes stinging. He rushed back to the woodshed, letting himself curl up inside and pressing his face into his knees.

   All of this was his fault.

   When would he stop screwing up?

~*~

   “How do we get Ming-shidi to feel included and cared for?” Qin Huizhen asked the gathered disciples as they sat together in the darkness of the Qiong Ding forest. Qin Huizhen’s night pearl cast shadows onto their faces and their surroundings in an eerie way.

   “As I said, a certain someone could confess their love for him,” Liu Mingyan said, only to receive a glare.

   “Why are we doing this in the woods in the middle of the night?” Zheng Zhihao asked, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

   “What's his favourite dessert?” Bao Guiying asked. “Does he like sweet or bitter things? Floral or fruit?”

   “Just because you ask doesn't mean anyone knows, Bao-shimei,” Zheng Zhihao replied.

   “He strikes me as a fruity kind of guy,” Liu Mingyan said.

   “How would you know?” Zhu Zhangwei asked.

   “Aw, shidi, your jealousy is showing,” she sang only to be shoved over. She responded by pulling Zhu Zhangwei’s ponytail.

   “If you injure each other, I am not helping you,” Du Cheng stated as Zhu Zhangwei began pulling on Liu Mingyan’s hair as well.

   “So we're going with an assortment,” Bao Guiying said. “Should we make him something?”

   “Perhaps a sword tassel,” Wu Yin suggested. “He never bought one for his spiritual sword.”

   “I could add a protection array to it,” Hua Juan said.

   “Does he like accessories, though?” Wen Min asked. “He doesn't wear anything more than his head disciple guan and the uniform that goes with it. Would he like something flashy?”

   “It doesn't have to be flashy,” Qin Huizhen said. “We could make something simple and fit for a scholar like him.”

   “Have Zhu-shidi present to him as part of his confession,” Liu Mingyan said.

   “Will you stop with your jokes?” Zhu Zhangwei said, his red face barely concealed by the dark. “Ming-shixiong doesn't seem interested at all in romance of any form. The closest he gets to affection is with the Ning-shimei he dotes on. If anything, a love confession may drive him out of the sect even more.”

   “I'm just kidding, Zhu-shidi,” Liu Mingyan stated. “You're taking it far too seriously. We just need to do what we can to make him feel irreplaceable. I…think that Ming-shixiong values himself very little, that he sees himself as lesser than us. Whatever happened to his mind during his qi deviation exacerbated that feeling.”

   “If Ming Fan feels useless, he’ll leave,” Qin Huizhen stated. “So we'll do everything to remind him that he isn't.”

   “Everything but a love confession,” Zhu Zhangwei replied.

~*~

   Luo Binghe stood outside the music hall where Ming Fan was practicing his piece for the latest showcase. The notes rang out through the wood, smooth and sad in an almost melancholic way. He hadn’t ever heard Ming Fan play like this before, no one had. Xue Zhen stopped and stared at the music hall, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

   “Since when was Da-shixiong better than you, Ru-shixiong?” Xue Zhen asked their second oldest martial sibling. The boy scratched his cheek, brows furrowed.

   “Maybe he was pretending,” he said. “Like he was with sparring.”

   “Feigned incompetence?” Xue Zhen said. “Who knew Da-shixiong was actually smart? He always seemed like a bit of an airhead.”

   “He’s showing off all his skills before he leaves us,” Mo Yingjie whispered, face scrunched.

   “Why would he even–”

   There was a loud screech that ended Ming Fan’s song and then a crash. He stepped out, holding the neck of a broken erhu in his hand. His hair was hanging loose from a high ponytail instead of its usual bun. His forelocks shielded his face eyes from view as the breeze blew them around his face.

   “Da-shixiong!” Luo Binghe called out, grabbing onto Ming Fan’s sleeve. “Please forgive–”

   Luo Binghe gagged on the overwhelming feeling of killing intent that emanated from Ming Fan. He pulled away, stumbling back at the cold look in the boy's eyes. It lasted for a moment before the killing intent dissipated and Ming Fan looked away.

   “Apologies, Luo-shidi,” Ming Fan whispered, walking past him with his eyes glazed over. He dropped the neck of the erhu in the grass, stumbling away from the gathered crowd of disciples.

   “He didn’t even have that much killing intent when he was qi deviating,” Xue Zhen said. “What was that?”

   “I’ve never seen him like this,” Ning Yingying appeared by his side. “It’s like he’s possessed. He’s a completely different person.”

   “It’s my fault, Ning-shijie,” Luo Binghe said. “I’m the reason he qi deviated and–”

   “No, A’Luo, it’s not,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “The qi deviation did something to him. It had some invisible lasting effect. We need to get Shizun to see it. He thinks Da-shixiong is fine.”

   “Do you think Da-shixiong will really leave?” Luo Binghe asked.

   “Of course not,” Ning Yingying said. “We won’t let him.”

~*~

   The little beast had the gall to keep apologizing to him? It was disgusting how helpless and weak the boy used to act before he became a complete monster. Ming Fan ran around the peak, pushing himself to see how many laps his younger body could take. He’d always been the best runner on the peak, always had the best endurance, the most willpower and determination to keep going.

   Running pushed him to the limit, let him numb everything going on in his brain until his thoughts were nothing but a thick sludge.

   “I saw Da-shixiong dozing off in class again,” Xue Zhen whispered. “He doesn’t even care enough to stay awake.”

   “Everyone knows he was chosen because he’s the oldest, because Shizun was desperate,” Ru Guiren said. “I’m better than him at every instrument and even Ning-shimei can write better poetry. He’s a joke.”

   “Did you see how he does extra practice at the sword forms and still messes up?” Ye Mei said. “He can barely keep up.”

   “And he acts all high and mighty,” Rong Rulan scoffed. “He thinks he’s the best when he’s nothing more than noble trash. He got his position with his fuqin’s money and prestige most likely.”

   “Feeding into Da-shixiong’s ego will make him like you, A’Luo,” Ning Yingying said. “Just lie. Act like you adore him. It’s what I do and he dotes on me.”

   “We sent you to the sect so you couldn’t tarnish our good name anymore but you still managed to–

   Ming Fan tripped on a tree root and tumbled to the dirt.

   He laid on his back, closing his eyes for a moment. The grass was dry and prickly under his skin, a result of the lack of recent rain. It was patchy, crawling out of dry, cracked earth and crevices of rough stone. In the fifth-lowest branch of the golden larch tree about two b ù to his left, a silver moon swallow was chirping away, having escaped from Ling You Peak. The soft scent of a flowering tea plant filled his nose. Someone must have planted the shrub nearby to let it grow wildly.

   He dug his fingers into the hard earth, letting out a breath.

   “Stop remembering things that have not happened or do not matter,” he said to himself. “No one will care when you're gone. It does not matter what they think of you.”

   “Is Disciple Ming enjoying the dirt?” the clipped tone of his master made Ming Fan open his eyes. He tilted his head slightly to look at Shen Qingqiu.

   “This disciple greets Shizun,” he said softly, not bothering to get up and bow. The man stared down at him with an icy gaze. He was wearing one of the more opulent hair crowns that he usually despised, hair pulled back tighter and neater than usual. He had even opted for a flashier outer layer and extra layers to make him seem less slim.

   There was a peak lord meeting today. That’s why he was searching for Ming Fan.

   “Disciple Ming used to be so obedient,” Shen Qingqiu said, tilting his fan so that his expression cannot be read from Ming Fan’s position on the ground. There was the slightest shake to his hand. He hasn’t been sleeping again. “He had suddenly grown rebellious. He even broke an expensive instrument.”

   “Shizun can ask this disciple’s family for repayment,” Ming Fan replied.

   “Disciple Ming should not use his noble family as a crutch for his poor behaviour,” Shen Qingqiu said.

   “This disciple is incompetent and requires punishment,” Ming Fan replied mechanically as he rose to a sitting position.

   “Disciple Ming has never shown such skill with an erhu before,” Shen Qingqiu stated, subtly shifting the placement of his fan. “He waited to show off and break as many of the instruments as he could.”

   “There are many things this disciple does that have gone unnoticed,” was all Ming Fan said in response as he rose to his feet. “There is a peak lord meeting today, yes? This disciple will make himself presentable.”

   “Mo Yingjie has been rather distraught by the idea of Disciple Ming leaving the sect,” Shen Qingqiu said as he walked away. He paused, turning back to look at Shen Qingqiu.

   “So you finally learned his name.”

~*~

   Ming Fan approached their meeting pavilion, tall and dour in expression. His gaze was far away, his facial expression bleeding some form of apathy. Normally he was at least somewhat lively, trying his best to seem professional and proper before his seniors and peers and eager to please. He was a people pleaser of the purest form, something ingrained into him. He believed he had to garner favour and stay in the good graces of each person on the same rank or higher than himself.

   “His hair is different,” Li Hai pointed out. It was loosely tied up in a ponytail, his longer forelocks slipping out to cover the edges of his face. He always kept them pinned back and his hair in a bun, embarrassed by the length of it. Zheng Zhihao had once teased him about his hair being short when he wore it loose and the boy had shut down and never wore it loose again.

   “I think he grew again,” Liu Mingyan said. “He’s probably taller than ZhuZhu now.”

   Zhu Zhangwei swatted at her but she dodged.

   “MingMing!” Bao Guiying shouted, running up to the boy and wrapping her arms around him. His eyes widen minutely and he stared at her for a few moments, motionless.

   “What…what is Bao-shimei doing?” he asked, his voice raw and scratchy as if he’d been screaming. It cracked horribly, causing some of them to wince.

   “Right,” she let go of him, simply squeezing his shoulder with a teasing smile. “I forgot our dear MingMing doesn’t like being touched. He’s so prickly.”

   In reality, the boy flinched away from touch. Something within his upbringing had given him a bit of a phobia of human contact that presented itself less and less recently. He used to scoot away from others, something that was originally taken as offensive until he freaked out when Qin Huizhen reached out to place a hand on his shoulder once and cowered like a frightened child. They took care to give him space after that.

   “Zhu-shidi said you kicked his ass,” Zheng Zhihao said. “I would love to see that. Can you do it again?”

   “Ah…” Ming Fan’s face flushed lightly and he turned to Zhu Zhangwei. “This disciple apologizes to Zhu-shidi for his behaviour.”

   “Don’t apologize to that idiot, Ming-di,” Liu Mingyan said and Zhu Zhangwei glared at her.

   They didn’t expect Ming Fan to freeze up, his breathing all but stopping. He was staring straight at Liu Mingyan, unmoving like a spooked deer.

   “What…what just happened?” Liu Mingyan asked. “Ming-di? Ming-shixiong?”

   She rose from her spot at the table and approached the teen who did not even blink, eyes glazed and empty. She approached slowly, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “Ming-shixiong?” she asked softly.

   He blinked, expression shuttering as his eyes focused on her. Something flashed through them, some kind of fear and pain. He recoiled from her, shaking. He ran towards the nearby foliage, retching into it.

   “Ming-shidi,” Qin Huizhen rushed over to him, placing a hand on his back. He shuddered, retching harder and fighting her touch. He dug his nails into his arms, stopped from making deep scratches by the guards on his forearms.

   “Qin-shijie, give him some space,” Zhu Zhangwei said, pulling her away gently. “Whatever’s happening, he needs space.”

   Qin Huizhen pressed her lips together, brows furrowed in worry. She didn’t take her eyes off of Ming Fan who was now curled into himself, fingers digging into his hair. She slowly knelt down beside him, leaving space between them so he wouldn’t feel trapped.

   “Ming-shidi,” she said softly. “Ming Fan.”

   He did not respond, did not even acknowledge her presence.

   “Ming-shidi,” she called out again.

   He looked up at her from where he had pressed his face into his knees, eyes red rimmed and gaze still so far away.

   “Ming-shidi, you’re alright,” she said. “Everything is alright. You’re safe. We’re on Qiong Ding Peak and–”

   “No,” he stated quietly. “No.”

   “A’Fan, look at me,” she said. His eyes snapped up to her face. “What’s my name?”

   “Qin-shijie,” he whispered, the focus coming back to his eyes.

   “And where are we right now?” she asked.

   His gaze darted around briefly. “Qiong Ding,” he said.

   “Yeah, we’re on Qiong Ding,” she agreed. “So there is nothing to be afraid of because you’re on Qiong Ding with your shimei and shidi and me, right?”

   He looked at Liu Mingyan for a moment before turning back to Qin Huizhen. He reached out suddenly, taking Qin Huizhen’s wrist and pressing his fingers to the pulse point. After a few moments he relaxed, coming back to himself.

   “Are you alright?” Qin Huizhen asked.

   “Ah….this one just…had a bit of an aftereffect of his qi deviation,” Ming Fan rose to his feet, slightly unsteady. “Apologies.”

   “Stop being so formal,” Zhu Zhangwei said, reaching out to wipe away the tears on Ming Fan’s cheeks with his thumb. “You’re crying again.”

   “Ming-shixiong, what’s wrong?” Liu Mingyan asked. Ming Fan stared at her once again as Zhu Zhangwei tried to guide him to the pavilion. He was trembling, holding his arms close to his chest. They sat him down at the low table, pressing a cup of tea into his shaking hands.

   “Liu-shimei, what do you think of me?” he asked.

   “Ming-shixiong is a reliable and hardworking head disciple,” she replied. “He is greatly skilled in the four arts and–”

   “What does Liu-shimei truly think?” he asked. “Would she trust this disciple’s judgement based on his word alone? Would she be blinded by emotion and decide this disciple is a fool?”

   “What is Ming-shixiong talking about?” Liu Mingyan laughed awkwardly, the atmosphere turning ice cold even with the heat of midday. “This Mingyan doesn’t understand.”

   “If something were to happen to your brother and my Shizun was accused of being the perpetrator, would you believe this one if he trusted his Shizun?” Ming Fan asked. “Or would you believe him to be a fool? Would you believe his word useless, that he is just a poor boy who is being manipulated by a bad man? Does Liu-shimei have faith in this one’s judgement as her tactician?”

   Liu Mingyan was silent for a moment. “Of course I would trust you,” she replied.

   Ming Fan let out a hollow laugh at that.

   “I am not someone you would trust so blindly,” he stated, sipping his tea. “If anything happened to someone you truly cared for, my voice would be drowned out by your feelings, by your stubborn thoughts and views. Liu-shimei is rather pigheaded after all.”

   “Then that is this shimei’s own fault,” she said. “It is a flaw she must work on. For Ming-shixiong’s age, he is rather wise.”

   Ming Fan just took another sip of his tea.

   “Age will not matter in the face of death and destruction,” he replied. “Naivete and immaturity are useless things to be thrown away. Youth will not save someone from slaughter or from resentment. Someone may hold a grudge for someone’s foolish immaturity and they may end up dead before they even reach adulthood.”

   “That is rather dark, Ming-shidi,” Qin Huizhen said.

   “It is honest,” he replied.

   “Ah, Ming-shixiong, we made something for you,” Wu Yin said, trying to lighten the mood. He pulled out a small wooden box, placing it on the table. “We noticed you did not get a sword tassel for your sword and thought we should give you one. We are martial siblings, after all.”

   Ming Fan took the box, lifting the lid to stare down at the simple sword tassel laid inside. The tassel was a pale shade of turquoise and the main charm was made of dark wood with bamboo carved into it. He held it in his hands, staring at it silently.

   “What does Ming-shidi think?” Qin Huizhen asked. “We thought you would like something simple and elegant.”

   “This one appreciates the gift,” he replied, fastening it to his sword.

   “Does Ming-shidi truly wish to leave the sect?” Qin Huizhen asked. “What would make Ming-shidi desire such a thing after all his hard work?”

   “This one is simply tired, Qin-shijie,” Ming Fan replied. “He would like to finally rest.”

~*~

   Shang Qinghua was more than a little on edge these days. His system has been blaring all sorts of warnings and was glitching in and out. Something strange was happening, something ominous. He came to the monthly peak lord meeting with stress and exhaustion making it hard for him to focus.

   “How is Ming-shizhi doing?” Yue Qingyuan suddenly asked. “Is he recovering well?”

   “Recovering?” Shang Qinghua said, brows furrowed. The only ‘Ming-shizhi’ was Shen Qingqiu’s little canon fodder head disciple.

   “He is recovering well from the qi deviation,” Shen Qingqiu supplied.

   “Qi deviation?” Shang Qinghua squawked. “Ming-shizhi had a qi deviation?””

   “He forced himself through a break through,” Mu Qingfang said. “He is recovering, but he should learn to better take care of himself and his needs.”

   Mu Qingfang gave Shen Qingqiu a meaningful look and Shang Qinghua tried to keep his mouth from falling open. A qi deviation??? Ming Fan wasn’t supposed to have a qi deviation. Is this why the system is acting strange?

   He couldn’t get it out of his head even after the meeting ended and they went to collect their head disciples. They were all sat in one of the pavilions, sipping tea and chatting. The air was slightly tense, a friction between them that seemed to be centered on Ming Fan. The boy sat silently, listening to the different disciples talk to him while sipping his tea and picking at pastries.

   “It seems the disciples are getting along well,” Yue Qingyuan said as they all stood there staring at their head disciples’ strange behaviour.

   “What’s wrong with them?” Liu Qingge asked, as blunt as ever.

   “It must be due to Ming-shizhi’s resignation,” Mu Qingfang said. “Du Cheng is rather fond of him so the others must be as well.”

   “What?” Shang Qinghua squawked. “Resignation?”

   “Disciple Ming wishes to leave the sect,” Shen Qingqiu said icily, face hidden behind his fan and eyes narrowed in rage. His fan creaked slightly in his hand. Oh gods, he was furious.

   This wasn’t supposed to happen. Ming Fan was a mindless cannon fodder needed for the development of Luo Binghe’s blackening. He couldn’t suddenly get agency like this and change the plot! This wasn’t fair! Shang Qinghua wasn’t allowed to deviate from the plot so why can Ming Fan?

   Is Ming Fan a transmigrator?

   Qin Huizhen noticed them and stood to bow, the others following suit. Ming Fan’s gaze caught on Shang Qinghua and some strange recognition flitted through his gaze. “You…” he said, not taking his eyes off of Shang Qinghua.

   “Ming-shixiong?” Liu Mingyan called out helplessly. Shang Qinghua was frozen under Ming Fan’s gaze, a shiver running down his spine.

   “You little rat,” Ming Fan said, stepping towards Shang Qinghua with his hand on the hilt of his sword. He was oddly calm, held back by Zhu Zhangwei’s arms slipping around his waist. “How dare you have the gall to stay in this sect, to act like a dutiful member of it.”

   “S-shen-shixiong,” Shang Qinghua wailed, hiding behind Shen Qingqiu’s figure.

   “Disciple Ming,” Shen Qingqiu said. Normally, the obedient duckling would settle, but Ming Fan didn’t this time. He stood strong against his Shizun, defiance and rage lighting up his eyes.

   “You traitor,” he snarled and everyone went deathly quiet and still.

   “Haha, how funny,” Shang Qinghua said. “Mu-shidi, is he qi deviating again?”

   “After all the sect did for you, you turned your back on them only to die anyway,” Ming Fan laughed, blood dripping from his nose. “How pathetic. You’re truly nothing more than a traitorous rat.”

   “Ming Fan!” Shen Qingqiu yelled, finally snapping. “What has gotten into you?!”

   “He’ll betray you all,” he said. “And you all will be too foolish to notice until it’s too late. Until the sect is nothing but ashes. Until you all are dead. Dead, long dead.”

[WARNING! Character: Ming Fan has disrupted the storyline. Initiating Punishment Protocol]

   Ming Fan’s eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp in Zhu Zhangwei’s arms.

   Shen Qingqiu turned to Shang Qinghua. “Shang-shidi,” his voice was cold, filled with ice. “Care to explain anything this master’s head disciple just said?”

   Oh shit.

   SHIT!

Chapter Text

   “Da-shixiong,” Ming Fan was laying on something warm and soft. His body was not riddled with pain, muscles loose and comfortably padded by something soft. Fingers were running through his loose hair, scritching at his scalp. “Ming Fan, are you awake?”

   He opened bleary eyes, staring up at a blurry face. A hand cupped his cheek, thumb stroking along his cheekbone. It was burning hot on hit cool skin. “Did you like the dream I gave you?” the blur asked, voice low and soft. “A chance to go back and start over? To right your wrongs?”

   “Mn,” he leaned into the warm hand cupping his cheek and closed his eyes again. He was so tired still and it felt so nice and safe. He just wanted to rest for once.

   “It was so pitiful to watch you give up everything,” they laughed, startling Ming Fan. “You automatically believed yourself to be so insignificant that you could not change anything.”

   Ming Fan opened his eyes again and stared up at Luo Binghe’s face with horrible clarity. He tried to move but his limbs wouldn’t cooperate. He was trapped on the bed, staring up at his torturer.

   “You weren’t wrong, of course,” he said, tracing Ming Fan’s cheekbone with his claws. “So ugly and rotten. Nothing could make you good enough to leave any lasting impression aside from a bad one.”

   Ming Fan opened his mouth, but no noise came out. The panicked thrumming of his heart began to fill his ears as Luo Binghe leaned closer. A smile pulled at his lips as he brushed some hair out of Ming Fan’s face.

   “When I finally kill you, no one will mourn you,” he said, his touch still gentle and sweet compared to his words. “Not even Shizun gave a damn about you and yet you still did everything to win his approval. You tortured me for years just for the chance that he may one day care for you. You were just as pathetic as me, but you never learned your lesson.”

   “If only you weren’t such a fool,” Luo Binghe laughed. “You would not have their blood on your hands. Do you regret it or are you simply happy to have lived longer than them? It won’t be much longer. Once I suck you dry of all your use, I’ll toss you aside, just like Shizun would have done.”

   Luo Binghe’s claws drew blood as he dug them in to lift Ming Fan’s head and–

   “Ming Fan, are you listening?” Ming Fan jumped and turned to look at Shen Qingqiu. They were seated in his bamboo hut with cups of tea between them. Shen Qingqiu looked youthful as ever except for a few strands of silver in his ink black hair. He looked tired but content, a smile imprinted into his face that was unnatural and almost sickening.

   “Apologies, Shizun,” Ming Fan said. His voice was deeper than the younger form he had been stuck in and his cultivation was stronger, flowing through a much more muscular body. “This disciple was lost in thought.”

   “Ming Fan does not have to be so formal,” Shen Qingqiu laughed lightly, fiddling with the fan in his hands, a nervous tic Shizun never had. The laugh was strange too, too loud and open. Shizun would huff, would make subtle noises of joy, never something so overt. “To summarize what I said, Ming Fan has been taking care of Qing Jing for a long time and has progressed well in his studies and cultivation, even with his master absent so frequently. After so long, this master would like to officially give Ming Fan reign of the peak.”

   “What?” Ming Fan asked.

   “I would like to continue travelling with my husband,” Shen Qingqiu said. “You are better at running this peak than I am. You have done it for decades now. I wish I could have been a better master to you.”

   “You never were my master,” Ming Fan replied. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes widened. His expressions truly were far too open.

   “How long–”

   “Since the start,” Ming Fan laughed. “You were such a horrible fake. I tried to pretend you were him, but it was obvious. I tried…I tried to figure out how to bring him back or what happened to him but I couldn’t. I failed.”

   “You never said anything,” Shen Qingqiu said.

   “Who would believe me?” Ming Fan asked. “It isn’t like my voice mattered much.”

   “What?” Shen Qingqiu’s brows furrowed. “Ming Fan–”

   “You forgot about everyone but Luo Binghe and everyone was happy to forget about Shizun and care for you,” Ming Fan said. “I did not matter, the other disciples did not matter. You only cared about taming the little beast. People died because you did not care and yet you get a happy ending for taking over a man’s life?”

   “Ming Fan, listen–”

   “I was loyal to my Shizun, I did everything to be a dutiful disciple to him,” Ming Fan said. “And you replaced him without a care.”

   “It was not my choice,” the man said. “He was the villain–”

   “He was my Shizun!” Ming Fan roared.

[ERROR! Character: Ming Fan has gained self awareness. Initiating protocol…]

   “What is that?” Ming Fan asked. “What are you—”

   Thunder crashed as light blinded him. Pain surged through his body and he screamed, the burning heat ripping through his skin and scorching his bones. He fell to his knees, gasping for air that would not fill his lungs. The bamboo hut was gone, the false Shen Qingqiu having been blown back with some kind of barrier surrounding him. He looked on with wide eyes as the second strike hit Ming Fan.

   This time, there was nothing left of him afterwards—

   “You’re still alive,” Liu Mingyan’s voice rang out in the dark. Ming Fan stared up into the darkness, limp on the ground as the ants crawled across his body. His muscles had long since atrophied, his flesh decaying as he lay in a pool of his own coagulated blood. His tongue was gone, his jaw hanging loose from his skull. The only thing keeping his heart pumping and his lungs breathing were Luo Binghe’s blood parasites.

   She waited in silence for some sign that his mind was still capable of comprehending her speech.

   “I thought A’Luo would let you die,” she stated. “It’s not like you’re all that important. Perhaps he’s forgotten about you.”

   Perhaps he had. How long has it been? How–

   “You shouldn’t have sided with your master, Ming-shixiong,” she said. “You have no one to blame but yourself.”

   Her footsteps retreated and he was left alone in the dark once again. How much longer? How much longer must he—

   “I did as you asked of me,” he was still in the pit, but now Luo Binghe was here. He tried to look at him, but his eyesight was gone. He coughed out a breath, throat swollen as ants crawled inside of it.

   “You were the fool all along,” Luo Binghe stated. Yes. He was a fool. “You thought I’d be weak forever. You thought yourself to be untouchable.”

   In what world was Ming Fan strong? In all the lives he’s lived, he’s always been so incredibly weak and useless.

   “You were only ever cruel,” the man stated. “You showed the smallest hint of care so I thought you would change but you went back to being a monster straight after. Were you afraid to be kind? You weren’t incapable of it and that’s what disgusts me.”

   Oh, how funny. He turned towards the noise of Luo Binghe’s voice, lifted his head to gaze unseeingly at him.

   “You should have been kinder, Da-shixiong,” Luo Binghe said. “Then I would have spared you.”

   Ming Fan laughed again. The little beast did not understand. What point was there to being spared if all his shidi and shimei died? What kind of head disciple was he if he survived like a coward?

   Ming-shixiong; so unimportant, forgettable, weak.

   Why do you hold onto a life that will end in failure?

   You’re a fool.

   They never wanted—

   “Ming-shixiong?” Ming Fan stared up at Zhu Zhangwei’s face scrunched up with concern. He gasped for air that came easily to his lungs.

   “Ming-shizhi,” Mu Qingfang appeared above him. “I need to check your meridians, but you should be fine.”

   Ming Fan laughed at that, watching Mu Qingfang’s face slacken with surprise.

   He laughed until he started sobbing, curling into himself and hoping that none of this was real. That he was simply dead. Death would be so much easier than this.

~*~

   Shang Qinghua’s face was pale as bone and he was sweating quite profusely for an immortal. He began shaking and stammering. "S-shen-shixiong, I-I would never–"

   "Why would Disciple Ming accuse Shang-shidi of such things, then?" Shen Qingqiu asked, keeping his voice cool and calm and his gaze focused far away from Ming Fan’s unconscious body. "He is not known for such random outbursts of mania."

   "He just had a qi deviation," Shang Qinghua whined, his voice was screechy like a poorly played and out of tune qin. "It could have melted his brain! How is he in any way trustworthy? He's a child!"

   "He is this master's head disciple," Shen Qingqiu replied and Shang Qinghua gulped.

   "L-look, Shen-shixiong, I have no idea what he's talking about," Shang Qinghua said. "Whatever he's seen, it's not real."

   "Shen-shibo, Ming-shixiong isn't waking up," Liu Qingge’s brat said. He was cradling Ming Fan close to his chest like a delicate piece of porcelain. "Did he have another qi deviation?"

   Mu Qingfang rushed over, pressing his fingers to Ming Fan’s wrist. "His qi is fine," Mu Qingfang said. "It could be exhaustion."

   "He's been behaving strangely," Du Cheng stated. "The qi deviation….it–"

   Ming Fan began writhing around in the mini-brute’s hold, letting out cries of pain. Shen Qingqiu walked over to him, looking at the crease between his brows and the tears slipping down his cheeks.

   “H-honestly, Shen-shixiong, your disciple isn’t well,” Shang Qinghua whined. “Look at him!”

   “I knew the qi deviation would have side effects, but this is much more than I could have guessed,” Mu Qingfang said. “His mind…I believe it truly is damaged. Shen-shixiong, it may be for the best for him to return to his family estate. If he cannot discern reality and is fainting then–”

   “Ming Fan is being dramatic,” Shen Qingqiu stated. “He is scared from experiencing his first qi deviation and is overreacting out of fear. In time he will get over it.”

   “Shen-shixiong,” Mu Qingfang began to protest. “He–”

   “He wants to put on a show for everyone,” Shen Qingqiu said. “He will get over it.”

   Ming Fan would stop being disobedient and dramatic once he realized he would be fine. He had a qi deviation from being a fool and pushing himself too hard and he would learn from that and stop being a fool. Ming Fan was his head disciple. He wouldn’t just go made and he wouldn’t just shirk his duties. Shen Qingqiu was scared himself when he had his first qi deviation.

   “Ming-shixiong?” Zhu Zhangwei called out as Ming Fan began to stir.

   Ming Fan’s eyes opened, bleary and unfocused. He stared at Mu Qingfang, brows furrowed.

   “Ming-shizhi,” Mu Qingfang said softly. “I need to check your meridians, but you should be fine.”

