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Shen Jiu didn’t have a soulmark.

It was a good thing, in his opinion. Soulmarks and soulmates were the sort of trite nonsense that belonged in fairy tales. They changed nothing about the inherently selfish nature of humans—and of men especially. In fact, they caused more problems than they solved. Shen Jiu could count on one hand the amount of people he’d met who were happy and settled with their soulmates, and yet knew countless other cases where soulmarks had ruined everything.

A soulmark didn’t change one’s class. In some cases, those of a higher rank were willing to marry a lowborn person if they were soulmates. But the fact that they were lowborn would not be forgotten, especially by the higher-ranking person’s family. The poor sap who thought marrying their rich soulmate would change their fortunes might end up bullied, ostracized. Often, despite being soulmates, they would still only marry in as a concubine rather than as a proper wife. It would only take one ill-timed mistake, one perceived slight, for that person to end up on the streets, begging for scraps along with little slave children.

It isn’t fair, they would lament, as if street urchins who never knew another life would care about their woes. They were my soulmate. We’re meant to be together. I’m meant for more than this.

It’s only to be expected, those high-ranking families would murmur to their friends, shaking their heads in faux-despair. A soulmark doesn’t guarantee suitability. We should have known better than to let someone of such low birth into our home just because of a silly mark on their wrist.

A soulmark didn’t change one’s nature. People—men—abused their soulmates all the time. Took advantage of that bond that tied them together and wielded it against their soulmate. Reminded them that this was what the heavens wanted, this was what they deserved. We’re meant for each other, they would say, which means you’re meant for this. 

And raise their hand again.

A good few of the women at the Warm Red Pavilion had soulmarks matching those of particular favored customers. Rich patrons who, at the very least, kept them in good lodgings and paid well. They professed words of love and devotion between the sheets, but they would not marry them. How could they marry a prostitute, after all? What did it matter that they were soulmates?

It was a good thing Shen Jiu didn’t have a soulmark. He’d despised the very idea of them ever since he was little and Yue Qi first explained the concept to him. He’d hated the wistful look in Yue Qi’s eyes, the idea that someone else could one day have more of a claim to his Qi-ge than him. Qi-ge was his, and no one else’s. He’d declared as such, along with the demand that if either of them developed soulmarks, they should cut them off and be rid of the whole thing. Yue Qi had just given him an indulgent chuckle and patted his head, like he thought he wasn’t being serious.

It was a good thing Shen Jiu didn’t have a soulmark. Those who had them typically developed them sometime during puberty. Every day, for years, Shen Jiu would wake up wherever Qiu Jianluo had last dropped him and frantically check his body to ensure no mark had cropped up overnight. Most people’s marks were on their wrists, but it wasn’t unheard of for one to develop elsewhere, so he checked everywhere. Sometimes, he’d catch sight of a dark spot out of the corner of his eye, and his heart would race with panic, only to look closer and realize it was merely an old bruise.

It was a good thing Shen Jiu didn’t have a soulmark. It would have been one more thing for Qiu Jianluo to wield against him. He would have taunted Shen Jiu for it, would have reminded him that there was someone out there who was meant for him, but they would never find him here. Are you hoping they will? he would have asked. Are you hoping they’ll rescue you? They won’t. And isn’t that for the better? Whatever poor soul matches your mark would be better off never knowing they’re tied to a thing like you.

Not that his lack of a soulmark stopped Qiu Jianluo from wielding that against him. Despite his own lack of a mark, Qiu Jianluo took great pleasure in assuming Shen Jiu was upset by not having one, rather than glad for it. Poor thing, he said with feigned sweetness. Still no mark. How long have you been here, and nothing has shown up? Isn’t that just more proof that you belong here, with me? More proof that no one could ever love you? That there’s no one out there waiting for you?

It was a good thing Shen Jiu didn’t have a soulmark. When he first entered Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, he learned how differently the cultivation world treated them. Soulmates had compatible qi, apparently, so matching soulmarks meant people were all but guaranteed to become cultivation partners. Marriage, too, if they so wished. It wasn’t unheard of for sects to make marriage deals to swap around cultivators who had discovered their soulmate in another sect.

A couple of Shen Jiu’s new shixiongjie had soulmates on other peaks whom they visited regularly. They seemed so delighted by it, coming back to Qing Jing with rosy cheeks and furtive smiles. None of them were as horrified by the concept as he was. 

