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The little beast hadn’t shown up to classes for three days straight.

This ordinarily would not be Shen Qingqiu’s problem, since he’d actually gotten some peace and quiet without the beast tripping up every class through his idiocy and sloppy techniques. Only, after the morning guqin session Ning Yingying dilly-dallied long after she should have gone for calligraphy lessons with Teacher Huang, hovering near Shen Qingqiu’s desk at the front of the classroom and wanting clearly to say something but keeping her mouth shut.

Forget it. As if there was any point trying to re-organize his notes while Ning Yingying kept biting her lip and giving him that shiny, begging look with such large brown eyes. Shen Qingqiu sighed and looked at her. “What is it?”

Permission finally granted, she cried out, “Shizun, it’s A’Luo!” Shen Qingqiu flinched, but kept still otherwise. “He’s been sick the whole week, and he can’t even get out of bed anymore. Please, Shizun, you have to help him!”

Blood was already ringing in Shen Qingqiu’s ears, and he lifted a slender hand to his temples to stop the headache growing there. “Ying’er,” he said in as mild a voice as he could muster. “If a disciple of Qing Jing Peak is feeling under the weather, they need only ask the hallmaster in charge of their dormitory for medicine, or to head to Qian Cao Peak to recuperate. You know that.”

“But A’Luo got kicked out of the boys’ dorm,” Ning Yingying said. “And he can’t even get up right now, so how can he go to Qian Cao? Please, Shizun? You can help him, can’t you?”

Fucking hell.

From the day he had brought this child into his peak he had never been able to refuse her anything. Call it sentiment, call it guilt towards the girl she reminded him of - that boor Shang Qinghua had once mindlessly opined that it was the only thing that proved Shen Qingqiu was still an omega and not an alpha with a permanently mislaid rut, that he held such open tenderness towards a girl young enough to be his daughter. Practically maternal, the way they were glued together at the hip.

(Qi Qingqi had choked on her tea, hearing the beta spout such garbage at a meeting of all places. For once, Shen Qingqiu hadn’t been the one to rip the An Ding Peak Lord’s head off.)

Alas, whether such speculation about the only omega Peak Lord of Cang Qiong was appropriate material for gossip, it was the truth. Shen Qingqiu adored Ning Yingying, his Ying’er. It would have… pleased him greatly, if he had ever borne a child, to have one turn out like her.

(He had been relieved when she, at the tender age of fourteen, presented as a beta. Ying’er had been dismayed by not becoming an omega herself; perhaps she’d imagined in her fancy that she and Shen Qingqiu would, in a show of dynamic camaraderie, regularly groom each other and cuddle during their heats, sharing blankets and snacks and a nest all their own - not realising, of course, that even if that had been the case, he couldn’t have possibly allowed such intimacy with a fellow omega who wasn’t his kin by pack nor blood. She was his disciple, yes. That wasn’t the same thing.)

Ning Yingying had, until the little beast’s arrival, used her powers largely for good. Then a gawky brat with messy black curls and always-skinned knees showed up on the mountain one fateful day, and Shen Qingqiu failed to banish him to Bai Zhan or An Ding despite how much the boy made him seethe on a daily basis.

Unfortunately there was no getting rid of him now after he’d made a name for himself. Not after the Sha demoness had tried to invade the sect on a day most of the Peak Lords were absent, and after Liu Qingge had - had - here Shen Qingqiu’s thoughts scattered and he ran past them lest his heart ache all over again - after the little beast helped secured Cang Qiong’s victory against the demons where even the War God’s own sister failed.

That day Luo Binghe won the admiration of everyone present, and even from some of his shixiongs. Shen Qingqiu hadn’t failed to notice how even Ming Fan had eased off on the beast since. No doubt he’d felt the sting of his own inadequacy - asking himself why Shizun hadn’t chosen him for the third bout despite his superior training and status as Head Disciple. Let him figure it out on his own, and make himself useful as a result.

When Yue Qingyuan had come back, rushing to Qian Cao where the injured were recuperating, he had even spoken to the little beast, who was suffering a host of nasty bruises and even some cracked ribs - but looking cheerful for once, and in awe of the Sect Leader personally thanking him for his valiant efforts. He’d even patted the beast on the head and the brat smiled, the shadows under his eyes disappearing as he did so.

Shen Qingqiu had been there as well, to assist Mu Qingfang with the injured and ignore his own pounding headache and trembling limbs at the same time. And then Yue Qingyuan had come over to him, looking so concerned for his wastrel shidi’s own safety and health - and - and -

And Shen Qingqiu had told him that Liu Qingge had died in the Lingxi Caves, and watched all the light and hope die out in the eyes of the man he once called his Qi-ge.

It had been two months since then. Shen Qingqiu hadn’t attended a Peak Lord meeting since, though he'd been confronted on the Rainbow Bridge by a tearful Liu Mingyan. She had been dragged off by one of her teachers, but the glare the woman shot Shen Qingqiu made it clear what she thought of them - what they all must think of him on Xian Shu now, and everywhere else.

He didn’t want to think about the rest of Cang Qiong right now. He didn’t want to think about Liu Qingge’s death and the fact he hadn’t accepted a mission off-peak for Qing Jing since the gongshow in Shuanghu City, that had sent Ying’er running from her dormitory to the Bamboo Cottage every night for a week until he permitted her to sleep in the sideroom until the nightmares went away, and she no longer woke up sobbing at the prospect of her body being dumped into a ditch and turned into a feast for maggots while the skinner demon wore her flesh as a cloak and held onto Shen Qingqiu’s arm and called him Shizun.

Shen Qingqiu hadn’t wanted that either.

He’d given the little beast twenty lashes then, for letting Ning Yingying out of his sight, and for following Shen Qingqiu after he’d gone after the demon himself in a pathetic bid to be helpful and getting caught and nearly butchered alongside Ying’er.

Ming Fan hadn’t been useful either; after they’d gone back, Shen Qingqiu had had him kneel in the Hall of Reflection for three days straight and copy out the Four Books a dozen times over before letting him serve him again.