   Ming Fan was silent before he began to laugh. It was loud and erratic, quickly turning into sobs as he curled into himself. His body was shaking, arms wrapped tightly around his knees.

   “Ming Fan,” Shen Qingqiu placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Would he truly make such a scene again? Always crying in public and showing his weakness to his enemies. “Stop thi–”

   Arms wrapped around his torso, a face pressed into his chest. The others around him went silent, an odd tension growing in the air as Shen Qingqiu stared down at Ming Fan. His fingers dug into the fabric of Shen Qingqiu’s outer layer, holding on with sheer desperation as he let out a quiet sob.

   “I’m sorry, Shizun,” he cried. “No matter what I did, I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t save them. I failed…I failed…”

   He raised his head, staring up at Shen Qingqiu with large, watery eyes. “I tried so hard but I wasn’t enough,” he said quietly, a hiccup rising from his chest as he choked on his own sobs. “I was never enough.”

   I was never enough.

   There was a hollowness in Shen Qingqiu’s chest as he stared at his disciple’s face. He lifted his gaze to Qi–Zhangmen-shixiong. The frozen smile on his face, the look of panic in his eyes as he scrambled for what to do. The fool that would not tell him the truth no matter how much Shen Qingqiu begged.

   Because Shen Qingqiu wasn’t enough.

   He tried to be a good disciple once, tried to be a good martial sibling, a good master, a good…a good man but he always fell short of the mark. His efforts were never enough to change how they viewed him so he eventually simply gave up. Let them see him as rotten, let them make up their insipid rumors, let the idiotic children fear him and fail in their efforts to please him. He wasn’t enough to be good so he may as well settle for enough to be bad.

   Perhaps Ming Fan was too much like him in the wrong ways and too different in ways that were even worse. He gasped and sobbed in Shen Qingqiu’s arms, looking for warmth from someone incapable of it. His little puppet, his little obedient fool who hung onto Shen Qingqiu’s every word with admiration and a desire to please. Did the boy truly care for him? Respect him? How foolish.

   Shen Qingqiu reached out, wiping a tear from Ming Fan’s face. His skin was burning, reddened from distress and disgustingly sticky. He watched Shen Qingqiu’s movements silently, eyes wide like a startled rabbit.

   “This master does not need saving from his foolish disciple,” Shen Qingqiu stated. “Disciple Ming must think highly of himself to think he would be capable of such.”

   “I can’t fail again,” he said. “I can’t.”

   “Disciple Ming need not worry about failure when he already fails at everything,” Shen Qingqiu replied. “He still has much to learn before he can hope not to fail.”

   “Shizun is right,” Ming Fan whispered. “This one is destined to fail.”

   Shen Qingqiu whacked him on the head with his fan. “What destiny exists?” Shen Qingqiu scoffed. “Destiny is created by man. No one decides your life but yourself.”

   “Why did Shizun choose this one as his head disciple?” Ming Fan asked.

   “Because Disciple Ming refused to give up,” Shen Qingqiu replied. “And he was the best at brewing tea.”

   “Shizun is a good teacher,” Ming Fan said. “Who would not do everything to make him proud?”

   Ming Fan’s expression was earnest and for once Shen Qingqiu did not know what to say. He raised his fan to his mouth, far too aware of the eyes on them.

   “That is a foolish thing for someone who wishes to leave the sect to say,” Shen Qingqiu replied as coolly as he could.

   “This disciple will always be grateful for all that Shizun has taught him,” Ming Fan stood only to bow deeply to Shen Qingqiu. “He is simply not capable of being the best head disciple for Shizun. It is his own shortcomings that are the issue, not Shizun’s.”

   “Ming-shizhi should come to Qian Cao for some tests.” Mu Qingfang cut in, placing a hand on Ming Fan’s shoulder. “It would be best to learn the exact side effects of your deviation so they can be treated or mitigated.”

   “While Disciple Ming is doing that, this master would like to have a private talk with Shang-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu stated, watching Shang Qinghua go pale once again, eyes wide with animalistic fear.

   This would be fun.

Some MF sketches:

Chapter Text

   Shang Qinghua shifted uncomfortably from where he sat at the low tea table. Shen Qingqiu sat across from him, green eyes like icy daggers stabbing through his chest. He took his tea cup, sipping the tea and trying to look anywhere but at Shen Qingqiu.

   “I already suspected you were a traitor,” Shang Qinghua choked on his tea, descending into a coughing fit. “I just do not know how Disciple Ming figured it out. How careless have you been in front of my disciple?”

   “Come now, Shen-shixiong, how could this one possibly be a traitor?” Shang Qinghua couldn’t help his nervous laughter from bleeding out of his throat. “This one is a peak lord. Why would he want to betray the sect?”

   “I am tired of this, Shang-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu stated. “There are many things to resent about our positions, especially your own. Just tell the truth. I will be less inclined to kill you if you do.”

   “K-kill me?!” Shang Qinghua shrieked. System, can he do that?

[Host is a canon fodder side character like Character: Ming Fan. If he messes up, he can be killed with no real consequences to the plot. The plot points will occur one way or another.]

   Goddammit.

   “Look, Shen-shixiong, I have no idea what is going on with your disciple,” Shang Qinghua said. “I have done absolutely nothing in front of him that would make him think such a thing. I barely even interact with Ming-shizhi!”

   “Even so, he found out and we both know you are actually a traitorous fool,” Shen Qingqiu replied, fanning himself lightly. “His accusations are not unfounded and I fear that means that Shang-shidi may face extreme punishment.”

   “I haven’t done anything yet!” Shang Qinghua yelled. It was true, too. The most he had done is send correspondence and information to Mobei-jun. OG!Shang Qinghua never did anything particularly traitorous until Sha Hualing’s siege on Qiong Ding. Right now Shang Qinghua is as good as innocent aside from the tiniest bit of espionage.

   “And if Shang-shidi ever does do something then his head will no longer be connected to his shoulders,” Shen Qingqiu said. “Understand?”

   “Haha, of course, Shen-shixiong,” Shang Qinghua squeaked.

   He was so dead.

~*~

   “Ming-shizhi, how about you tell me about what you're seeing,” Mu Qingfang sat him down on a medical cot, his brain filled with a raging waterfall of white noise.

   “What does Mu-shishu mean by that?” He asked, a hollowness to his voice that he could not fix. Everything in him felt so hollow, like a wooden puppet waiting to be pulled along by fate. “What does he want me to describe? What I see now? What bleeds through into my mind? Would Mu-shishu like to know how he dies? You were always buried when the mountains came down.”

   “W…what?” Mu Qingfang’s brows furrowed.

   “You stayed behind during the siege to try and provide aid to the fallen disciples,” he continued, voice still drenched with apathy, robotic and even with perfect pronunciation. He sat straight, shoulders back as if giving a regular report to his Shizun. “There was not much you could have done. They were all dead. You should have ran with the rest of the remaining peak lords. He would have still found you but you would have had more time. You were foolish. You wanted to help only once it was too late.”

   “Ming-shizhi, what are you talking about?” Mu Qingfang softened his voice.

   “Was there a time when it wasn't the mountain?” he asked himself. “It was almost always that.”

   “Ming-shizhi!” Mu Qingfang called out, placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

   “You cared too much but you were always so indecisive, always afraid of conflict,” he said, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You could never make a true stance until you decided to stay behind and it resulted in your death. How unfortunate.”

   “Ming Fan,” Mu Qingfang cupped his face, taking the time to wipe away his tears. “Is that what you are seeing? Our deaths?”

   “I couldn't save anyone,” he whispered, sucking in a breath around a sob caught in his chest. “All I could do is fail them. No matter what I do, I fail all of you.”

   “Oh child,” Mu Qingfang said, pulling Ming Fan close. He flinched, stiffening in a way that had to be uncomfortable. “It is not your duty to protect any of us, especially not on your own. If you truly think that, then we have failed you.”

   “I am the head disciple–”

   “You are a boy,” Mu Qingfang stated, placing his hands firmly on Ming Fan’s shoulders once again. “A mature and perceptive boy, but still a boy. Until you take the mantle of peak lord, it is our duty to protect you. It is not your duty to keep the sect afloat. If you think you must, then we have not done enough.”

   Mu Qingfang brushed back Ming Fan’s forelocks, tucking them behind the boy’s ears. “You are right that I am indecisive,” he said. “A foolish flaw that I must fix. I fear that my indecisiveness has caused your suffering. If I had taken the time to make sure you rested, you would not have qi deviated and you would not be suffering psychological effects. I am sorry, Ming Fan. As much as we like to pretend to be peerless immortals, we are still human and we still make mistakes and have flaws.”

   “If all I am is a boy, then I am useless,” Ming Fan spat.

   “You are anything but,” Mu Qingfang said. “Ming-shizhi will grow into a skilled cultivator and tactician. For now, he is still learning and growing. Does Ming-shizhi expect perfection of his shidi and shimei? Does he expect them to be strong enough to protect him?”

   “They are children–”

   “So are you,” Mu Qingfang replied.

   “No, I am not,” Ming Fan said.

   “Physically you are young,” Mu Qingfang stated. “Am I right in assuming that whatever deaths you are seeing, they occurred in a time when you were an adult?”

   “Most of them,” Ming Fan replied.

   “Them?” Mu Qingfang echoed. “Multiple deaths?”

   “All of them,” Ming Fan replied. “An endless cycle of failure where every action I tried ended in death. I was useless. Every time, I was useless.”

   “Ming-shizhi, I need you to listen to me,” Mu Qingfang said. “I hope that whatever respect you have for me as your shishu will make you listen. Those memories may feel real, the pain and emotions may seem like they couldn’t possibly be fake, but they are not real, Ming-shizhi. They are a product of your brain, something your mind imagined while you were close to dying crafted from stress, resentment and high emotions. The qi deviation fed off of your worst fears and negative thoughts and crafted realities out of it to trap you.”

   Ming Fan pulled away, a look of hurt crossing his face before he could school it into something more empty and cold. “You don’t believe me,” he said.

   “I believe that what you are seeing and feeling is real to you,” Mu Qingfang stated. “That what is affecting you is not some act made up for attention. It is a side effect of your qi deviation, Ming-shizhi. To recover, you need to push through the illusion, you need to understand that it is not real. Those memories mean nothing because none of it has occurred in this world and you are not trapped to repeat them or meet some horrible end. You have not failed anyone.”

   “Have you ever had a patient die on you?” Ming Fan asked. “You probably have, unless you were truly a godly healer from the start.”

   “Yes, Ming-shizhi,” Mu Qingfang replied. “I have lost patients before. It is inevitable. Not everyone can be saved in time.”

   “Then you must know what it is like,” Ming Fan said. “The helplessness you feel, watching them die in front of you while you can do nothing but watch. Feeling their last breath, seeing the light fade from their eyes, knowing that if you had been faster then they would still be here. Their dying face is etched into your mind where it will stay until you take your last breath and meet them in the afterlife.”

   “No one is dead, Ming-shizhi,” Mu Qingfang replied.

   “I failed people before my qi deviation, Mu-shishu,” Ming Fan said. “Those people are still dead. And when the time comes, I will fail to save everyone that will die in the future.”

   “Who have you possibly failed, Ming-shizhi?” Mu Qingfang asked. “Thinking that your future is inevitable will only lead to it and prevent you from staying in the present.”

   “Did Bai-shidi not even exist in this timeline?” Ming Fan laughed, watching Mu Qingfang’s brows furrow. “Or did you all forget about him?”

   “Ming-shizhi–”

   “I have grown tired of this, Mu-shishu,” Ming Fan stood, pulling away from Mu Qingfang. “I do not plan to continue down the path of cultivation so there is no need to try and break me free of ‘false memories’ or whatever you assume is wrong with me. I wish to retire to my quarters. Goodday, Mu-shishu.”

   Ming Fan bowed and walked out the door.

   There were versions of the world where Bai Lan never joined Qing Jing Peak, where he was still alive in his family’s estate or off somewhere becoming a scholar before the world came to an end. Ming Fan should have known this was a world where he did not join the sect. His shidi and shimei were too lively for it to be any other type of timeline. There was always a sorrow or grief that hung over the peak in timelines where he became a disciple of the sect.

   Ming Fan should be happy. Bai Lan was alive somewhere instead of a ghost whose blood dyed Ming Fan’s hands. The first shidi he ever failed. The bright researcher with so much potential to do something great, to go out into the world and find success.

   That was proof enough that these memories, these lives, were not illusions or false memories. He remembered Bai-shidi so perfectly, down to the slightest crinkle of his eyes when he smiled. If Bai-shidi did not join the sect, how would he know that the boy was left handed but tried to use his right for most tasks? That he lost his hair ribbons easily and would always get ink on his robes? That his smile was slightly crooked and that his hair was greying pre-maturely from an illness in his youth?

   Bai Lan wasn’t a false figment. He was real. All of it was real. It had to be real–

   Arms wrapped around his torso, a face pressing into his chest. He stared down blankly at Luo Binghe’s watery eyes and reddened face. “Please just tell me what I did wrong,” he cried. “Please tell me what I did so I can fix it and you won’t leave. What did I do to make you hate me? Please, Da-shixiong. What did I do?”

   All Ming Fan could see was a pathetic little boy. A screaming, crying child wanting love that he could never get from people who could not give to him because those who should have given it to him abandoned him or died too soon. Someone so in need of love that he destroyed those he felt scorned him and took comfort in anyone who would give him attention or pleasure. A pathetic little whelp who grew into a pathetic little man.

   “What Luo-shidi has done wrong, is that he has looked for love and approval from the wrong people,” Ming Fan said, pulling Luo Binghe off of him. “Neither Shizun or I can give you what you want, Luo-shidi. You will never have his approval and you will never have mine. I am not capable of what you want from me. You want me to care for you? You want me to be warm, a good da-shixiong? I cannot be that. I never have been able to be that. Stop running after those who will give you nothing.”

   “You are a good Da-shixiong,” Luo Binghe said.

   “I have been nothing but cruel to you since you joined the sect,” Ming Fan stated. “I’ve hated you because of your potential, because Shizun did not like you, because you were a whiny brat that would not stand up for himself. I am lazy, weak, and spoiled. I abuse my power over my shidi and shimei and use it to be cruel and unfair. You trust too easily, you let people walk all over you because you are so starving for attention. Do not pretend I have not hurt you.”

   “I trust that Da-shixiong is diligent and hardworking,” Luo Binghe replied. “That he is stressed and gets frustrated by those that do not work as hard as him. I could have done more. I could have asked for help and Da-shixiong was mad that I didn’t–”

   “Don’t make up reasons for my actions,” Ming Fan said. “You’re being an idiot. I simply found you irritating and thought it fun to watch you buckle and bend under your chores and punishments. Stop chasing me like a puppy trying to make amends. I’ll be leaving either way.”

   “But Da-shixiong–” Luo Binghe called out but Ming Fan was already walking away from him. The little beast was so annoying as a child. Too bad he never grew out of being annoying as an adult either.

   “Ah, Ming-shizhi!” Ming Fan let out an internal sigh again as he ran into Shang Qinghua rushing out of the bamboo hut. A look of utter panic and pathetic fear crossed the rat’s face as he tried to plaster on a friendly smile. “How funny to see you again. Have you broken out of that state of mania?”

   “I suggest that Shang-shishu leaves before I decapitate him with my sword like his dear Mobei-jun will in the future,” Ming Fan replied, making the man squawk.

   “Don’t say that so loud, Ming-shizhi,” Shang Qinghua said, placing a hand over Ming Fan’s mouth only to remove it a moment later. “I guess I was right. You are a transmigrator.”

   Oh Gods. No wonder Shang Qinghua was more annoying and pathetic in this timeline.

   “It’s the imposter,” Ming Fan sighed. Shang Qinghua snorted a laugh for some odd reason. “But Shizun hasn’t been taken over.”

   “What?” Shang Qinghua asked.

   “In the other timeline there were two of you,” Ming Fan said. “Two false peak lords.”

   “O-other timeline?” Shang Qinghua raised his eyebrows.

   “An endless time loop of death and destruction,” Ming Fan stated. “And yet you only showed up in one of those lives. I would be lying if I said I was happy to see you again.”

   “Hey!” Shang Qinghua cried. “Wait. Time loop? Like Groundhog Day?”

   “What?”

   “You don’t know–” Shang Qinghua stopped. “Oh…oh….you’re not a transmigrator are you?”

   “Whatever that means, no,” Ming Fan said.

   “Oh my god,” he whispered. “What the hell, system? No wonder you’re…well…”

   “Oh good, Disciple Ming is back from Qian Cao,” they turned to look at Shen Qingqiu who stood in the doorway of the bamboo hut. “And it seems he no longer wishes to murder his Shang-shishu.”

   “It would be too easy and disappointing, Shizun,” Ming Fan replied, bowing to his master and ignoring Shang Qinghua’s protests.

   “Well, Disciple Ming, we will be postponing the showcase,” Shen Qingqiu stated. “Zhangmen-shixiong requested that I conduct an investigation in Shuang Hu City. I would like to use it as a training mission for your shidi and shimei. I trust you know how to prepare for the mission?”

   “Yes, Shizun,” Ming Fan replied. So this timeline has that horrible mission. Wonderful.

Chapter Text

The Shuang Hu City nighthunt was probably the worst event to ever reoccur during Ming Fan’s disciple days. It always ended in some idiotic way that was entirely embarrassing and horrible. No doubt, Ning Yingying and Luo Binghe would get captured like idiots and either Shizun or him would have to go rescue them.

He also had no desire to come into contact with Lord Chen in this life. The man was vile and disgusting in every life Ming Fan has encountered him. He had heard rumours of the man being a true lecher even for decades before their mission to Shuang Hu. He did not want to help the fool in this life. He also did not want to deal with Luo Binghe’s and Ning Yingying’s idiocy. If any of his lives were a guide to go by, both of them would get kidnapped.

Less than a shichen later, he was proved right. 

He wasn't going to die while trying to rescue them in this life, though.

Ming Fan simply crashed through the ceiling, dropping down in front of the little concubine. Poor girl. The demon was doing a rather poor job of wearing her skin, even compared to the last few lives he experienced this mission in.

“How did the little xiansheng find this one,” the skinner demon asked.

“Your horrific stench was hard to miss,” Ming Fan stated.

“How odd,” they said. “I've done so much to cover it up. None of the other brats seemed to notice.”

An epiphany crossed the demon’s delicate features.

“Ah,” the skinner demon grinned, the skin at the corners of the girl’s mouth cracking. “You’re like me. A demon hiding itself in youthful flesh. How long—”

Ming Fan slashed across their throat, tired of listening to it’s empty words. Blood spurted forth, dousing him in arterial spray as he met the demon’s wide eyes. It crumpled to the ground and Ming Fan grabbed it by its brittle hair, using his sword to slice the demon’s head fully off. He turned to Ning Yingying and Luo Binghe, flicking some of the blood off his blade before he sliced through their bindings.

“D-da-shixiong…” Ning Yingying whispered, shaking and face pale.

Ming Fan crouched down in front of Luo Binghe, touching the tip of his blade to the boy’s chin. “Next time there will be no one to come save you,” he said. “And you will simply be skinned alive piece by piece. Does Luo-shidi understand?”

“T-this one thanks Da-shixiong for saving him and Ning-shijie,” the boy choked out and Ming Fan laughed, rising to his feet as he swung his blade to cut Luo Binghe’s bindings as well. There was a small smear of blood on the tip of his chin now.

He left the warehouse and began the trekk through town back to Lord Chen’s home, the severed head tightly in his grip and his bloodied sword in the other. Everything smelled like iron and the blood burned against his skin as he walked in the street past townsfolk dawdling about at food stalls and trinket stands. He closed his eyes and let out a breath.

Ming-shixiong….

Ming-shixiong…

“Ming-shixiong,” Ming Fan opened his eyes, staring up at the reddened sky and Zhu Zhangwei’s face. He was laying in the withered grass, armor sticking to him from sweat and blood. Zhu Zhangwei smiled slightly at him, dark eyes softening slightly. “What are you thinking about so deeply?”

“A world unlike this one,” Ming Fan replied. “How wonderful would that be?”

“I did not take you for a romantic,” Zhu Zhangwei sat down beside him. He laid down, using his forearm as a pillow for his head. “Qin-shijie is hoping to have another strategy meeting. How has the research into the blood parasites gone?”

“There is little written about them in texts that still exist,” Ming Fan said. He turned to face Zhu Zhangwei, studying the burns on his face and the ripples the scar tissue made in his skin like ripples in a pond. “I had hoped that Tianlang-jun was still alive under the mountain, but his body was decomposed and his general was dead by his side.”

“If we can’t find a way to remove them, we can’t break Shen-shibo out without the demon tracking us down instantly,” Zhu Zhangwei stated. “We would need to find a way to kill him then.”

“Liu-shishu failed to,” Ming Fan said. “Zhangmen-shibo is still in a healing stasis from his attempt. I fear we are fighting a losing battle.”

“There’s the cynical Ming-shixiong I know,” Zhu Zhangwei laughed. He cupped Ming Fan’s face. “If anyone can find a way to save the world, it would be our tactician.”

“And if I can’t?” Ming Fan asked.

“Then you tried,” he replied. “Then we did all we could and died trying to vanquish evil. What could be a more honourable death, than dying by your side for a righteous cause?”

Zhangwei pulled him close, pressing their foreheads together. “Qin-shijie can wait a little while longer,” he stated, drawing Ming Fan in to a kiss.

Ming Fan closed his eyes, melting into Zhangwei’s hold. For a moment, he wanted to stay there for eternity. He wanted to let go of any ideas of going against Luo Binghe and stay in their little hideout safe from any demons. He wanted to stay here where he is happy. He wants—

But he can’t leave Shizun behind.

He can’t let Luo Binghe wreak havoc on the world.

He can’t be selfish.

Ming Fan was laying on the battlefield, some poisoned weapon pinning his chest to the ground.

They failed. No matter what they tried, they still failed because Ming Fan was not enough.

He stared into Zhu Zhangwei’s unseeing eyes and laughed, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. He reached out, pulling his body close and burying his face in the crook of his neck, the skin cool on his burning face.

He coughed up some hot blood, staining the white of Zhangwei’s robes even more.

“Of all people, you are the one to still be alive,” Luo Binghe stood over him, ripping the weapon out of his chest and casting it aside. “Clinging to your dead lover. How sad that you got him killed by running into my trap.”

He crouched down, grabbing Ming Fan by the front of his robes. “All those you touch, you ruin,” he stated.

Ming Fan coughed up more blood, the crimson liquid spattering on Luo Binghe’s face. Luo Binghe’s face scrunched, eyes flashing as he wrapped his hands around Ming Fan’s throat and squeezed—

Ming Fan coughed up some blood, gasping slightly for air.

“Da-shixiong!” Ning Yingying cried, clinging to him. “Are you are alright?”

“Let go, Ning-shimei,” Ming Fan replied, shaking her off. “Behave like a proper disciple of Qing Jing instead of a disgrace.”

He kept walking, all the way up to the Chen Estate. He felt like a puppet being pulled along on strings.

“You’re like me. A demon hiding in youthful flesh.”

Is he? Is that what he has become? Has he stolen the life of an innocent young boy simply to suffer through the same horrible world again? Was Ming Fan even innocent as a child? Would it be better to suffer through another iteration of this life without the knowledge of a horrible end? At least he could come to terms with it, knowing that he would die some horrible death in the next decade or so.

He always died young, didn’t he? What was the oldest he survived to?

Ah, it was—

“Disciple Ming, what are you doing?” Ming Fan looked up at Shen Qingqiu who was seated before a pale faced Lord Chen. His eyes were fixated on Ming Fan’s hand. He glanced down, looking at the head.

Why did he drag it all the way here?

Ming Fan tossed the head forward, watching it bounce on the floor with an odd feeling of emptiness. He looked up at Lord Chen who was still staring at the head of his little concubine. “Next time don’t fuck the demon you want us to kill,” he stated.

“Disciple Ming,” Shen Qingqiu sounded rather furious and Ming Fan couldn’t help but laugh.

“Isn’t it good advice, Shizun?” Ming Fan asked. “He did not even notice the girl was a different person as long as he got what he wanted from her. How sickening. To help a man like this only makes me question the righteousness we supposedly portray.”

“Da-shixiong,” Luo Binghe hissed, eyes wide with fear at the way Shen Qingqiu’s face turned an odd shade of red.

“I apologize for my disciple’s behaviour,” Shen Qingqiu stated. “He had a qi deviation and has not been himself.”

Lord Chen was still staring at the demon’s head. “I-it…it is quite alright…” he croaked out. “I will have a servant fetch your payment.”

“It can be sent to our inn as we will be gathering our things and leaving,” Shen Qingqiu stated, rising to his feet. He walked past Ming Fan, obviously expecting him to follow. Luo Binghe and Ning Yingying scampered to follow after his swirling robes. Ming Fan looked back at the disgusting old man.

“I do genuinely suggest that Lord Chen doesn't do such things with a demon again,” Ming Fan stated. “No money would make it worth it to help you again.”

He then followed alongside Shen Qingqiu, keeping his head held high and back straight in an odd mockery of his master’s behaviour. Why was he so rebellious today? Why did it feel so nice? To see an expression on his master’s face and to not bite his tongue and swallow his words?

Would he finally kick Ming Fan out if he continued to act like this? Why did he even bother holding out? Because none of the others can be bothered to do paperwork properly?

“Disciple Luo will take Disciple Ming’s horse back instead of walking,” Shen Qingqiu stated. “Disciple Ming will ride in the carriage with this one.”

Ah. A private tongue lashing. How scary.

“He will make himself presentable before entering the carriage,” he stated and Ming Fan laughed again.

“If I hadn't gotten the demon’s blood on me, it would have been Luo-shidi's,” Ming Fan said. “Would that be preferred?”

“Get out of my sight until you are presentable,” Shen Qingqiu said.

“Yes, Shizun,” Ming Fan replied as he walked ahead to the inn. His martial siblings stared at him with wide eyes, mouths agape. Ming Fan couldn’t help but laugh again.

“This would have been hilarious to you, Zhuzhu,” Ming Fan snorted as he took off his bloodied robes. “Too bad that version of you died lifetimes ago.”

~*~

Whispers rose through the city of the grotesque sight of Qing Jing's head disciple being soaked in blood. He seemed to despise women, carrying around the severed head of a young girl without a care and shoving away his martial sister coldly. He smiled and laughed while covered in blood. He insulted one of the lords of the town and did not listen to his master. The opposite of the graceful Xiu Ya Sword in more ways than one.

He was like a demon.

The demon of Qing Jing Peak.

Chapter Text

   “Just what is Disciple Ming doing?” Shen Qingqiu asked after they had settled into the carriage.

   “Does Shizun want tea?” Ming Fan asked in return as he pulled out the tea set.

   “Ming Fan!” Shen Qingqiu yelled and Ming Fan eyed the silencing talismans that had been put up.

   “Yes, Shizun?” Ming Fan asked.

   “What are you doing? Why are you purposefully ruining your reputation?” he asked. “You know how your behaviour came across.”

   “Shizun would not want a head disciple with a bad reputation, would he?” Ming Fan replied as he went through the familiar motions of making tea. “He would have to release his head disciple from his peak to save face.”

   “You think a bad reputation scares me?” Shen Qingqiu asked.

   “Yes,” Ming Fan replied. “As horrible as yours is, there is a level of respect given to you. If even your head disciple disobeys you, then you lose that respect and your reputation will tank even more which will then tank the reputation of the sect. You don’t want to hurt dear Qi-ge’s reputation, do you?”

   He wasn’t surprised by the hand on his throat or the murderous gleam in Shen Qingqiu’s eyes. “Who are you?” he growled.

   “Your head disciple, Ming Fan,” he replied. “Now let go, Shizun. I am not particularly scared of you. If you kill me in an enclosed space like this, there will be no one to blame the crime on and half my dear shishu and shigu wish to have something to punish you for. You would need to wait for a time when you can make it look like an accident or draw the blame to someone you dislike.”

   “You are much more observant than I thought,” he said, releasing Ming Fan. Ming Fan went back to brewing the tea, hoping it hadn’t been ruined by the commotion.

   “Shizun underestimated my skills, then,” Ming Fan stated. “With how much Zhangmen-shibo hangs around, I am surprised no one else has cared enough to figure out that you are brothers.”

   “No one else has a chance of hearing our conversations,” Shen Qingqiu replied. “I was too trusting of Disciple Ming’s naivete.”

   Ming Fan snorted. “One learns that being too perceptive often ends badly,” he said. “This one apologizes for deceiving Shizun over the years. This disciple knows he wished for an incompetent head disciple. He still chose one, but this one is not unobservent.”

   “You are the best of my disciples,” Shen Qingqiu said and Ming Fan laughed.

   “How sad, then, that I am the best Qing Jing has to offer,” he replied, pouring tea into Shen Qingqiu’s cup.

   “Disciple Ming should snap out of his stupor,” Shen Qingqiu said. “His antics and rebellion have gone on long enough.”

   “Antics? Rebellion?” Ming Fan echoed. “Shizun, I have kindly asked you to let me go. I do not wish to be associated with the sect or the cultivation world anymore. I am tired. I cannot hold on through hardship by sheer stubbornness and tenacity like Shizun. I am but a weak nobleman’s son who was spoiled and pampered all his young life. I was not made to be a great cultivator and will only fail to live up to Shizun’s expectations.”

   “And how could Disciple Ming know my expectations? Has Disciple Ming been blessed with the ability to read minds?” Shen Qingqiu said, not even touching the tea Ming Fan had worked so very hard to make for him.

