Chapter Text
For the first time since Luo Binghe arrived at Cang Qiong Mountain, he's surrounded by silence.
It's an odd sensation, he finds, after growing used to the hustle and bustle of life as a Qing Jing disciple. When faced with no lessons to attend nor chores to fulfill, nothing remains but his own thoughts and the lingering spiritual energy in the air around him.
The caves behind Qiong Ding Peak are exactly as they'd been described to him, though Luo Binghe never expected to come here—at least not so early in his stay at the sect.
He wonders why his shizun ordered him to enter seclusion in the first place, and why Sect Leader Yue allowed Shen Qingqiu's whimsical request. Luo Binghe is just a disciple after all, still at the beginning of the path to cultivation. There is no real reason for him to enter the Ling Xi caves, aside from his shizun's curt and icy words.
Regardless of reason, Luo Binghe is left alone to figure out how to deal with his predicament.
It is peaceful in the caves; a nice change of pace from the other disciples' harassment. It is also eerily dark, and although some rooms in the cave system are dimly lit, the light never seems to extend quite like Luo Binghe expects it to.
He probably isn't supposed to think of a place of healing and meditation as scary, yet, his mind is a treacherous thing. Too used to being on edge and expecting the worst, he finds his actual concentration fleeting.
He was left at the caves' entrance with a couple of manuals, pages yellowed with age, and not much else. Thankfully he remembered to pack some rations before heading out at his shizun's behest, though he wasn't told to do so. As usual, Luo Binghe doesn't allow himself to think about the finer details of Shen Qingqiu's actions.
But the food in his pockets only lasts him so long. He's forced to scavenge for anything else that's edible after a week or two—it's hard to tell, exactly, without the sun or incense to indicate the passage of time. Some parts of the cave system hold smatterings of plants and funghi, others are purely stone, and the trickling of water leads him to a small brook eventually, fish shimmering underneath the surface.
Luo Binghe makes do with what he has but grows more frustrated by the day. Every moment spent idle feels like a moment wasted.
If Shizun ordered him to enter seclusion, it must be because he wants his disciple to improve. Luo Binghe is rather hopeless after all, he knows, but the Ling Xi caves are known to soothe the mind and spirit alike.
If only Luo Binghe could focus on cultivating, instead of falling victim to his body's needs.
If only his cultivation was high enough for him to practice inedia—
He shakes his head. There's little sense in what if's and if only's, it's better to pay attention to the here and now.
And in the present, an unfamiliar sound reaches his ears.
It first manifests as a scraping along the walls, metal grinding on stone, a slow drag. Then, a clang. After weeks of hearing nothing but his own breathing, the drip of water and the faint hum of spiritual energy, the noise makes his blood run cold. When it repeats, Luo Binghe traces its origins to the left, on a slightly higher level than the one Luo Binghe is on himself. About one li away at most.
His thoughts run wild. He should probably do something, shouldn't he? Find a sharp rock to use as a weapon, run the other way and hide, or leave and get help.
He's frozen on the spot however, the spell only broken when shouting accompanies the strange noises. Distinctly human, in between fury and pain. Binghe hasn't heard anything similar since he stopped sleeping on the streets.
Without heeding his still-raging thoughts, his body kicks into action, rushing forward through the dark until he the sounds become more distinct. He knows he reached his destination when he spots another person—adult by the looks of it—hunched over, sword in hand, and the metallic tang of blood overpowers everything else.
He clears his throat, stuttering out a hesitant "H-hello?"
The other person stills, body tense as a bowstring ready to snap. "Stay away," is growled back a moment later. Despite the harsh words, relief floods through Luo Binghe. They're a sign the other is still coherent.
"Are you alright?" he yells, stepping further into the room. The reaction is instantaneous—Luo Binghe barely has time to dodge before the sword, previously in its owner's hand, flies past his head, narrowly missing his ear. He stumbles over a root in the ground and falls over on his side. He scrambles back further once he notices the blade pass overhead again.
He frantically whips his head around, straining to see where the other is at. The man looks familiar, even in his distraught state. Someone from another peak, then? Possibly one of the teachers?
"Get out," the stranger gasps again. The earlier stillness has dissipated, his entire body visibly trembling under the strain of something. "Leave!"
He should obey. He knows he should. This situation is dangerous—Luo Binghe is not only unarmed, but also weakened from a prolonged lack of food and sleep. His heart is woefully bad at listening to his head however, and before he knows it his body has moved of its own accord once again.
He stands up on unsteady legs, asking "Can you walk? If you can get outs—"
This time a kick to his side throws Luo Binghe into the opposite wall with a crack. His ribs feel like they're on fire.
His eyes widen in shock. It was only a moment's contact, barely a second, but still... It was enough to sense just how erratic the other's qi was!
Now Luo Binghe is paying attention, he notices the man is not only clutching his own chest in pain; he is trying to regain control of the qi flowing through his shaoyin meridian. Unsuccessfully, from the look of it.
Luo Binghe bites his lip. If his qi is this out of control... A qi deviation?!
This is bad. This is really bad. There is no way Luo Binghe can be of any use to someone going through a qi deviation. He's more likely to make things worse than to help.
What else is he supposed to do though? Does he really have enough time to fetch one of the elders for help when this man is already severely injured and panting with exertion?
The decision is made for him when another blow lands on his jaw, this time made with the blade's hilt. His ears still ringing, he grabs hold of the other's wrist with both hands and forces his qi through, praying he doesn't damage the man any further.
The arm is yanked back, but Luo Binghe's grip holds true. Rather than freeing the other's arm it merely slams the disciple back against another rock. Again, and again, until the man's last, frayed thread of control gives out and Luo Binghe feels steel dig into the flesh above his hip, through bone and tendon.
He screams, nails digging into skin until he's sure it will bruise the other.
Then everything stops.
The pressure behind his eyes, the suffocating aura surrounding him, all gone in a breath.
The only thing that remains before he loses consciousness is the sting on his back and the agony of a blade being wrenched loose.
He drifts. Through a dreamless haze, a pitch-black cloud. Voices come and go.
—series of lacerations—two broken rib—overed in about two weeks—
The first one drones on, a second one floating in between here and there—
—how is—stitches—why would Shen—
A firm but gentle touch strokes the hair away from his forehead. Soothes away the flames gathered at his temples.
He must still be dreaming.
He falls back asleep.