(Ming Fan had delivered the last of his punishment with ink-stained fingers and quivering knees, blood seeping through the thick cloth of his disciple robes. Shen Qingqiu had gritted his teeth at the sight of his Head Disciple looking so pitiful, then ordered him to lie down on the luohan bed in the parlour and cut away the lower half of his trousers before cleaning and applying ointment to his bloodied knees.

“Do you know why I was so harsh with you?” he’d asked him after, when Ming Fan was bandaged up and gingerly sipping on tea with a slice of dried peach in it (his favourite), a plate of black sesame brittle by his side.

“Ning-shimei could have died and been replaced by a demon without anyone knowing,” his Head Disciple said, ashen as he chewed his pale lips red. “And I didn’t keep track of her despite already knowing it was so dangerous out there.”

“Not just her,” Shen Qingqiu told him. “As the Head Disciple, you’re responsible for looking after everyone in Qing Jing Peak and making sure they’re safe and accounted for. Not just the girl you like,” he added dryly, and watched Ming Fan turn red as cherries and squeak in protest:

“Shizun!”)

You’re responsible for looking after everyone in Qing Jing Peak and making sure they’re safe and accounted for.

Those words hadn’t been for Ming Fan alone, but Shen Qingqiu himself. And much as he despised it, the little beast was a part of Qing Jing too.

Had saved his hide at the demon invasion alongside everyone else’s, though Shen Qingqiu would never admit it. He could have defeated the Elder Sky Hammer as well, yes. Fighting back Sha Hualing and her entire horde on his own while trying to keep a pack of frightened children safe at the same time?

Not a fucking chance.

He would have died a smear of blood on the ground that day, and everyone on Cang Qiong butchered and their corpses desecrated and eaten by the scavenging army. What a way to go.

So however grudgingly you put it, you could say Shen Qingqiu owed the little beast. He hadn’t even gotten a big head after the failed invasion but went about quietly as normal until even his shixiongs began to return to bullying form - if only half-heartedly this time around.

You owe him.

Shen Qingqiu hated that.

Nevertheless…

“Take me to him,” he said, resigned to his fate, and followed Ning Yingying out of the classroom and past the sun-dappled bamboo paths, past the fork that led to the dormitories - and to a ratty old hut in a clearing that could only be a woodshed.

And oh, wasn’t that a sight for sore eyes. Shen Qingqiu recognised the miserable place - how could he not? How many times had he strung the little beast here and lashed him and let him figure out how to get down on his own?

Of course the beast lived and slept here when he’d been kicked out of the dorms. No one else on Qing Jing came around here, having foisted all their wood-chopping duties on him instead. For him, just like a young disciple so long ago, it was probably the only place on Qing Jing Peak that felt like home.

How many times had Shen Qingqiu slept and cowered here himself?

(He should have burned it down years ago.)

*

The little beast looked like he was dying.

He lay on his side on a grey bedding roll on the ground, only a plain bamboo mat separating him from sleeping directly on filth and dirt as he hunched up in on himself, eyes screwed shut as he groaned as if a stomach worm was eating him alive.

“A’Luo!” Ning Yingying cried out as she rushed inside the hovel. She knelt in front of Luo Binghe and fluttered her hands helplessly. “Oh, A’Luo, I promise it’s going to be alright from now on…”

The little beast ignored her, no doubt in too much pain to even notice who was talking to him. And meanwhile, Shen Qingqiu stood at the door of the woodshed and looked around at the home the beast had made for himself.

Firewood was still stacked up on two walls of the hovel, more for shelter and preventing wind slipping inside than anything else. Stacked atop the wood piles were a few baskets, cloth in one, stacked books in another, and so on - the beast’s few necessities. Bouquets of dried herbs hung from the rafters, probably for scent and insect repellant. And on one of the bare walls the beast had hammered in some nails and made a makeshift holder for his training sword, the one he had used to single-handedly defeat the Elder Sky Hammer and help beat back the demon horde when Shen Qingqiu, using Cang Qiong’s victory over the Sha brat, had forced them to run back to the Demon Realm with their tails in between their legs.

He didn’t know why his stomach churned at the sight of that old sword. A few more hits and that thing would snap in half and leave its wielder rudderless; he just knew it.

“A’Luo,” Ning Yingying was saying to the little beast. “It’s going to be fine now, see? Shizun is here, and he’ll help you - “

Even in the midst of agony the beast had the sense to freeze when he heard the word Shizun - and then with enormous effort, he opened his eyes and went white at the sight of Shen Qingqiu, standing in his hovel and staring at him dispassionately.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe wheezed, hands clutching at his stomach as Ning Yingying helped him to a sitting position. “‘m sorry… don’t know why I’m so sick right now…” He tried to get up to salute Shen Qingqiu properly, only to fall back on his rump and Ning Yingying to cry out in dismay again.

Shen Qingqiu stalked forward. “Let go of him, Ying’er.”

Ning Yingying shook her head, orange ribbons bouncing on either side of her head. “He can’t even sit up right now! Shizun, please…”

“Yingying,” Shen Qingqiu said in warning.

She reluctantly disentangled herself from the little beast and went to Shen Qingqiu’s side, hands balled up in small fists as she did so.

Maybe she was angry at him. Good.

Shen Qingqiu stared as the little beast tried to keep up in a sitting position on his own, shaking all the while. His skin was red in some splotches and grey in another, his eyes dilated and unfocused and huge. He looked like he was one step away from stumbling off the Naihe Bridge entirely and entering the cycle of reincarnation into his next life.

And even so, he lifted his quivering hands to his chest and rasped unsteadily, “This - this disciple greets Shi - Shizun.”

So he did.

Shen Qingqiu swept forward in a single movement. Ning Yingying cried out, “Don’t hurt him!”

(No doubt she thought he’d gone mad at last, and thought to mercy kill the little beast for everyone else’s sake.)

Perhaps he should have. Instead, Shen Qingqiu knelt and scooped up the little beast in his arms. Even at fifteen he was still made of bones alone, and hardly weighed more than a basket of laundry.