   “Why should Shizun even waste his time with this issue?” Ming Fan asked. “I am replaceable. You said you chose me as head disciple because I refused to give up. I am giving up now, Shizun.”

   Shen Qingqiu did not reply and they sat in silence for the rest of the journey back to the sect.

~*~

   Ming Fan returned to Qing Jing with the other disciples while Shen Qingqiu went to give Yue Qingyuan a summary of their mission. The others were still looking at him strangely, which means Luo Binghe and Ning Yingying probably told them all about what happened. He didn’t have time to deal with that, though. He ignored any attempts at engagement and went straight to take a bath so he could scrub himself clean of everything.

   He slipped off his newly changed outer robes and stepped straight into the water. He dunked his head under, screwing his eyes shut and holding his breath. It got rid of some of the burning feeling off his skin that hadn’t gone away, even with changing robes. He scrubbed at his skin, trying to get rid of the feeling of blood on his skin and the memories it brought back.

   He felt so wrong, so strange.

   “A demon hiding in youthful flesh.”

   He hated the body he was trapped in, hated that the idiotic demon was right. This body was too soft, too wrong, and it felt like wearing an ill-fitting costume. Ming Fan was a grown man. His shoulders should be broader, he should be taller, his muscles should be more defined and his hair should be longer. When he looked at his reflection in the water, his features looked too soft and doughy with the last small pieces of baby fat clinging to his face. In the next year or two, that baby fat would melt away to leave behind nothing but sharp features in a nearly skeletal face. Any warmth, any sign of softness or sweetness would disappear from him as he did his best to grow into the emotionless tactician he was meant to become.

   He hated staring straight at all the weakness in him, so blatantly visible to the world. To be trapped in a time when he was small and weaker than he used to be must be some form of divine punishment. What did he do to deserve to be trapped in a neverending time loop of death after death? Was his piss poor bullying of Luo Binghe in his first life enough to warrant both his horrible end and the neverending repeat of that tortuous, gruesome death in as many variants as possible? Was Luo Binghe truly blessed by the gods?

   “What do you expect me to do?” he stared up at the sky. “Why even make me aware? Why not let everyone continue to cycle through life after life for eternity? Why not make everyone aware so they can all repent and lay themselves at the feet of your little sacred son, Luo Binghe?”

   He closed his eyes. If he died in this life, would he wake up again back where he started? Would he remember or go back to unknowingly repeating everything? Was this his last life? Is that why he remembers everything? Would he wake up in a new life as someone else? Would he cease to exist? Would everyone keep on repeating this life without him?

   “D-da-shixiong…” Ming Fan turned to look at Luo Binghe who was standing as far away as possible, eyes looking anywhere but at him. “Shizun is making an announcement.”

   Ming Fan rose out of the bath and Luo Binghe skittered away as fast as possible. Was the boy actually afraid of him now? That would probably just get him a worse death in the future. He slipped on his outer robes, uncaring that he was dripping wet and caring even less about tying them closed tightly.

   “Ah, Disciple Ming finally arrived,” Ming Fan was met with all of the disciples and hallmasters being gathered before Shen Qingqiu. They all eyed him, expressions comically shocked. Shen Qingqiu showed no sign of being shocked at all.

   “This disciple apologizes for making Shizun wait,” Ming Fan replied, bowing to him.

   “This master is approaching a breakthrough and will be entering seclusion in the LingXi Caves,” he stated.

   No.

   That absolute—

   “You can’t do that, Shizun,” Ming Fan said. “You—”

   “Disciple Ming will take over duties while this master is gone,” Shen Qingqiu continued. “Discussions of his departure from the sect will continue after this master’s return.”

   “Shen Qingqiu, you parentless bastard!” Ming Fan yelled, lunging forward. Some hallmaster grabbed his arms, restraining them behind his back and pulling him backwards.

   “Oh, come now, Disciple Ming,” Shen Qingqiu said. “That was a weak insult with little tact. Disciple Ming could do better.”

   “You’re nothing but a mangy dog following around the first person to show you kindness, even after he got sick of you and left you behind,” Ming Fan said, watching Shen Qingqiu’s features twitch with a smile on his face. “A loyal dog who bites and growls at those around him because he’s too scared from getting hit and hurt in the past. You are so pathetic that you would hurt a boy who seems too much like you because you want him to see the world from your perspective, and yet you also fear him because he reminds you too much of your ma—”

   Ming Fan’s mouth sealed itself shut. Would he really use such a stupid technique on him? Too bad Shen Qingqiu taught it to him in the future. He knew enough advanced techniques and traded secrets to break free of the poor grip on his arms and undo the seal placed on his mouth.

   “You chose a puppet to follow your whims and enable your bad practices,” Ming Fan continued. “You won’t let him gain autonomy and you won’t let yourself be free of an enabler because that would mean admitting something is wrong, that you are weak. You are the weakest man I have ever met because you refuse to admit that you are a fool! You refuse to let go of your damn pride, even as it drags you down to your grave! In an effort to eliminate and hide all weakness, you have simply made it more obvious to the world.”

   He stood before Shen Qingqiu, looking up into his green eyes. In a few years, he would not have to look up.

   “You are the most pathetic man I have ever met, Shen Jiu,” Ming Fan said. “And I do not want to be your disciple anymore.”

   “Hallmaster Qu, please make sure to give Disciple Ming the proper punishment for his disrespect before he returns to his duties as head disciple,” Shen Qingqiu stated before turning away.

   “You’ll get him killed in the end,” Ming Fan said. “You will get your dear Qi-ge killed because you will drag him down with you into your grave. Because you’re forever chained to each oth—”

   Ming Fan was laying in the dirt, staring up at the sky. His chest burned from the blow and his lungs refused to work.

   “You have such a silver tongue when you actually want to hurt someone,” Qin Huizhen said as they left a rather horrible conference meeting. There was amusement on her face and every breath contained the lightest laugh as she spoke. “I have never heard you be so vicious. Do you normally keep it dull?”

   “Words are a weapon in themselves,” Ming Fan replied. “That disgusting man was looking for a battle. I simply won it.”

   “Our dear Ming-shidi,” she laughed fully now, bright and warm. “The unstoppable warrior of words.” 

   She patted his shoulder. “Just try not to provoke them to the point of physical battle, Ming-shidi,” she said. “You don’t want to pick a fight you can’t win.”

   Shen Qingqiu stood above him, fury lining his face and Ming Fan laughed in response. He closed his eyes and laughed.

   When had he absolutely lost his mind?

   “Double the punishment, Hallmaster Qu,” Shen Qingqiu stated.

   “You’re admitting I hit a nerve,” Ming Fan said. No point in quitting now.

   “Perhaps I shouldn’t hide all my weaknesses,” Shen Qingqiu replied and Ming Fan laughed harder. He laughed and laughed as they dragged him away to the punishment hall.

   Hopefully this fire and rage would make Shizun save Liu-shishu. He had been absolutely furious before entering seclusion in each life that Liu-shishu survived (except for the world with that fake). Anger was Shizun’s natural state of being where he was most centered, it seemed.

Chapter Text

   “Da-shixiong has officially lost his mind,” Xue Zhen stated as all the disciples sat grouped together during their break period. “The qi deviation made him insane.”

   “It’s not Da-shixiong anymore,” Mo Yingjie whispered, tears gathering in his eyes. “Da-shixiong would never act the way he’s acting.”

   “Let’s not freak out, okay?” Ru Guiren said. “We have all studied qi deviation literature before. It takes time for the mental effects of a qi deviation to settle. Sometimes it can get worse before improving, too. We just need to keep supporting Da-shixiong.”

   “Obviously Shizun believes that, too,” Xue Zhen said. “He seems to be doing everything to keep Da-shixiong from leaving the sect.”

   “But what if the effects don’t go away?” Mo Yingjie asked. “What if he doesn’t heal? What if he—”

   “Aish, calm down shi-jie,” Xue Zhen said, wrapping her arms around him. The boy grumbled, swatting at her. “We just need to get Da-shixiong back to a sense of normalcy. We should do our best to not get on his nerves so he can remember why he loves being head disciple so much.”

   “Da-shixiong will always be Da-shixiong,” Ru Guiren stated, patting Mo Yingjie’s shoulder. “He just needs time to remember that.”

   “But what about the rumours?” Rong Rulan asked. “Do you think Da-shixiong knows about them?”

   “Probably not,” Xue Zhen said. “He’s dense as bricks. He probably doesn’t even realize what he looked like on the mission. You saw how he was dressed earlier, too.”

   “He’s in his own little world,” Mo Yingjie said, a hint of humour bleeding back into his face.

   “If he doesn’t know about it, then we should make it stay that way,” Ru Guiren stated. “It could affect his recovery. We just need to bring back a sense of status quo so that he is comfortable and can return to normal.”

   “How are we going to hide it?” Xue Zhen asked. “He literally has a title now. He will hear it eventually.”

   “Then let’s try and prevent it for as long as possible,” Ru Guiren replied.

   “The title doesn’t fit him, anyway,” Mo Yingjie said. “Da-shixiong is nothing like a demon.”

   “Of  course not,” Xue Zhen said with a laugh. “Instead, he’s our Da-shixiong sent from the heavens.”

~*~

   Luo Binghe did not know how to feel about Ming Fan at all. The boy kept giving him millions of mixed signals that left Luo Binghe at a loss. He treated him coldly, but then saved his life. He said he wouldn’t save Luo Binghe again, then defended him in front of Shizun. He said he hated Luo Binghe and bullied him for fun, but then apologized for his actions. He warned Luo Binghe not to look for affection from those who can’t give it.

   He thinks he is not capable of giving affection.

   But how is he not?

   Everything about Ming Fan bled a level of affection and care that seemed so very ingrained in him that it could never be stripped away. He gave such little priority to his own needs, focusing on his duties to the sect, to Shizun, to his martial siblings instead. He barely slept, barely ate, barely let himself breathe. Almost every action he took was to serve the sect whether directly or indirectly.

   Luo Binghe saw all of this–all of them did–and yet they mostly talked about the times he messed up. Luo Binghe mostly remembered Ming Fan’s cruelty. He remembered when Ming Fan was blunt and mean and got jealous and annoyed because—

   —because Ming Fan is sixteen years old.

   He isn’t some wise, old immortal cultivator. He is grappling to have some sense of selfishness while doing everything to be selfless and when that was spoiled, he lashes out like a teenager would. He wasn’t even targeting Luo Binghe with his anger, Luo Binghe was just swept up into it by outside circumstances. Ming Fan is barely older than Luo Binghe, after all, and yet somehow feels thousands of years older. It feels like Luo Binghe will never catch up no matter how hard he tries.

   Even now, Ming Fan held himself as if he were some peerless immortal. He showed no real sign that he had been horribly punished when he stepped out of the punishment hall aside from the redness of his forearms. He glanced at Luo Binghe for a moment before continuing to walk past him as if he were insignificant. Perhaps he is. Perhaps the only reason Ming Fan ever looked at him was because he got in the way.

   No. Ming Fan defended him. He’s done too much to possibly not care at all. Maybe he just thinks he doesn’t.

   “Da-shixiong! Wait!” Luo Binghe ran after him.

   “I wish you would listen to me, Luo-shidi,” Ming Fan said.

   “Then Da-shixiong shouldn’t be contradictory,” Luo Binghe stated.

   “Do you want me to do what I did to the skinner demon to you?” Ming Fan asked coldly.

   “You wouldn’t do that,” Luo Binghe replied.

   “And how would you know?” Ming Fan asked. “I despise you.”

   “No, you don’t,” Luo Binghe replied. “You don’t. Da-shixiong cares far too much to despise me. You defended me even though you were punished—”

   “I provoked Shizun because I was pissed at him,” Ming Fan said. “It had nothing to do with you.” 

   “You didn’t have to mention him antagonizing me,” Luo Binghe said. “Or why he was doing it.”

   “I am surprised you are smart enough to realize he doesn’t like you,” Ming Fan snorted.

   “I’m not that stupid, Da-shixiong,” Luo Binghe said. “I know you were jealous of me and Ning-shijie before and you got annoyed that I kept making the peak look bad. I know I am the reason you qi-deviated and part of the reason you want to leave the sect.”

   “And yet you still bother me with your presence,” Ming Fan spat.

   Luo Binghe grabbed his wrist. “Can you stop deflecting from your real emotions?” he asked. He was getting so tired of this. He was tired of shying away from confrontation and taking Ming Fan’s responses at face value. He was tired of everyone being so tense and afraid and unhappy. He just wanted Ming Fan to go back to normal, even if it meant going back to being antagonized. It was better than now.

   “Luo-shidi would never understand my real emotions,” Ming Fan growled, eyes flashing with fury. That dark anger that Ming Fan had shown to him a few times before, something too deep to be only because of Luo Binghe. There was something else mixing with it. Some other emotion that seemed to be the undercurrent of his entire state of being since he woke up from the deviation.

   “Then find someone who will and talk to them,” Luo Binghe begged. “Do you know how much you have stressed out everyone? Do you know how worried they are about you?”

   Ming Fan let out a scoff.

   “You’re so stubborn,” Luo Binghe said, hand tightening slightly on Ming Fan’s wrist. “Will you just listen to me?”

   Ming Fan flinched slightly, eyes glazing over as he got lost in whatever was going on inside his head. He stared blankly at Luo Binghe, unmoving and deathly still.

   “Da-shixiong—” Luo Binghe began, only to be cut off by Ming Fan throwing him to the ground. He let out a wheeze, staring up at the tip of Ming Fan's spiritual blade that was a hair’s width above his face, pointed directly between his eyes. He looked past it, right up into Ming Fan’s face. Luo Binghe was finally able to see what that other emotion was.

   Fear.

   Raw and harsh, it filled his eyes and bled out into his expression. His hands were shaking and he choked on air, gasping for breath. Some clarity returned to his gaze and he threw his sword aside, rolling off of Luo Binghe. He stumbled, grabbing his sword and rushing to get away.

   Luo Binghe sat there in the dirt, watching Ming Fan’s retreating figure.

   Why on earth was Ming Fan afraid of him?

~*~

   He hasn’t done anything yet. He doesn’t deserve to die. If Ming Fan killed him now then he would be killing an innocent child and—

   And Ming Fan can’t kill him. He’s never been able to.

   He can’t fix it, either. No matter what he did, no matter how many lives, he could not prevent Luo Binghe from turning into a monster.

   He could not save him.

   He failed him too. He would fail him again.

   Ming Fan gripped Luo Binghe’s hand, trying to pull him out of the abyss. He stared at the red mark between his brows and at the desperation and fear in Luo Binghe’s dark eyes. He had nothing to do with this, he couldn't possibly. Luo Binghe was too stupid to help with an ambush like this. No one else would believe that, though. Not unless Ming Fan could convince Shizun who could then try to convince everyone else. He would have a better chance than Ming Fan would.

   There wasn’t enough strength left in him, though. He could not drag him up, but he could not let him go either.

   “Da-shixiong,” Luo Binghe called out, tears dripping down his face. His lips were quivering and the title came out as a shaky whimper. Ming Fan held his hand tighter against the pain and fatigue running from his shoulder down.

   “I’m sorry, Luo-shidi,” Ming Fan said. His vision was growing spotty and the blood seeping from the wound in his side was making him feel oddly cold. Fighting off those demonic beasts had taken too much out of him. His qi reserves were depleted to near nothing and he was doing everything he could to stay awake and hold on.

   The ground rumbled and the abyss started to close. He had to pull him up. He tried to get his muscles to listen and contract, to lift Luo Binghe with some deeply hidden strength. It only caused more pain to shoot through his side and he could taste the copper tang of blood at the back of his throat.

   “Da-shixiong, let go,” Luo Binghe said.

   He couldn’t, though. Luo Binghe was his shidi. It was his duty to save him, because he was his shidi. He has to save him. He has to—

   When the abyss sealed itself shut, it took Luo Binghe and Ming Fan’s arm with it.

   Even when he tried, it did not matter. Luo Binghe had still come for revenge, had still killed them all.

   Was that why he was the one receiving this torture? Because it was his duty to keep them safe? Because he failed to keep Luo Binghe safe and so failed everyone else?

   Did he deserve all the pain? All the torture?

   “Da-shixiong!” Ning Yingying voice was like a blade stabbing into what was already a fatal wound. He tried to steady his breath, tried to compose himself and remember what time he was in. This wasn’t Consort Ning. This was Ning-shimei, his bratty little martial sister.

   “Yes, Ning-shimei?” Ming Fan asked. She was angry if the harsh frown and puffed up cheeks were anything to go by. Her eyes were red rimmed too. She always used to cry when she got angry.

   “Why were you so mean to me in ShuangHu?” she asked. Was she still upset about it? Really? “You called me a disgrace.”

   “You were not acting appropriately—”

   “You started coughing up blood,” she said. “Were you expecting me to not make sure you were alright?”

   “What could you have done?” Ming Fan laughed. “If I had a qi deviation then and there, what could you possibly have done? That is what’s disgraceful.”

   “I am a cultivator too,” she whined. “I am—”

   “You are a leech who latches onto others,” Ming Fan replied. “You did not take the mission seriously and then whined and cried when it got you in danger. Instead of finding a way to free yourself, you waited for someone else to save you.”

   “What is wrong with relying on others?” she scoffed.

   “Who will you have to rely on when everyone is dead from trying to protect you?” he sgrowled. “Who will you rely on when there is no one there to save you? When you have trapped yourself in a situation that no one can save you from?”

   “Da-shixiong—”

   “I will be dead and gone one day,” Ming Fan said. “Who will save you then?”

   She stared at him, eyes widening. “What?” she said. “Da-shixiong, you’re not going to—”

   “You are a cultivator,” Ming Fan said. “That’s what you said, right? You are Luo-shidi’s senior and yet you nearly got him killed and did not know how to get out of it. You are a cultivator and yet you do not act like one.”

   “That’s not—I didn’t mean to,” she sputtered, trying to find some form of defense. “You aren’t going to die.”

   “Everyone eventually does, don’t they?” he replied. “I will be gone from the sect. I do not plan on cultivating anymore so I will live a mortal’s life.”

   “You aren’t actually going to leave, are you?” she whispered. “Who will be the head disciple without you here?”

   “Whoever Shizun chooses,” Ming Fan said. “If you took your studies seriously, perhaps he would choose you.”

   He placed a hand on her shoulder, feeling the echoes of young Ming Fan’s affection for her in his chest. “You could be something great, Ning-shimei,” he said. “If you just put in the effort. What makes you a disgrace is that you are ignoring it.”

   Ming Fan tried his best to muster up a smile, to remember what it was like to be at this age where he still let himself feel. Ning Yingying was crying again, but he pulled away from her to let her figure things out on her own. She would need to come to her own decision about how her life will go and what she will do moving forward. Ming Fan cannot make her choose.

   He could remember the day they met all those lifetimes ago. She was a spoiled little girl without a care in the world and he was the third son of a rich family with expectations weighing down heavily on his shoulders. She had smiled sweetly at him and followed him around like a little duckling through the peak. She slipped him candy that she was gifted or teased him about stupid, childish things.

   She had been so carefree, so happy and bright. Ming Fan had ached to have some of that warmth, some of that freedom. It made him foolish, that obsession with catching even a glimmer of her brightness to make his own. He hadn’t wanted her to become like him, to become serious and burdened by duty, because that would mean there was no chance of him being able to one day feel freedom.

   He should have never sheltered her. It only crippled her and left her open to Luo Binghe’s influence and control. It allowed her to be trapped in an unloving marriage, watching all those she held dear be brutally killed.

   Maybe he could at least fix that if he cannot fix anything else.

Chapter Text

 The next several weeks were oddly normal. For all that everyone feared a destruction of Qing Jing’s strict routine and calmness, they were proven quite wrong. Ming Fan’s desire to leave did not cause him to slack on his duties. Instead, he was even more strict. He drilled his shidi and shimei into the ground, making them follow an even more stringent schedule than Shen Qingqiu had expected of them. Even so, the disciples did not complain or whine.

 (Xue Zhen flopped down in the grass, muscles so sore that she did not think she’d be able to get up again. Ru Guiren let out a groan, stumbling to sit down beside her with collapsing legs.

 “I think we’re going to die before Shizun comes back,” Xue Zhen said with a wheeze.

 “We can persevere for Da-shixiong,” Ru Guiren replied.

 “Keep feeding your self-delusion, Renren,” she said.

 “He seems so…content to be teaching us,” Ru Guiren stated, running his fingers through Xue Zhen’s hair to fix some of the tangles in her curls. “To see him smiling is enough to bring us back from the dead.”

 Xue Zhen snorted. “We both know Da-shixiong does not smile,” she said. “But…I suppose he seems a bit more calm as of late.”

 “Progress,” Ru Guiren smiled.

 “Just a few years of torture as a price for Da-shixiong’s return to being his prickly, uptight self,” Xue Zhen sighed.)

 He began taking over lessons, showing an uncanny knowledge of the different areas they were meant to master. He took advanced classes with the hallmasters and Shizun himself as the head disciple of the peak, but none of the disciples expected him to show so much skill in instruction and knowledge retention. He was always very awkward and distant, showing no sign of being able to interact with others well as a teacher. He especially seemed awkward around their juniormost disciples, flailing when it came to interacting with disciples that were no more than children. That seemed to melt away, though, as Ming Fan took over the beginner lessons with an ease that spoke of experience. Experience he did not have.

 (“My calligraphy has actually improved,” Mo Yingjie said, incredulously. “My calligraphy has always been shit.”

 “Shi-jie!” Xue Zhen cried dramatically, nearly crushing him with her weight when she leaned on him. “Da-shixiong swearing so much has been a bad influence on you!”

 “Our dear Momo won’t become a cultivated gentleman if he starts using such vulgar language,” Ru Guiren added.

 “You two can’t even talk of such things,” Rong Rulan said. “You are both horrible examples.”

 “Da-shixiong has been taking a lot of care in his instruction,” Ye Mei said. “He taught me a better way to analyze texts and it has helped with our assignments. Hallmaster Qu even gave me good marks on my last paper.”

 “See, Da-shixiong is the perfect Da-shixiong,” Mo Yingjie stated. “He can’t possibly leave after showing his skill. It would be a waste.”)

 He even started attending the monthly peak lord meetings and any other meeting that required the presence of the Qing Jing Peak Lord. The few Qing Jing hallmasters were scholars who much preferred the solitude of their research with the small interruptions of occasional classes to teach. They let Ming Fan take control without complaint, only watching on with sharp eyes for any perceived failure to report back to Shen Qingqiu when his seclusion ended.

 (“Respectfully, Zhangmen-shibo,” Ming Fan began. “This treaty is shit.”

 The room was silent for a moment, the peak lords staring in shock at him. Qi Qingqi’s brows were nearly at her hairline, her mouth slightly agape. Shen Qingqiu was never this straightforward with his complaints.

 “What does Ming-shizhi mean by that?” Yue Qingyuan asked.

 Ming Fan let out a scoff. “There’s loopholes here, here, and here,” Ming Fan used the back of his brush to point at the specific sentences in the treaty. “The other party could easily use them to get out of their part of the deal, leaving Cang Qiong as the only paying party. It would be best to ask for revisement of the treaty and terms.”

 “What terms should be changed, Ming-shizhi?” Yue Qingyuan asked, unphased.

 “Their payment should be doubled,” Ming Fan replied.

 “That’s utterly ridiculous,” Qi Qingqi said.

 “What’s utterly ridiculous is for them to try and dupe us like this,” Ming Fan replied. “The only way for them to learn is to bleed them dry. Let them suffer the consequences of betraying our trust and generosity.”

 A far away look filled the boy’s eyes. “If we bend to them once,” he said. “They will keep pushing until we break.”

 There were no more complaints from the peak lords on the matter.)

 “The Jianghu better look out for our MingMing,” Bao Guiying said, ruffling Ming Fan’s hair. “You’ve become so terrifying. You talked back to Qi-shigu. No one does that.”

 “I simply did my job,” Ming Fan replied, sipping his tea.

 “Our little Ming-di has grown so much,” Liu Mingyan teased, pinching his cheek. There wasn’t much for her to pinch now that his features had fully matured, leaving him without babyfat.

 “It was impressive, Ming-shixiong,” Zhu Zhangwei said. “You…you are a good leader. I always thought you would be.”

 Zhangwei cupped his face like it was something precious, something delicate and breakable. He smiled softly, the crease in his brows disappearing as his face relaxed. At least, it tried to. The twisted scar on part of his face pinched his skin, preventing it from softening. Ming Fan reached out, tracing his fingers over the twisting lines of tissue with his good hand.

 “You are the most impressive man I have ever met,” he said, pulling Ming Fan closer. “No matter what happens, no matter how horrible, you still care so much. You’re still so good.”

 “Perhaps if I let go, he’d be dead,” Ming Fan whispered.

 “Perhaps if you let go, he’d have killed you right away,” Zhu Zhangwei replied. “Perhaps he would have taken you along with Shen-shibo and we wouldn’t have a chance. There’s no way of knowing, is there?”

 He took Ming Fan’s metal hand in his, running his thumb along the metallic knuckles. Ming Fan couldn’t feel it, aside from a phantom memory of what it was like to have someone touch his hand.

 “You did what you thought was right and that is the most noble thing you could have done,” Zhangwei said. “I love you, because you always do what is right, because you don’t give up.”

 He laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind Ming Fan’s ear. “I think I may love you for eternity,” he said, a grin splitting across his face. It was dopey and crooked and so very sweet. Ming Fan wanted to paint it, to capture the sight for eternity. “In our next life, I’ll find you again, even if I don’t remember you, and I will love you. Just because you’re you, because loving you is probably the best thing I’ve done. I won’t ever let you go.”

 Zhangwei kissed the breath out of his lungs while he bled warmth back into Ming Fan’s frozen skin. Tears ran down Ming Fan’s face and Zhangwei wiped them away, pulling him closer with fingers tangling in his hair.

 Ming Fan sobbed into the kiss. He sobbed because he could taste copper on his tongue.

 He sobbed because Zhangwei was dead.

 Because Ming Fan killed him.

 He killed him.

 He killed him. He killed him. He killed him. He killed him. He—

 Ming Fan’s grip tightened on his tea cup and he took a sip, letting the tea burn his throat. He wasn’t that Ming Fan anymore. He pressed the fingertips of his left hand harder against the tea cup, feeling the warmth leech into them. This wasn’t Zhangwei either. Not his Zhangwei.

 His face was completely intact, no burn scar covering half of it. He did not know Ming Fan’s darkest secrets and worst fears. He did not know any deeper details past the surface level of Ming Fan and Ming Fan was supposed to be the same. He wasn’t meant to know anything about Zhangwei except for the most basic information a martial sibling would know.

 He did not love Ming Fan. Promises did not last. Perhaps if Ming Fan were to ever be free of this never ending loop, he’d end up in a world where Zhangwei fulfilled his promise and they would die old together, filled with never ending happiness. Perhaps Zhangwei would never see him again and would have a much better life without him.

 Ming Fan did not think he was truly capable of that kind of love anymore, anyway. He’s so broken up inside, so damaged, that he cannot feel the way everyone else did. He cannot be a teenager with silly crushes and feelings too big for his body. He cannot fantasize about a happy future where someone loves him, where he gets to know he has some form of value. Where he gets to know he’s not a placeholder or a burden.

 His emotions leak out of him like water spilling out of a cracked vase. He feels them so strongly, like an overflow, before they drip out of him and leave him empty. Even now, he feels so empty, so hollow thinking about the one world where he had the smallest chance at happiness.

 If it only happened once and still soured, perhaps he was never meant to feel happy. Perhaps he was always meant to be alone and unloved.

 Perhaps your existence, your mere act of breathing, is what’s causing everyone to die. Perhaps if you did not exist, then they would get their happy endings.

 Ming Fan shoved that thought down, no matter how much it liked to echo in his skull. Dying just meant resetting the cycle. It just meant reliving another life. If him not existing was the solution, this wouldn’t be happening. He’s supposed to do something. Something he hasn’t tried yet. But what hasn’t he tried?

 “Ming-shixiong?” Zhu Zhangwei startled him out of his thoughts. He was much closer than he was earlier.

 “Yes, Zhu-shidi?” Ming Fan croaked.

 “You’re crying again,” he said softly, reaching out to wipe away a tear spilling down onto his cheek. The crease between his brows became more pronounced and Ming Fan hated how well he could read his face. This wasn’t the man he—he—that man is dead and so is Ming Fan.

 What version of himself was he meant to be? What version of himself was actually alive? What version was meant to keep everyone alive? What is it that he should feel? How should he act? What should he do?

 “I was just a bit lost in thought,” Ming Fan said, pulling back and wiping away the rest of his tears on his own. “I don’t know what came over me.”

 “Has it been too stressful?” Liu Mingyan asked. “Is Ming-di overwhelmed?”

 “We can go to the LingXi Caves and shout for Shen-shibo to return,” Zheng Zhihao joked. “Did he really think abandoning you to run the peak would make you want to stay? How does he know you wouldn’t just leave with him not there to stop you?”

 “Simple,” Qin Huizhen said. “Ming-shidi is dutiful. He will not leave until he is properly released from the sect.”

 “And Shen-shibo would hunt him down, most likely,” Bao Guiying added.

 “I will miss you once you’re gone, Ming-di,” Liu Mingyan said, reaching out for his hand before pulling back. She had kept her distance from him since that outburst early on in his awakening to this life. “Seeing Shifu so flabbergasted was hilarious. Who are you going to have take your place?”

