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“Nooooooo oh my god why are you like thissssss.”
Shen Qingqiu continues to wave his fan, languid and elegant. His most wretched disciple hunches in on himself further, though it can’t hide the way he’s started to broaden at the shoulders. That he’d grow tall and strong had always been obvious, to Shen Qingqiu’s immense dislike. Even when he’d first scurried up the mountain, near starved, the bare bones of what he’d grow into were there. With a proper diet, the boy would one day turn into a true behemoth of a man.
Shen Qingqiu had set out to ensure he wouldn’t, though there’s been an unfortunate disruption to his plan.
Humidity is thick around them, Shen Qingqiu kept from the worst of the oppressive summer air by the talismans stitched into his robes. The boy simply sweats profusely like the animal he is and the other one has no flesh with which to suffer the weather. It complains still, endlessly, as though it can feel any heat other than Shen Qingqiu’s own.
“Binghe did nothing wrong! Do you need glasses? Or does being irredeemable scum give you some sick thrill?”
Given that the thing came to life as an attempted bodysnatcher, it’s not surprising that its voice sounds similar to Shen Qingqiu’s. The difference between them comes from the rhythm with which they talk, their cadence, the odd way the spirit forms sentences, the ridiculous turns of phrase it throws out. It’s always hissing in his ear, attempting to bend Shen Qingqiu on behalf of the beast cowering before them.
It favours the boy for some unfathomable reason. Fusses over him, attempting to wipe off dirt and blood, intangible fingers attempting to straighten sleeve cuffs and wild hair. Shen Qingqiu is the only person who can see the spirit and yet it is Luo Binghe that it fawns over.
Clutching at Shen Qingqiu’s sleeve, tugging slightly with its vehemence, the thing is currently furious with him. Again, on behalf of Luo Binghe . Such an imbecilic being, to be so utterly oblivious. The correlation between its own actions and the way Shen Qingqiu metes out punishment appears to be as invisible to it, as it is to the rest of the world.
Why is it that it is Luo Binghe who receives such easily given attention, affection, when Shen Qingqiu is the only person it can see, can touch? Sometimes Shen Qingqiu wonders if he wasn’t chosen as a possession target, solely for proximity to this beastly boy.
“Aaaaaah, all those options are terrible! Scenario pusher is how much?? This is highway robbery! And my complaint email keeps bouncing back which I'm sure you've got nothing to do with. Tch, yeah yeah, sure."
The spirit is also frequently incomprehensible. Shen Qingqiu shouldn’t put any weight to the words and actions of a body thief, let alone one who is so obviously and perpetually in the process of mentally unravelling while it mutters to itself.
“Beast,” Shen Qingqiu begins to hand down his judgement and, predictably, the spirit cuts its wild rant short.
"Option two!" It shouts, waving a hand through the air while it lunges upwards, releasing his sleeve in order to cling to the front of Shen Qingqiu’s hanfu. Staring up at him with big eyes, his face an unsettling rendition of Shen Qingqiu's own, the thing looks pathetic. It looks like it's close to crying — fake tears, Shen Qingqiu knows. It learnt to weaponize its vulnerability long before it came to haunt Shen Qingqiu. A year and a half should have taught it better, by now. Tears will not move Shen Qingqiu, especially not those shed in defence of this horrible child.
“Qingqiu,” it widens its watery eyes. They’re a lovely brown, truly striking within Shen Qingqiu’s eye shape. He’s stopped attempting to gouge them out whenever it stares too long. “Qingqiu please.”
Shen Qingqiu blinks, entirely unmoved. It licks its lips; a soft and indulgent facsimile of Shen Qingqiu’s firmly set mouth. Despite everything Qingqiu knows about it — and he has learnt much, over the time they’ve been bound together — it’s still an attractive little wretch. It is beautiful in all the ways Shen Qingqiu is not. Soft and warm, indulgent and amusing even in its tantrums, where Shen Qingqiu is nothing but the sharp of a sword’s edge.
What a detestable thing.
"Punish the actual culprit and I'll tell you another secret."
A juvenile attempt at manipulation, clumsy and easily seen through. Shen Qingqiu prefers such hamfisted attempts, to the alternative of having to constantly be on guard against a silvered tongue. Sometimes - though only ever with the benefit of hindsight - Shen Qingqiu has discovered that its heavy handed machinations have actually worked to benefit him. Shen Qingqiu, rather than that beast. Whether such a thing is intentional or only incidental… Impossible to say, from a mind so addled as the spirits’ is.