“Shizun!” the beast squeaked, lucid enough to know what Shen Qingqiu was doing was beyond his fathoming already. “You don’t have to - ”

“Shut up,” Shen Qingqiu said, and marched out of the woodshed with the boy in his arms and Ning Yingying running after them all the way up the path leading to the rest of Qing Jing, and the Bamboo Cottage.

*

Shen Qingqiu began to examine the little beast once he’d taken him inside the cottage. Fortunately the sideroom could still be used as a bedroom after Ying’er’s stay months ago, and he laid the boy down on the bed and began unceremoniously to strip him, even as Luo Binghe groaned in protest.

Ning Yingying gasped as her shidi - save for his underclothes - was laid bare and every part of him revealed to her. “Oh, Shizun!” she burst out, even before Shen Qingqiu could order her to leave, since this was hardly the appropriate setting for her to be, even around an unpresented brat like the beast. “Look at A’Luo. He’s so dinged up…”

Dinged up, like he was a child’s well-used toy and not a human being. Luo Binghe was thinner than other disciples his age, and pale as a sheet of xuan paper besides, and neither fact did much to hide both the way his collarbones and ribs jutted out from his frail body, as well as the aged bruises running up and down his bare body.

Some of them looked fresh, perhaps inflicted on him a few days ago or so. Some of them looked as if they had happened a while ago, and not been given enough time to heal - not until the next bruise had layered on top of the last.

A few could be accounted for by the little beast’s natural clumsiness, his astonishing ability to stumble and trip unprovoked whenever holding a stack of talismans or porcelain bowls or musical instruments. But he wasn’t such a frightful wreck at everything he touched that his shixiongs would think better of foisting their chores off of him. No, he was still good enough for that.

The little beast had been beaten up by the Elder Sky Hammer horoughly before turning the tide on the old wretch - that would also account for some of the bruises, though Shen Qingqiu had hoped Mu Qingfang would have given the brat better medicine than usual, as thanks.

But the majority, well…

Shen Qingqiu knew where such bruises came from. Of course he did.

What kind of monster would he be if he didn’t?

They came from “training” sessions in which the little beast’s shixiongs would pummel him in groups to one; from being forced to kneel in the Hall of Reflection or in front of Qing Jing’s steps for some misdeed for another. They came from having to do everyone else’s chores from dawn to dusk and attempting to practice sword training and cultivation on his own in the middle of the night on his own.

(Ning Yingying often tried to help the little beast with his lessons and vice versa. Between the two of them, Shen Qingqiu didn’t know which one was the fool and which one the blind.)

Of course, none of the bruises on Luo Binghe had been inflicted by Shen Qingqiu personally. For that alone, you merely had to turn him onto his back, and see whether any of the times he had lashed him had done any permanent damage.

He’d never made the beast strip to nothing when he punished him; he wasn’t so perverse as to do that. Nevertheless, would he have ever stopped if he saw his whip break the boy’s skin and make him bleed?

It was a moot question. Nevertheless, Shen Qingqiu knew the true answer.

(Didn’t he?)

Stripped to nothing and robbed of what scant dignity he once had, Luo Binghe just put his hands over his eyes and moaned.

Ning Yingying was speechless behind Shen Qingqiu; he couldn’t feel her usual high-strung energy for once. Perhaps he truly disgusted her now. After all, what went on in Qing Jing Peak without Shen Qingqiu’s knowing, his tacit permission and approval?

Nothing, nothing, nothing. Ming Fan and the others didn't even breathe out of order when he didn’t allow it first. Ning Yingying knew that.

The little beast knew that too, or he would have come whining to Shizun for help and medicine days ago, and not just huddled up in his woodshed waiting to die, knowing no one out there would come for him.

(Despite wishing every day of his small life that someone would.)

Shen Qingqiu would say nothing to defend himself; there was no defending what he was to begin with. His hands were stiff as he drew the blankets up to the little beast’s chin and touched his clammy brow, and did something he hadn’t done since he’d had to bid Ying’er farewell as he prepared to seclude into the Lingxi Caves and finally achieve that fucking breakthrough so he could feel calm for once, and the sight of the little beast’s improving cultivation wouldn’t send him into a seething rage -

He flooded the Bamboo Cottage with his soothing jasmine flower scent, his omega scent, and stroked the little beast on the forehead until he stopped whining and looking so ghastly pale, and even eased his hands away from his face, dried tear-tracks on the boy’s cheeks as he was lulled into sleep by the gentle scent of a mature omega whispering to his childish pup self: go to sleep go to sleep I’m here for you I’m here for you I’ll take care of you Mama will take care of you.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t understand what was happening himself. Apart from scenting Ying’er once in a while - and only when she begged - he kept his scent restrained and tightly bound to himself. Whatever maternal instincts omegas had towards the young, they had nothing to do with him. They never had, not since he’d presented early in the Qiu Manor and Qiu Jianluo had spoken daily of making him his concubine after his first heat and breeding him -

And yet, it became clear enough when Ning Yingying sobbed and put her thin arms around the back of his neck, clinging to him and rubbing her nose into his scent gland in need and longing, what he’d been doing the whole time:

Purring.

He’d been purring to soothe and comfort a boy he didn’t even see as a human being most of the time. And from the way Ying’er was pawing at him like a babe towards her mother - the way Luo Binghe’s face had practically turned into his hand and the boy slept with a soft, exhausted smile on him for once -

It had worked.

Imagine that.

*

It took nearly half a shichen to detangle Ying’er from his arms, she desperate to hang onto him like in the worst early days after she’d been abducted by the skinner and nothing would get her to sleep like Shen Qingqiu flooding the cottage with his scent and letting her curl up in bed with one of his robes.

(She was never even repentant the morning after. And if Shen Qingqiu had privately liked being needed, then, well…)

Nevertheless there was work to be done, and after she’d finally gotten her share of cuddles in, Shen Qingqiu made sure to rub his scent onto her cheeks and wrists before telling her to get some hot water and linens from the kitchen, as well as a spare set of robes from his own bedroom.

And then he retrieved his medicine -

And together, they patched up Luo Binghe.

*

“Classes are dismissed for the time being. Focus on self-study in the meantime. Let your shidis know this master will be testing them all when he returns; I won't tolerate anyone slacking off in my absence.”