 “It will not be my choice,” Ming Fan replied. “It will be Shizun’s decision who he will pick as his potential successor.”

 “Well, Shen-shibo would just pick you if it’s his choice, wouldn’t he?” Bao Guiying said, pouring more tea into Ming Fan’s cup. “He doesn’t want you to leave, MingMing. Why else would he be doing things like going into seclusion near Liu-shibo?”

 “That is an overexaggeration,” Ming Fan replied. “He will find someone better.”

 “Who could be better than you, though?” Zhu Zhangwei asked and Ming Fan tried his best not to flinch, simply letting out a light laugh.

 “You simply haven’t had the chance to see someone better yet,” Ming Fan replied. “I am the only Qing Jing Head Disciple you’ve all known. Shizun will find a great prodigy to take my place. Perhaps if he cultivated Luo-shidi’s talents, the boy would make a rather good head disciple.”

 “Luo-shidi is dense as bricks and his calligraphy is horrible,” Liu Mingyan said. “Sure, he seems like he might be a good cultivator and he's a nice kid, but he doesn’t seem like he’ll be a good scholar.”

 “He just needs practice and guidance—”

 “Ming Fan,” Liu Mingyan said. There was an odd amount of seriousness in her gaze. “I never thought you were one to delude themself. Do you really think just anyone could do your job?”

 “I was able to do it for as long as I have,” Ming Fan stated. “My cultivation is subpar at most. I—”

 “You have easily beaten me before,” Zhu Zhangwei said. “Am I considered weak to you, Ming-shixiong?”

 “I surprised you—”

 “You beat me fairly,” Zhu Zhangwei said. “We both know that. Are you trying to downplay your skill so we will be happy you are leaving? You’re a good—”

 “I am not good enough,” Ming Fan stated. “I am determined and work myself to the bone, so of course I am good, but I am not good enough. Cang Qiong will need a tactician who is more than what I am. I may never get past foundation building which means I may never become immortal. A peak lord must have enough cultivation skill to be able to reach immortality. I am not naturally quick witted or particularly talented, and that need for extra effort will only cause me to fall more behind and become a burden. What Qing Jing and Cang Qiong as a whole would need is a natural talent in both mind and cultivation, something I am not.”

 “Are you insane?” Zhu Zhangwei asked. “Your own master is not skilled—-”

 “He started late,” Ming Fan replied. “Years late, and yet still reached mid core formation. He is immortal despite starting past the best age. He is a prodigy who missed his chance for greatness and yet was still able to shine. If he had started at the same age as Liu-shishu, imagine how powerful he would be. I started young. I have no excuse for my weakness except for something lacking within me.”

 Ming Fan sipped his tea, listening to Zhu Zhangwei sputter.

 “I may seem strong now, but my skills will plateau while the rest of you continue to grow stronger,” he said. “It is best I stop before I make a fool of myself.”

 “Ming Fan, that’s absurd,” Liu Mingyan said. “How could you possibly know—”

 “I can feel it,” Ming Fan stated. “Even Shizun, from the first day he took me in, knew that I was not meant to be a powerful cultivator. My spiritual root is weak. It always has been. I had just been deluding myself with the hope of some form of miracle.”

 “There has to be a way to strengthen your spiritual root,” Bao Guiying said. “Some form of herb or plant or sacred treasure. We could find it and then you wouldn’t feel the need to leave because you would forever be stronger than us.”

 Ming Fan laughed. “Years, perhaps decades from now, you will not even remember who I am,” he said. “You will be busy as peak lords and content with your lives. It may feel so important now, but when we finally part ways, all of these reservations will no longer matter.”

 Ming Fan rose to his feet, dusting off his robes. He didn’t pay attention to their looks of horror as he left.

~*~

 Ming Fan stared at his face in the mirror, at the small creasing wrinkles around his eyes, the slight furrow imprinted between his brows. Some of his hair had turned silver, stark against the dark shade of the rest of it. Soon, he would run out of time. His body would become too old to withstand the training towards core formation and he would fail at all he had worked so hard to achieve.

 How funny, was it? He wasn’t even that old now, and yet he felt ancient compared to the youthful faces of his martial siblings and his master. Soon enough, he would resemble Qu-shigu. He let out a laugh at that thought.

 Shizun hadn’t tossed him away, even if he was becoming a laughing stock, ruining the integrity of their sect by being so weak. Shizun had told him from that start that he was weak, so perhaps he had always been prepared for this outcome. Ming Fan had started to train up a replacement for when he inevitably had to give up his position.

 He almost laughed. He looked like his fuqin now, at least the fuqin from his youth who had been stern faced and cutthroat. He had found another concubine to replace his mother and the mother of his Da-ge and Er-ge and had another two children. Supposedly he doted on them and smiled brightly, calling them his pride and joy.

 Ming Fan preferred when fuqin was cutthroat, when the world was black and white and there was a specific role for him to play and act out. At least when he eventually returned home now, fuqin would not call him a failure for being unable to reach the expectation fuqin had had for him all those years ago. Perhaps he would even ignore Ming Fan’s very existence like he did now. He no longer sent teas and trinkets to Shizun, no longer came for visits. That long ended in Ming Fan’s youth.

 Ming Fan was nothing but useless now.

 35.

 That was the oldest he had lived to in any life of his. It had only been because Luo Binghe had taken longer to exact his revenge, hiding unnoticed until he had infiltrated every sect but Cang Qiong and then turned them against Cang Qiong in a bloody battle that ended with decimation of nearly every cultivator in existence. The only reason Ming Fan had survived was because he was captured for Luo Binghe to laugh at and torture.

 He died soon after.

~*~

 The demon invasion came rather suddenly one early morning. It wasn’t on the day it had happened so many times before, but it seemed to be an inevitable event, even without the rat’s meddling. Ming Fan was quick to tell Mo Yingjie and one of the younger Bai Zhan disciples to run to the LingXi Caves to get Shen Qingqiu and (hopefully) Liu Qingge. After that, he rushed into battle, slicing through demons with a sort of detachedness, as if on autopilot.

 Their movements were predictable and most were not that powerful with the knowledge and skill he possessed so he simply cut a deep gash through them. That was, until he saw her.

 Sha Hualing was as shameless as ever, dressed in skimpy, flimsy red fabric, bells tinkling from jewelry on every joint. A sudden, blinding rage filled his chest and he grit his teeth, rushing forward with a surge of qi.

 “Oh,” Sha Hualing’s eyes flicked to the blade halted fen away from her face before she looked at Ming Fan. A smile spread across her face, showing off sharp canines. “The Demon of Qing Jing.”

 Ming Fan could not help it. The absurdity of the statement made him burst into laughter.

Chapter Text

   “The Demon of Qing Jing?” Ming Fan echoed, still shaking the laugh from his voice. “Is that what people are calling me these days?”

   “You seem to live up to the title,” her gaze trailed up his body, studying the splatters of blood from her demon underlings that covered his pale green robes. “This Ling'er was hoping to get a chance to fight the great Demon of Qing Jing.”

   Ming Fan couldn't help but laugh again. “Flattery is pointless,” Ming Fan said. “Call off your soldiers if you want to keep your head, Saintess Sha.”

   “The great Disciple Ming knows this Ling'er, how sweet,” she grinned, raising her hand to halt the fighting of her subordinates. “This Ling'er and her family simply wished to exchange pointers with the great sect of Cang Qiong.”

   “And how would Saintess Sha desire to exchange pointers,” Shen Qingqiu’s voice cut through the air as he landed in the courtyard, elegant and poised as ever. Calls of ‘Shizun,’ ‘Shen-shibo,’ and ‘Shen-shishu’ followed his arrival.

   “Ah, the great Xiu Ya Sword,” she said. “This Ling'er was hoping for your arrival. This one was hoping to propose a competition to exchange pointers.”

   “So Saintess Sha decided to attack disciples of Cang Qiong?” Shen Qingqiu asked.

   Ming Fan couldn't help but start to tune out the whole conversation. He's heard many variations of it and already knew the outcome. He watched on as Shen Qingqiu fought the one-armed elder, making his way through the crowd, occasionally bumping into demons that growled in warning before shutting up at his glare and exercise of killing intent. He circled the courtyard until Shen Qingqiu’s fight finished unclimatically with his victory.

   The same argument ensued afterwards of Sha Hualing desiring to fight someone else for her battle. Ming Fan watched out of the corner of his eye as Liu Mingyan got ready to volunteer.

   “This one will fight Saintess Sha,” Ming Fan called out. “After all, she spoke of how she wanted to battle this one. Hopefully it won't be a disappointment.”

   “Ah, this Ling'er will truly get a show of Qing Jing's might, then,” she said, stepping into the courtyard.

   She rushed forward first, razor sharp claws coated with demonic qi. Ming Fan dodged her strikes, leading her around the courtyard with ease. He remembered the different battles she had with Liu Mingyan and the times he had fought her in past lives. She was still young and inexperienced, not yet to the level of skill that made her capable of killing him.

   They made several full circuits around the courtyard before Ming Fan decided to actually get his head in the game. He used his qi to pull on the leaves from the trees surrounding the courtyard, bringing them forth like blades. Sha Hualing rolled her eyes at it, already fed up with his dodging.

   She took it more seriously when the leaves burst into flame once they were close to her.

   Ming Fan had learned from his time mastering Shen Qingqiu’s technique, that putting too much qi into the leaves or petals all at once made them burst into flame or disintegrate. Every material or matter had this issue, but they usually needed more qi supplied to get to this point. The metal of spiritual blades specifically, were able to handle high amounts of qi that regular blades couldn’t, preventing them from shattering or melting into metal goop. It was a little funny that cultivators didn’t spend much time studying the qi capacity of materials when it was part of how qi manipulation worked. Humans themselves can self-combust or implode from too much qi due to a shoddy job at cultivating and rushing too quickly. Everything has a limit before it bursts.

   Ming Fan continued to send burning leaves at Sha Hualing, making her dodge and twist and turn. He smiled when one of her braids lit on fire and she had to douse it out.

   “Disciple Ming is rather good at party tricks,” she said, obviously past the point of annoyed.

   “How horrid. Saintess Sha isn’t impressed,” Ming Fan sighed, parrying a swipe of her claws with his blade.

   He sparred her with his blade until her claws sliced a thin line across his throat in warning. He feigned shock, letting her kick his blade out of his grip. He stared dispassionately at it as it clatter to the ground.

   “Ah, it seems this one has truly disgraced his peak,” Ming Fan said simply, returning to his spot in the crowd. “Another Qing Jing disciple will have to fix the damage I have done.”

   With that, the little beast volunteered to fight Elder Tian Chui with an enthusiasm only capable of youth. He looked to Ming Fan with wide eyes full of uncertainty and a tinge of fear.

   “Don’t die and don’t disgrace your Shizun,” Ming Fan stated. “This one won’t be able to save you and neither will Shizun.”

   Luo Binghe nodded, setting his jaw as he stepped out into the courtyard.

   Ming Fan watched on as Luo Binghe showed his prodigious talents, defeating Elder Tian Chui against all odds. When the fight was close to its end, Ming Fan grabbed a pill from his qiankun sleeve, popping it in his mouth and swallowing. He cringed as qi began flowing into his meridians from his surroundings, making his nose scrunch slightly in discomfort.

   The disciples cheered as Luo Binghe won the fight, securing Cang Qiong’s victory. Ming Fan watched out of the corner of his eye as Sha Hualing’s face twisted with anger, a seething glare directed at her compatriot. Shen Qingqiu began talking, ready to get the demons to leave the sect, but Elder Tian Chui rose to his feet.

   Ming Fan let out a sigh at the predictability before he raised his hands.

   “I wish it didn’t have to go this way,” he said, making Sha Hualing’s attention turn to him as he clapped his hands together.

   He felt the burn in his arms as his meridians burst and popped, searing like a fire under his skin. Explosions rang out as the talismans he placed on the demons went off. Sha Hualing let out a shriek as her arm burst, flames catching on her hair and face. Ming Fan rushed forward, pushing Luo Binghe aside who stared at him with wide, frightened eyes. Ming Fan couldn’t help but smile, ruffling the hair of the boy he helped destroy over and over.

   (Luo Binghe stared in horror as Ming Fan rushed in front of him. His arms were glowing from the inside, as if his very veins were on fire. That same glow filled his irises, turning them into molten gold. To Luo Binghe’s surprise, Ming Fan patted his head, a soft, sad smile appearing on his face before he ran straight to danger.)

   He sliced his hand on his blade, letting the blood drip onto the formation he had traced in the dirt during his battle with Sha Hualing. The barrier rose around him and the charging Elder Tian Chui. Ming Fan closed his eyes, pulling on the rest of his qi reserves and the extra qi from his surroundings.

   “I love you, because you always do what is right, because you don’t give up.”

   “No matter what it takes, no matter how many times, you still try to do what you believe is best.”

   “You were so stubborn in your ways, Da-shixiong. No matter what, you always had a one-track mind.”

   “Just try not to provoke them to the point of physical battle, Ming-shidi. You don’t want to pick a fight you can’t win.”

   Ming Fan smiled as tears slipped down his cheeks. He’s been fighting a battle he can’t win for as long as he’s existed. It didn’t matter, though. No matter how much he wanted to give up, no matter how useless he was, he just couldn’t stop himself. Even if he knew the idiotic boy, his menace, his eternal judge and executioner, would be fine, he simply could not stand by and watch. The little fool was his shidi and nothing else now. He is just a boy, terrified that he will die. There was always something itching under Ming Fan’s skin, a whisper that he had to keep going even if he had nothing more to give. A part of this was all his fault, after all. He kept killing himself by not giving up, by trying even though he couldn’t do anything. He kept this cycle going by his own stupidity. He was such a fool.

   He opened his eyes, looking up at the hammer swinging down at him and he laughed.

   This was going to hurt a hell of a lot.

~*~

   Zhu Zhangwei could do nothing but watch as, in the blink of an eye, Ming Fan had made everything descend into chaos. The Ming Fan he saw behind the rising barrier was not the Ming Fan he knew. The qi in the barrier distorted his form, made him look even older, distorted the colours of his robes and the shade of his skin.

   “Ming Fan!” Zhu Zhangwei screamed, just as there was an explosion and a flash of blinding light inside the barrier. The barrier shattered with a boom, a wave of oppressive force hitting them. Smoke clouded Zhu Zhangwei’s vision, but he rushed forward, trying to get to Ming Fan.

   The smoke began to clear, and saw a lone figure standing where the barrier once was. As the ringing left his ears, he could hear the demoness’ shrieking and nothing else but deafening quiet. A gust of qi-filled wind blew the rest of the smoke away and Zhu Zhangwei turned to see Shen-shibo, fan in hand. There was a desperation to his face, his eyes widening at whatever he saw. Zhu Zhangwei turned back around to look at a mostly untouched Ming Fan.

   He wasn’t looking at them, instead at Sha Hualing whose arm had been blown off and whose face was now heavily burned on the half closest to the blast. The rest of the demons around her were near dead or simply puddles of blood and viscera on the ground.

   “It seems Saintess Sha will be the next Elder Du Bi,” Ming Fan said, a grin splitting across his face as he laughed. “Apologies for the foul play, but it was dear Saintess Sha’s party who did so first and this one had to live up to his new title. As a kindness, this one spared Saintess Sha’s life.

   “How—” she began.

   “It was rather easy,” Ming Fan said. “Saintess Sha needed more practice and experience before she brought her family to Cang Qiong. She could always amass a new family and try again, but this one would suggest against it, unless she wants to lose her other arm.”

   As Ming Fan said this, Shifu touched down in the courtyard, a grim look on his face. Sha Hualing scampered away, leaving any of her injured cohort still alive for dead. Shifu surveyed the scene, brows furrowing.

   “Who did this?” he asked. He turned to Shen-shibo, who was frozen. “Shen Qingqiu?”

   Ming Fan swayed before he bent over, throwing up a waterfall of blood.

   “Ming-shixiong!” Zhu Zhangwei cried, rushing over to hold him steady. Ming Fan looked up at his with deadened eyes before a smile spread on his face. He placed a hand on Zhu Zhangwei’s face. It was ice cold, nearly making Zhu Zhangwei shiver.

   “I did it, Zhuzhu,” he said, letting out a gasp as more blood trickled down his chin and his legs fully gave out. “I changed it.”

   He traced nonsensical shapes on Zhu Zhangwei’s cheek with his fingertips, tears slipping from his eyes. “It’s too bad,” he laughed. “The timeline will reset soon and none of it will matter. I will be back to square one.”

   “What—” Ming Fan cupped his face.

   “I hope, one day, one lifetime, you’ll keep your promise,” he said before he pressed his lips to Zhu Zhangwei’s. It wasn't much of a kiss, more like Ming Fan smacking their mouths together. He was too tired, too weak to follow through with what he had most likely planned.

   Ming Fan giggled because of it, to Zhu Zhangwei’s astonishment, as his eyes slid shut.

~*~

   Ming Fan woke up from death in a patient room on Qian Cao. It was a slow awakening, senses coming into focus one by one as if simply coming back to consciousness from a deep slumber. The first was his sense of smell, a sachet of herbs burning his nose, so strong that he could taste it in the back of his throat. It cleansed the tang of ash coating his tongue. The sun streamed onto his face, painting the back of his eyelids red, his bedroll catching on the callouses on his fingertips.

   It’s silent in a way he is used to, a quiet tension as if the whole world is holding its breath and awaiting something terrible. He can’t move, frozen on his bedroll, staring up at the ceiling of a building that should not exist.

   “If Disciple Ming does such an idiotic thing ever again,” Ming Fan was pulled from his reverie, turning to look at Shen Qingqiu. “This master will bring him back from the afterlife just so he can kill him again himself. Understood?”

   Ming Fan, despite the swirl of emotions and thoughts at war in his mind, grinned.

Chapter Text

   “Does Disciple Ming truly have a death wish?” Shen Qingqiu asked as Ming Fan struggled to sit up. Pain radiated out from his dantian to his limbs, his fingers twitching. His body was freezing and yet still on fire. He eventually gave up, flopping down on his cot. “Were you sick of waiting for me to let you go?”

   “Shizun,” Ming Fan sighed. “I simply did not want one of my shidi to die. As their Da-shixiong, it is my respons—”

   “And what of your own life?” Shen Qingqiu asked. He was using his ‘no nonsense’ tone, the sharp and clipped way he would speak when he was giving no room for negotiation. It made him sound rather ruthless, almost inhuman. The cold fury behind his eyes broke that illusion. “Is your own life of so little value that you would let yourself die?”

   “A tactician’s job is to be impartial,” Ming Fan replied, using Shen Qingqiu’s own words against him. Wasn’t that one of their first lessons when learning strategy? In how many of Ming Fan’s lives has Shen Qingqiu tried to sacrifice himself like a bargaining chip to keep his sect from ruin? What right did he have to say such things? “And to prioritise the lives of the many over the few. Compared to my shidi and shimei, my life is simply—”

   “Your life is simply just as valuable,” Shen Qingqiu stated. Huh. How strange. Ming Fan let out a snort. “You are lucky to still be alive after what you did. For you to even attempt something so experimental—”

   “What part?” Ming Fan asked. “A lot of what I did was experimental. Which part?”

   “All of it, Ming Fan,” Shen Qingqiu replied. “You should have spoken to me about your experimentation so it could be tested in a—”

   “When could I have done that, Shizun?” Ming Fan asked. “While you were in the Ling Xi Caves trying to keep Liu-shishu from dying of a qi deviation?”

   Shen Qingqiu’s eyes narrowed slightly, not taking the bait or showing a single sign of surprise. He took Ming Fan’s hand, raising it up to show the pale scars tracking their way up from his pulse points, tracing his veins. “You burned yourself up from the inside,” he said. “From your actions, I could only assume that you were fully aware of the consequences of what you were doing. What you told Zhu-shizhi only confirms it more. You planned to die.”

   “Why is it such a big deal?” Ming Fan asked. Truly, why did it matter? Ming Fan has always just been one of Shen Qingqiu’s many weiqi pieces. He would never delude himself into believing his loyalty to Shen Qingqiu ran both ways. There was nothing great about Ming Fan to warrant such a thing. Why was he trying to act all softhearted now? “I am just a disciple. In the grand scheme of things, I am—-”

   “In no world are you replaceable to me,” Shen Qingqiu said. It wasn’t in the measured tone he had been sticking to. It came out too fast, too desperate. Ah…was Shen Qingqiu truly growing soft? How sad. “I chose you because you are exceptional, because I knew you had the potential to be great.”

   “You told me I would be lucky to even achieve immortality,” Ming Fan replied dryly.

   Shen Qingqiu’s expression twitched, something flickering behind his eyes. He closed them, letting out a breath. “I lied, Ming Fan,” he admitted through gritted teeth, like it was killing him to say it. “I lied so you wouldn’t become full of yourself, so that I would not have a stuck up, spoiled gongzi on my peak. You come from an influential family and there is nothing I hate more than entitled nobility. I dealt with enough entitled nobles as a disciple. I did not want to teach someone who acted like one.”

   “I still was a spoiled gongzi,” Ming Fan said. “I still acted horribly. I abused my power and mistreated my shidi because I was scared of losing my position, because I was jealous. I am not—I did things that I shouldn’t have and—”

   “So you thought dying and traumatizing your shidi and shimei was the way to atone for the mistakes of a child?” Shen Qingqiu asked. His face was truly doing something strange, twisting and shifting oddly. Was this conversation killing the man? Was he on the verge of a qi deviation? Why was he even bothering to say such nonsense if even he didn’t believe it or want to utter it? “Perhaps…it was my fault in part. I am not particularly well-versed in praise. I see no point in it. It only feeds false egos. I am also no god by any means. Have you not pointed out my own faults and weaknesses quite loudly? And yet you cannot forgive yourself for the petty actions you took? The ones you now regret and have decided not to do again? Since when did a sniveling child like you have to be a saint to be worthy of living? Are you suddenly a god yourself, Ming Fan?”

   “Every choice has a consequence,” Ming Fan replied. “No matter how sorry you are. And sometimes, no matter what choices you make afterwards, nothing will fix what you did.”

   “Ming Fan, you are…as much as I hate to admit such things…a brilliant young man,” Shen Qingqiu said, fingers clenching tightly on the fan on his lap. It creaked quite loudly. Honestly, Ming Fan was surprised it hadn’t cracked to pieces yet. “Your deranged plan, for as foolish as it was, was also resourceful and inventive. I chose you as head disciple, though, because even with this brilliance, you still showed a high amount of tenacity. You strove to be the best, independently trying to improve. You did not lean on me or even expect anything from me. You obviously… care for your martial siblings as well, even the boy you are supposedly so jealous of. If you are worried how your past actions will reflect back on you, perhaps it would be useful for you to know that the little beast was nothing but worried for you, constantly asking after if you had awoken. You are good at your job. Much better than any replacement I could ever find.”

   “No one is perfect, are they?” Shen Qingqiu continued. “Everyone, no matter how good they may seem, has made mistakes in their past that they will always regret. Those mistakes should not rule your life. I despise people that cannot move past their guilt. They are the worst kind of fools. Whatever caused you to focus so severely on your more foolish decisions, whether it be your qi deviation or something else, I suggest you let it go. You do not deserve to pay for whatever you have done with your life. No one wants that of you.”

   Ming Fan let out a bitter laugh at the irony of his statement. That was all Luo Binghe would want in the future.

   “Don’t push my words aside,” Shen Qingqiu snapped. “You are my head disciple and it is going to stay that way. Contemplate and overcome what you are going through. Do not let it swallow you. Do not let yourself lose.”

   Shen Qingqiu rose to his feet. “And Disciple Ming,” he said. “If you’re going to be pursuing Zhu-shizhi, then I expect you to court him properly. As a disciple of Qing Jing Peak, you are meant to present yourself with proper etiquette.”

   “Only if you do the same for Liu-shishu,” Ming Fan replied, making Shen Qingqiu stiffen slightly, his lips drawing down into a scowl. The man said nothing more as he walked out the door and Mu Qingfang came in.

~*~

   Shen Qingqiu stared at Ming Fan’s limp body. For a moment, he could do nothing but stand there, gazing down at the boy’s form being shaken by Liu Qingge’s whelp. His gaze flicked to the pool of blood soaking into the courtyard, to the scorched spot where the armored demon had once been standing.

   “Shen Qingqiu,” the brute called out to him. Shen Qingqiu turned to him and instantly wanted to bash the man’s face in. Something about the innocent confusion on the idiot’s face made Shen Qingqiu’s blood boil. “What happened?”

   “Da-shixiong!” the little beast cried out, tears slipping down his face. Yet another sight that filled Shen Qingqiu with inexplicable homicidal rage. Ning Yingying rushed forward, holding the idiot back from running over to his shixiong’s corpse.

   There was a hand on his shoulder.

   “Shen Qing—” Shen Qingqiu simply punched Liu Qingge in the face, making the man reel backward. “What the hell?!”

   With the brute preoccupied, Shen Qingqiu finally walked up to Ming Fan. His little puppet was truly broken, this time in an irreparable way. Truly, his limp body looked like a puppet with cut strings. Shen Qingqiu knelt down, studying his disciple’s face, slack and bloodless.

   He had matured since Shen Qingqiu went into seclusion. The baby fat had disappeared from his face, leaving it narrow and gaunt. This change made his features fit his face better, made him less of an ugly whelp. Unfortunately, it did not do much more than that. He would never be spoken about for his legendary looks, but he would not be condemned for being too loathsome or utterly forgettable. He had grown even taller, but his shoulders were broader, his form sturdier, less lean than before. He was starting to look like a real cultivator.

   “S-shen-shibo?” Liu Qingge’s whelp called out. His eyes were wide, tears streaming down his cheeks.

   Shen Qingqiu reached out, touching Ming Fan’s face, feeling the cold flesh against his palm. He had gone cold far too quickly. Did he detonate his core? Strip his body of all its life for the sake of the little beast? His head disciple truly had no brain in his head now.

   “Shen Qingqiu,” the brute was beside him again. Why was the man suddenly so fucking clingy? Why wouldn’t he leave Shen Qingqiu the fuck alone when he just wanted to—

   What did he want?

   He didn’t really know.

   Perhaps he wanted to hear that song Ming Fan had been working on mastering on the qin. He had been playing it until his fingers bled what only felt like days ago. Perhaps he wanted to point out everything wrong with Ming Fan’s sword forms. Maybe he wanted to read one of the boy’s reports or watch him scurry around the peak doing all his duties. No, he wanted Ming Fan to brew him some tea. The boy was rather gifted at it.

   “Shen Qingqiu, he’s still breathing,” the words were soft and spoken far too close to him. Liu Qingge was crouched next to him, palm flat on Ming Fan’s chest. He gently took Shen Qingqiu’s hand, trying to pull it away from Ming Fan’s face. Shen Qingqiu ripped his hand free, snarling at the man. Why did he bother to save the man’s life if he was going to be this obnoxious? Why was he—

   Fingers dug into the front of his robes. Ming Fan looked up at him with bleary eyes, irises shining with golden light.

   “Shizun,” he croaked, lips turning up into a weak smile. “Looks like you have a heart.”

   “What?” Shen Qingqiu spat. Ming Fan did nothing but laugh as he faded back into unconsciousness.

   Liu Qingge swiped his thumb under Shen Qingqiu’s eye, receiving a whack on the head from Shen Qingqiu’s fan. It shattered with the amount of force he used but Liu Qingge did not flinch.

   “You’re crying,” he stated.

~*~

   Somehow, Luo Binghe was standing in the snow covered courtyard of some grand estate. It was kind of odd, since he should be in the sect, sitting in the woodshed right now. It was even more odd because it is the middle of summer.

   There was a child sitting in the courtyard, facing one of the doors that exited out to it. He was shivering, kneeling in the snow that was still falling, soaking his hair and his clothes.

   Luo Binghe silently crept closer, noticing the intricate embroidery on the boy's robes, and the redness to his face, contrasted by the blue tint of his lips. His teeth were chattering and yet he still sat there, back straight and eyes forward.

   “Are you alright, little gongzi?” Luo Binghe asked softly. The boy flinched, looking up at him with wide eyes. They were bright, filled with a range of emotions and oddly familiar. Luo Binghe knelt down beside him. “Why are you kneeling in the cold?”

   “I'm waiting,” the boy said, his voice shaking from the cold. A hint of suspicion crossed his face. “Who are you?”

   “A cultivator,” Luo Binghe replied, putting on a soft smile and trying his best to seem as non-threatening as possible. “What are you waiting for? It's pretty cold out.”

   “Er-ge and Da-ge said that if I wait out here for Fuqin to get me, then he will want me again,” he said, not looking at Luo Binghe and instead staring at the door.

   “Want you again?” Luo Binghe took the boy's hand in his. It was nearly frozen. Luo Binghe infused some qi into his palms to warm them more, wrapping them around the boy’s hands like a cocoon. If the boy stays out here longer, he could lose his fingers.

   Or his life.

   “I need to show I am sorry,” he shivered.

   “What are you sorry for?” Luo Binghe asked softly, brows furrowing. The boy couldn't be older than seven. What could he have done that required him to freeze to death as punishment?

   “I don't know,” the boy replied, face scrunching slightly in some mixture of confusion and frustration. “Er-ge said it's because I'm weak, because I made a mistake and now I need to fix it. I don't know what the mistake is, though.”

   “Well, you're very brave and strong to want to try and fix your mistakes,” Luo Binghe said. He wrapped an arm around the boy, pulling him into his side. He stiffened before nearly melting into Luo Binghe’s side. “But surely this isn't something your Fuqin would want. He wouldn't want you to harm yourself by being out here in the cold.”

