Chapter Text
Ashamedly, Liu Qingge must admit to the use of anti-possession talismans.
As per the first word, this is not something that he is proud of. He has, time after time, made well-known what he thinks of resorting to scheming and falsities. This is not something noble, this is not something to goat off, and it is certainly not something that he would use.
.. Well. Until the past few years.
It is only that he is bemused.
It is that things were going right on their tracks: Shen Qingqiu as despicable as Liu Qingge had ever known him to be, as ever gloating and smug- as ever slippery, little snake with a lazy cultivation and eyes who forgo their first intended use for the sake of slicing through people.
It is that Shen Qingqiu was predictable, until he was not.
And so, it is that Liu Qingge resorted to what made him to this day so ashamed: slipping anti-possession talismans into Shen Qingqiu’s belongings, tapping it hidden under a layer of clothes (-shamelessly..!) or hidden into the rim of a fan. The first time he had done so, Liu Qingge had been so certain he would be found out. He would be found out- either that or the talisman would prove his suspicions true; that this was no Shen Qinqiu at all, but a possession- that it was all a ruse–
But of course the talismans had given nothing. Nothing at all.
The first one, he had second-guessed the result. The second one also, and a few more after that, until Liu Qingge’s shame outweighed his suspicions: and until the continued exposure to a nice Shen Qingqiu made him think of his scheming with utter disgrace and chagrin. He had stopped then, for the talismans all said so, and maybe he too was beginning to think it has just been one very strong Qi deviation indeed.
And then so much had happened in so little time: that cursed disciple of Shen Qingqiu’s disappearing, his shixiong so distraught over it, Huan Hua’s palace, the self-destruction and more after that- so much indeed that Liu Qingge had put the matter aside. Thought that the Shen Qingqiu he had known and the one of now were so utterly distinct by that Qi deviation, that it had entirely rewritten his shixiong’s personality: and so was it.
It is only now, now that things have calmed down, that he might discover that he had been a little farther from the truth than he had thought.
.
.
.
“You wish for what–?” Liu Qingge says, trying to work past his puzzlement.
In front of him, Shen Qinqiu’s eyes can not quite hide the excitement concealed by his fan. He flutters it, the movement languid enough that it is almost enough to cover the twinkle as detachment. Almost.
“It only happens once a year,” Shen Qingqiu insists. His fan snaps shut. “This could prove invaluable knowledge.”
He blinks, as if the act would suddenly bring an influx of clarity. “Invaluable knowledge on… the reproductive season of the Triple-Head tiger…?” Liu Qingge flushes as he says it, not entirely believing that this is why his shixiong went to visit him on his own peak. “Is it not the work of disciples to gather knowledge into scrolls…?”
Gasp. Shen Qingqiu hits him on the forehead with his fan, too startled by the question to do anything about hiding his outrage. Pale, striking, eyes shining like two pieces of jade under the sun. For half a second, Liu Qingge feels discomfort creeping down the length of his arms. “Liu-shidi! It is never beneath us to add more knowledge to our respective peaks’ scrolls! The life of a cultivator expands beyond slaying monsters!”
Of course, but- while Liu Qingge is always feeling strangely exhilarated at the thought of another trip with Shen Qingqiu; this time why must it be him…? His cheeks flush anew. Is it not something more appropriate to go see alone?
His shixiong opens his fan once more, a true extension of his hand. He hides the lower half of his face with it, and adds, with no small amount of saccharine scowling: “It is no obligation, if it troubles Liu-shidi. This one will find another martial brother to accompany him on the quest.”
Wait–
“I did not say that,” Liu Qingge replies. He lifts a hand- asking for one small second to gather his thoughts.
Shen Qingqiu says nothing to that, but his eyes continue to gleam above the edge of his fan. Liu Qingge does not need to see his hidden face to read the petulant displeasure there. Something new too, he thinks distantly, before- before realizing that no. No, it is nothing new at all.
“And where have you found this?” Shen Qingqiu is asking. He’s crossing his arms on his chest, having yet learned how to wield any displayed emotion as a weapon. Mixed emotions flowing on his face. He’s pointing at what Liu Qingge is holding: a small, inoffensive Lüdagun treat, given by Liu Qingge’s Shizun. Another difficult expression passes on his face, and this time Liu Qingge’s recognises it: petulancy mixed with distaste. “I thought there were no luxuries on Bai Zhan Peak. How come you have been given one?”