“Shizun…”

Ming Fan looked helpless as he stood outside the door to the Bamboo Cottage, Shen Qingqiu having opened the door only a few inches to speak to him.

“Can’t I come inside?” his Head Disciple asked plaintively. “I could cook for you, I could clean, tidy up your books a little…”

“Ming Fan,” Shen Qingqiu said, and the boy fell silent, cowed.

Ever since his punishment after the Shuanghu debacle and the aftermath of the demon invasion, Ming Fan had practically reverted into the timid, too-eager-to-please child he had first been when Shen Qingqiu chose him to join his Peak; he’d only been ten then, and wearing fine robes too big for his small body. Perhaps his family had imagined he’d join Qiong Ding instead, and had dressed him lavishly for the occasion.

Shen Qingqiu sighed. There was no point blaming the boy for what he’d gone through the past few months. Even now Ming Fan bore a black eye from a scuffle he’d gotten into with some Bai Zhan brutes a week past.

(Shen Qingqiu had heard them shouting, even before he saw them, about how he’d killed their beloved Shizun and refused to be held responsible for it, how he’d bring ruin to Cang Qiong as a result -

And he’d also seen Ming Fan, white-faced but brave, defending him against Bai Zhan with a flock of frozen Qing Jing shidis behind him, all too petrified to argue for their teacher when they didn’t know the truth themselves.

Everyone else on Cang Qiong believed Shen Qingqiu had killed Liu Qingge out of jealousy and years of built-up rage towards his shidi, his superior.

Everyone but the little dope in front of him right now.)

“Ming Fan,” Shen Qingqiu said in a softer voice, and lifted his hand to stroke the boy on his head. “Do you remember what I told you before about taking care of everyone?”

Ming Fan’s eyes went wide at the intimate touch. Shen Qingqiu had never touched him before, save to correct his forms once in a while. “Shizun…” He said, lower lip trembling.

“I meant it. This master is occupied at the moment. In my absence, I need you to take care of your shidis and make sure no harm comes to them. Understood?” He raised a brow.

“Ye - yes, Shizun,” Ming Fan whispered.

“Be good,” Shen Qingqiu told him, and stroked his hair one last time before letting go, his Head Disciple staring at him with yearning eyes even as he closed the door to the outside world and returned to Ning Yingying and the little beast.

*

“Ah, there you go,” Ying’er was saying. “Eat up, A’Luo, it’s yummy! Okay, maybe not that yummy…”

It was the morning after he’d retrieved the little beast from his hovel, and Luo Binghe had finally woken up, though he was still stuffy-headed, and trying to choke down the miserable mushroom congee Shen Qingqiu had cooked for their sustenance.

Shen Qingqiu would wish his cooking not even on his worst enemies, but while he had all but secluded inside the Bamboo Cottage, he didn’t want questions coming up if he had ordered meals fetched to and fro. While he could endure inedia, neither Ning Yingying nor Luo Binghe could, and much as Ying’er was gifted in many ways, her ability to handle the stove was not one of them.

(The beast wasn’t a bad cook when he was well, was he? When he’d been younger and more naive, he would sometimes hover by the Cottage with a foodbox containing whatever dainty morsel he’d managed to cook up in his spare time. Ying’er was always gobbling up his offerings, but Shen Qingqiu refused them on the basis of the sheer audacity involved alone.)

Shen Qingqiu had gotten up early - not that he’d slept the night either, having spent most of it grinding herbs and powders to make up for the medicine he’d used on the beast the day before - to venture into the kitchen and salvage what ingredients he had left to make food for the two children in his care. Unfortunately, all he had were in the way of stale herbs and spices and wizened old legumes. Shen Qingqiu had soon given up and thrown some rice and dried mushrooms into a pot alongside water and a pinch of salt, and the resulting bland brown sludge was breakfast.

He stood by the door yet again and watched Ning Yingying try to feed Luo Binghe the congee, yet the little beast kept shaking his head and whining when she tried to push the spoon past his lips. Eventually there was more rice dribbling down his chin than inside of him, and Shen Qingqiu rapped his knuckles on the door and told her to stop.

“He’s not a dog, Ying’er, don’t force it,” he said, taking the bowl and spoon from her.

“I know.” Ning Yingying sulked, stepping aside and letting Shen Qingqiu take charge. “But he hasn’t eaten for days…”

Of course he hadn't. He’d been cowering in the woodshed on his lonesome all that time, with no one but Ning Yingying to check up on him to see if he was still alive. Who would have gone and fetched him food in that time?

(Ming Fan, for one. But Shen Qingqiu had never told him to take care of the little beast before, had he? Not like everyone else.)

“Mm.” Shen Qingqiu wiped away the rice from Luo Binghe’s chin with his sleeve, releasing more of his jasmine scent as he did so. At once the boy eased up, cracking an eye open and letting out a confused trill when he saw who was tending to him.

“Shizun…?”

“Eat,” Shen Qingqiu told him. “I know it tastes like garbage. Gods know I wouldn’t eat this stuff if I had a choice either. But no one else is going to feed you right now, so bear it while you can.”

“Shizun shouldn’t…” The little beast tried to get out of bed, and Shen Qingqiu glared him back down into the pillows.

“Eat,” he said, “and if you behave I’ll get you whatever you like, alright?”

“I.” Luo Binghe squinted at him with huge black eyes, his whole face puffy from sleep. Heavens, but even after he’d been cleaned and bundled up he still looked pathetic. “I like congee…”

“So eat,” Shen Qingqiu said, and spooned up lumpy bits of rice and pieces of rehydrated mushroom for him on the porcelain spoon.

Luo Binghe ate without protest after that, gazing at him with those docile eyes like a lamb, though he was already fifteen and too old to still look so innocent.

Ning Yingying left to fetch them tea on Shen Qingqiu’s request, and while she was gone Shen Qingqiu wiped Luo Binghe’s face clean with a damp cloth and had him lie flat in bed again.

“I don’t…” The boy looked lost for words. “Shizun helped me yesterday? Shizun did this?”