   Tears welled in the boy’s eyes and he sniffled. For a moment, he tried to pull himself together, to be strong, before he hid his face in Luo Binghe’s robe. “I have to fix it,” he said. “It's my fault so I have to fix it. I was bad or weak o-or—”

   “You seem like a very good son,” Luo Binghe said. “And no one weak would try so hard to fix a mistake. You should head inside where it's nice and warm. Surely your Muqin is worried sick.”

   “Muqin is dead,” the boy replied. “Er-ge said that was my fault too, but I can't fix it.”

   “It's not your fault,” Luo Binghe assured, brushing snow off the boy's head. “That could never be your fault.”

   “How could someone like you turn into such a monster?” Luo Binghe tensed, turning to see Ming Fan standing in the snow. He was taller, shoulders broader and face sharper. His robes looked like something Shizun would wear, his hair neatly tied up in a top knot with a delicate guan. He stepped closer, eyes still glowing gold in the dark, cracks of the same glowing light trailing down his cheeks to where his throat was covered by his high collar. The same way he had looked before he nearly killed himself saving Luo Binghe’s life.

   He knelt down, reaching out to hold Luo Binghe’s chin with calloused fingertips. He tilted his head, forelocks shifting around his gaunt face. Luo Binghe stared back at Ming Fan’s sharp eyes, at the pale green lining them beneath dark brows. There was something off about them. He tried to reach for the little boy, but he couldn’t feel him anymore. He was gone. Actually, the entire frozen courtyard was gone.

   “How did you change so much?” he asked again. His voice was deeper, echoing around them like the whole world was just Ming Fan. Luo Binghe choked on his breath as Ming Fan brushed a curl of Luo Binghe’s hair behind his ear. “No matter the timeline, no matter the actions taken. Why was there only one ending possible?”

   “What?” Luo Binghe said. The longer he looked into Ming Fan’s eyes, the more uncomfortable he felt. The more he felt like Ming Fan wasn’t quite human. Was this even really Ming Fan? Where was he? “Da-shixiong—”

   “I wish I could just find the solution,” he said. “What do I need to do to save you so that everyone else is saved, Luo-shidi? What will it take? Would you even know?”

   “What are you talking about, Da-shixiong?” Luo Binghe whispered. He couldn’t bring himself to speak any louder.

   “It’s my fault,” he said. “And I need to fix it, but I can’t.”

   He laughed softly, closing his eyes. “I wish I could fix it all.”

   “There’s nothing to fix,” Luo Binghe replied. “Everything is fine, Da-shixiong. Everything has been fine, hasn’t it?”

   “I forgot how stupid you were when you were younger,” he said, tears gathering in his eyes. “So positive, so foolish. You thought the world was good and it spat right back in your face. You tried to hold on to that childish optimism until it was torn from your hands, until you found out that the world was nothing but cruel.”

   “What are you talking about?” Luo Binghe asked as tears began slipping down Ming Fan’s face. They shined golden like the rest of him. Every time the boy (man?) cried, Luo Binghe felt oddly unsettled, a constricting pain building in his chest.

   Ming Fan wrapped his arms around Luo Binghe, pulling him close. “I’m sorry I failed you,” he said, fingers twitching where they clutched at Luo Binghe’s back. “I’m sorry I have failed everyone for so long. I’m sorry.”

   “You haven’t failed me, Da-shixiong,” Luo Binghe said, wrapping his arms around Ming Fan’s shivering body. “You haven’t—”

   “You were only ever cruel,” a voice echoed around them, booming with rage as the scenery around them shifted and twisted. They were sitting in a pit. There was something lying on the ground and—

   Ming Fan placed his hand over Luo Binghe’s eyes. “Don’t look at that, Luo-shidi,” he said softly. “It’s a dirty, shameful thing.”

   “You showed the smallest hint of care so I thought you would change but you went back to being a monster straight after. Were you afraid to be kind? You weren’t incapable of it and that’s what disgusts me,” the voice continued from somewhere above them. Luo Binghe heard something gargle near them. Something alive. It sounded similar to how his A’niang’s final breaths did, like her very soul was being pushed out of her body to leave behind nothing but a hollow shell.

   “You should have been kinder, Da-shixiong,” The voice said. It sounded oddly familiar and Luo Binghe stiffened at the addressment. “Then I would have spared you.”

   It went silent. Luo Binghe held his breath for a moment. “Where are we, Da-shixiong?” he finally whispered.

   “Somewhere you shouldn’t be,” Ming Fan replied.

   “Love will be the death of you,” it was a different voice. A woman. Luo Binghe gently pushed Ming Fan’s hand aside to see a beautiful woman dressed in dark green silks that were quite revealing. Standing before her was some strange version of Ming Fan with a metal arm. “I see only bad ends in your future, all caused by attachment. Too many threads are tangled together and you are at the center of the knot, unable to escape. Your devotion will bring painful ends.”

   “Is there any way to prevent that?” Ming Fan asked. “Anything?”

   “I am sorry, Xiansheng,” she said. “It is far too late for anything to be done to prevent it. I see no end for you but death.”

   “Can I do anything for the others?” He asked.

   The woman smiled sadly at him. “There is nothing that can be done,” she replied. “But, I see another life where you will gain that happy ending you are searching for. It is far away, but it is there.”

   “What must I do for that ending?” Ming Fan asked, a desperation in his voice.

   The woman frowned at him, eyes softening slightly. “There is nothing to be done but enduring,” she said, placing a hand on his arm, the metal one. “In one lifetime, everything will align to provide a good end and the cycle will end. You will make all the right decisions from the start. Until then, there is nothing to be done but enduring to learn what decisions to make. I wish there was more I could do, but you offended the wrong person and it’s far too late.”

   “Who?” Ming Fan asked. “Was it—”

   After that, everything around them went to hell.

~*~

   Ming Fan didn't expect to relive all of his deaths with Luo Binghe as a spectator. He covered the boy's eyes and ears as much as he could, watching with an odd amount of detachment as he was torn apart and destroyed over and over again. Every last breath, every painful scream. Luo Binghe hid his face in Ming Fan’s chest, flinching and shuddering at each scream and cry. Ming Fan placed a hand on his head, stroking his curls as some form of comfort.

   For some reason, Ming Fan really didn't feel anything while watching himself die. Perhaps it had happened so many times that he had become numb to it. Perhaps he was nothing more than a vase that was shattered and remade over and over again, losing small pieces of itself each time. After all these lives, he was still no closer to making the right decisions and yet he could not bring himself to care about the pain and suffering he had went through. If he ever did make the right choices, perhaps it would all be worth it. Perhaps then he could die and not wake up again.

   “How many times will you die for them?” Cold hands touched his face, Zhu Zhangwei’s visage forming from smoke before him after he watched himself convulse on the ground, coughing up and choking on his own blood during a qi deviation. He had been all alone in his quarters with no one to ask for help from. “How many times will you sacrifice yourself? Your body, your mind, your heart? What do you gain?”

   “Da-shixiong,” Luo Binghe whispered, peeking up at him with eyes wide with terror, before staring transfixed at his dying form before them taking its final, choking breath before it stopped struggling to cling to life.

   “Why did you throw me away for them?” Zhu Zhangwei cried. “We could have been happy. We could have lived, but you must always throw everything away for them, for him . Why can't you let yourself be happy? Why can't you let it go?”

   “It isn't right,” Ming Fan replied.

   “It isn't right for them to suffer, but it's right for you to?” He asked. “They won't be grateful, they won't care. You're suffering for nothing.”

   Zhu Zhangwei pulled their foreheads together. “They wouldn't do the same for you,” he said. “To them, you are as good as nothing. Why must you give them the world?”

   “Because it is my duty,” Ming Fan replied. Luo Binghe was tugging on his robes, whispering something in fear. “Because I have no right to be selfish in the face of so many lives. Stop wearing his face.”

   “Such devotion and loyalty would usually turn a mortal into a god or a calamity,” the face of Zhu Zhangwei shifted, swirling into something unrecognizable. “And yet you are neither. You are simply an echo chamber of the feelings and thoughts of a deadman, bouncing around and repeating themselves.”

   He took Ming Fan’s chin, gazing at his face with dark eyes. “What are you? Demon or man?” It asked. “Are you something else entirely? You obviously do not belong in this world. What are you?”

   “Ming Fan, Head Disciple of Qing Jing Peak,” Ming Fan replied. “Lord Meng Mo should stop hiding within illusions. It hasn't helped him much.”

   “Hah…” The world around them spun and melted, swirling together into something new. Luo Binghe yelped as he fell down onto the bench of a table in some imaginary tea house. Cups dropped down in front of them, filling with tea. “You figured me out. How fun.”

   “What's happening?” Luo Binghe asked. He was shaking. How strange was it to see him so terrified. In the future he would be so strong that fear would be a concept he’d forget entirely.

   “You're in the dream realm,” a man appeared before them, a grin spreading across his face to show sharp teeth. White hair spilled over his shoulders, matching the stubble on his face. He rested his chin on the back of his hand, holding his tea cup. “Ming-san-gongzi, I'm rather glad your family is well versed with tea. It's been a while since I've been able to find memories of such good tasting blends.”

   “Lord Meng Mo put too much effort into his little games,” Ming Fan said, taking a sip of his tea and tasting absolutely nothing at all. “It’s sad that he wasted so much work on this one.”

   “I could put even more effort in if you wish,” Meng Mo replied, a burning red sigil appearing on his forehead, his face starting to shift—

   “Civility is much preferred,” Ming Fan patted Luo Binghe’s head, forcing him to bow it so he could not see. “What does Lord Meng Mo want that he would trap two simple disciples in a dream prison?”

   “This master can tell that neither of these simple disciples are truly simple,” Meng Mo replied. “Besides, a little demoness was rather interested in Ming-san-gongzi. She wanted to know if he was truly a demon or simply a demented human. Seems you're closer to the latter.”

   “And my shidi?” Ming Fan asked.

   “The halfblood,” Meng Mo said, making Luo Binghe stiffen. “Seems Ming-san-gongzi had an emotional connection to him. It was him, not this master that dragged the boy into this dreamscape.”

   “Halfblood?” Luo Binghe echoed. Ming Fan grimaced. This was not a very good time for that discussion. Something had gone terribly wrong because—

   Because this never happened before. This was new.

   Ming Fan had truly changed something.

   “We can discuss that later, Luo-shidi,” Ming Fan said. “Now is…not the best time. Perhaps Lord Meng Mo could release this one's shidi so that we can have a proper discussion about what he wants.”

   Meng Mo snorted. “If that’s what Ming-san-gongzi wants.”

   He waved his hand and Luo Binghe disappeared in a swirl of smoke, calling out Ming Fan’s name as he did so.

   “Now, will Ming-san-gongzi enlighten this master on what his true nature is?” Meng Mo asked. “There’s something rather strange about you.”

   “There is nothing special about me in the slightest,” Ming Fan replied. “To gain the attention of Saintess Sha over a stupid squabble is laughable.”

   “Blowing someone’s arm off and killing their entire army is a squabble to you?” Meng Mo asked. “Then again, it seems you have faced much worse horrors in your…lifetimes.”

   “Perhaps. What does Lord Meng Mo want?” Ming Fan asked. “This one is nothing but a poor head disciple and spoiled gongzi. There isn’t much I can offer.”

   Once again, Meng Mo let out a laugh. “The act doesn’t work much after I have seen all of your memories,” he said. “I was simply curious about you, especially after you seemed rather unphased by my nightmare dream realm. I simply wished to know what would scare you.”

   “Good luck with that,” Ming Fan replied. “If your curiosity has been satisfied, perhaps you could release me now?”

   “Of course,” Meng Mo said. “This was fun, Ming-san-gongzi.”

   The dream realm melted away like calligraphy doused with water, bleeding into nothing. His sense slowly came back to him, the feeling of the medical cot on Qian Cao, the sent of the medicines and that same floral sachet, the—

   The feeling of a weight pinning him down. It shifted as hands took hold of his wrists.

   “I found you, Da-shixiong.”

   Ming Fan’s eyes flew open and he stared up at Luo Binghe’s face, at the demonic sigil glowing between his brows in the darkness. He grinned, showing off his sharpened teeth, clawed nails digging into Ming Fan’s wrists as he squeezed hard enough to grind the bones together.

   “So many dimensions and timelines,” he drawled. “All with a clueless, idiotic version of you. I had to cross so many to find you. I just couldn’t let our fun end.”

   He leaned closer. “Did you think I’d let you have respite, even in death?”

   “What is the point of putting so much effort into searching for me?” Ming Fan asked. “Of everyone that wronged you—”

   “You were the one to never let go of your pride,” he said. “Not even as you died. Even Shizun broke. You should have seen it, Da-shixiong, the way he screamed and screamed after seeing Zhangmen-shibo’s broken sword. How pitiful he was.”

   He took both of Ming Fan’s wrists in one of his hands, using the free one to brush away a strand of Ming Fan’s hair. “I want to see you break too,” he whispered.

   “You’re pathetic,” Ming Fan said. “You’re weak to be unable to let go of the past. You won and yet you cannot enjoy it because, in truth, you just want to go back to how the world was before. You want your disciple years back where you were treated like a dog. You want to be respected and loved, but it will never happen. Not with everyone dead.”

   “Would you love me, Da-shixiong?” Luo Binghe asked. “An ugly, disgusting thing like you? I did say that if you knelt to me and renounced Shizun, I would spare your life.”

   “You disgust me,” Ming Fan spat.

   “You’re far more wretched than me,” Luo Binghe laughed. “Would you like to fail everyone again? I could make you watch as I slaughter each of your martial siblings, as I take your dear shimei. I’ll even kill that little weakling version of me. You’ll have failed me once again, Da-shixiong, it will be wonderful. But first, let me give you a present.”

   He reached behind him, shoving something into Ming Fan's face. He stared back at Zhangwei’s lifeless eyes, face frozen in surprise and horror. Blood from his severed neck dripped onto Ming Fan’s inner robes and chest. It felt so strangely cold.

   “Isn’t it a nice little gift?” Luo Binghe asked as he threw it away. Ming Fan flinched at the wet splat it made, staring unseeingly at Luo Binghe’s face. “I thought you would love it as my first of many gifts to you. I had to get rid of the competition, after all.”

   “If only you had done right by me in your first life,” Luo Binghe stroked Ming Fan’s hair. “None of this would have happened, would it, if you hadn’t been such a coward. Now you should take responsibility.”

   Luo Binghe kissed him and something inside Ming Fan shattered.

~*~

   Ming Fan was screaming. It was the first thing anyone heard, ripping through the silence of the early morning. Du Cheng nearly jumped out of his skin, rushing to the room Ming Fan was recovering in.

   Unfortunately, Ming Fan was not in his room. Instead, he was out in the courtyard, screaming and screaming. He had his sword in his hands, swinging it around wildly at some imaginary threat.

   “Ming-shixiong!” Du Cheng called out, reaching in his sleeve for his acupuncture needles. “Ming-shixiong, what’s wrong?”

   “He found me!” the man screamed. “He’s going to find me!”

   Du Cheng tried his best to slowly approach, hoping not to get impaled by Ming Fan’s sword. His eyes were flickering with light, following the rise and fall of his unstable qi.

   “Who’s going to find you, Ming-shixiong?” Du Cheng asked softly. It wouldn’t be long before Shifu and hopefully others arrived to help settle Ming Fan down.

   “The demon,” he said, hands shaking. There was some clarity breaking through the haze in his eyes, but he still looked frantic. “He’s going to find me and it’s—-it’s going to be my fault. It’s going to happen all over again and it’s my fault. It’s all my fault. Everything is my fault. I can’t fix it. I can’t—I can’t—-”

   He was trapped in his own world again, rambling to himself. It gave Du Cheng the ability to take Ming Fan’s sword from his hands and set it aside. “What demon, Ming-shixiong?” Du Cheng asked. “Sha Hualing?”

   Ming Fan laughed at that, something empty and cold. It made Du Cheng flinch. Since when was Ming Fan capable of sounding like that? Where was the boy he knew before?

   Ming Fan shook his head, rambling more to himself, wrapping his arms around himself and digging his fingers into his sides.

   “Ah, Ming-shizhi,” Du Cheng nearly let out a sigh of relief at the sound of Shifu’s voice. “Do you know where you are?”

   “Qian Cao,” Ming Fan replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He was looking at Shifu with sharp eyes. The shine of gold in his irises made him look like a wolf. It also made Du Cheng rather terrified for his shixiong’s health. Qi should not be leaking out like this, it should not be bleeding out of him like a leaking vase.

   “Then Ming-shizhi must understand that no threat can reach him here,” Shifu continued. “Whatever he saw, it won’t—”

   “It won’t matter,” Ming Fan said, losing some of his clarity once again. “He will burn the sect to the ground. He will kill everyone. He will kill Zhu-er and it will be all my fault because I failed. I failed and I couldn’t fix it and I—”

   He fell to his knees, sobbing. “I tried so many times,” he cried. “But I could never fix it. Even when Liu-shishu survived his qi deviation in the LingXi Caves. Even if Sha Hualing’s pitiful army was wiped out. Even if Qiu Haitang never appeared. Even if I reached out, nothing changed. Nothing ever changed and nothing ever will. Everyone will die.”

   “Nothing I do matters,” he whispered, as if that was the realization he had been waiting for. Dread filled Du Cheng’s gut. “Even if I do everything right, another him could always just appear. What is the point of second chances if nothing ever changes?”

   Ming Fan laughed, hysteria laced throughout it as he laid back on the ground. “I was feeling so proud of myself for tweaking some events,” he said. “But in the end, it will do nothing. Nothing changes. We’ll all die.”

   “Shifu, I think he had another qi deviation,” Du Cheng said, watching Ming Fan roll about in the dirt, laughing and rambling like a mad man.

   “It seems like it,” Shifu let out an almost silent sigh as he stepped forward. “Ming-shizhi, it seems you’re experiencing the side effects of a qi deviation again. Do you remember what we spoke about before? About the false memories—-”

   “You really won’t listen to me, will you, Mu Qingfang?” Ming Fan spat. “What did I really expect from a fucking coward?”

   “Ming Fan—”

   “No,” Ming Fan growled, rising to his feet. “I have lived too fucking long to deal with your bullshit. Those memories aren’t fake. They aren’t some creation of my mind. I am sick of you trying to pretend everything is fine while the world falls apart around you. You’re far too much like your grandmother.”

   Shifu tensed beside Du Cheng and Du Cheng turned to look at him with furrowed brows.

   “What?” Shifu said.

   “Mu Sang, son of Mu Chen and Li Hong, grandson to Lady Qian Ruoxi,” Ming Fan said. “You grew up learning under the tutelage of Lady Qian, watching her heal common people with her low level cultivation. She never refused a patient, always smiled and was warm. She was murdered by one of the people she had given her foolish kindness to and you decided to join the illustrious Cang Qiong Sect to become a great healer like her. Perhaps dear Sang-er should have learned from his grandmother’s death instead of following her lead. His desire to seem kind hearted will only get him killed. Popo will be so disappointed.”

   “Ming-shixiong,” Du Cheng hissed, eyes wide. What was he doing? Has he truly lost his—

   “How will my kindness get me killed, Ming-shizi?” Shifu asked, voice oddly flat.

   “Your kindness is nothing but ass-kissing,” Ming Fan said. “You take no sides so no one can be angered by your decisions, a true people pleaser. Due to that, you will neglect to step in and help when faced with situations that force you to make a choice. It will result in grudges which will result in your death. It’s rather simple, Mu-shishu. Grow a fucking spine. You seem to only have one when you see someone on the verge of death. You—”

   A needle in the right place caused Ming Fan’s eyes to roll back in his head and for him to flop down onto the ground. Du Cheng glanced at Shifu, finding actual anger on the man’s face. It took a moment for him to regain his composure and settle down back into his usual demeanor.

   “How did he know about Liu-shixiong’s qi deviation?” he asked.

Chapter Text

    “Shen-shixiong, I fear the situation with Ming-shizhi may be more dire,” Mu Qingfang said. He was seated in the parlor of the bamboo house across from Shen Qingqiu who seemed entirely disinterested. “I fear I may have…downplayed the effects of his deviation.”

    “What makes Mu-shidi suddenly so worried?” Shen Qingqiu asked, taking a sip of his tea and not bothering to look up from the stack of paperwork he had brought from his desk.

    “Did Shen-shixiong mention Liu-shixiong’s qi deviation to his disciple?” Mu Qingfang asked, making Shen Qingqiu pause.

    “Why, Mu-shidi?” Shen Qingqiu asked, finally looking up at him.

    “Ming-shizhi had a fit of hysteria last night and had to be sedated,” Mu Qingfang replied. “During this fit of hysteria, he mentioned Liu-shixiong’s qi deviation. He also mentioned a name I have never heard before. Qiu Haitang.”

    Shen Qingqiu stiffened minutely, fingers clenching his teacup tighter before he relaxed back into his regular unphased disposition. “Why would he mention a random name?” he asked.

    “Ming-shizhi confided in this master that he believes himself to be in some form of timeloop,” Mu Qingfang said. “And that this timeloop ends repeatedly in the death of the entire sect—the end of the world, even.”

    “And Mu-shidi is inclined to believe that?” Shen Qingqiu asked.

    “At first I believed it to simply be a side effect of his qi deviation,” Mu Qingfang replied. “Hallucinations are common in the throes of qi deviation. He seemed quite angered by my disbelief. Then, he started saying things that he should not know.”

    “And what did he say of this ‘Qiu Haitang’?” Shen Qingqiu asked.

    “He said that even in the worlds where she did not appear, he still could not stop the world from having a bad end,” Mu Qingfang said.

    “Appear…” Shen Qingqiu echoed. “Perhaps we should call upon Li-shimei for some help running tests. There must be a way to confirm if what he is saying is real or not.”

    “If it is, then I fear I have nothing but sorrow,” Mu Qingfang said. “The things Ming-shizhi describes, the way he acts, if it is all real then he went through something truly horrible.”

    “Life is horrible,” Shen Qingqiu replied.

    “Shen-shixiong, if he is truly stuck in a time loop, it begs the question of why,” Mu Qingfang said. “Ming-shizhi is simply a head disciple. He seems good at his duties, but for him to be trapped in what could possibly be some form of divine—”

    “Perhaps Disciple Ming committed a grave sin,” Shen Qingqiu replied. “Perhaps he accidentally swore in a temple or broke a divine artifact. Perhaps he made one of his peers mad and they decided to punish him once they ascended. It could be many insignificant things.”

    “While I appreciate your level-headedness as our tactician, Shen-shixiong, this is your head disciple,” Mu Qingfang said. “If he has been suffering all this time, do you not feel a little concern for him?”

    “We'll simply confirm if he has been cursed and find the way to break it,” Shen Qingqiu replied. “Problem solved.”

~*~

    “Ming-shixiong!” A young Ming Fan was painting something, face entirely blank. Ning Yingying ran up to him, tugging on his sleeve. “Some of us are going to the town with Shizun.”

    “Okay,” Ming Fan replied. Ning Yingying huffed.

    “Do you want to come?” she asked.

    “Do…does Shizun want me to?” Ming Fan asked.

    “Who cares if Shizun wants you to or not,” she said. “I asked you. What do you want to do?”

    Him…?

    Why…

    Why should it matter…

    “You’ll be going to the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect,” Fuqin had stated, towering over Ming Fan’s kneeling form. “You will enter Qiong Ding or Qing Jing Peak and become the next peak lord. You will bring glory to our family or you will never return. You will never again be acknowledged as my son. Do you understand?”

    “Yes, Fuqin,” it had been easy to agree. Ming Fan had been so young, had only known how to listen and obey, how to transform himself into whatever his parents desired him to be. Ming Fan knew there was no room for his own opinions, for his own thoughts. His only purpose was to listen or be cast aside as defective.

    Shizun had been the one to show Ming Fan his first taste of freedom. Of all things Ming Fan admired his master for, it was his independence, his fearlessness in the face of authority. He defied Zhangmen-shibo, he fought and argued and made his stances clear. Shizun was loud in his disapproval, even if it went against everyone else. Even with the obviously false rumours, he was respected regardless of how he butted heads with others. He was allowed to disagree.

    “Will you keep giving me answers you think I wish to hear or will you start to think critically?” Shizun had asked him early in his discipleship. He sat Ming Fan down, glaring at him over the top of his fan. “A peak of tacticians has no need for mindless sycophants. If Disciple Ming will not think for himself, then he should leave this peak.”

    Shizun wanted him to think for himself, so he did. He took to his studies with vigor, he pushed himself to excel and improve. He wanted to be succeeding disciple, not just for Fuqin’s approval, but also because it would finally free him. He could be like Shizun. He could be free.

    He became head disciple, his Fuqin was happy, and he finally felt like more than a puppet.

    Then Luo Binghe arrived.

    Luo Binghe was different from Ming Fan’s other shidi and shimei. Luo Binghe was a natural talent with sparkling eyes and a bright smile. He had a poor background, but all that did was give him nothing to lose. The pity he got for being an orphaned street rat was honestly sickening. How was that a bad fate? He was free from duty. If Luo Binghe wanted a family so badly, Ming Fan would let him take his. Let him see how well off he was with the scraps of affection he got from his poor washerwoman mother.

    Luo Binghe’s smile had infuriated Ming Fan, had made his blood boil. How could he keep a smile on his face at all times? How could he act so weak and innocent? Seeing it made Ming Fan lose all common sense. Luo Binghe was a threat to everything Ming Fan was trying to achieve. His prodigal skills would cause him to surpass Ming Fan’s mediocrity and then Ming Fan would lose everything so Ming Fan couldn’t help but do everything to wipe that smile off of Luo Binghe’s face.

    Then Luo Binghe died during the Immortal Alliance Conference and Ming Fan felt impossibly numb. He no longer had competition, but everything was off. Shizun wasn’t the same and perhaps Ming Fan wasn’t either. He…he had been so foolish. So immature. Luo Binghe haunted his dreams and occupied his thoughts. He wished terribly to see Luo Binghe’s smile again, for him to look at Ming Fan with joy, for Ming Fan to finally get the chance to say sorry for all he had done, to tell him the truth that Ming Fan had not wanted to admit for so long. 

    Ming Fan had never been allowed to feel, so how would he know how to recognize a silly crush?

    There was an odd amount of relief that Ming Fan felt when Luo Binghe revealed himself to be alive. It meant there was a chance for Ming Fan to atone for his mistakes, to apologize and make amends for the stupid things he did as a child. But Luo Binghe had come back different, he lost the spark in his eyes. He no longer smiled that bright, beautiful smile. Instead it was sharp and cold, an empty imitation. That was what Luo Binghe felt like, a distorted memory of a boy who had done nothing but search for love and approval. Someone Ming Fan had felt too similar to that now felt like a stranger.

    It turned out Luo Binghe really was dead. The Luo Binghe that had come back to life was simply the resentment and desire for revenge that a scared child must’ve felt as he lay waiting for his end to come. He was not Luo Binghe and part of it was Ming Fan’s fault. He had contributed to Luo Binghe’s resentment, had helped turn him into a monster.

    It was Ming Fan’s fault.

    So Ming Fan begged on his knees for Luo Binghe to spare the others, had given himself up in hopes that perhaps Luo Binghe’s spirit could finally rest with Ming Fan’s death. Shizun and him should have been enough payment, but Luo Binghe did not see it that way and as Ming Fan watch Qing Jing burn down around him, he only wished he could go back and fix it all.

    “I’m sorry,” Ming Fan said as Luo Binghe tore through his core, shattering it irreparably. “I’m sorry, Luo-shidi.”

    He said it again and again, babbling nonsense until he was pushed into the pit of ants. It left his lips until he couldn’t speak anymore, until his mouth filled with ants and he took his final breath.

    Then he woke up to do it all over again.

~*~

    “What exactly are we doing?” Liu Qingge asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why is Shen Qingqiu’s disciple lying unconscious on the meeting table?”

    Honestly, Shang Qinghua wanted to ask the same thing. It was hard enough to get work done at a regular meeting, but now Ming Fan’s unconscious body was laying on the conference table.

    “Is there a reason everyone has to witness this?” Shen Qingqiu asked in turn, fanning himself lightly.

    “Well, if Ming-shizhi is truly seeing visions of the future or something just as horrible, it would be good for everyone to be privy to it,” Li Qingmei said as she set up some strange artifact that Shang Qinghua couldn’t remember the name of.

    “What Meimei means is that everyone is bored out of their skulls and want some drama,” Wang Qingjiu tacked on, taking a sip from his wine jar.

    “That is not what I meant,” she replied.

    “What is this going to do?” Shang Qinghua asked. “Will it take long? We still have to go over the budge—”

    “Oh shut up, Shang-shixiong,” Qi Qingqi said. “No one wants to talk about the budget but you. You know everyone ignores you when you start talking.”

    “If all of this is nonsense from his qi deviation then it won't take long,” Li Qingmei replied. “This artifact will make a projection of his subconscious, a look into his mind.”

    “Just get this over with,” Shen Qingqiu stated.

    Shang Qinghua set his scrolls down on the table with a sigh. They wouldn’t be talking about finances or inventory at all today. Shang Qinghua’s life was a joke.

    Li Qingmei placed a talisman on the device, making it glow and release smoke. The room went dark. There was no sound, no light or even any smell. 

    “Did you really think you could escape?” A voice suddenly echoed through the darkness. “In every life, in every world, I will track you down, Da-shixiong. There is nowhere you will go that I will not follow.”

