Chapter Text
The light in Qing Jing was soft today.
Gold sunlight filtered through fat white clouds, slanting over the stone paths and falling in dappled patterns across the grassy inner courtyard. Disciples were clustered close to the pavilion's edge, kneeling in a line from eldest to youngest. The head disciple was at the front, closest to their seated master, who sat behind a peachwood table. Ming Fan was not the eldest, but tradition and ceremony dictated those of a higher rank sit in this position.
Any fidgeters were stared into submission in the time it took their new shidi to finish brewing and show up with a pot of tea. Shizun disliked improper behavior.
The tea was not steaming when it entered Shizun's cup.
Ming Fan frowned slightly in disapproval but was willing to give the younger boy the benefit of the doubt he had done this out of concern for Shizun's tongue. Ideally tea should be hot but not scalding. Some nerves were expected on the first day. That could lead to mistakes not otherwise made.
Shizun brought the teacup to his lips, sipped, and lowered the cup with no change to his face. This was no surprise. He rarely showed emotion even when scolding them, glacially impassive.
His arm moved forward, hand tipping to upend the contents over the boy's bowed head.
Ming Fan stared blankly, not processing what occurred for the first several seconds as lukewarm tea soaked into fluffy curls and weighed them down. Had Shizun just...?
"If you cannot brew even a simple cup of tea, this master wonders what you can do, little beast. Dismissed."
The cold words with their edge of steel broke the spell hanging over the assembled disciples, prompting Hu Liang to look down at the ground and Ning Yingying to frown. Ming Fan turned his head, observing not the crumpling of their new shidi's expression as the shock bled out but the ceramic pot the tea had come out of.
Contrary to the unscrupulous belief of some, Peak Lord Shen had never once mistreated his disciples.
None of his punishments or admonishments came without reason. He hadn't even taken out the dusty discipline rod in his office and ordered his hallmasters to strike them.
This was in large part because, as one of the first disciples chosen by their illustrious master, Ming Fan refused to allow any martial sibling to break a rule on his watch and force Shizun into such an unfortunate position. As his father would say, "This will hurt me more than it hurts you". And hurting Shizun? Never! Unacceptable!
Of course, Ming Fan did not take credit. How could he when their master was the one afforded the respect and awe that kept those others in line? If they didn't like him just as much as Ming Fan did, then they wouldn't react so negatively out of shame whenever he reminded them of the Disappointment.
Shizun was a perfect master. The absolute best.
No immortal was as wonderful as he.
Every child that came to Qing Jing was regarded the same. Their families, backgrounds, or lack thereof had not once mattered. He was not a hypocrite as other cultivators were. He held no prejudice against those of lowly birth. They were given the same duties as privileged children and the same opportunities and respect. The only instance of favoritism any could accuse him of was offering an umbrella to Ning Yingying while the skies wept rain, and that was no favoritism: it's called being a gentleman and showing chivalry.
From the outside, it may sound like she had convinced their master to pick this new disciple out from the bunch, but that wasn't true. If Shizun didn't have faith in his talent, the boy wouldn't be picked. That's all there was to it.
Every disciple was treated the same, and that treatment was never poor. Their schedules were tailor made to support their individual talents and correct what weaknesses they had. If they were poor in swordsmanship, they would spend extra time with Hallmaster Yi. If they came unable to read or write, Hallmaster Duan. If they struggled to comprehend mathematical formulae, Hallmaster Kang. There were specialists in every area, and for general lectures? They had Shizun to listen to daily.
No child was ever selected by a hallmaster or an elder. Shen Qingqiu went to select them each himself. They had no outer disciples this generation, only inner disciples. That meant no one was left out of lectures held by their master. Overcrowded Peaks like An Ding could have disciples expect to never see a hair from their master but not them. Shizun paid attention to them personally. They were better than Bai Zhan, who had a master who didn't have a single personal disciple, only children grabbed by hallmasters and elders.
This perhaps meant there were few disciples to teach thus far, but the (now) ten children that Peak Lord Shen handpicked were ones he approved of.
Ming Fan doubted Shizun decided to switch things up with this shidi, so there could only be one answer.
"Shizun, what's wrong?"
His shimei hurried after their master, and Ming Fan ordered Yao Hui to go keep an eye on that Luo-shidi of theirs.
"Make certain he does not try to leave." That one looked dramatic enough to take Shizun's words literally, as in dismissed forever.
Yao Hui nodded and went to do so.
Ming Fan poured out a cup for himself and sipped, face puckering into a repulsed grimace the moment the taste hit him. Horrendously steeped. So bitter it made his eyes water. The vaguely lukewarm temperature he had been expecting wasn't even lukewarm. It was practically cold and all the more offensive for it. Tea should never be this temperature! Absolutely and utterly atrocious!
He spat it out into the cup, a new respect earned for Shizun. Their master swallowed this swill. His self control was truly legendary.
Merciful Heavens.
Ming Fan would have completely understood if Shen Qingqiu threw the entire pot in Luo Binghe's face or outright smashed it into his scalp. Even tasting it would inspire murderous rage from a tea connoisseur. As it was, he was scraping his tongue with his nails, gagging. The aftertaste, oh my.
Oh Shizun.
Their poor Shizun.
Ming Fan disposed of the garbage and stomped over to where Yao Hui was attempting to pat dry the tea from their shidi's hair.
"Luo Binghe, just what did you serve to Shizun? Why did you not mention you haven't made tea before? You have to say these things." How else was Ming Fan meant to know he had to add instructions first? Was he a mind reader? More importantly- "Why is it cold."
"Mama likes it that way." Embarrassment turned Luo Binghe's face pink as it finally dawned on him that this may be a unique preference to his mother.
Which.
Okay, that's sweet. He could understand taking the words of one's mother as gospel.
Ming Fan's murderous rage dampened.
"Kitchen. Now," he ordered with a point of his finger. "We are fixing this, and we are fixing this now."
Under no circumstances could their master suffer such a traumatic memory.
Luo Binghe saluted him, the wide-eyed sadness gone and replaced with a firm determination and sparkles of hope. "Yes, sir. Please instruct this ignorant shidi."
"No 'sir'. Just 'shixiong'." Shizun was a 'sir'. Ming Fan wasn't even seventeen. How's he a sir?
"Understood, Shixiong."