The disbelief in his voice was obvious enough. It - it stung, despite Shen Qingqiu knowing perfectly well the reason for such doubt.

(After all, hadn’t he engineered it himself? Hadn’t he wanted the little beast to shirk away from him, to never trust him, to never trust anyone?

Why should he feel bitter, then, that it had worked?)

“I did,” Shen Qingqiu said. “Ying’er asked me to.”

“Oh.” A weight settled onto the boy’s shoulders, something heavy and unseen, and Shen Qingqiu regretted having mentioned her at once. They both knew what she meant to him, how he’d always loathed seeing the two of them together. “I - this disciple understands. I’ll be out of Shizun’s hair as soon as I can get up - “

He was trying to get out of bed again. Shen Qingqiu rose to his feet and shoved him back down with both hands on his shoulders. “Enough.”

Luo Binghe flinched.

“Yingying asked me to look after you,” Shen Qingqiu said once he’d managed to calm his racing heart back down. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to kick you out right now. You’ll stay here until you recover, at least.”

“But Shizun hates me,” the little beast whispered, and the sad part was that Shen Qingqiu couldn’t even refute it. He’d soaked him in his scent and gave him medicine and let him sleep in the cottage for once, what the fuck was any of it in comparison to three years of bullying and ostracisation and whippings for a moment’s misdeeds? How could a heartbeat of tenderness make up for a lifetime of cruelty?

How could one thing make up for another at all?

Nothing could. None of Yue Qingyuan’s fawning and ostensible favouritism of Shen Qingqiu over the years had made up for his initial betrayal. Luo Binghe could play it cool now, but he must surely hate his Shizun’s guts deep inside after all he’d done to him.

Wouldn’t you?

A small tear hovered at the corner of the little beast’s eye, threatening to spill down his gaunt cheek. He was fifteen, too old to still be so small. How could such a tiny thing have defeated the Elder Sky Hammer all on his own? How could Shen Qingqiu have been so cruel as to send him into battle, knowing it could have killed him?

Even now he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything about anyone, much less himself.

Shen Qingqiu reached out for the little beast and wiped away the tear before he could cry.

“Forget about everything,” he said, voice threatening to crack. “Just focus on getting better for now. Shizun will take care of you until then, I promise.”

Luo Binghe didn’t say anything back. But he felt Shen Qingqiu’s hand against his cheek and he turned his face into it, into the scent glands on his wrist, and sighed when jasmine drifted out and soothed him.

By the time Ning Yingying had brewed the tea and come back, both Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe had fallen asleep, one slumped over the other - a sweet jasmine scent oozing relentlessly from one, and a warm, burgeoning scent of spices developing from the other.

*

“I don’t want to go,” Ying’er protested, wrapping arms around Shen Qingqiu’s neck in tears. “A’Luo’s still sick, Shizun! Please, let me stay until he gets better…”

Shen Qingqiu shook his head. “I still don’t know why he hasn’t improved yet, Ying’er. You might catch it too if you’re not careful.”

“But it’s not fair…”

Three days had passed, and Luo Binghe’s physical state had improved, most of his bruises fading away with the medicine Shen Qingqiu applied on him regularly, as well as the nourishing (if not tasty) slop he fed him three times a day.

But while he no longer looked so frail nor so gaunt, he still slept most of the day away and whined in discomfort and childish longing whenever the jasmine scent ebbed from his room and Shen Qingqiu had to rush back inside and scent him all over again. It had even gotten to the point he let the little beast use some of his robes for comfort’s sake. Luo Binghe only seemed to fall into a deep sleep when he could bury his nose in Shen Qingqiu’s clothes where his scent was most potent and where his sweat had soaked into the silk.

A maternal scent, an omega’s scent. Ridiculous. Shen Qingqiu didn’t believe in Shang Qinghua’s claptrap, that any part of him felt an instinctive need to soothe Luo Binghe because he was an older omega and the boy still an immature pup who made him want to groom and comfort him. Shen Qingqiu would have never laid a hand on him in the first place if so.

Nevertheless, the boy now reeked of jasmine more than he did, and in the meanwhile Ning Yingying, whose presence was always welcome otherwise, had become even more clingy and underfoot than usual. She didn’t even seem to realise how attached she’d gotten, even begging to sleep together with Shen Qingqiu at night as if he really was her mother.

Perhaps a small part of her was jealous of the newfound attention and nurturing Shen Qingqiu had grudgingly lavished onto Luo Binghe, wanted constant reminders her Shizun was devoted to her first still.

And he would be, in the future. But for now while they were all cooped up in the cottage with nowhere to go, three was company with one too many.

“Ying’er, it’ll be fine,” Shen Qingqiu consoled her. “You have studies too, and things to do, remember? Your shizun didn’t raise a silly girl, did he?”

“But I don’t know when I’ll see you again…”

He stroked her on the brow. “We can talk through the door every day if you want. You can keep an eye on Ming Fan too, and make sure he’s doing the right thing, hm? Won’t that be nice?”

“No, it won’t,” she hiccuped, and buried her wet nose into his neck one last time.

Shen Qingqiu gave her his robe so she’d have something to soothe herself with when she was back in the dorms before leading her to the door and taking her outside. Ning Yingying still looked heartbroken when he waved her goodbye one last time - then she shuddered with her arms wrapped around herself, and turned back on the gravel path leading to the cottage and walked away.

And Shen Qingqiu too, closed the door.

*

It began to rain.

The cottage, in Ying’er’s absence, went from too small to too large again. Believe it or not but Luo Binghe didn’t need that much minding - lethargic though he was, he did Shen Qingqiu the grace of not vomiting up his food after every meal, and he could gather enough strength to get out of bed so he could relieve himself, if only for a ke at a time.

Mostly, the little beast ate and slept and wheezed once in a while, and meanwhile Shen Qingqiu ground up medicine and marked assignments completed during his seclusion, and released his scent outward every time he heard the boy sniffle in his sleep.

And he was calm.