And not me, goes untold.
“Shidi..?”
Liu Qingge blinks once more. His shixiong’s expression has faded into quiet worry, scanning over Liu Qingge’s face as if he were the one prone to Qi deviations. Preposterous, and yet the sight of such worry fills Liu Qingge’s heart with an eerie warmth.
“Is everything fine?” Shen Qingqiu asks, having stepped forward during his little absence. His knuckles have gone white over the rim of his fan.
He shakes his head, a soft, tiny movement and forces words to push past his throat. “This shidi will go with you,” Liu Qingge says. “Forgive this shidi for his hesitation, this one was confused. But he will go with you if this is what you wish.”
And now, there is the tiniest smile on Shen Qingqiu’s face, but he is not quick enough to hide the joyful crinkle of his eyes, not as he thinks he is as his open fan flutters in front of his lips.
Yet, Liu Qingge sees something else behind that smile, with a detached sort of puzzlement. For a few seconds more, he sees the remains of that petulant displeasure on this ageless face, so quick at being irked, and is reminded of that Lüdagon cake and how Shen Qingqiu had looked at him then.
Petulance, poorly disguised beneath dignity.
Offended pride battling with unmistakable desire.
.
.
.
The journey in itself is no trouble, but what is is the lingering thought taking more and more hold in Liu Qingge’s mind. It begins as a faint irritation. The kind that sits just behind the temples, refusing to be named. He manages, barely, to throw away the want to massage at his skull, digging his fingers deep until this stupid thought would go away.
Shen Qingqiu walks ahead of him, pale jade robes brushing over fallen leaves. His steps are light, unhurried. The fan is open again, swaying gently with each movement like a lazy pendulum marking time. Each of his steps is careful, as if the indignity of a single one out of line could cost him much more than his thin face.
Liu Qingge has seen this before.
Not the kindness, no. That still sits strangely on the frame of the man before him, like an ill-fitting robe. He feels guilty about such a thought, but Liu Qingge can not throw away years of memories; as much as he wishes for it. Always, always, when he thinks of how eerie it is that Shen Qingqiu’s sharp tongue deals with gentleness and not blows, guilt seizes him. This one saved Liu Qingge’s from a fatal Qi deviation and it is how he repays him?
But now- now that Liu Qingge has noticed it… He can’t help but notice the rest of it. The careless arrogance in the way Shen Qingqiu tilts his chin when speaking, as though the world itself must lean in to listen. No matter how kind the words could be, there is still this faint pride clinging to them, as if Shen Qingqiu believes, whole-heartedly, that he knows more than the rest of them. The small flashes of temper when displeased. The way his eyes sharpen when challenged, bright and cutting as freshly polished jade.
It is…
Liu Qingge’s steps slow.
It is familiar.
He had thought that Qi deviation had carved Shen Qingqiu into someone entirely new. That the old Shen Qingqiu: the biting, petty, sharp-tongued man Liu Qingge had known for years and so very loathed; had been erased and replaced with this… softer, better liked Qing Jing’s Peak Lord .
But now, has he really- is it really that there had been no erasure at all…?
“Liu-shidi.”
The voice is mildly reproachful.
Liu Qingge looks up.
Shen Qingqiu has stopped a few paces ahead, fan half lowered. His brows knit together with unmistakable annoyance. The sight of it causes Liu Qingge’s heart to jump.
“You have been staring at this one’s back for the past li,” he says. “If shidi wishes to say something, he may speak.”
There it is again. That tone.
Not the careful politeness Shen Qingqiu had adopted after the Qi deviation, not the almost timid diplomacy he often wielded around the other peak lords. This is sharper. Familiar in a way that makes Liu Qingge’s chest tighten once more.
Liu Qingge frowns.
Shen Qingqiu’s expression shifts immediately at the sight of it. The annoyance flickers away, replaced by something more cautious. More concerned, and more in line with the shixiong that Liu Qingge has learned to… (which word would be sufficient? Respect does not convey what he means. Like is only a poor imitation. He needs something stronger, something that frightens him.)