If he’s not quite as sharp with the thing, occasionally, there is no one who could ever notice.
Shen Qingqiu allows his green eyes to slide away from the boy and focus on the spirit. It perks up, obviously enthused to have his attention. Like a pet. Shen Qingqiu certainly indulges it like one.
“It’s a good one, I promise. Mu Qingfang will have a heart attack when he realises you’ve found it.”
Shen Qingqiu does like to one up his fellow Peak Lords, though at least with Mu Qingfang the competition is… not quite friendly, but certainly less cutthroat. There’s no active malice between the two of them, at least. Since this spirit has come into his life, Shen Qingqiu has consistently held the upper hand in many things, not the least of which being this unspoken competition with Mu-shidi. It has been eminently satisfying.
The knowledge this shade barters is more valuable than Luo Binghe’s blood will ever be. That alone would be enough to sway Shen Qingqiu and if the spirit had any patience, it would have to part with that alone. However, Shen Qingqiu refuses to accept any deal immediately; too busy looking for any hidden catches, loopholes - anything which could turn a deal into a trap. This ghost, fool that it is, had not waited him out. Instead, it had offered concession after concession.
Greed has long since sunk its claws into the marrow of Shen Qingqiu’s bones. Too long spent with less than nothing has taught him the value of excess, though the pleasure of mere things tarnishes more easily than blood is spilt. No matter what else it is, Shen Qingqiu’s ghost is no inanimate thing. Fluid and ever changing, it nevertheless stays by his side through all its wild fluctuations and instabilities. Incandescent, where Shen Qingqiu only ever burns like ice.
This shade makes it so easy for him to take and take and take. So, accordingly, he does.
Interestingly, despite their rough start, the shade has never attempted to outright trick him. Clumsy manipulations and attempts at redirection, yes, but blatant lies? Broken promises? The spirit is either too clever or not clever enough to try. Shen Qingqiu cannot decide which one it is, knows it doesn’t particularly matter when it will change nothing either way. When it can’t hurt him, either way.
He knows that it doesn’t even want to hurt him, despite the caustic words it often spits in his direction. Shen Qingqiu has long since learnt to heed actions over anything else and never once has it tried to harm him, not even by proxy. Likely because Shen Qingqiu’s demise will herald its own. Self-preservation is the one motive that Shen Qingqiu knows to trust. The failed body theft has left them inextricably entwined.
Bound without escape, without exception.
Shen Qingqiu hums, as though deep in thought over his ghosts’ offer, letting some facsimile of reticence enter his eyes. It’s not entirely feigned; it has been entirely too long since he’s reminded this student of his place, after all. The boy will grow too big, too powerful, even with Shen Qingqiu’s interference. The only way to keep a leash on such an animal is to train it properly while young. Beat the resistance out of it before it thinks to bite back, make sure it never learns how.
This shade, annoyance that it is, disagrees. Vehemently. Beneath all that scathing wit hides a heart just as soft as that plush mouth. Such a thing makes it predictable, a fact that Shen Qingqiu thoroughly exploits. He keeps waiting for it to learn, to adjust its tactics to counter Shen Qingqiu’s own, but so far it hasn’t even tried. Perhaps it finds their regular back and forth enjoyable, satisfying enough that there’s no need to alter a thing.
As expected, the barest sign of hesitation has the shade pressing even closer to him. It clings to his arm, to his shoulder, given weight only when Shen Qingqiu touches it in return. Without that grounding, it’s entirely weightless, unable to so much as wrinkle cloth. The top of its head barely reaches his shoulders, compact thing that it is. Shen Qingqiu often wonders if its height is a result of the failed possession, or a reflection of its real size before it became a too soft mirror of Shen Qingqiu. It rubs its face against his upper arm, an easy glide against the fine fabric. Under the summer heat, the chill of it is a welcome sensation.
“If you treat Binghe like an actual fucking — uh, I mean. If you punish the real culprit, then tonight… I’ll…” Embarrassment bleeds into its face. It cannot hold eye contact with him while it speaks, nervous fingers trying and failing to dig into Shen Qingqiu’s skin while it attempts to thicken its face. Best of all, such performative shyness is not even an act. It truly has comically little face about so many things, but especially this. It likes to speak in flowery euphemisms, likes to circle around the point until it has even confused itself.