    Ming Fan laid in the center of the floor, a faceless figure standing over him. It crouched down, clutching his jaw with clawed fingers. Red eyes glowed in its face, a demonic sigil flaring between its brows. “I am your fate,” it hissed, voice booming around them. “All because you could not stop chasing after him . What a loyal little dog you turned out to be.”

    “How many times will you meet your end chasing after him?”

    “Shizun!” Shen Qingqiu flinched slightly at the echoing battle cry as an older Ming Fan appeared out of the shadows. He was soaked in blood, a large gash in his side as he ran towards some unseen thing with his arm outstretched, a look of sheer desperation on his face. Before he could make it anywhere, he collapsed to the ground, still trying his best to crawl forward. “Shizun…”

    More illusory Ming Fans appeared, voices and scenes overlapping each other. It became so chaotic that no one could focus on one individual scene. All that filled the room was the call of ‘Shizun’ mixed together in a neverending loop. That was…until—

    “Shi…zun…” the Ming Fan couldn't be older than seventeen, eyes wide yet determined as he stared down his master. His master that had run Xiu Ya straight through his chest. He held the blade in place with his hands, blood dripping to the earth. He was wearing the ceremonial robes associated with conferences rather than his regular robes, the elegant silk ruined. “Don't do this.”

    “How dare Disciple Ming protect that demon? Does this master have two betrayers in his peak?” Shen Qingqiu growled, trying to rip the blade from Ming Fan’s chest.

    “He didn't…” Ming Fan let out a wheeze, blood dripping from his mouth. “He wasn't part of this. We can…we can find a way to…to…”

    “The only way for this to end with Cang Qiong in tact is for that demon to die,” Shen Qingqiu said, his expression shuttered, becoming cold and blank. It was strange to see such a sudden change in his disposition. Shen Qingqiu wasn't one to be expressionless without a fan. “And perhaps Disciple Ming must too.”

    Shen Qingqiu ripped the sword out of Ming Fan’s chest, leaving him gasping for air.

    “Da-shixiong!” A distorted voice cried out from behind him as he crumpled backward.

    “This…will only…end in death,” Ming Fan croaked as he fell backward. Hands scrambled to catch him but suddenly they were tumbling off the edge of a cliff into darkness below.

    “You tried so hard to play hero, loyal to a fault,” the voice from before erupted with laughter and Ming Fan appeared once again crouched in the center of the darkness. “But nothing could ever change what you are.”

    A hand wrapped a strand of Ming Fan’s hair around its finger before pulling hard. “No matter the world, you are this disgusting, ugly thing.”

    “Then surely I should not keep your attention,” Ming Fan spat, struggling to break free of whatever hold the thing had on him. “What could the great demon lord get from associating with trash?”

    “You never learn your place,” it growled. “Not once have you realized what you are, still so convinced you're the hero. What was it you did in your last life?”

    The form of Ming Fan that appeared in the erupted smoke did not resemble Shen Qingqiu’s disciple in the slightest. In a swirl of gold-embroidered robes, he appeared, his hair tied up with an elaborate guan and jewelry bedecking his person. He held his spiritual sword tightly, swinging it up to block the blade of another figure that remained faceless. His eyes flashed golden, the glow of qi creating lines of light under his skin as he used a burst of qi to push the figure back.

    “Do you really think you can defeat me, Da-shixiong?” a voice echoed through the room. It was unfamiliar, but Shang Qinghua had a horrible feeling that he knew who it belonged to. “Not even Shizun could do anything to stop me, but you think you can?”

    “Oh god…” Shang Qinghua croaked out. The others all glanced to him for a moment before turning back to the vision.

    “You’ve grown far too confident in your abilities,” Ming Fan replied, blocking another strike of a familiar demonic sword. “Did you directly challenge him or simply trap him through shady means like a pathetic coward?”

    “Trap?” Liu Qingge echoed.

    “Always so full of pride,” Ming Fan’s opponent spat. “Perhaps that is why you’re the last one standing. Did you sacrifice your shidi and shimei to save yourself?”

    “It seems you may be shifting the blame,” Ming Fan replied, right before his spiritual blade snapped from the impact of his opponent’s sword. “Who is there to blame but yourself?”

    Ming Fan was pinned to the ground, a blade at his throat. He simply looked up at his faceless opponent and smiled sadly.

    “I am sorry for the harm I did to you in our youth,” he said. “You are right to search for repayment for others wrongs, but it seems you have lost your way in the midst of it all.”

    He wrapped his hand around the blade, letting it cut into his palm.

    “I will give you my repayment,” Ming Fan said. “I am sorry it came too late.”

    A glow spread under his skin, intensifying as the earth underneath them began to rumble. It resembled his detonation at the demon invasion, but much stronger. Blood poured from his mouth, dripping from his nose and his eyes like crimson tears. The heat of volatile qi nearly caused it to evaporate

    “Perhaps, things will be better in your next life,” he said.

    A burst of bright light exploded from his body blinding everyone and—

    “Always pretending to be a hero, a martyr,” the thing growled. The Ming Fan of that vision replaced the Ming Fan they knew, taking his place before them. “When will you learn?”

    Ming Fan laughed. “Learn what?” Ming Fan spat. “I repented! I apologized! Isn't that what you always wanted? I made mistakes and—”

    “You don't get to be the hero,” the disembodied voice changed as a figure grew from the shadows. A strange version of Shen Qingqiu stood before Ming Fan. His robes were less layered, his hair not tied as tightly. It was far too relaxed. “So why do you keep acting like one?”

   “What the fuck does that mean?” Ming Fan growled. “Stop using their faces you third rate dream demon asshole!”

    “Dream demon?” Mu Qingfang echoed.

    “The Cang Qiong Sect is the villain,” it continued, jabbing a finger at Ming Fan’s chest. “ You are the villain. It is the role you were given and yet you keep deviating from it.”

    “Will you stop with this bullshit?” Ming Fan asked. “You've made your point.”

    “All those plays at heroics only made things worse, Da-shixiong,” the figure melted into someone else. It was a young man none of them had seen before. He was a bit pale and sickly, streaks of white in his hair. He wore the robes of a Qing Jing Disciple, a gaping hole in his stomach. “Think of how many people you have killed again and again by not sticking to the script.”

    “Cannon fodder nothings that would have lived if you just stuck to the role that was written for you,” Shang Qinghua couldn't help the widening of his eyes as the thing changed to have his face. How wonderful. This was totally going so great right now.

    “Da-shixiong, why couldn’t you just play your part?” now it was Luo Binghe, staring at Ming Fan with watery eyes. “Why—”

    “Get out of my head,” Ming Fan snarled. Suddenly he turned, making eye contact with the peak lords. “ All of you.”

Chapter Text

 The dreamscape around them crumbled as the artifact in Li Qingmei’s hands shattered.

 “What an invasion of privacy,” Ming Fan sat up, fully conscious. He dusted off his robes, entirely unbothered by what they had all witnessed. “As Shang-shishu has once said, ‘consent is sexy’ you know?”

 “What are you?” Shen Qingqiu growled while Shang Qinghua let out a loud guffaw. Ming Fan simply rolled his eyes.

 “Ming Fan, Head Disciple of Qing Jing Peak, third son of the illustrious Ming family, interim Peak Lord, future corpse,” he listed nonchalantly. “Occasionally a cannon fodder scum villain.”

 “You aren’t acting like—”

 “Because I am pissed off by this invasion of my mind,” Ming Fan said. “And the jig is up. I have no need to act like some loyal little starry eyed disciple. It was getting quite sickening, honestly. I would much rather act my age than like some little snot-nosed, idealistic kid.”

 “And that would be?” Shen Qingqiu asked, eyes still narrowed.

 “Considering the many time loops…at least a couple centuries,” Ming Fan replied, letting out a laugh. “I could be your senior, Shizun.”

 “So the time loop is real,” Mu Qingfang said, as if they needed any more confirmation.

 “Unfortunately,” Ming Fan sighed. “It seems when I went through a qi deviation in this life, I regained all the memories of my previous loops. It won’t really help. It just makes the existential dread of what’s to come worse.”

 “And why is that?” Shen Qingqiu asked.

 “Because a good end is impossible for us scum villains,” Ming Fan smiled, empty and clinical. “You saw my mindscape, don’t play dumb now. I have tried everything to prevent the downfall of the sect. Everything but leave. I was going to try that option if a certain peak lord hadn’t suddenly decided to give me the sadistic punishment of staying here.”

 “Wei-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu called out. “Test him for possession.”

 “You really still don’t believe me? After all of that?” Ming Fan laughed, stepping towards Wei Qingwei to place his hand on Hong Jing. The sword didn’t budge and Ming Fan turned towards Shen Qingqiu with a smug expression. “Will you listen to me now or keep dismissing me?”

 “Forgive this master for being surprised at his disciple’s disrespect and blatant disregard for decorum,” Shen Qingqiu whipped out his fan again, letting it cover his face.

 “You’re just still pissed I blew myself up to save Luo-shidi,” Ming Fan said. “I have had many lives to perfect that technique, you know. I know everything possible about specific qi capacity and the limits I had to keep to not die. I did all the calculations to—”

 “Did you invent qi thermodynamics?” Shang Qinghua squawked.

 “I have no idea what you are talking about, Shang-shishu,” Ming Fan replied. “I simply calculated my qi capacity and the amount I would intake from the environment alongside the qi expenditure of the talismans and the array I designed alongside the general qi capacity of the demon elder and his armor so that I could—”

 “Please stop talking,” Shang Qinghua cried. “I feel like I’m in a physics class again. Why are you such a mathematics nerd?”

 “Because you wrote me that way, oh great god of mine,” Ming Fan scoffed. “This is all your fault in the end.”

 “Hey, you can’t blame me!” Shang Qinghua yelled. “How was I supposed to know this would be real?”

 “I suppose you got your karmic punishment in the end,” Ming Fan replied, letting his gaze sweep over Shang Qinghua’s form. “You’re trapped in the most pitifully depressing body possible.”

 “You’re such a brat,” Shang Qinghua let out a huff.

 “Again, who’s fault is that, ‘Airplane-bro’?” Ming Fan said, making Shang Qinghua choke.

 “Where the hell did you learn that?” he squawked. “Don't call me that!”

 Ming Fan burst out laughing. He laughed so hard that he bent over, clutching his sides. It was hysterical, a noise that had been kept building up in his chest for far too long. “Ah, my existence is one big cosmic joke,” he said. “How in Guanyin's name did you create all of this? Were you simply a second rate seer who saw their past life and thought it would make a good story? That has to be it. You're far too stupid to make up such a torturous world.”

 “What is going on?” Liu Qingge asked, finally breaking the two out of the bubble they were in.

 “Ah, right,” Ming Fan cleared his throat, settling down into the calm facade he had before. “Are you all done probing my mind?”

 “Who was it that kept killing you in your memories?” Shen Qingqiu asked.

 “The protagonist,” Ming Fan replied. “The great hero who can do no wrong. Anyone who opposes him is a villain and is destined to a horrible death.”

 “Ming Fan—”

 “He doesn’t exist yet,” Ming Fan said. “But once he does, there will be no way to stop him. Unfortunately, preventing his creation is impossible as well. We're doomed.”

 Ming Fan let out a laugh, turning his gaze away from them and running a hand through his hair. “I'm sorry, Shizun,” he said. “I failed to find a solution. He'll come for you again.”

 “Why?” Shen Qingqiu asked.

 “Because you are the villain,” Ming Fan replied. “You will create him and he will kill you for it.”

 A tear slipped down Ming Fan’s cheek and he rushed to wipe it away. “I've tried so many times,” he said. “But a good end is impossible. Every decision, every choice is meaningless in the end. I could kill myself a thousand times and nothing would ever change. How many more times must I die before this all ends?”

 “We'll prepare for it,” Liu Qingge stated with all the arrogance of a man that never fought someone more powerful than himself. Ming Fan simply laughed.

 “You’ll die trying, Liu-shishu,” Ming Fan said. “You're lucky you even made it this far. If I hadn’t riled Shizun up, he wouldn’t have been able to save you and you would have died cold and sad from your own hubris. Do not take this lightly. Do not presume you are some god on earth.”

 “What—”

 “You weren't meant to survive the Ling Xi Caves,” Ming Fan stated. “Liu-shishu was meant to die of a qi deviation and Shizun was meant to be ostracized and blamed for his death.”

 The room was silent, everyone's eyes turning to Shen Qingqiu. The man said nothing, hiding his face behind his fan.

 “That's in the past, though, isn't it?” Ming Fan laughed as if it were some form of joke. “This one is rather tired and would prefer to go rest in his quarters at Qing Jing Peak.”

 “We're not done,” Liu Qingge said. “You haven't told us who—”

 “There's no point,” Ming Fan replied. “It won't change anything. I'm leaving.”

 With that, Ming Fan turned and walked out the door. Shen Qingqiu let out a sigh, turning to follow him.

~*~

 “So Disciple Ming’s character changed so greatly due to losing his mind,” Shen Qingqiu said as they walked side by side towards Qing Jing Peak. He had wanted to walk in silence, but the fury itching in his chest forced him to speak.

 “If that is easier for Shizun to believe than the truth, then so be it,” Ming Fan replied, so calm and collected. Ming Fan used to stutter with excitement or nerves whenever responding to Shen Qingqiu. “Although, Shizun would need to find a logical reason for this one to know all his darkest secrets if insanity is what plagues this one.”

 “Disciple Ming has truly grown bold,” Shizun stated, gritting his teeth.

 “This one greatly apologizes,” Ming Fan laughed. “Unfortunately, this one had to cut his strings and become a real man in an attempt to save Shizun’s life. One cannot restring themselves into a puppet after learning autonomy.”

 “Who asked Disciple Ming to have such ardent loyalty?” Shen Qingqiu sneered.

 Ming Fan merely glanced at him, a smile on his face. “There was no need to ask,” Ming Fan replied. “This one would give Shizun his loyalty in every lifetime.”

 “Ridiculous.”

 “How so?”

 “It is illogical to choose the same path that leads to death,” Shen Qingqiu stated. “Perhaps Disciple Ming has failed again and again because he refuses to use his brain.”

 “Would Shizun stand by and watch his dear Qi-ge die because of his own inaction?” Ming Fan asked. “There’s no need to answer or to lie. This one already knows the answer. I’m afraid, Shizun, that I may know you better than anyone else in this world now. Logic may be the teaching we follow, but until we reach true divinity, we will not be able to extract out our human emotions and irrational decisions. I would choose to die again and again if it meant my shidi and shimei survived, if it meant you survived. Unfortunately, even my death does not fix that, so I must find a different solution. My motivation is not my own survival, it’s yours.”

 Shen Qingqiu laughed. He couldn’t help it. How could his little whelp of a head disciple grow so bold? How could he stand here as if he were some untouchable immortal? Which one of them was the master and which was the disciple? In what world was Ming Fan meant to concern himself with protecting Shen Qingqiu’s life?

 “Does Disciple Ming think himself an immortal master?” Shen Qingqiu asked.

 “I would say I am the furthest thing from immortal,” Ming Fan replied with a wry smile. “And I would never describe myself as a master. My skills, even now, do not outclass yours, Shizun. I simply know that for whatever reason, I was chosen to endure this divine punishment. It must mean there is something I can do to fix it that no one else can. It's too bad I can't seem to figure it out.”

 “If Disciple Ming’s skills do not outclass this master, perhaps he should look for guidance,” Shen Qingqiu stated. Ming Fan laughed, something real, something closer to the little whelp Shen Qingqiu had selected out of thousands of duds. How dare his disciple think he needed saving? Shen Qingqiu was the greatest tactician of his generation. He would not simply lose. “Disciple Ming should tell this master everything. Another perspective can bring unknown solutions.”

~*~

 Every time Luo Binghe closed his eyes, he saw Ming Fan. He saw the Ming Fan of his dreams, that fallen, broken god begging for forgiveness. It had been so bizarre, bizarre enough that Luo Binghe could not tell if it was all something he had made up in his head or if it was real. Ming Fan had changed since that qi deviation, since that day where Luo Binghe watched in horror as he killed his Da-shixiong. Had Ming Fan actually died? Was that inhuman thing in his dream what is now wearing Ming Fan’s face?

 Sometimes Ming Fan’s gaze would grow distant, as if he was in some world far away from Qing Jing Peak. He would mumble to himself, say strange things, or do strange things. He stopped wearing the jewelry his parents sent him that he used to show off like a proud peacock. He suddenly took to teaching with a fervor that replaced his previous disgust and asocial tendencies. His skills in every area had improved, he stopped doting on Ning Yingying and…

 And he didn’t hate Luo Binghe anymore.

 “What do I need to do to save you so that everyone else is saved, Luo-shidi?”

 Whatever thing was using Ming Fan’s face, no matter how innocent, it was not Luo Binghe’s Da-shixiong. It was not the stuck up idiot that worked himself to the bone only in secret. It was not the boy with a silly crush on his shimei who was jealous of the attention Luo Binghe got. He was not the disciple desperate for his Shizun’s favour, the one with a need to always be number one in everything.

 Luo Binghe had killed him.

 His last words as himself were a complaint about Luo Binghe’s stupidity, his inability to improve and be a proper disciple. His frustration with Luo Binghe, all those stupid emotions, had built up so much that it killed him.

 That knowledge has haunted Luo Binghe since the day Ming Fan awoke with his blank expression and empty gaze. He had tried so hard to deny it, to delude himself into believing that Ming Fan was the same as always, that his drastic changes in behaviour were temporary. Was he truly so despicable, that his existence was enough to murder? Was he such a monster at heart?

 Perhaps his newfound self loathing came from something else. Perhaps it was guilt at the happiness he felt with the new Da-shixiong. He apologized, he held himself accountable, he sacrificed himself for Luo Binghe.

 The soft touch of Ming Fan's fingers on his face, the gentle warmth as his arms enveloped Luo Binghe’s form, even in a dream. How long has it been since he's been touched with such gentleness? He had felt so safe in his arms, his heart racing with shock and secret delight.

 The most selfish part of Luo Binghe was so happy that Ming Fan was dead, that a new, kinder creature had taken its home in his skin. Luo Binghe wished he could tear that part of himself from his being, that he could expel all the disgusting, horrid bits of himself that he's tried so hard to keep suppressed.

 “Do I really have to wear that gaudy overrobe still?” Everyone's attention was taken away from the hallmaster conducting their lesson. There, walking along with Shizun was Ming Fan in all his glory. He seemed fine aside from the pale scars tracking across his skin from his self-detonation. He was wearing simple Qing Jing robes and yet looked rather regal, his posture perfect and his head held high. He looked far more like the Ming Fan in Luo Binghe’s dream than the real Ming Fan. Was he always meant to look like this, or was his body changing to fit the person that took it over?

 “Do you still wish to be head disciple of Qing Jing?” Shizun asked in turn.

 “We both know the answer to that, Shen Qingqiu,” Ming Fan replied and everyone gawked.

 “Da-ge!” Ning Yingying shrieked, rushing to her feet and running to him. The others scrambled to run after her, all tackling Ming Fan in a hug. He didn't budge, making some of the disciples bounce off of him and fall backwards.

 “Why are you all blubbering?” Ming Fan asked.

 “We thought you died!” Mo Yingjie cried through tears and snot streaming down his face.

 “That would have been too easy of a death,” Ming Fan stated with a deadpan expression.

 “Why would you do something like that?” Xue Zhen asked, smacking his shoulder. He stared blankly at her.

 “Why should it matter?” Ming Fan asked. “I did it because I could.”

 “Yeah,” she scoffed in disbelief. “But the little beast—”

 “Is your shidi,” Ming Fan stated. “I would have done the same for any of you. It is my duty as your shixiong to protect you.”

 “Since when was Da-shixiong so filial?” Ru Guiren asked.

 Ming Fan simply laughed at that, a cruel bark of laughter. He covered his mouth as if he hadn't meant to let the sound out. Finally, he let out a sigh, glancing towards Shen Qingqiu. The man simply narrowed his eyes in turn.

 “This disciple has always been rather filial,” Ming Fan finally said. “Perhaps Ru-shidi just never noticed.”

 “Da-ge better never do something that stupid again,” Ning Yingying said, puffing her cheeks out in anger.

 “I'll do as I please,” Ming Fan replied, poking her cheek to let out all the air. Ning Yingying stared at him for a moment, stunned, before she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around his torso again.

 “You can't die, MingMing,” she said, pressing her face into his chest and squeezing tight with her arms. It was a nickname she rarely used, something she hadn't called him since his first qi deviation. “You can't.”

 Something in Ming Fan's face softened and for the first time in years, a small, warm smile appeared on his face. “This one will do his best,” he said, his voice far too soft. “But death is inevitable for all, is it not?”

 Ning Yingying pulled back slightly, lifting her head to look at him. “Da-ge?” She asked softly, her voice trembling a little.

 Ming Fan's expression shuttered and fell back into the blankness they had slowly gotten used to. He carefully pushed Ning Yingying away, a quiet devastation filling her face.

 For a moment, he was there. The Da-shixiong they knew that was slowly fading away into memory. Was Da-shixiong still in there? Had the creature’s hold on his body weakened for a moment?

 Could Luo Binghe fix this and bring him back?

 “Da-ge, do you want to go to the market with us?” Ning Yingying had dragged Luo Binghe along by the arm to where Ming Fan was busy grading a stack of papers. He always seemed to be busy since Luo Binghe joined the peak a few weeks ago. Luo Binghe seemed to only catch glimpses of him flittering about or following behind Shizun. Ning Yingying had said he was in training to take over the introductory lessons and daily training, that he had a lot of pressure on his shoulders. “A'Luo needs some regular clothes to wear for the festival.”

 “A'Luo?” Da-shixiong repeated slowly, setting his brush down. He looked up at them from where he sat, back straight. It was Luo Binghe’s first time seeing him properly. He only saw his back up close before when Luo Binghe followed behind him on the day he was accepted to the peak. He was tall which was obvious even when he was seated simply from the willowy quality of his limbs and torso. His jaw was a bit square, his features sharp. His dark hair was neatly pulled back into a bun, not a strand out of place. He truly looked like a head disciple with the gleaming jade earrings dangling from his ears and the elaborate golden threads sewn into the collar and cuffs of his robes.

 “Da-ge has such good taste,” Ning Yingying said. “He'd be very good at finding something suitable for A'Luo.”

 A light flush of pink filled Da-shixiong’s cheeks and he turned his gaze away for a moment before resting it fully on Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe couldn't help but stiffen under his attention. Nobody really looked at him aside from Ning Yingying, not even Shizun. There was something about Da-shixiong’s eyes that was piercing, a sharp intelligence as if he were studying every detail of Luo Binghe’s being.

 “Does Luo-shidi have money to pay for new robes?” He finally asked, eyes narrowing a tad which only increased his seemingly natural glare.

 “This Yingying was going to buy them as a welcome gift to the peak,” Ning Yingying stated rather proudly, wrapping her arm around Luo Binghe’s shoulders. “A'Luo is this Yingying’s one and only shidi, after all.”

 Da-shixiong scoffed, rising to his feet. “This disciple will have to come to make sure Ning-shimei's money isn't wasted,” he said. “We must be quick. I must finish grading those papers by sunset for Shizun.”

 Ming Fan had grumbled and complained the whole time they were in town. From his obvious glares, Luo Binghe could already tell that Ming Fan was not fond of him. Even so, he picked out something nice for Luo Binghe to wear, saying it would be a waste for his gift to be something of poor taste. He had even bought Luo Binghe a stick of tanghulu alongside Ning Yingying, muttering under his breath all the while. Luo Binghe had found it hilarious at the time. 

 Ming Fan slowly got more and more hostile towards him as time went on, and Shizun’s punishments began to get worse and worse, but deep down, Ming Fan still seemed to regard him as his shidi. Every time he witnessed Luo Binghe’s punishments at the hands of Shizun, he looked away, unable to face it. Perhaps he felt guilty. Ming Fan was a coward, but he was capable of seeing the wrongs occurring before him. Perhaps that was the biggest difference between him and the creature piloting his body. The new Ming Fan was unafraid to speak his mind.

 It was funny how the new Ming Fan’s presence had drawn Shizun’s focus away from Luo Binghe. It had been a long time since he was punished for his shortcomings or was bullied by his sectmates. By being more of a nuisance to Shizun, the new Ming Fan had drawn all his ire to himself.

 “Da-shixiong,” Luo Binghe called out. The thing paused, turning to look at him. Gone were Ming Fan’s dark eyes that would catch the light just right to turn almost amber. Instead, its eyes glowed golden with the qi leaking from Ming Fan’s shredded meridians. Had it ruined Ming Fan’s cultivation? “Can we talk for a moment?”

 “I don't see why not,” he said before turning to Shizun. “I will meet you in the bamboo house in half a shichen.”

 “You dare order me, brat?” Shizun said in response. Everyone's eyes widened, but Ming Fan simply laughed, turning back to Luo Binghe.

 “Shall we go, Luo-shidi?”

 “The grass is spreading out across the plain,” Shizun called out, making Ming Fan pause.

“Each year, it dies, then flourishes again.

It's burnt but not destroyed by prairie fires,

When spring winds blow they bring it back to life.

Afar, its scent invades the ancient road,

Its emerald green overruns the ruined town.

Again I see my noble friend depart,

I find I'm crowded full of parting's feelings.”

Ming Fan raised a brow. “What is Shizun’s reasoning for this?” he asked.

“Chun,” Shizun said. “My succeeding disciple’s name is Ming Wanchun. Ten thousand springs.”

Everyone stared wide-eyed at Ming Fan and Shen Qingqiu. Even Luo Binghe couldn’t help how his jaw slackened. Why would he suddenly give Ming Fan a courtesy name? The Qing generation weren’t anywhere near ascension yet. Did this imposter achieve what the real Ming Fan had been dreaming of his entire life?

How dare he?

“Ten thousand rebirths,” Ming Fan scoffed. “How clever. That’s new. This disciple thanks Shizun for the new name.”

“As succeeding disciple, Disciple Ming is no longer allowed to leave the sect,” Shizun stated.

“Of course, Shizun,” Ming Fan said. “Shall we go, Luo-shidi?”

~*~

 Perhaps it was silly for Luo Binghe to spy on Ming Fan. Not perhaps, it was definitely just silly. He had been off since his parents visited early in the day, handing off fancy teas and pretty trinkets to Shizun as a thank you for giving their son his favour. Ming Fan had worn his nicest robes, the ones he had hand-embroided with golden butterflies and elegant bamboo stalks. He only wore those robes for diplomatic missions where the standing of the other party was higher than that of Cang Qiong. Ming Fan was rather good at navigating the politics of such things, probably due to his upbringing as a noble.

 After the meal with Shizun, his parents had swept him away to speak with him alone and he had returned as someone else.

 Luo Binghe felt embarrassed to admit that he was perhaps a little too observant of Ming Fan. There was a fire in his gaze, something bright and intense, that had extinguished. His expression was oddly blank, his eyes downcast as he trudged back to his quarters. Luo Binghe had never seen Ming Fan as anything other than steadfast and self assured. He had a level of pride as the head disciple of Qing Jing Peak that Luo Binghe believed was impossible to strip away.

 Luo Binghe had been a bit jealous of the way Ming Fan’s Muqin swept him up into her arms, smiling wide and warm. It made him miss his own A’Niang and for a moment, he felt so incredibly angry that Ming Fan seemed to have it all. He was angry that after all the shows of love and affection, Ming Fan seemed entirely unhappy with them.

 Perhaps that was why Luo Binghe followed him when he saw him sneak out of his quarters while Luo Binghe was on lantern duty. He extinguished his lantern, hiding it in a bush before creeping along behind him. Ming Fan stopped at the clearing where the Quiet Pool sat, glowing bright in the darkness from qi and moonlight.

 Ming Fan took off his outer robe and threw it into the Quiet Pool. He watched as the fabric darkened with water, bobbing on the surface before sinking slowly beneath. He was oddly focused, completely transfixed as he watched the robe he had spent so long embroidering disappear. He took off the jade pendant his Fuqin had handed him and threw it in too, alongside the pretty jade earrings he always wore, the ones Luo Binghe liked to watch sway when Ming Fan tilted his head.

 Crouching down by the edge of the water, he pressed his face into his palms.

 “Why can’t I be good enough?” he whispered to nothing in particular. In fact, it was so quiet that he must not have meant to say it aloud at all. His body shook, his shoulders trembling, as his tears dropped into the water, sending ripples through the serene reflection of the full moon.

 Luo Binghe wanted to reach out, to place a hand on his shoulder and sit beside him, but it felt too much like an overstep. Ming Fan spent little time speaking of his personal life or his family. He spent little time showing his feelings, always trying to copy Shizun’s stoic disposition. Luo Binghe wasn't meant to see this, wasn't meant to watch Ming Fan fall apart.

 He learned a few days later from Ning Yingying that Ming Fan was the third son of his family, the son of a concubine on top of all that. Apparently the woman that had accompanied his Fuqin had been his first wife, not Ming Fan’s mother who had died when he was very young. His Fuqin had sent him away to the sect as soon as he showed the slightest promise of a spiritual root.

 “I remember when I joined the sect,” she said. “He was so quiet. He had no idea what to do with himself. I thought it was funny back then, but now I realize how sad it was. All he wanted to do was follow Shizun’s orders, to make him proud.”

 “What is it that Luo-shidi wished to talk about?” Ming Fan asked as they settled into one of the private pavilions.

 “You’re not the real Ming Fan,” Luo Binghe blurted out. Instead of reacting with shock like Luo Binghe expected, Ming Fan’s expression did not change.

 “I suppose that’s one way to put it,” he said. “Luo-shidi would have to be stupid to not notice after the incident with Meng Mo.”