He hadn’t been calm in years. He didn’t think he had even been born calm. But as rain drummed over Qing Jing Peak and replenished the mountain lakes and let the bamboo fountains run over, as the cottage was left in a world all its own and the only sounds heard within was the turning of a page or a fire crackling in the kitchen or the little beast sighing in his sleep, Shen Qingqiu was strangely at peace with it all.

He could even sleep in his own bedroom knowing Luo Binghe was in the sideroom only a dozen feet away. Not since he’d been twelve had Shen Qingqiu been able to sleep under the same roof with one of his own sex. Even the omega dormitory, when he’d entered Qing Jing for the first time, had presented its own kind of stifling hell. His shixiongs and shijies had well-established bonds and a hierarchy long before he’d entered the picture. Not only had they not wanted him interfering in their nest and grooming sessions, Shen Qingqiu hadn’t wanted to be around them either. No, when he was lonely, when he craved scent-sharing and to cuddle during a miserable heat, he would head down to the Red Warm Pavilion instead.

Even if his jiejies could never truly be his pack, even if they could only give him what he craved because he paid them, because he could afford it, it gave him respite. For a few hazy days and nights Shen Qingqiu would strip down to his underclothes and let out his scent unprovoked, and groom and be groomed by his jiejies for shichen at a time, and at the end of the night they would all sleep together in a mass of limbs and snores, and be at peace.

After a week, then two in Luo Binghe’s company and no one else’s, and Shen Qingqiu feeling more well-rested than ever, he began to wonder, hysterically, if Shang Qinghua had been right - that nurturing the little beast, looking after him and letting his scent out more and more, had soothed Shen Qingqiu’s omega instincts, his nature… and he had become settled as a result.

It could only be because the boy was still unpresented, had the soft and comforting scent of a pup that made omegas yearn to protect and comfort him still. Maybe he would become an omega too, like Shen Qingqiu. Even a beta, perhaps. Then there would be no reason to turn him out after he got better - Shen Qingqiu could still scent him like he did Ying’er, let him hang around the cottage more and more -

Maybe then, he’d finally stop resenting the little beast for nothing at all, and let him be.

Maybe then.

*

The little beast was crying.

Shen Qingqiu heard the quivering keen from the sideroom before Luo Binghe could shut himself up again, as he so often did when whatever cruel dream he was in choked him up inside and made him tremble from head to toe.

By now it was instinct; he pushed back his chair from his desk and rushed out of the parlour, flaring out his scent protectively even before he got to the sideroom, rushing over to the boy’s side once he did. “What is it?”

Luo Binghe’s eyes were screwed shut in pain, teeth biting his lower lip bloody as he whined incoherently, determined to endure whatever hell was going on inside of him on his own.

“Shh, shh…” Shen Qingqiu draped his robe over him, rubbing his wrist glands onto the boy’s cheeks. “Wake up. It’s just a bad dream, nothing more.”

The little beast still shook his head, so Shen Qingqiu grabbed his hands and interlaced their fingers together, gripping tight.

“It’s just a bad dream, Binghe,” he whispered again.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had said the boy’s name aloud. It seldom seemed important. After all, what was in a name?

(Shen Jiu wasn’t a very important name either, was it?

Nor was Qingqiu.)

“Nn…” Luo Binghe whined low in his throat, holding onto Shen Qingqiu just as tight. “A’Niang, it hurts…”

Shen Qingqiu froze.

He wasn’t anyone’s a’niang, much he could be, much as Ying’er had accidentally called him that a dozen times over her first year on Qing Jing, when she’d been a small dumpling no taller than his elbow and still smelled of her mother’s loving scent long after she’d left her family estate and become his disciple, become his.

He wasn’t Luo Binghe’s a’niang either. The old woman had died a long time ago and the boy vowed to join Cang Qiong and become a cultivator to honour her.

And he had, hadn’t he? Even at fifteen he had been pivotal to Cang Qiong’s victory against Sha Hualing’s horde, even when Shen Qingqiu had only sent him out there in the first place because everyone else was useless, and the sight of the boy alive and thriving when Liu Qingge had been so brave and strong and yet still died for a fucking abomination like Shen Jiu, and why should the little beast still look so grateful to see Shen Qingqiu again after all he’d done to him, when the man who should have been his real shizun had left been left to rot in the Caves and Shen Qingqiu was a monster -

For a moment, all Shen Qingqiu could think about was leaning forward and sinking his teeth into the boy’s pale throat and tearing it out.

Maybe if Luo Binghe died now he would remain sweet and pure and too innocent to hate the man who had treated him like garbage for the past three years. Maybe then, Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t stop aching with regret and heartbreak and what if what if what if -

What if Liu Qingge had lived instead, and protected Cang Qiong all on his own without needing to get anyone else hurt?

What if at Shen Qingqiu’s grave Yue Qingyuan had broken down and apologised for having never been true to him, and the boy once known as Xiao Jiu could pass onto the next life with his heart a little less burdened and a little more at peace?

(What if he’d never dumped the tea on Luo Binghe’s head at all? What then?)

He didn’t know. Only that his scent was oozing out like miasma now, and even Luo Binghe grimaced at the distress Shen Qingqiu was letting out, the pungent rot of decaying flowers.

“A’Niang,” the boy begged. “A’Niang, please, it’s too much…”

Shen Qingqiu trembled. He forced himself to draw his scent back into himself, until the sideroom smelled only of faint jasmine and something else he couldn’t place at the moment.

“A’Niang is sorry,” he whispered. “A’Niang is so sorry for the way he’s treated you, Binghe…”

Luo Binghe opened his eyes to look at him, but even then Shen Qingqiu could tell he wasn’t lucid. “Don’t be,” the boy mumbled. “I’ve been bad, I know. Keeping things from you, not listening to you…”

“You haven’t.” His heart lurched forth. “You’ve been very good. So good I don’t even know what to do with you half the time. Sometimes I wish I could eat you up so you’d stay like this forever, small and sweet and perfect. You’d never hate me for what I’ve done and you’d never leave me. Do you understand, Binghe?”

The boy shook his head but crooned low under his breath for more. Shen Qingqiu nosed under Luo Binghe’s throat and smiled when he trilled in response.