Each filthy thing it has ever said, Shen Qingqiu has pried out by force.
“You know,” it mumbles, biting its plush lip. “Whatever.”
This type of loose, ill defined promise is one which is usually made with no intention of follow through. The speaker leaves it broad to give themself plenty of room to squirm away, to excuse themself, to backtrack. This shade, squirming though it’s only given the barest inference of something untoward, won’t do any of that. When Shen Qingqiu sequesters them within his home, it really will let him have ‘whatever.’ Anything he wants, so long as he remembers to coax it first. It does not even have to be a sweet coaxing; the thing responds equally well to merciless bullying. Its tears taste real, when Shen Qingqiu licks them from its face.
When the shade had first offered such a method of persuasion, it had looked as shocked as Shen Qingqiu felt. Eyes wide, mouth ajar, entirely mortified. Shen Qingqiu had accepted only to see what it would do, to laugh at the ways it would try to rescind such a statement. But it hadn’t; had pushed through with the type of stubbornness he couldn’t help but admire. Doubled down, even, as though Shen Qingqiu couldn’t see its panic. Acceptance had been nothing more than a lesson, that first time. Shen Qingqiu teaching what he had once been taught, and far more kindly at that:
Never offer something you cannot stand to give, or lose.
Shen Qingqiu had expected one of two things, after the night he’d thoroughly ruined the spirit. First, for that to be the end of it. The spirit would do its best to forget such a thing ever happened, ignoring it entirely. Alternatively, there would be further attempts to leverage Shen Qingqiu’s supposedly lustful appetite in the spirit’s favour.
If it had any sense, it would have kept such a bargaining chip as its trump card. Sex nothing but a manipulation pulled out only in cases of last resort. Used only when Shen Qingqiu is in a truly foul mood and unwilling to budge, even for useful information. Held in reserve for only the most dire of situations. Were their situations reversed, that is what Shen Qingqiu would have done. Hatefully, miserably, he would have pursued any advantage he could get his intangible hands on.
Instead, his useless little spirit had offered again, over and over. Whenever Shen Qingqiu spends a moment thinking about the offer presented — and, as noted, he always takes a moment to think it through, no matter how tantalising the original offer — the little thing throws itself at him.
Perhaps one day, it will work up the courage to ask for what it wants without an excuse. For now, Shen Qingqiu allows this charade; the spirit is deceiving only itself, rather than Shen Qingqiu. So long as it has the pantomime of trading sex for Luo Binghe’s safety, it can trick itself into believing that such a thing is a ‘necessary evil.’ That it surely would never do such disgusting, base things, otherwise. Maybe it even consoles itself that enjoying such acts is far better than hating every moment of it.
Shen Qingqiu could explain the stupidity of such a thought, but he does not. Let the foolish thing stay willfully blind. Slowly, layer by layer, Shen Qingqiu will continue to peel it apart and feast upon its gloriously fragile self.
So when it lays its head upon his arm, he does not brush it away. When it stutters and drops its voice and cannot give word to the things it’s attempting to promise, he doesn’t sneer or even slap it’s pretty face with his fan — not yet, at least.
Instead, he flicks his wrist to snap his fan shut. The sound alone is enough to have his disciple jumping in place, hunching into himself further. A casual movement of his arm has the edge of his fan scraping against his ghost’s jaw. Such a brief caress has the thing shivering, pressing closer to him with need, pupils already starting to blow wide with want.
“Send Ming Fan to me, then go to Qian Cao. If that cut becomes infected, I’ll carve the lesson into your muscle.”
He will, too, and all three of them know it. Even with the significant decrease in corporal punishment, the boy still fears him enough to be obedient. Wide eyes shine up at him, the teenager rightfully grateful to be spared Shen Qingqiu’s wrath. Even after so long of this… leniency, the beast still expects the worst from him. Good. He can only hope that such fear lingers for decades to come, keeping the grown man cowed as much as his younger self is now.
They both know such a child should’ve died on the streets; it is through Shen Qingqiu’s mercy alone that he has a chance to even dream of something better for himself. It makes the wretch grateful in a way the other disciples do not know to be. He knows the cruelty of life without shelter, without food, without any aid at all. Shen Qingqiu will make him work for it and beat any sense of entitlement out while he’s at it.