 “Who are you?” Luo Binghe asked. “What did you do with Da-shixiong?”

 “I am Ming Fan,” he replied. “Just not your Ming Fan. Well, not quite. I’m sure he’s mixed up somewhere in here.”

 “What?”

 “Use your brain, Luo-shidi,” Ming Fan said. “You’re a disciple of Qing Jing Peak.”

 “What happened in the dreamscape,” Luo Binghe said. “Those…those deaths. They were real.”

 “Nicely done, Luo-shidi,” Ming Fan grinned, reaching over and ruffling Luo Binghe’s hair. It made Luo Binghe flinch and try to smack his hand away.

 “Why are you smiling so much?” Luo Binghe asked. “You were so hostile to me.”

 “I suppose I am in a strangely good mood,” Ming Fan replied. “I don’t know. My moods switch rather quickly now. I apologize for my hostility, Luo-shidi.”

 “Stop it,” Luo Binghe said. “This feels wrong. Da-shixiong wouldn’t act like this.”

 “Your Da-shixiong was a petty, jealous bastard,” Ming Fan stated.

 “Don’t call him that!” Luo Binghe yelled. “Da-shixiong…da-shixiong wasn’t—”

 “I know what I was like, Luo-shidi,” Ming Fan said. “There’s no need to act as if you miss him. He was a foolish, immature child who didn’t realize his mistakes until it was too late. He also hurt you. I hurt you. Don’t pretend that you don’t hold that grief in your heart.”

 Luo Binghe hated that this imposter was right. A part of Luo Binghe was angry at Ming Fan for his cowardice, for his neglect. Another part of him remembered Ming Fan’s flushed face as he shoved a stick of tanghulu into Luo Binghe’s hands, the nights where he would sit by the Quiet Pool with a blank stare affixed to one of the awful letters his ‘Muqin’ would send, the nights where the light in his room wouldn’t go out until daybreak. Did Ming Fan not deserve the chance to grow, to learn from his mistakes and become someone better? Was he not allowed a second chance?

 “In every lifetime I’ve experienced, I have regretted my actions towards you,” Ming Fan stated. “I won’t continue acting in a way that I know is wrong.”

 “Why should I matter to Da-shixiong?” Luo Binghe asked in disbelief.

 “Why shouldn’t you?” Ming Fan replied.

 It was a simple question that Luo Binghe wanted to laugh at. He wanted to say ‘because I'm the Little Beast, because I make you jealous, because I'm the reason you spent so long scared that your place in the world would slip between your fingers’. If this wasn't his Da-shixiong anymore, what point was there in caring about Luo Binghe? This new Ming Fan didn't have to worry about his place, he had even been named successor.

  Gods, how would Ming Fan feel discovering that? That some alternate, false version of him could accomplish what he spent every waking moment working towards? That this alternate him got it when he didn't even want it? Could Ming Fan see it? Was he trapped in his own body, watching but unable to do anything?

 “Luo Binghe is my shidi,” Ming Fan—Ming Wanchun said. This wasn't Ming Fan. He couldn't keep thinking of him as Ming Fan. “All my shidi and shimei matter to me. Luo-shidi should rejoice that one of the sources of his pain is gone. This Da-shixiong will do his best to never harm Luo-shidi again.”

 Luo Binghe said nothing. After a few moments of silence, Ming Wanchun rose and turned to leave. Luo Binghe stayed where he was, the silence deafening around him. Tears slipped down his face but he didn't try to wipe them away.

 It was something they had learned in theory class. When something dies and comes back, it is never the same. There's always a piece missing. It is why spirits become more vengeful the longer they exist, why fierce corpses lack the ability to think.

 How many pieces had Ming Fan lost, if all those deaths were real? Was it even possible for the real Ming Fan to return?

 Suddenly, Luo Binghe jumped to his feet, running after Ming Wanchun.

 “The dream demon,” he called out. “If all that happened was real, then what did he mean? What did he mean when he called me a halfblood?”

 Ming Wanchun paused.

 “Ah. I forgot about that.”

Chapter Text

   It was a strange thing to have his thoughts, his experiences, so thoroughly bared to the world. Shizun now knew the true extent of his devotion, how deeply it rooted itself into his chest like a weed that a thousand lifetimes could not kill. The man barely commented on it, preferring to hide behind his pretty fan like he usually did. The little rat had seemed rather shocked to see how many times Ming Fan had died, though. Perhaps he thought it had only been once or twice. How foolish of him.

   Then there was Liu Qingge.

   His dear Liu-shishu was the biggest idiot on this side of the Earth. He grew up knowing he was strong, never losing except against his dear Zhangmen-shixiong. He had no idea what it was like to face an insurmountable enemy. Ming Fan wanted to kick his ass just to show him how mortal he was. Shouldn’t that qi deviation have fixed his ego? He always acted so self-assured before dying in the most pathetic way possible.

   Ming Fan knew what it was like to be weak, to crawl around in the dirt like an insignificant ant–ha. He had never been strong and never would be. Not against his enemies, at least. He happened to be against the chosen hero, the great child of the heavens who could do no wrong. What person, no matter how strong, could compete with that?

   Not that Luo Binghe looked particularly godly at the moment with snot and tears running down his face. Did he truly mourn his Da-shixiong? How pitiful to care for someone who abused him. Or was it all an act? Perhaps he was trying to lower Ming Fan’s guard so he will be surprised when he finally—-

   No.

   Luo Binghe is still young. He hasn’t been pushed into the abyss, he hasn’t gotten that godforsaken demonic sword that would twist him up into a monster. There was still time.

(But when had time ever mattered? Nothing he did now would erase what Luo Binghe would become.)

   “Why did he call me a halfblood?” Luo Binghe asked again and, really, Ming Fan did not know how to respond. Luo Binghe knew of his heritage sometime during their disciple years so it wouldn’t be surprising for him to find out now, but no one else was supposed to know, were they? Ming Fan wasn’t supposed to remember these things. He could remember his surprise in all those lives when he discovered his xiao-shidi was an all powerful demon. There was never a world where he knew before it was far too late.

   “Luo-shidi doesn’t know?” Ming Fan asked.

   “No,” Luo Binghe replied. “I asked then, too, and you said it wasn’t the right time to speak of it. What is it? What do you know that I don’t?”

   “Ah…” Ming Fan paused, biting his lip. “Well, Luo-shidi is—”

   His throat tightened and he choked, letting out a strangled wheeze. He brought a hand to his throat, feeling the tense muscles under his fingers.

   “Luo—”

   He swayed on his feet, his vision blurring for a moment. Luo Binghe reached out, steadying him with hands clamped tight on his shoulders. “Da-shixiong!” he called out, far too much concern in his voice.

   “Of course,” Ming Fan wheezed. “Of course I can’t say it. That would alter the plot too much. It can’t allow us to win.”

   “What are you saying?” Luo Binghe asked. Ming Fan’s vision cleared enough for him to see Luo Binghe’s face. Had he grown? He wasn’t as chubby-faced and scrawny as Ming Fan remembered. He barely looked like a little boy now.

   You’re running out of time.

   You knew remembering it all wouldn’t change anything.

   “I can’t tell you what he meant,” Ming Fan said. “How funny. You’ll find out soon anyway.”

   “What?” Luo Binghe repeated. Gods, he may have grown taller but his brain hadn’t grown any bigger. “You can’t tell me? Why?”

   “Divine punishment?” Ming Fan guessed. What else could it be, at this point? “Perhaps…Luo-shidi should brush up on some history.”

   “History?” Luo Binghe furrowed his brows.

   “Yes,” Ming Fan said. “Luo-shidi should research the past accomplishments of his Shizun, Shishus, and Shigus. The ones that gave them their illustrious titles. Perhaps…you should look into the mission that made the Xiu Ya Sword a renowned name.”

   Luo Binghe gave him a wide eyed, blank stare in return. He can't have gained his brains from whatever he ate in the Endless Abyss in all those lives. He would figure it out and then this would no longer be Ming Fan’s problem. Things would continue as they had in every life before and Ming Fan would eventually find himself bleeding to death, or eaten by ants, or maybe even dissolved by acid water.

   Has he died from acid before? He can't remember.

   “Da-shixiong,” Luo Binghe was holding his wrist. Had he always been this touchy and clingy in his other lives? It seemed like he was always grabbing hold of Ming Fan like a sticky burr these days. “Was everything in that dream real? Everything?”

   “In some lifetime it was,” Ming Fan replied. “It—”

   “Ming Fan,” Luo Binghe said. “I forgive you. For everything.”

   “I…” Ming Fan paused. “I don't understand.”

   “You blame yourself for everything,” Luo Binghe said. His voice was soft, his ugly, bug eyes all gooey. He held Ming Fan’s hands, his skin almost unbearably hot against Ming Fan’s cold fingers. “It's not your fault. Not your mother's death, not those failed lives, not your family's failure to value you.”

   “What the hell are you talking about?” Ming Fan hissed.

   “You've always been enough,” Luo Binghe said. “Even if they never saw it. You have always been so exceptional, you just never had someone to tell you.”

   Luo Binghe reached out, gingerly wiping the tears away from Ming Fan’s cheeks. Why was he crying? He wasn’t—this wasn't—

   His new shidi was strange. He was a quiet, meek little thing that preferred to cling to Ning Yingying. Shizun didn't seem particularly happy with Ning Yingying’s choice either, but he had been evaluated to have strong spiritual roots and anyone could be molded into something better with enough work. Ming Fan definitely had.

   After a few weeks, he finally got the chance to meet Luo Binghe. He was a scrawny little thing with wild, curly hair and a round, chubby face. His eyes were big and dark, shining with the light of life and a guileless innocence that made Ming Fan want to laugh. Ming Fan felt strangely pulled towards him, like he could not draw his eyes away.

   Ning Yingying gave him all kinds of flattery to make him help with their little adventure into town. She wasn't allowed to leave the mountain without a senior disciple or hallmaster chaperoning her, after all. Even so, he couldn't stop watching Luo Binghe. His features were surprisingly delicate, his lashes long and thick. It didn’t quite fit with the beggars and street rats he was used to seeing, the ones that covered their faces in dirt to hide any trace of desirability from the people that would sell it for profit. There was something familiar about his face, about the shape of his straight nose and the curve of his refined brow. He—

   “Stop staring so much, Da-ge,” Ning Yingying whispered, nudging him in the ribs. “You can't change your favourite martial sibling.”

   “I'm not staring,” Ming Fan replied. “And why are you talking about favourites? Mo-shidi isn't even here.”

   That earned him a harsher jab to the ribs.

   “Yes, you are,” Ning Yingying stated, a sly smile on her face. “I've never seen you this interested in someone.”

   “He looks familiar,” Ming Fan replied. “That's all.”

   “I'd hope he looks familiar,” she laughed. “He's been on the peak for a few weeks.”

   “No,” Ming Fan said. “It's something else.”

   There was something fascinating about Luo Binghe that he couldn't quite figure out. It was frustrating to not know the answer, to be stuck on something so stupid and probably simple. Shizun would be disappointed in his lack of wit and deduction. While Ning Yingying dragged them to different clothing stores and vendors, Ming Fan tried to figure out what it was.

   “Da-ge, I want tanghulu,” Ning Yingying tugged on his sleeve, pouting her lips. Ming Fan wanted to roll his eyes at her fake display. He went to the vendor, buying two sticks. He handed one to Ning Yingying and held the other out to Luo Binghe.

   He stared at it with wide eyes, a flush filling his sun-tanned cheeks. He tentatively reached out to take it, staring at the candied hawthornes as they glistened in the sunlight. After a moment, a smile bloomed on his face and his eyes lit up with a thousand stars that seemed impossibly bright. Ming Fan felt his heart begin to race, his breath caught in his throat.

   He knew what it was. He had seen this face in scrolls and paintings, has heard the name of this person a thousand times when studying both history and cultivation theory.

   It was Master Su Xiyan's face.

   He knew. He had always known, deep down. Why didn't he remember this before? Why—

   “Hey! Da-shixiong!” Ming Fan crashed into Luo Binghe’s arms, his legs growing weak as the world spun. Something warm slipped down his cheeks and dripped from his nose. Through a blurry gaze, he could see Luo Binghe cupping his face, trying his best to wipe it away.

   Perhaps Ming Fan didn’t give his younger self enough credit. Perhaps he had more brains than he had thought. But then, why didn’t he remember until now? He could remember every stark detail of those lives where he died, but he couldn’t recall a simple part of the one where he was still alive? How silly. Was he forgetting something as useless as this? He couldn’t tell Luo Binghe his heritage anyway so why—

   “Su Xiyan,” Ming Fan coughed out, blood slipping past his lips. “Your mother. I’ve always known. I was afraid you’d take my place because you were the son of a famous cultivator.”

   “Da-shixiong, you’re qi deviating,” Luo Binghe said, uncaring of what Ming Fan told him.

   “Are you listening to me?” Ming Fan asked. “You wanted to know—”

   “Not if it will kill you,” Luo Binghe replied. “The real Da-shixiong is still there. You can’t die. I can’t kill you.”

   You already have a million times, Ming Fan wanted to say. Oh, how sweet his Luo-shidi was when they were young, so selfless and tender hearted. How much longer would he see the world as if it were sweet as tanghulu? How much longer until he realizes how rotten Ming Fan is, how rotten they all are? How much longer until he decides that they should all die? How much longer must Ming Fan wait? How much longer must he get attached until he’s finally stabbed through the heart again and again and again and—-

   “Da-shixiong,” Were Luo Binghe’s hands always so warm? They felt so nice against his face, matching the warmth of the blood dripping from everywhere.

   “Why do you care, Luo-shidi?” Ming Fan asked. “Why do you care if I’m alive or dead? Why do you care if your little snot-nosed Da-shixiong still exists or not? Haven’t you been beaten enough to bite the hand that feeds you?”

   “Da-shixiong deserves a second chance,” Luo Binghe stated. That made Ming Fan laugh at the horrible irony of it all. He’d had second chances, so many. It didn’t matter. “I forgave Da-shixiong for his actions. Forgiveness gives both parties the chance to start anew.”

   “Hah…you’re such a good little hero,” Ming Fan grinned. “So righteous and sweet. We’ll see how long that forgiveness lasts.”

   “I need to get you to Qian Cao,” Luo Binghe said. “The blood isn’t stopping.”

   Ming Fan stared into Luo Binghe’s eyes, not the blood red ones of the demon he’d become, but the dark pools of night that they were now, the ones he remembered across lifetimes of disciple years. They were deeply set in his sockets, making shadows that left them as endless abysses. When he tilted his head up to the light, suddenly a million stars would break out across them, creating a galaxy of wonderment. He always looked up at Ming Fan when they were younger, always so scrawny. Ming Fan had gotten used to Luo Binghe looking at him with stars in his eyes until the boy surpassed him. He used to hate it, the way he looked at him so full of adoration even as he threatened to pull everything out from under Ming Fan. Now, they seemed like the only proof that Luo Binghe had once seen him as good. Once upon a time, Ming Fan was worthy of being the focus of the universe in Luo Binghe’s gaze.

   “You have your father’s eyes,” Ming Fan said. “I’ve always thought they were so beautiful.”

   “What?” Luo Binghe repeated that silly little word. He said it so often, you’d think it was his favourite word in the whole world.

   “Keep looking at me with those starry eyes,” Ming Fan said. “Let me stay the center of your universe. Perhaps then this will all be fixed.”

   Ming Fan let his head lay against Luo Binghe’s shoulder as the world faded out of view. They had gotten broader, too.

   He truly was running out of time.

~*~

   “Keep looking at me with those starry eyes, let me stay the center of your universe,” a voice whispered lowly into his ear. “Who knew Da-shixiong was such a poet.”

   “I thought I told you to get out of my head, Meng Mo,” Ming Fan hissed.

   “How rude, Da-shixiong,” Luo Binghe said, faking a pout. It was the Luo Binghe that haunted his dreamscape before. The tall, full-grown beast dressed in black robes and soaked in blood. “I can be a poet too, you know.”

   “There is one that I love in a far, far land,” he said, tracing his fingers over Ming Fan’s jaw. “There is something that harrows me, tied in the depths of my heart.

    So far is the land that I cannot visit him,

    I can only gaze in longing, day on day.

   So deep the sorrow that it cannot be torn away,

   Never a night but I brood on it, hour by hour. 

   And on such a night as this, when the lamp grows dim, 

   lying alone, waiting for dawn to break.

   In the autumn sky, with the tempest at its height, 

   If I do not learn what the fasting Dhutas preach, 

   How shall I banish the thoughts that rise from the past?”

   “Do you have to keep messing with me?” Ming Fan asked.

   “You didn’t like that one?” Luo Binghe asked, a toothy grin spreading across his face. “How about another one? No water is enough when you’ve crossed the vast sea,

   No cloud is beautiful but that which crowns Mount Wu’s peak.

   Many times I've passed through the flowers, yet I spare them no glance, 

   For half my fate is in cultivation, and the other half, in you.”

   “You end up being a spectator to the worst orgy in the world for the rest of your existence, Meng Mo,” Ming Fan spat. “Knock it off.”

   “Da-shixiong, how can you keep spurning me like this?” Luo Binghe said. “Do you know how long it took to find you? There are so many Ming Fan’s that look like you, but only one you.”

   He stepped closer, stroking Ming Fan’s hair. “My one and only Da-shixiong,” he said. “I missed you.”

   “Which Luo-shidi are you?” Ming Fan asked.

   “Haven’t I told you not to call me that, Da-shixiong?” his eyes glowed blood red in the darkness.

   “And yet you can call me Da-shixiong?” Ming Fan asked. “Isn’t that rather hypocritical?”

   “What is the name this new Shizun gave you? Wanchun?” Luo Binghe said. “What a pretty name for something like you. Those scars are new.”

   He traced his fingers over the scars outlining his meridians. He took Ming Fan’s hand, bringing it up to his face. “You have your arm again too,” he said. “How fortunate for you.”

   “Ah, you’re that Luo-shidi,” Ming Fan said.

   “I told you not to call me that,” he growled. “I should be your one and only Luo Binghe. Was I that insignificant to you? After everything, I really was just a joke.”

   He wrapped an arm around Ming Fan’s waist, pulling him close. “You meant everything to me. You sacrificed your arm for me, you nearly died trying to pull me out of the abyss,” he said. “I thought you cared about me, but when I returned you had already moved on to that Bai Zhan brute of yours.”

   “So you killed me for it?” Ming Fan asked.

   “Shizun was horrible to me, the sect failed me, the cultivation world stood by as that monster got to grow powerful and mistreat me,” Luo Binghe said. “I thought you were the one exception, but you failed me too.”

   “Xin Mo really messed up your mind,” Ming Fan stated with a laugh. “For you to be so obsessed with me. You killed me, Luo-shidi, rather brutally too. Was watching me mourn my lover and all those dear to me and then witnessing the light fade from my eyes not enough for you? There’s nothing left for you to do to me.”

   “You get to start over,” he said. “With a new Luo-shidi and a new sect. You get to have a second chance while I am left to rot. How is that fair?”

   “A second chance?” Ming Fan asked. “Shouldn’t you know the end that comes for me in every life if you’ve been searching for me all this time? My second chances are nothing but punishment, nothing but an opportunity for you to make me suffer again. You win, Luo-shidi. You get to kill me as many times as you please in any way you want.”

   “I want you to suffer by my hand only,” Luo Binghe replied. “Just like you did when I stabbed your chest with Xin Mo and watched you die.”

   “Ah,” Ming Fan said. “This isn’t real.”

   “What?” Luo Binghe growled.

   “You stabbed me with a poisoned spear and choked me to death,” Ming Fan replied. “This could have at least been fact checked if this was meant to be a half decent illusion. Is this my punishment for telling Luo-shidi his mother’s identity? The quality is worse than the first one.”

   “Why do you refuse to believe I am real?” the fake Luo Binghe yelled. “Have you truly gone mad to not recognize me?”

   “I know it isn’t you, Luo-shidi, because you would never quote poetry properly,” Ming Fan grinned in the face of his murderer. “Luo-shidi never had the mind for Qing Jing Peak—”

   Xin Mo stabbed through his dantian, bringing searing pain that echoed like an old memory. Ming Fan simply laughed as the figure of Luo Binghe melted like candle wax.

~*~

   It seemed that telling Luo Binghe about his demonic heritage, even in a roundabout way, had consequences. At least he hadn’t died again from it. Unfortunately, he seemed to have karmic punishment through Shang Qinghua appearing in his recovery room.

   “Look, bro, you need to be more mindful of the plot,” Shang Qinghua said before popping a melon seed into his mouth. “Do you know how many system errors I got? I thought I was going to die, but apparently it was just you being an idiot.”

   “How would I know what I can and cannot say?” Ming Fan asked. “I don’t have a little box of text telling me what to do. Besides, I found a loophole.”

   “You almost fucking died,” Shang Qinghua replied. “What happens when you die, huh? Does everything start over again? I don’t want to suffer through growing up in this xianxia world again.”

   “You don’t show up in most of my lives,” Ming Fan said. “Perhaps you would be back in your original world if I died.”

   “I don’t know if that’s any better,” Shang Qinghua muttered to himself. “What was so important that you had to find a loophole?”

   “Telling Luo Binghe about his demonic heritage,” Ming Fan replied.

   “But he’s supposed to know already,” Shang Qinghua said. “He defeats Tian Chui and then Meng Mo…oh. You killed Tian Chui. He doesn’t know.”

   “Yep,” Ming Fan replied. “Apparently helping keep the plot intact still gets me almost killed.”

   “Duh,” Shang Qinghua said. “It’s supposed to be a shocking reveal to everyone when Luo Binghe reveals himself to be a demon during his revenge. You’re not supposed to tell him.”

   “In your outline, was I meant to know about Luo Binghe’s parentage?” Ming Fan asked.

   “No,” Shang Qinghua replied. “You were just a canon fodder side character that I designed based on this annoying classmate of mine. Why?”

   “Because this timeline’s Ming Fan figured out who he was,” Ming Fan said. “I remember realizing who his mother was. I knew.”

   “What? No, that doesn’t make sense,” Shang Qinghua said. “No one in my novel had a high enough IQ to put any of that toget…her…this isn’t my novel. You figured out fucking qi thermodynamics, this can’t possibly be my novel. This world is real.”

   “Congrats, Shang-shishu, you figured out that you are indeed a living, breathing person,” Ming Fan said.

   “You’re such a little shit,” Shang Qinghua said. “I definitely didn’t write you to be this annoying.”

   He sat down, grabbing a handful of melon seeds from his pouch and stuffing them in his mouth like a hamster. He chewed them with furrowed brows, his nose scrunching up to make him look rather ugly.

   “Does you knowing mean anything?” Shang Qinghua asked, spitting out bits of seed as he spoke.

   “It might explain why I can remember all my lives this time,” Ming Fan replied. “I’ve never been able to before, not all of them. I also didn’t remember knowing until after I gave Luo Binghe a hint about his heritage. There may be other memories from this timeline that I can’t remember.”

   “So there’s a glitch that the system tried to repair, but it resulted in…this,” Shang Qinghua said, vaguely gesturing to Ming Fan who simply blinked back at him. “Dude, you’re so creepy. At least ‘little baby disciple you’ was kinda cute. Your facial expressions are terrifying now.”

   “Glad to know you haven’t stopped being a cowardly rat,” Ming Fan replied, trying to slip out of bed.

   “Woah woah woah,” Shang Qinghua set down his bag of melon seeds, rushing over to support Ming Fan. Ming Fan was a bit surprised to feel sturdy muscle hiding under Shang Qinghua’s robes. “You literally have had qi deviation after qi deviation lately. Should you be standing up right now? Why don’t you rest a little bit?”

   “I haven’t properly rested in years, Qinghua,” Ming Fan replied. “I need to get back to Qing Jing Peak so that everyone doesn’t make a scene thinking I am dying again.”

   “Qinghua?” Shang Qinghua laughed. “This is what I mean about you being creepy. You’ve still got a baby face, Ming-shizhi. You shouldn’t be talking about such things, it makes my heart ache.”

   “Ugh, you sound like Mu-shishu,” Ming Fan replied. “He tried to make an argument about how I am ‘just a child’ and that I should ‘rely on my martial uncles and aunts’.”

   “Well, yeah,” Shang Qinghua huffed. “Look, bro, you’re the only person here that I can commiserate with. Consider this Qinghua as your number one support. We’re going to figure out what’s so special about this timeline and make it a good end, alright? It’s not just you anymore.”

   “You almost sounded heroic,” Ming Fan said.

   “Shut up, you asshole,” Shang Qinghua replied as he helped walk Ming Fan out the door and towards Qing Jing Peak.

~*~

   A few days later, the official induction and naming ceremony was performed for Ming Fan. Shen Qingqiu pinned his hair with the succeeding disciple guan and bestowed him with the ceremonial outer robe that would identify him as the next Qing Jing Peak Lord. He announced his new courtesy name to all, the other peak lords watching on with varying expressions.

   “Wow, MingMing, you really worked hard,” Bao Guiying stated, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as if nothing had changed. She had a big grin on her face, eyes bright and carefree. “It was obvious you would be the first to be named an official successor.”

   “Did you agree to this?” Zhu Zhangwei asked softly. There was something strange about his expression. He was staring too closely at Ming Fan’s face, studying it in a way that he hadn't before. “Are you not leaving anymore?”

   “This one will have to trouble his martial siblings with his presence,” Ming Fan replied.

   “What trouble?” Liu Mingyan scoffed. She still kept his distance from him a bit, but the lack of adverse reactions from Ming Fan recently had resulted in her slowly moving closer and trying to bridge the strange gap between them. “Surely Zhu-shidi is delighted at the news.”

   A flush of red crept up Zhu Zhangwei’s neck and his eyes widened. He shoved Liu Mingyan and she tugged on his ponytail in return, grabbing it close to the guan so she could then push the metal hairpiece into his skull.

   “I didn't know Zhu-shidi was so invested in my company,” Ming Fan said.

   “After you kissed him?” Liu Mingyan laughed. “Why wouldn't he be?”

   Hah.

   What?

   When did he…

   Oh God.

   “To have such a pretty cultivator, one of the shining stars of our generation, decide to focus his attention on him,” Liu Mingyan had continued, clasping her hands dramatically. “Why, who wouldn't be seduced by Ming-di?”

   Ming Fan kind of wanted that alternate dimension Luo Binghe to come and kill him right now. Why was he forgetting such important things lately? He has an eidetic memory, for gods sake. He should have remembered—

   He traced the rivets of Zhu-er’s scars with his bloodied fingertips. Oh, how he missed him, how he hated that any thought of him brought back the memory of his death-slackened face. He wished he could remember this, this beautiful face that held his heart so tightly, that squeezed it enough to show it was still beating. Zhu-er had made him feel so alive in a way nothing in any other lifetime had.

   “I did it, Zhuzhu,” he said, his body numb as he collapsed to the courtyard. “I changed it.”

   Zhu-er held him tight, his body warm, his heart racing under his skin. He couldn't help but grin, but laugh. Why must he be seeing him now when it was already too late?

   “It's too bad,” he said. “The timeline will reset soon and none of it will matter. I will be back to square one.”

   Will he remember again? Will he remember Zhu-er's face? Will he–

   Ming Fan cupped his face. If this was the end, if he would forget his lover again, he would at least use the last moments he had.

   “I hope, one day, one lifetime, you'll keep your promise,” he said, pressing their lips together, trying his best to convey his final message.

   Remember me. Please find me again or let me find you.

   I’m so tired of being alone.

   Ming Fan nearly collapsed to the floor, but his stringent hold on his self control prevented it. He did his best to keep his expression blank, Liu Mingyan’s teasing filtering through his brain entirely unprocessed. Zhu Zhangwei’s face was red, his body angled away in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. Ming Fan closed his eyes for a moment, doing his best to regain his composure.

   “My apologies, Zhu-shidi,” Ming Fan said. “I do not know what came over me then. It won’t—”

   “There’s no need!” he cried, reaching out to keep Ming Fan from bowing. He stumbled in his efforts, staring at Ming Fan with their faces only a few fen apart. Ming Fan could see the nick in his brow from the time he crashed into a weapon display, the claw mark on his neck from the vengeful spirit they had vanquished together. “There’s…there’s no need to apologize, Ming-shixiong. You were half dead. I won’t hold it against you.”

   He stood up after fully regaining his balance, hands still gripping Ming Fan’s arms tight. His face was somehow redder, a flush that went from his ears to his chest. “I…” he cleared his throat, his gaze hardening. “I am just glad you are alright.”

   Ming Fan found his brain to be empty of any words he could supply in response. He let his mouth open and close once in an effort to respond, hoping for some reflexive answer, but nothing came. What should he say? How should he act? Which version of himself was good for this situation? He could no longer act deranged, but which version was—

   “Guiying made tanghulu with those candied kumquats that you like in celebration,” Qin Huizhen said. She was watching him too closely too. Perhaps they all were. 

   Why would they scrutinize him so much now? He was just one of their martial siblings. Were they unhappy that he was chosen as successor? He had never been properly named as such before, he always just happened to be head disciple when disaster struck. Perhaps they never actually liked him much—but then why would they have been against him leaving the sect? Perhaps they wanted a proper placeholder—but then why would they argue that there wouldn't be a better replacement? Was he acting strange still? That must be it. How did the snot-nosed little Ming Fan of this life act before? He must have been somewhat tolerable if people seemed to miss him.