“Look at you, silly puppy,” he laughed. “Your a’niang is so proud of you, you know that? If she knew how much you’d done already, she’d be thrilled.”

“Mm.” Luo Binghe smiled sleepily, letting go of Shen Qingqiu’s hands to wrap arms around his neck. “Love you so much, A’Niang…”

Shen Qingqiu hugged him back without hesitation. “I love you too,” he whispered. “Now go to sleep, alright?”

“Stay with me,” Luo Binghe begged him. “Stay with me, A’Niang. Don’t leave me…”

Shen Qingqiu’s heart was so full it could run over. “I won’t,” he promised. “I’ll be right here.”

Luo Binghe giggled with joy and fervour, as Shen Qingqiu sank with him into bed and they entangled their limbs together just like mother and child, just like omegas sharing a nest together, just like bondmates.

And all was well.

*

Shen Qingqiu woke up alone the morning after.

The rain had stopped, and sunlight broken through dreary skies at last. He felt impossibly warm and drowsy as he remembered the day before. Mortifying as it was to recall all he’d spouted - and to Luo Binghe of all people - he still felt sated and full inside.

He had a bond, he thought hysterically. Sure, it might be with the little beast, and who knew how long it might even last, but for once Shen Qingqiu felt truly connected with someone, heart and body and soul. Who cared if the boy wanted him to call him A’Niang? They’d figure it out later!

He just had to…

He lifted his head and sniffed the air. His scent was ever-present, yes, but beneath the potent floral fragrance was something else. Earthy, and dark, and nothing like an unpresented pup at all.

It couldn’t be. Had someone entered the Bamboo Cottage without his permission?

Shen Qingqiu got out of bed and opened the door, good mood suddenly gone. He smelled some kind of spice and - and smoke, coming from the kitchen. Who the hell would have invaded his home while he was asleep and ended up cooking for him?

(Yue Qingyuan? No, the man smelled like pine needles, and his food was almost as wretched as Shen Qingqiu’s. Who could it be, then…)

The parlour looked undisturbed, though someone had tidied up Shen Qingqiu’s papers and pushed in his chair for him. They’d even washed his brushes and put away his ink.

Could it be the little beast? But Binghe had barely been able to get up for a ke at a time on the best of days. Where was he…

More sounds came from the kitchen, the sound of clinking plates and a knife in action, and again, that spice beneath the smoke. What was that smell…

Shen Qingqiu tread into the kitchen on soft and silent feet, covered in only a sleeping robe over his inner clothes and his hair disheveled and undone.

And oh, there his Binghe was, leaning over the stove as he stirred whatever was within it with a ladle, humming something under his breath - and smelling different.

Unpresented pups always smelled indistinct but pure, like fresh laundry, or spun sugar. Luo Binghe’s new scent was burgeoning, but it was there now - the scent of cinnamon drifting unknowingly from his person (the idiot didn’t even know how to control it) and - and -

And woodsmoke - rich, smoky, mouthwatering. It wasn’t coming from the kitchen hearth at all, but the boy himself. Luo Binghe smelled like woodsmoke; he smelled like fire.

What was fire to Shen Qingqiu save for salvation and ruin? What had he left behind in the Qiu Manor that night but smoke rising up in black plumes as a centuries-old estate went up in flames alongside its master and rotten servants?

For weeks after he’d fled that hell Shen Jiu’s nostrils and nails had remained black with soot as he tried to scrub them out to no avail, stayed filthy and stained long after he’d washed the rest of his sins away.

Or tried.

It was that same smell Luo Binghe carried on him now, the stench of Shen Qingqiu’s first desecration upon this world. And worst of all -

And worst of all…

As the boy continued on obliviously, practicing trills and growls and purring under his breath, it couldn’t be more clear that Shen Qingqiu had spent the past month cuddling with and nurturing a baby alpha under his roof, scenting him and allowing him to call him A’Niang, and promising to do better by him, and loving him -

There was no rest for the wicked, Shen Qingqiu thought before his mind fled him at last, and he buckled to his knees, Luo Binghe turning in surprise and gasping at the sight of the man crumpled to the floor and bleeding from his eyes, his ears -

The qi deviation hit him before he knew it was even coming.

And then he was no more.

*

“Shizun,” someone was whimpering, soft and puppyish and underfoot. “Shizun, wake up, please. I’m so sorry…”

Shen Qingqiu’s head felt caked in lead all over. He groaned and rolled over to his side, clutching his head in his hands. Why, so why did he feel so miserable and empty all of a sudden, like he was missing something, missing himself -

“Shizun’s awake!” A different voice cried out. “Shishu, Mu-shishu!”

“I’m coming,” an older voice said authoritatively. Fingers touched Shen Qingqiu’s temples, sending in warm pulses of gentle qi into his meridians until his headache ebbed. “Oh, shixiong, what a state you’re in…”

Shen Qingqiu didn’t want to hear it. “Out,” he gasped. “Everyone out.”

There was a dreadful pause in which he thought he’d had to release his distressed scent of rotting flowers to get them to scram, but then the man said, “He’s right. Go to your duties now.”

“But - “ said the first voice plaintively, a familiar voice, the one Shen Qingqiu craved - and yet was repulsed by for reasons he couldn’t remember. “I can’t leave, Mu-shishu, I’m Shizun’s - “

“You’re not anything at the moment right now, Disciple Luo,” Mu Qingfang said firmly. “Not until things get settled. Disciple Ning, please take your shidi out immediately.”

“... yes, Mu-shishu,” both voices said glumly, and then there was the sound of a door opening and shut.

There was a long exhale above Shen Qingqiu’s brow, and a tired, “You can open your eyes now, shixiong.”

Shen Qingqiu did so with reluctant effort, looking up with bleary eyes at Mu Qingfang from his bed.

Oh, he thought dimly. He was in his own bedroom now. Not the sideroom, where he’d slept with Luo Binghe for so long -

“Tell me,” Shen Qingqiu rasped. “What happened.”