“...Did this one say something strange?” Shen Qingqiu asks, apologetic, lowering the fan slightly. “If Liu-shidi is unwell-”
He steps closer.
Too close.
Liu Qingge can see the minute tension in his fingers around the fan’s ribs. The way Shen Qingqiu studies his face with that same careful scrutiny he had shown earlier, as if Liu Qingge were the one liable to suddenly collapse from Qi deviation.
It is ridiculous. By all accounts it should be Liu Qingge who should be worried for his idiot shixiong, who always manages to pull himself in terrible situations.
Yet..Liu Qingge remembers.
He remembers a younger Shen Qingqiu leaning back in a bamboo chair during peak meetings, looking equally irritated when Liu Qingge stared too long. He remembers that exact crease between his brows when displeased. That same impatient curiosity when something disrupted the expected order of things.
For years Liu Qingge had thought those traits gone.
Burned away by madness. Rewritten by the heavens through the violence of Qi deviation.
But now that he looks– They were not gone. They had simply been… quiet. Buried beneath new habits, softened by unfamiliar restraint. Yet still there, flickering through the cracks like sunlight through leaves.
He does not know what to do with the thought.
“This shidi is not unwell,” Liu Qingge manages, as if in a haze. “He is merely distracted. He begs for the forgiveness of his shixiong. A sudden memory.”
“A memory?”
He can hear Shen Qingqiu’s curiosity in his voice, despite how calm he tries for it to be.
“Nothing of matters to Shen-shixiong,” Liu Qingge mutters. He marks a pause, offering, half reluctantly: “Something about a Lüdagun cake, that day on Bai Zhai Peak. Shen-shixion’s Shizun and himself had been invited to this Peak Lord’s home..”
“A Lüdagun cake..?” Shen Qingqiu repeats, seemingly confused. “Is this because this one asked of his shidi to bring Osmanthus cakes for the Three-Headed Tiger?”
There is a little edge to his voice when he pronounces the name of the beast, as if- Liu Qingge’s is puzzled- but as if the name itself irritates Shen Qingqiu. There’s again this little furrow near his brows; and the twitch to his eyes; the very same one that once made Liu Qingge’s bristle with fury.
“It must be so,” Liu Qingge says instead, and pulls one of such cakes out of his sleeves then. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes follow the movement and- there it is- again a little flash of desire.
It is brief, and perhaps another person would not have noticed it at all. Shen Qingqiu himself certainly seems to believe that the lift of his fan is enough to conceal whatever passes over his face, but Liu Qingge has spent enough years observing the man to know that the fan hides less than its owner believes. The gaze lingers just a heartbeat too long on the cake resting in Liu Qingge’s hand, sharp and bright in a way that betrays far more interest than the lofty indifference Shen Qingqiu attempts to project.
For a moment, Liu Qingge simply looks at him.
And once more the memory from Bai Zhan Peak settles more firmly into place. The remaining scene beyond Shen Qingqiu’s half-startled demand.
It had been a small thing then as well. The second time that Shen Qingqiu and his Shizun had visited, Liu Qingge’s shizun had produced the plate of sweets with the absent generosity of someone who thought little of such luxuries. Setting them down between himself and Qing Jing Peak’s lord as the two elders continued their conversation. Liu Qingge had paid little attention to them at the time (such things had never held much interest for him) but Shen Qingqiu had noticed.
Not openly, of course. Never openly.
He had sat there with that same composed posture he always adopted when visiting other peaks, fan resting against his fingers, expression carefully distant as though Bai Zhan Peak possessed nothing that could possibly attract his attention. Yet every so often his eyes had drifted to the plate, quick and calculating, and when Liu Qingge’s shizun had finally offered him one…
Liu Qingge remembers the look that had crossed his face then.
The same look he had seen when Shen Qingqiu had seen his Lügudun cake, and the same of now.
Want. A faintly wounded pride battling with a desire he clearly believed himself too refined to express aloud. Some annoyance thrown into the mix. As though the mere existence of sweets that did not immediately belong to Qing Jing Peak was a small but undeniable injustice.
Liu Qingge had found the expression beyond irritating then.