A pity he cannot do the same for most of the other students. Those that walk around with their heads held high, who through accident of birth have never had to work for a thing in their lives. Physically distant from their families though they may be, many have firm ties still. It makes some sense, he supposes. A skilled cultivator brings honour and usually money as well. Even a half trained cultivator will bring better marriage prospects, even more so when their training occurs at a sect like Cang Qiong.
Due to the beasts’ dislocated shoulder, his farewell salute is extremely lopsided. Blood drips and flicks across the grass as the disciple scurries away but, as it stains only the grass, Shen Qingqiu doesn’t bother to show him the error of his ways. The Luo brat should worship Qingqiu’s little ghost, for all the times it has stayed his hand.
Luo Binghe was a nice outlet, for a time. Being now regularly bribed to leave the brat physically untouched, Shen Qingqiu finds that he has little patience for the rest of his students' ridiculous behaviour. While their families do have the potential to make trouble for the sect… Shen Qingqiu doubts they will. Not for second sons, or third, or whichever number spawn was deemed an acceptable loss. For while cultivation can bring wealth and prosperity, it can also bring death. It can bring a child who never returns, even once grown. Someone who truly follows the path and divests themself of all mortal attachments.
Such a child will bring honour but nothing more. And honour, no matter how well revered, will not fill their coffers; a wasted investment. Outer disciples, intended to leave and bring fortune back to their natal families, become inner disciples instead.
All disciples should receive the discipline they’ve earned, rather than what is appropriate for their station — it is said that class and background does not matter on Cang Qiong, after all. A blatant lie, Shen Qingqiu knows all too well. Still, should he not strive for equality on his own peak? After being Peak Lord for almost a decade and a half, it’s time for an overhaul of their punishment system. Shen Qingqiu has been too lenient on them, with one exception. The world will not treat them fairly, or kindly. It will, in fact, devour them whole. Better to adjust their expectations before they leave the safety of the sect.
More importantly, most of them are wretched, self important brats whose inflated sense of self worth needs to be ruptured. He wonders whether his ghost will offer himself up to save the rest of his students as well, or whether he really is partial only to such a miserable whelp. Like attracts like, he supposes.
For a moment, Luo Binghe looks over his shoulder and meets Shen Qingqiu’s eyes. The brat’s not even smart enough to avert his eyes immediately, dark eyes lingering. Whatever emotion they hold is indecipherable to him. After only moments, he disappears behind a jut of bamboo and is thankfully gone from Shen Qingqiu’s sight. Despite this, Shen Qingqiu cannot claim his reward immediately. He could wait years for anything, if need be. He has done so. Patience is much harder to find when the only reason he’s forced to wait is his obsequious annoyance of his head disciple. If only Ning Yingying was better at her non-martial studies…
It takes Shen Qingqiu half a heartbeat to decide that the longer he has to wait, the worse Ming Fan’s punishment will be. Luckily for his head disciple, it’s not too long before he arrives, red faced, out of breath and looking a little wide around the eyes.
“Shizun!” He greets, salute perfect, “Luo Binghe said you wished to see me immediately.”
“Yes. For your disgraceful actions against your own shidi, you shall be punished. Did you think such a thing would escape this Masters’ notice, Ming Fan?” Considering just how long his little shade has been staying his hand, one would think that his head disciple would have caught the change in attitude by now. Shen Qingqiu had contented himself with the knowledge that his other disciples would continue to show that beast his place - but they are apparently, to a man, fools of the highest order. Perhaps Shen Qingqiu should attempt to beat subtlety into their heads, before any other lesson.
“Uh! No, Shizun! Apologies, Shizun!” The boy’s as sycophantic as any fifth child of a minor lord could ever hope to be. Despite that, he cannot hide his trepidation over the punishment he is soon to suffer. Ming Fan is lucky, however; Shen Qingqiu’s now full schedule precludes him from personally delivering the necessary dues.
“This one will send a note to Hall Master Liang. You will report to him immediately.” He dismisses the boy with a careless flick of his fan. Ming Fan scrambles away immediately, wan in the face, desperation lingering around his eyes. Liang Hua is the only hall master as heavy handed as Shen Qingqiu, something which has ensured her job security more than any useful tutoring possibly could.