“That’s what I should be asking you,” Mu Qingfang said, leaning back to rub his eyes. “Shixiong, I don’t know what you were even thinking, but that boy of yours - Disciple Luo - was in the midst of presenting into an alpha when you took him in. I don’t know why you didn’t take him to Qian Cao immediately, but - “

“I didn’t fucking know, obviously,” Shen Qingqiu snarled, balling his hands up into fists. Luo Binghe hadn’t even borne the usual symptoms of a burgeoning alpha - increased temper, restlessness and an itching to fight, much less sexual interest - hadn’t it only been reasonable to think he had just fallen ill from years of built-up injuries?

If from the beginning Shen Qingqiu had known the little beast was only in the midst of transforming into a beast proper, he would have dumped him onto Qian Cao from the start and washed his hands of him. He wouldn’t have coddled him at all, tried to soothe and comfort him at all, wouldn’t have cared for him at all…

(Right?)

“I’m not blaming you for what happened, shixiong,” Mu Qingfang said, raising his hands in surrender. “But surely you must know how your presence affected him during his stay in your home. There’s a reason presenting youth are confined on their own until they’ve completed their dynamic - or at least, they’re supposed to.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” Shen Qingqiu’s voice cracked. “Do you really think I’d want any more alpha around me if I knew I’d had a choice?”

Did that mean Luo Binghe could have been a beta or omega had Shen Qingqiu just left him in the woodshed instead? That Shen Qingqiu could have been cruel for just one more day, and saved himself a host of grief for years after?

Because if so - if so -

He choked out a wet laugh. “Is that all, then. I turned Luo Binghe into a fucking alpha when he could have been anything but? That’s my crime now?”

“You know it’s not a crime,” Mu Qingfang said tersely. “Just not something you're supposed to do. But no, shixiong, it’s not everything. Have you…” He bit his lip. “Heavens, I know how ridiculous this must sound. I thought the concept was extinct myself. But Shen-shixiong - “

“What,” Shen Qingqiu barked. “What the hell could it possibly be now.”

“Imprinting,” Mu Qingfang said. “Luo Binghe imprinted on you during his presentation, shixiong. You two were together day and night, it was inevitable.”

“So what.” Shen Qingqiu was empty inside. What good was it to be bonded to an alpha, even one as doe-eyed as the little beast? “Does that make me his mother now?”

“No, shixiong. He’s too old for that.” Mu Qingfang swallowed. “He’s going to be incredibly attached to you regardless. But the most likely scenario is that the boy has imprinted onto you as his mate.

“I’m sorry, I know that’s not what you wanted to hear,” he added with a grimace. “Zhangmen-shixiong will understand, when we explain you didn’t do it on purpose - “

“No!”

Shen Qingqiu leapt out of bed to grab onto Mu Qingfang’s shoulders, nearly sending them both to the floor as he did so. “No, don’t tell him,” he begged. “Don’t tell Yue Qingyuan anything…”

His shidi’s expression hardened. “If it was an accident,” he said, “which I believe it was, then no punishment will be forthcoming. You don’t have anything to fear from Zhangmen-shixiong, I promise.”

Oh, but he did. He really did. He already knew what Yue Qingyuan thought of him, the monster he’d become. It was still a miracle he hadn’t banished Shen Qingqiu from the sect after Liu Qingge’s death…

“Please,” Shen Qingqiu pleaded. “Mu-shidi, just let me figure it out for myself.”

“What can you even do?” Mu Qingfang asked in turn, hysteria in his voice. “You realise the only options at present are coming clean and breaking it off with your disciple - which might send him into a spiral and damage him permanently, or to accept your bond with him in all and any form it manifests.” He eased Shen Qingqiu’s hands off his shoulders and squeezed them back. “Perhaps he really will see you as his new mother figure. That would be wonderful. If this just ends up with you doting on each other like parent and child, nothing would make me happier.” He smiled painfully. “But the boy is already fifteen, old enough to get married. I just don’t see how it could go well now that it’s turned out like this…”

“He called me A’Niang,” Shen Qingqiu croaked. “Before his scent came in fully. When he was still - when he was still mine. He saw me as his mother. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“I don’t know.” Mu Qingfang shook his head. “For your sake though, shixiong, I hope it does.”

*

He couldn’t sleep.

After Mu Qingfang had left - and without promising to keep his secret from Yue Qingyuan, Shen Qingqiu had closed all the shutters on the windows and crawled back into bed and wept.

Luo Binghe was an alpha. Luo Binghe had imprinted onto him and Shen Qingqiu likely caused it by coddling him when he was so near to his adult dynamic, releasing his jasmine scent everywhere and making him associate it with home and comfort and need for weeks and weeks and weeks without end…

He knew what imprinting was; the closest thing to soulmates in this cursed world. Luo Binghe had bonded irrevocably to him, and if he was now drawn to Shen Qingqiu in the light Mu Qingfang had feared he would, he would no longer be able to bond romantically with another, no beta nor omega nor fellow alpha, not even Ying’er like he’d feared once…

The boy would never love anyone else again like he would Shen Qingqiu, and for what? It wasn’t true devotion, not really, just a mass of jumbled up hormones and being the right person at the right place and time.

(That had never been Shen Qingqiu’s gift, had it? It had always been the other way around.)

Neither of them had seen each other since he’d first woken up. Shen Qingqiu didn’t know how strong the bond was yet, whether they could break it off safely without sending Luo Binghe into hysterics or breaking his spirit forever.

Only a few months ago he wouldn’t have given a shit about how the boy suffered so long as he could keep his own hands clean. So why did it ache to think about Binghe hurting again? About him hurting him again?

Why did he want to bury his head into his arms and weep?

*

From within the Bamboo Cottage on Qing Jing Peak there came a long and piercing cry, keening up and high into the lonely night sky.

And after a long silence, another joined it in unison.

All night long two voices wept in sorrow and heartbreak, together in spirit but physically apart, barred by door and threshold, by bond and brutality, by tenderness and abuse.

And then there was silence.

*

You’ve been very good. So good I don’t even know what to do with you half the time.

Sometimes I wish I could eat you up so you’d stay like this forever, small and sweet and perfect. You’d never hate me for what I’ve done and you’d never leave me.

Do you understand, Binghe?

*

Yes, Shizun.