Now, seeing it again, so unchanged that it might have been lifted whole from that earlier day, he feels something strange tighten beneath his ribs. Something strange, but nothing that could be likened to irritation.
For years he had believed the man before him to be someone entirely different.
Not merely altered by Qi deviation, but remade by it. A second chance of meeting someone he never had the luxury of knowing. Erasing utterly the one Liu Qingge had detested so luch in favour of smeone who had saved his life. There had been nothing left of the disciple that had demanded where Liu Qingge had found that dessert. Yet the longer he watches Shen Qingqiu now, the harder it becomes to maintain that belief.
Because that look…
That exact spark of offended desire…
He knows it.
“Shidi?” Shen Qingqiu says at last, and there is a faint impatience creeping into his voice now that the silence has stretched longer than he finds comfortable. His fingers have tightened again over his fan, pale green eyes trying to read something unreadable on Liu Qingge’s face.
Liu Qingge realizes belatedly that he has been holding the cake out without moving.
“Take it,” he says, a little more abruptly than he intends.
Shen Qingqiu’s brows draw together at once. “This peak lord did not ask for it,” he replies, tone cool with faint reproach.
Yet his gaze drops immediately back to the cake.
Liu Qingge feels that strange tightening again, though he cannot quite name the feeling behind it.
“You were staring,” he says simply.
Shen Qingqiu stills.
For a brief second the fan does not move at all, as if the accusation has caught him entirely off guard. Then it snaps open again with a soft flick of the wrist, rising to cover the lower half of his face as though the gesture alone might restore his dignity. Small dots of pink have sprouted on his cheeks; an endlessly fascinating sight that causes Liu Qingge to stare a little longer than he ought.
“This peak lord,” he begins with deliberate composure, “was merely confirming that Liu-shidi had brought the proper offering to bait the Three-Headed Tiger.”
Even as he says it, however, his hand extends toward the cake. Almost despite himself, with some sort of youthful bemusement that makes his desire endearing and not irritating.
Their fingers brush for the briefest moment as Shen Qingqiu takes it from him, and the contact is so fleeting that it might easily have been imagined, yet Shen Qingqiu withdraws his hand almost immediately afterward, as if the touch had surprised him.
He studies the cake for a moment, turning it between his fingers with a thoughtful air that is perhaps meant to suggest scholarly evaluation rather than anticipation.
Then, with all the careful restraint of someone determined not to appear eager, he takes a bite.
The change in his expression is small.
So small that anyone who had not spent years observing the man might have missed it entirely. The tension near his eyes eases almost imperceptibly, the faint crease between his brows smoothing out as the sweetness settles on his tongue, and though his fan lifts once more in what is surely meant to conceal the moment, it does nothing to hide the quiet blissful sound that slips through regardless. Joy, unbridled. A flash of a pink tongue, a crumb disappearing.
Shen Qingqiu’s eyes flick upward almost at once, as if he has realized—too late—that the sound had not gone unnoticed.
For the briefest instant there is something dangerously close to embarrassment crossing his features, swift as the shadow of a cloud over water, before dignity reasserts itself with all the stubbornness Liu Qingge knows so well. The fan rises higher, a clear attempt to reclaim some measure of composure, though it does little to disguise the fact that Shen Qingqiu has already taken another bite, smaller this time but there nonetheless, as though determined to finish the evidence of his momentary lapse before further humiliation can occur.
Liu Qingge exhales slowly.
And suddenly Liu Qingge finds himself wondering, more seriously than ever before, whether the Qi deviation had truly changed Shen Qingqiu at all… or whether it had simply layered something gentler over the same sharp edges that had always existed beneath.
“Can we go now, Liu-shidi?” Shen Qingqiu asks, left hand disappearing into his sleeve now that the cake had disappeared. An edge of petulance creeps through his voice. “It is really important we arrive in time or else we will miss the Three-headed tiger.”
“Yes, Shen-shixiong,” Liu Qingge says, and he smiles. “We can go now.”
And, he thinks as Shen Qingqiu’s features lighten up softly once more, perhaps he had been an idiot to think about these talismans.
Perhaps Shen Qingqiu had never been anything else than Shen Qingqiu.