Returning to his home, Shen Qingqiu indeed writes a quick note to send by message talisman. Calligraphy is one of his talents, something that he had worked hard to master. Usually such a missive could be written, with all necessary flair, in moments. Today, he has trouble focusing. It’s the spirit’s fault, of course. Many things are, lately. Shen Qingqiu writes neatly and ignores the way his little ghost is pawing at him like the eager bitch it pretends not to be.
“So eager,” he comments, smirking down at the note when his ghost practically throws itself away from him. Easy, as well as eager, though it vehemently rejects either claim when Shen Qingqiu voices it.
“Of course not! How could I be? This is just… an exchange. Between bros. Tit for tat; a you scratch my back kind of deal. It’s very no homo. Even with all the… the uh… Haha…”
It has its arms crossed over its chest, face turned to the side, and Shen Qingqiu’s sure it’s pouting. He’s still undecided as to whether he should be nice or not, today. The spirit will cry either way, entirely overwhelmed. It always ends up holding Shen Qingqiu as though he’s the only thing that matters in the world. The feeling is, admittedly, addictive. Punishment dictated and sent with an absent spell, Shen Qingqiu rinses the brush and sets it aside in short order. He will clean it properly later but, for now, he must see to his delicate ghost.
All he has to do is slide his arms around its waist and suddenly it has weight; exists in the world as more than an ephemeral wisp. It shivers at his touch, shudders inelegantly as he presses an open mouthed kiss to its delicate neck, teeth scraping at skin. He can feel the way it shifts on its feet, already hardening from such a simple touch and unsure what to do about it. Always unsure, after Shen Qingqiu teases him. Unable to find a way to backtrack after its loud declaration of distaste, despite how very much it wants to.
“This lord likes very much when his ghost is eager.”
With a single, elegant finger, he turns the ghost’s face back towards himself. It leans into the touch, as always. Poor thing’s so touch starved it probably aches with it; Shen Qingqiu could do anything he wants to it, he knows. Lucky for his ghost, what Shen Qingqiu wants from it is easy for it to give. Easy to take. Easy to lov—
Easy, full stop.
When Shen Qingqiu kisses it, it kisses back. Wraps both arms around his neck and holds tight, as though it never wants to be separated. Shen Qingqiu might even be a little fond of the thing.
“What is it you promised this one, tonight? Anything?” He teases, mouth still mostly pressed against the spirit’s mouth. Like this, it almost feels warm. Nothing more than heat stolen and recycled from Shen Qingqiu, of course, but the sensation is pleasant enough. Its eyes blink open, pleasure giving way to annoyance.
“You know what I said,” it complains, wriggling slightly in his arms. If such movement helps to press one of Shen Qingqiu’s legs more firmly against its groin, well, surely that’s just a coincidence. Little brat. Shen Qingqiu clearly needs to refresh his lesson on patience.
“As this Qingqiu is so generous, I’ll give you this chance to change your mind. We can do nothing more than this, should you like.”
Like a worm on a hook, it squirms. What a perfect chance for it — who spends so much time verbalising exactly how much such actions are against his will — to escape. Tonight it will be forced into no cruel chore; what benediction, to be able to keep its legs closed against Shen Qingqiu’s questing hands.
When such a situation arises, surely the answer is obvious. What a simple thing it should be, to agree to Shen Qingqiu’s generosity.
“Wh…what? Just this?”
“As I said. No strings attached.”
It is not the first time Shen Qingqiu has offered such a thing and it never fails to entertain him, watching this spirit tie itself up into knots. What shall win tonight, its thin face and shame, or its obvious desire? Even now, mired in the agony of decision, it ruts against his thigh. Much more and it’ll wet through its ridiculous underclothes, staining Qingqiu’s fine silks. Cleaning talismans prevent damage but he’ll make his shade lick it clean regardless.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” it blusters after another agonised moment. “We had a deal! I’ll not let you use this as an excuse to punish Binghe, later!”
“So you’ll let this one take you again tonight, as he has taken you every night this week — for Luo Binghe?”
“Yes!”
“If you’re so keen to keep to the word of our verbal contract, then this lord has no choice but to acquiesce.”
It's already on its tiptoes, awaiting his next kiss.