   All the peak lords thought him insane—and he is—but they believe him because they witnessed the horrors of his memories. The head disciples would not believe such a thing. They would think him mad and not listen and then they would all be dead again—but listening to him hadn't kept them alive either so perhaps it was—-

   “Ming-shidi,” Qin Huizhen gently smoothed out the wrinkles of his new outer robe. She was a pretty young woman with soft features and a disarming smile that she was not afraid to use during negotiations. She had looked magnificent in bridal red, standing side by side with a beaming, ecstatic Bao Guiying. Would he get to witness that again? To be invited to the whole affair had been honourous enough with how distant they seemed from him, so far out of reach. “I am glad to know that you will be the next Qing Jing Peak Lord. You will do Shen-shibo justice in every regard.”

   “No more than you would do Zhangmen-shibo justice,” Ming Fan replied. With only a few years left until the end of the world, he probably would not see her ascend to the title of succeeding disciple, but she would be a magnificent sect leader. If he could just keep Luo Binghe away long enough—-

   “Why are you frowning?” Bao Guiying pressed the crease between his brows with her finger, smoothing it out as best she could. “This is a happy occasion. Don't think of sad things like paperwork or duty during a celebration. That can wait until after. There is all the time in the world for you to stress, MingMing. You’re rather skilled at it.”

   “You stress too much, Ming-shixiong,” Du Cheng added. “It isn't good for your health, especially with how prone to qi deviations you have become. Please be gentle with yourself.”

   “Gentle?” Ming Fan repeated.

   “We can't have our xiao-shixiong collapsing under his new duties,” Wu Yin said.

   “I’d rather not have to deal with one of your annoying shidi again,” Zheng Zhihao added, shoving a stick of tanghulu into his hand as he bit off a piece of his own. “Every time you have a qi deviation, I have to deal with one of your temporary replacements and they’re always so dreadful.”

   “And I am not?” Ming Fan asked.

   “Of course not,” Zheng Zhihao replied. “You take extra care with your work and you’re knowledgeable about talismans, arrays, and alchemy so you don’t mess up my work.”

   “Enough about that,” Bao Guiying said, shoving Zheng Zhihao away. The man let out an indignant squawk but still stepped back. “Eat my tanghulu that was made with love. You’ve gotten too skinny. MingMing needs to stay big and strong now that he’s going to be a peak lord.”

   “I’m not from Bai Zhan or Ku Xing, Bao-shimei,” Ming Fan replied. “I don’t need a lot of muscle.”

   “Oh hush,” Bao Guiying said. She squished his face. “You should still be our chubby-faced xiao-shixiong. You’re growing up too fast.”

   “Yeah,” he laughed. “I grew up overnight.”

   “You may be our shixiong, Ming-shixiong,” Li Hai spoke up. “But you’re still our xiao-di as well. Let us take care of you a little, please.”

   “We did not do a good job of that for the longest time,” Qin Huizhen said. “But that ends now. Rely on us, Ming-shidi, as much as we rely on you.”

   Ming Fan said nothing, instead taking a bite out of his tanghulu. He did his best to smile even as nothing but bitterness filled his mouth. Why? Why would they do this now? Why even do it at all? He was their martial brother, but they were never close, not until they were forced to depend on him in the midst of war and horror. Even then, most of them kept their distance. Only—only Zhu-er ever—-

   Ming Fan had never been up to par for them to associate with him closely as disciples. What did this Ming Fan have that he did not have in all those other lives? Why was everyone trying so hard to hold so tightly to him? He was never—--

   He was never good enough. Ming Fan wanted to scream as he threw his outer robe into the Quiet Pool. He was never going to be enough, never never never never.

   He stared at the ugly, gaudy pendant Fuqin had given him, the gold inlay of Guanyin’s face mocking him. He chucked it into the lake, ripped his earrings out hard enough to tear the skin and threw them in too. If he could, he would jump in after it all and sink to the bottom. Why was he never good enough? Why did he try so hard when he knew they would never love him?

   Ming Fan was never going to be loved.

   “Why am I never good enough?” he croaked, crouching to the ground as hot tears streamed down his face. Why was he not lovable? Why was he so different that everyone stayed so far away? He did what they asked of him, he never faltered, but he was still not enough. What was so wrong with him that no one could look at him with affection?

   He bit his lip until it bled, trying to hold back his sobs. It was unbecoming of a young master, of a cultivator, of a scholar, to be so emotional. His feelings had always been an inconvenience for others. Fuqin used to hate how strongly he felt things, how hard it was to bury the emotions that built up in his chest until they burst out. He had worked so hard to get better at it, to follow Shizun’s lead, but it seems it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t quite good enough, not to Fuqin, perhaps not to Shizun.

   Would Shizun replace him soon? He must know Luo-shidi’s identity, his parentage. How lucky the boy was, to come from a prestigious bloodline but still get to be raised with the loving care of a mother who saw him as her whole world. He would keep improving, would surpass Ming Fan because there was something about Luo Binghe that made him easy for people to love, even as they looked at him with jealousy or disgust. Ming Fan knew it was only a matter of time.

   When that day comes, he really will jump into the Quiet Pool.

   “Ah, you’re such a crybaby,” Bao Guiying said, wiping away Ming Fan’s tears and squishing his face. She said it teasingly, a soft smile on her face, something more gentle than the easy smile she always wore. “Such a cute xiao-shixiong we have. Smile, MingMing. It’s a good day.”

   He hugged her, burying his face in her neck. She flinched in surprise but wrapped her arms tightly around him, squeezing him until his bones creaked. He had always wondered what it felt like to be the recipient of her crushing hugs. She never did such a thing to him before, never saw him as close enough to do so. Another set of arms wrapped around him and he looked up to see Zhu Zhangwei. The boy smiled at him, that strange smile he rarely used.

   “You did such a good job, Ming-shixiong,” he said. “Congratulations.”

   Ming Fan opened his mouth, letting out a sob as he turned to wrap his arms around Zhu Zhangwei’s shoulders. Zhu Zhangwei stroked his hair and gently ran his hand over his shoulder blades. “You’ve done so well,” he repeated.

   How much of a fool was he?

   Had he always been enough for them?

   “This isn’t quite the display I was expecting,” Ming Fan flinched at the sound of a voice he hadn’t heard in a long time. He lifted his head, turning to see a newly arrived entourage. At the head of it stood his Fuqin, alive and well with that cold, uncompromising expression on his face.

   “Seems San-di is still rather emotional,” Er-ge said from beside him.

   Goddammit.

Chapter Text

   “You smile like a little demon,” Madame Rui stated, her blood red lips pulled into a severe frown. “It’s rather ugly and reflects poorly on your family. You will not be able to be let out in public if you cannot show a good face.”

   Ming Fan stared up at her, brows furrowed in confusion. What was wrong with his smile? A’niang had never said anything before so why did his new A’niang not like it?

   “Close your mouth,” she spat. “Don’t bare your teeth like a wild animal.”

   Ming Fan tried, but he didn’t really feel like smiling anymore. His eyes were stinging and his nose burned. He wasn’t a wild animal. He wasn’t—

   “Do you wish to make your Fuqin happy?” Madame Rui asked. Ming Fan nodded his head, sniffling back the tears that wanted to spill down his face. He had to make Fuqin happy. Er-ge had told him many times that Fuqin’s poor moods were because of him, that Fuqin would be happier if he wasn’t such an inconvenience. “Then learn to be less of a disgrace.”

   Ming Fan did his best to practice the proper smile, even with the tears running down his face.

   “You can't even speak properly,” Madame Rui spat, the bamboo switch smacking Ming Fan’s palms and setting them alight with pain. “What elegant young master are you to be speaking like some servant? Recite it again.”

   Ming Fan did as she said until he was halted by another smack to his palms. He took a sharp breath through his nose, fighting the instinctive burning in his eyes. He opened his mouth, starting from the beginning again, keeping his voice level, using inflection where Madame Rui told him it was important, kept his voice clear even around the tightening of his throat from the burning fire that pulsed under the skin of his palms.

   Another strike bit into his skin and he paused again.

   “You sound inhuman,” she stated, voice dripping with acid. “When will you learn? Do it properly or you’ll never be of any use.”

   He started again, trying to remember what made words sound human within the strict rules she had outlined.

   “Can you even do the most basic of things well?” she asked, staring down at his calligraphy, uncaring of his blistered fingertips and cramped hand from shichen of writing. “You can’t brew tea, can’t smile, can’t even speak, and now you can’t write either? How incompetent are you? Do you really wish to bring your Fuqin disgrace?”

   Ming Fan stared at the characters on the page, at the smear of blood from his hand. Madame Rui crumpled the page, throwing it at his face. He continued to just stare.

   “Such a freak,” she said to the room, curling her lip in a sneer. “There truly is something defective about you, isn’t there? So stupid and useless. Must be your mother’s filthy blood.”

   She grabbed the ink stone, smacking it against the table so that it would snap in half. She grabbed Ming Fan’s face, nails digging into the soft flesh of his cheeks. When he met her gaze, he did his best to smile at her the way she wanted. She simply looked back with disgust. “Do it again,” she said.

   “Ah,” Ming Fan felt his muscles contract on reflex into that perfect smile. It was a small thing, only enough to show the slightest presence of his dimples and the smallest flash of teeth. “I did not expect to get such important visitors to such a ceremony.”

   Zhu Zhangwei kept a tight grip on his forearm, giving it a soft squeeze. It seemed this body had not forgotten the muscle memory of what his family had beat into it. He felt his back straighten even more, the muscles taut enough that it almost hurt.

   “To not receive an invitation was a surprise,” Madame Rui stated, putting on her pretty smile and soft demeanor that she showed off to the world like the perfect mask. Surely no one knew how cruel she was inside their own home, how even thinking of her brought back the phantom pain of a switch on his palms or the backs of his calves. “After all, our son has received such a great honour.”

   “To think our San-di would be awarded such a prestigious title,” Da-ge said. He walked over, placing a hand on Ming Fan’s shoulder. Everyone was silent, waiting for something to happen. Had Ming Fan truly become so deranged that they thought he would explode from this? None of them even knew—

   “It was an expected outcome,” Zhu Zhangwei said from beside him. He stepped forward, knocking away Da-ge’s hand not unkindly. “Ming-shixiong’s skill is evident to anyone who meets him. Lord Ming should be proud.”

   “Perhaps if San-di did not make such a strange name for himself,” Er-ge said. “Demon of Qing Jing Peak? It’s a rather ominous title, don’t you think? What did you do to deserve that title, didi? Surely not something uncouth.”

   “I cut off a demon’s head and showed it to the nobleman that hired us to vanquish it,” Ming Fan replied in that perfect cadence, although it was still off. He had never quite learned how to sound human like Madame Rui had wanted. Perhaps it was because deep down he wasn’t one. “It was not my fault the demon was wearing his concubine’s skin.”

   A cold laugh erupted from Ming Fan’s chest. It wasn’t meant to come out cold. He probably wasn’t even meant to laugh, but that situation had been so ironically hilarious. He couldn’t help it.

   “So the title isn’t unearned,” Da-ge said. He was looking at Ming Fan strangely. Why? What was he doing that was wrong? He was smiling as he should—or was this a situation where he wasn’t meant to smile? The topic had been quite dark, but he couldn’t seem to remove the expression from his face.

   “Ming-shidi is capable and fierce in battle which has led to that silly title being attributed to him,” Qin Huizhen said, her diplomatic smile on her face. Ha. That probably wasn’t good. “It’s rather…false in its characterization of him. Ming-shidi is a reliable and compassionate martial brother. His nature is to be rather selfless, something that is hard to find in this world.”

   “Oh my, what has happened to your face, A-Fan?” Madame Rui gasped suddenly, rushing over to cup his face. Right. The scars. He would need to—

   “I blew myself up in hopes I'd finally die for good,” Ming Fan blurted out through gritted teeth and that strange smile that wouldn't leave his face. It was too silent. He said the wrong thing, didn't he? What had he meant to say?

   “Ah,” her face fell for a moment before reconstructing itself into the perfect little mask. “You're ruined.”

   Ming Fan barked out a laugh. “Wasn’t I already ruined by your own hand?” He asked softly, gently removing her hands from his face. Her nails dug into his face a little, scratching his cheek. “I am exactly what you always wanted me to be.”

   A monster, a disgrace, a bastard little child borne of your whore of a mother. A failure. A failure who could not save his martial siblings, who could not save himself. A failure unworthy of praise, incapable of being loved. A little filthy beast in his own right.

   If only things were different. If only Fuqin could—shizun could love him. Why couldn't they love him? Why? Why?!

   In the end, Ming Fan was no different from the little beast he so despised. He was just another hungry void searching for the slightest affection to fill him up. Unlike Luo Binghe, he did not get his great revenge on those who deemed him nothing. Instead, he was a villain to be slain as part of that great revenge plot, a death that readers would surely rejoice over because Ming Fan was evil. He was a monster who grew too hungry from being far too starved for too long.

   Ming Fan was a proper beast now if he hadn't been one before in all those previous lives. He was the Demon of Qing Jing Peak—a deranged maniac who did not even know if he was alive half the time. He had become the perfect image of what Madame Rui had always hoped he’d be; someone unworthy of Fuqin’s gaze or favour.

   Madame Rui’s mask was cracking, her pretty smile twisting into the cruel sneer that meant he was going to be hurt soon. “How dare—”

   “Perhaps it would be best for the Ming Family to take their leave,” Shizun’s voice cut her off and she froze, remembering herself. She turned to Shizun who was calmly fanning himself, the perfect image of an unflappable immortal master. “After all, an invitation was never sent. Once a disciple is accepted into the sect, they are released from filial duty to mortal ties. This master indulged Disciple Ming’s desire to stay connected to his family while he was merely a disciple. Now that he has been renamed and deemed this master’s successor, he must officially cut all ties with his mortal life. After all, he will outlive all his mortal connections by centuries.”

   Something shifted behind Madame Rui’s carefully composed face. “I see,” she said.

   “Good day,” Shizun said, already turning away as if they were insignificant trash entirely beneath him. Ming Fan wanted to laugh at the pettiness—would laugh if he was not entirely frozen in place, watching his family decide if they should return to the estate. There was that familiar hollowness settling into his bones, the ever present cold as if he was back in his family’s courtyard, waiting in the cold for his Fuqin’s affection or death. He had been born wrong, was the reason his A’niang was weak, the reason she fell ill and died, cursed from the moment he took his first gasping breath. Of course he was the villain. It’s his fault, everything is because—

   “Hey,” Calloused hands cupped his face, thumbs gently tracing the arches of his cheekbones. They traced the tensed muscles in his cheeks, pressed lightly to break the tension, to let his mouth drop back to something more neutral. “It’s okay.”

   His head was guided so that his face was pressing into the crook of someone’s neck. Perhaps Madame Rui was right about him all along. Perhaps he was being tortured because he was born wrong, because he was actually a monster deep down. Perhaps he really was the villain, no matter how much he repented, how much he fought and clawed to be good. He just wants to be good.

   Would he ever escape this?

   Could he ever be good enough?

   “I’m sorry,” Ming Fan whispered. He pushed away from Zhu Zhangwei’s hold, turning on his heel and walking away. 

   "Ming-shidi, wait—" Qin Huizhen's voice followed him, concerned and gentle.

   He didn't stop. Couldn't stop. He walked into the bamboo forest, away from pitiful gazes and soft touches, away from the people that thought he would break at the slightest breeze. Why should they care for him? Why should he get their pity? He was undeserving of such looks, undeserving of such gentleness. It’s his fault that they’ve all died over and over. What good did comfort do when everything always ended the same way? When he kept failing, kept watching them die, kept waking up to do it all over again?

   The bamboo rustled around him, a sound that once brought peace. Now it sounded like whispers, accusations following him through the forest. Monster. Failure. Beast.

   Just a demon hiding in youthful flesh.

   His feet carried him towards the Quiet Pool without conscious thought. Of course they did. This place had always been his refuge, back when he was young and stupid enough to think throwing expensive gifts into the water would solve anything. How many robes had he drowned here? How many trinkets from his family had he watched sink into the depths?

   Not enough. He should have drowned himself too, saved everyone the trouble.

   You're ruined.

   Madame Rui's voice ghosted through his mind, as clear as if she were walking beside him.

   You've always been ruined. From the moment you took your first breath and stole your mother's last.

   His hand came up to touch his face, the scars tracking across his cheeks, the tight muscles that held his expression in that perfect smile even now, even alone in the dark. Even after everything, his body still obeyed her training. Still performed. Still pretended at humanity.

   The bamboo thinned ahead, and the Quiet Pool materialized before him like something from a dream.

   The pool's surface was perfectly still, mirror-smooth in the fading light. The sun had nearly set, painting the sky in shades of orange and deep purple that bled across the pool's surface like watercolor. Beautiful. Everything was always beautiful right before it got destroyed.

   Ming Fan approached slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. The scars on his arms burned, phantom pain from the self-detonation, or perhaps just his body remembering all the times it had been destroyed and remade. All the deaths. All the failures.

   You can't even die properly. You just keep coming back to fail again.

   He dropped to his knees at the water's edge. The impact jarred his bones, sent a spike of pain up his legs that grounded him, made him feel real for just a moment.

   The face staring back from the water's surface was a stranger's.

   Pale scars traced luminous lines across his skin, mapping the pathways of his meridians like a twisted network of roots under his skin. His eyes glowed with residual qi, that unsettling golden light that made him look possessed. Inhuman. The reflection's smile was fixed, that perfect curve Madame Rui had beaten into him settled back onto his face like an ill fitting facade. He tried to relax it, but the muscles stayed taut, locked in that empty expression. Even now, even alone, his body obeyed her training. Slight curve of lips. Hint of dimples. Small flash of teeth.

   Monstrous.

   A demon wearing human skin.

   No. Not even that. Just... wrong. Defective. Incomplete.

   Ruined.

   "What am I?" he asked his reflection. It didn't answer, just stared back with those glowing eyes.  Its expression was cold and empty. It looked more like a ghost, some vengeful spirit than a human man.

   Shouldn’t that be what he is now? Shouldn’t all his resentment have swallowed him whole, transformed him into some form of calamity? Was this flesh simply a facade?

   He'd never learned how to sound human. Madame Rui had tried to teach him, hit him until he got it right, and he'd never gotten it right. Because deep down, he'd always known there was something wrong with him. Something broken. Something that made it impossible for anyone to love him. Now it showed, that intrinsic, alien part of himself was on display for the whole world to see. They all must know. They all must see what he is.

   His mother had died because of him. Madame Rui had tried to beat the wrongness out. His father couldn't even look at him. And now, after hundreds of lifetimes, he still couldn't save anyone. Because he kept trying to be the hero. Kept trying to save them all, his disciples, his Shizun, even Luo Binghe. Especially Luo Binghe. He keeps failing because he can’t be good enough, he can’t compete with the hero of the story.

   Was he meant to be good? Was he meant to repent? What if he just killed Luo Binghe now, while the boy is weak and gullible? What if—

   What if that was the problem?

   Was he meant to try to be the hero, or was he meant to be a villain? Had he been going about this all wrong? Was the only way to save the world, to end all this suffering, to kill a little boy? Was that why he kept coming back? He was the only one inhuman enough to do it, to finish the job? To get rid of the little beast once and for all?

   Ming Fan's hand moved to his sword hilt without conscious thought. The familiar weight was grounding. Comforting. He'd killed so many demons with this blade. So many monsters.

   What was one more?

   "The protagonist," he whispered to his reflection. "The blessed child of heaven. The hero who destroys the villain."

   "I've tried everything," he continued. "Kindness. Training. Protection. Sacrifice."

    "I've died for him. I've loved him. I've given him everything I had to give,” His hand tightened on his sword hilt until his knuckles went white. "Everything except..."

   The words stuck in his throat. Caught on something, some last shred of humanity, maybe, or just cowardice dressed up as morality. In hundreds of lifetimes, through hundreds of failures, the thought had never crossed his mind. Not seriously. Not as a real option. Because there were lines you didn't cross. Things you didn't do. Children you didn't murder in cold blood, no matter how monstrous they'd become.

   But maybe that was the problem.

   Maybe there was one solution he was too weak to try.

   His reflection smiled that terrible smile. Ming Fan's lips twisted, fighting against the smile, trying to form something else. A grimace. A snarl. Anything but that perfect curve.

   His sword slid free of its sheath with a whisper of metal on leather. The sound seemed impossibly loud in the silence of the forest, like a scream, like permission, like inevitability.

   The blade gleamed in the dying light, catching the orange and purple of the sunset. Beautiful.

   What if he just killed Luo Binghe now?

   His reflection's smile didn't change. Those glowing eyes stared back, unblinking. Judging. Or agreeing. He couldn't tell anymore. 

   While the boy is weak. While he's still gullible. While he still trusts his Da-shixiong.

   The thought was intoxicating. Simple. Elegant. All his attempts at redemption, at saving Luo Binghe from his fate, what if he'd been approaching it backwards? What if the only way to save everyone from Luo Binghe was to remove Luo Binghe entirely?

   "One strike," Ming Fan said aloud, his voice steady. Too steady. "Quick. Painless. He wouldn't even feel it. Wouldn't that be kinder than what fate has in store for him?"

   Kinder than the Abyss. Kinder than Xin Mo's corruption. Kinder than becoming the demon emperor who would destroy the world and then spend eternity empty and alone, surrounded by people who feared him.

   Kinder than becoming what he’s seen him become so many times.

   It would be a mercy.

   His reflection stared back, unmoved by the logic. The justification.

   It would save everyone. Zhangwei. The disciples. Shizun. The entire cultivation world.

   He stood slowly, blade held loosely in his hand. His body knew what to do. Muscle memory from thousands of fights, thousands of kills. One life or hundreds. It was simple math, really. Utilitarian. Practical.

   Monstrous.

   But maybe being a monster was the only way to stop a monster. Maybe that's what he is. What he’s always been. Madame Rui was right. He’s not human enough to deserve love, but maybe he’s inhuman enough to do what needs to be done.

   He raised the blade, watching how it caught the light. His hands were steady. That was the worst part. His hands were steady and his mind was clear and he knew exactly what he was contemplating.

   The face in the water stared back at him. Cold. Empty. Smiling that terrible smile.

   This is who you are, it seemed to say. This is what you've become. After all the deaths, all the failures, all the lives—this is what's left. A monster willing to kill a child to save the world.

   Was that so wrong? If it saves everyone else, if it breaks the cycle, if it finally ends, is it really so wrong?

   The reflection didn't answer. The bamboo rustled, a sound like breathing, like the forest itself was holding its breath awaiting his decision. Ming Fan looked down at his blade. At his scarred hands gripping the hilt. At the faint glow of qi still leaking from his damaged meridians.

   I can do it, he thought. I'm strong enough right now. Fast enough. I know where Luo Binghe sleeps. I know his patterns. I know exactly how to make it quick and painless. One strike and it's over. One death to prevent thousands.

   He'd tried everything else. Kindness hadn't worked. Training hadn't worked. Even sacrificing his own body to save the boy's life hadn't changed anything. Luo Binghe still became the demon emperor. Still killed them all. Still—

   Still looked at Ming Fan with those wide, starry eyes. Still called him Da-shixiong with that trembling voice. Still flinched when Ming Fan raised his hand, expecting a blow.

   Still just a child who didn't understand why the world hurt him.

   Ming Fan froze.

   His hands started to shake. The sword rattled in his grip.

   Starry eyes. Trembling hands.

   "Da-shixiong, did I do well?"

   "Da-shixiong, why does Shizun hate me?"

   "Da-shixiong, I made you tanghulu. I know you said I'm not supposed to waste money but—"

   "Da-shixiong, I'm scared."

   The sword clattered to the ground. Ming Fan stared at it, lying in the dirt, gleaming with sunset light. His hands were empty. Shaking. Cold.

   "I can't," he whispered. "I can't. I can't. I can't—"

   He fell to his knees beside the blade. His perfect smile finally cracked, his face contorting into something raw and agonized. Tears he'd been holding back for lifetimes finally spilled over, hot against his cold skin.

   "I've tried everything else. Why can't I do this? Why can't I—"

   Because you're weak.

   Because you're a failure.

   Because even knowing what he becomes, you can't kill a child in cold blood.

   "Then everyone dies because of me," Ming Fan choked out. "They all die because I'm too weak to—to—"

   He grabbed the sword from the dirt, gripping it so tight his hands ached. Raised it. Stared at the blade.

   One decision. One choice. One murder.

   I have to. I have to. I have to—

   The bamboo rustled. Louder this time.

   Footsteps.

   Ming Fan moved on pure instinct. He spun, blade raised, dropping into a combat stance, low and ready to strike—

   Luo Binghe stood at the forest's edge, backlit by the setting sun. His face was shadowed, but Ming Fan could see the tension in his not-so-small frame, the way his hands were clenched at his sides.

   How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard?

   "Da-shixiong," Luo Binghe said quietly. 

   The title fell between them like a stone into still water. Ripples spreading outward, disrupting everything. Ming Fan's sword was still raised. Still ready, pointed at his shidi. At a child. At the not-yet-monster. One strike. That's all it would take. One movement. Luo Binghe wasn't prepared. Wasn't expecting it. Wasn't—

   Wasn't the demon emperor. Not yet. Right now he's just a scared kid who followed his shixiong into the forest because he was worried about him.

   Before Ming Fan could respond, Luo Binghe spoke again. "Tianlang-jun. Tianlang-jun is my father. I'm half demon."

   The words hung in the air between them like smoke. Like blood. Like a confession that could get him killed, and he knew it. Ming Fan could see it in the tension lining Luo Binghe’s shoulders, the way his hands clenched at his sides. Could see it in those too-wide eyes that were trying so hard to be brave.

   He knows what he's risking. Knows what Ming Fan could do with this information. And he's telling him anyway.

   Because Luo Binghe trusts him.

   He trusts him.

   Ming Fan's hand stayed on his sword hilt. The blade was still drawn. It would be so easy. One movement. One strike. End it all right here.

   Luo Binghe's eyes were wide. Dark. Reflecting the dying light.

   Starry. A perfect little universe.

   "You live up to your reputation as a scholar of Qing Jing Peak," Ming Fan said instead, his voice hollow. He didn't sheathe his sword. Didn't move.

   "You knew," Luo Binghe said, something cold in his voice that made the hairs on Ming Fan's neck stand up. "This whole time, you knew."

   "Yes." The word was ash in his mouth. The sword was so heavy. Or too light. Ming Fan couldn't tell anymore. Couldn't feel his arms. Could barely feel anything except the terrible weight of that single syllable.

   "You knew I was a monster—"

   "I knew you were a child." The words came out harder than Ming Fan intended. Harsher. Like he was angry. Maybe he was. Angry at Luo Binghe for being here, for trusting him, for making this impossible. Angry at himself for not being strong enough to do what needed to be done. Angry at the universe for making him choose. "An innocent child, collateral in a scandal that had nothing to do with you."

   Luo Binghe took a step forward. Ming Fan's grip on his sword tightened.

   "I'm a monster," Luo Binghe whispered, still approaching. "Why didn't you kill me when you found out?"

   And there it was. The question Ming Fan had just been asking himself. The solution he'd been contemplating. The dark temptation that had brought him to this pool, to this moment, to this choice.

   Why didn't he kill Luo Binghe when he found out?

   Why didn't he kill him in any of the several of lifetimes where he knew, where he remembered?

   Why didn't he do it right now, with the boy standing in front of him, vulnerable and trusting and so very easy to—

   Because he couldn’t.

   The realization hit like a wave, like drowning, like dying.

   He couldn’t. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

   Ming Fan laughed. It started as a chuckle, bitter and broken, then built into something hysterical. Something that might have been sobs if he had any tears left to cry.

   He doubled over, the sword point dropping to the ground as he shook with laughter that hurt, that burned, that felt like it was tearing him apart from the inside.

   "Because I'm a far worse monster than you, Luo-shidi," Ming Fan said finally. He looked up at Luo Binghe, really looked at him. Small. Scared. Still just a child despite everything. Despite the demon blood. Despite the fate waiting for him. Despite what he would become.

   Right now, in this moment, he's just a kid who's terrified that his Da-shixiong is going to kill him.

   He turned away from Luo Binghe, back to the Quiet Pool and his reflection in its dark surface. The thing staring back was still smiling that terrible smile, tears tracking down its scarred face.

   Weak, his reflection seemed to say. Pathetic. Failure. They'll all die because you're too sentimental to do what's necessary. You’ve always felt too much and not enough.

   The sword slid back into its sheath with a sound like defeat. Or maybe relief. Or maybe just the sound of another choice made, another failure added to the infinite pile. Behind him, Luo Binghe made a small sound, something between a sob and a gasp. Ming Fan didn't turn around. Couldn't face him. Couldn't look at the boy he'd just decided not to murder and see gratitude or relief or—gods forbid—trust.

   "Go back to your room, Luo-shidi," Ming Fan said quietly. "It's getting dark."

   For a long moment, neither of them moved. The bamboo rustled around them, filling the silence with the whispers of leaves. Then, finally, he heard Luo Binghe's footsteps retreating. Slow at first, then faster. Running away from the shixiong who had just held a sword to his throat and decided, once again, that mercy mattered more than survival.

   I'm sorry, Ming Fan thought, though he wasn't sure who he was apologizing to anymore. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry I couldn't save anyone. I'm sorry I'm too weak to be the monster this story needs.

   After all, he couldn't slay a demon to save the world. He couldn't kill his starry-eyed shidi, even though he needed to. Even though it would save everyone. Even though every timeline proved that mercy was just another way to fail.

   He couldn't.

   And that made him the worst kind of monster, the kind too weak to do what needed to be done.