It wasn’t required to become cultivation partners with one’s soulmate, but it was strongly encouraged, to the point where it may as well have been a requirement. Though he was long past the age where one would show up, Shen Jiu still occasionally woke up and checked over his skin in a way that had once been routine. If one of those cursed marks were to suddenly appear, he would definitely cut it out rather than risk being encouraged to dual cultivate with some stranger just because they shared marks. Even worse if it was a man.

But still, none appeared. And it was a good thing.

Yue Qingyuan also didn’t have a soulmark.

Shen Jiu considered this good as well, for slightly different reasons. Before Qiu Jianluo, before Yue Qi abandoned him, the latter had been well within the age range when soulmarks typically appeared, yet none showed up. Shen Jiu had counted his blessings with each day no stupid mark declared that his Qi-ge would be taken from him, claimed by another. 

And yet, Yue Qi had willingly abandoned him anyway.

When Shen Jiu first met Yue Qingyuan again, at that fateful Immortal Alliance Conference, he had thought that surely he’d developed a soulmark in their time apart. Yue Qingyuan had stood there in all his glory, the carp that leapt over the dragon’s gate, the already-renowned Xuan Su Sword, so surely he also had that famed tie to another that he always wanted. Perhaps that was even part of the reason why he’d abandoned Shen Jiu—perhaps he’d found his soulmate and realized his time was much better spent with them than in rescuing an ungrateful gutter rat.

But he didn’t have one.

Shen Jiu found out during one of those dreadful inter-peak martial arts tournaments. His first one, before he’d been made head disciple, and so stood further to the back of Qing Jing’s squadron. Yue Qingyuan, as Qiong Ding’s head disciple, stood at the front of his peak’s grouping. Despite himself, Shen Jiu’s gaze kept trailing to his back, to the fall of thick hair past broad shoulders, and his mind filled with poisonous thoughts about how Yue Qingyuan had the gall to grow up so well while he was locked away in the Qiu household. Sometimes Yue Qingyuan turned around and searched through Qing Jing’s crowd, and Shen Jiu ducked out of view.

By that point, Shen Jiu had cultivated enough to improve his hearing, and so caught snippets of a conversation between Yue Qingyuan and a few of his Qiong Ding hangers-on.

“—still find it hard to believe,” one of them was saying with a haughty sniff. “If anyone deserves to have a soulmate, it’s Da-shixiong.”

“Are you sure you don’t have one?” another asked.

“Quite sure.” Yue Qingyuan’s tone indicated he had that one smile on his face. The one that was polite, but almost pained. “Shimei is free to check my wrists herself.”

“They don’t always show up on the wrists. Maybe it’s somewhere else—”

“I don’t have one,” Yue Qingyuan cut off with uncharacteristic force. 

The one hanger-on elbowed the other and hissed something too low for Shen Jiu to make out, and then the latter—finally realizing she’d overstepped—made her apologies. Yue Qingyuan accepted them gracefully, of course, and assured her no offense was taken.

So, he didn’t have one. He could, of course, have been lying just to stave off the curiosities of entitled martial siblings, but even this new Yue Qingyuan was often easy for Shen Jiu to read. That slight edge to his voice, the quiet, mournful sigh he’d let out afterwards. He was genuinely pained, because he genuinely didn’t have one, and that monstrous part of Shen Jiu rejoiced in it. Here was one thing Yue Qingyuan hadn’t achieved without him. Here was one way Yue Qingyuan was not better than him. 

Shen Jiu did not pity him, did not care about the fact that at his core, Yue Qingyuan had always been a romantic sop who idolized the idea of soulmarks. All the better that he didn’t have one, and that he would never know the joys that few people found in it. Nor the heartbreak that most others received.

Yue Qingyuan did not have a soulmark, and that was also a good thing.

It happened on a run-of-the-mill mission.

Years after joining the sect, Shen Jiu had clawed his way to head disciple, but he still had yet to receive his courtesy name. His shizun was dangling it over his head like a carrot—that last, official confirmation that he would succeed him when the generations turned over. Shen Jiu continued working hard, crushing his former bullies underfoot and taking on every mission assigned to him. Sometimes, the missions consisted of only his fellow head disciples. A way to encourage positive relations among the future peak lords, supposedly, though Shen Jiu sometimes suspected their shizuns just wanted to fuck with them.

Especially in this case, when he was sent on a mission with Yue Qingyuan. Only Yue Qingyuan.

It was a simple enough case; they were meant to hunt down some monster in a forest and take it down. Yue Qingyuan chattered on and on the way he did during the inter-peak tournaments, taking advantage of their solitude and asking ten questions for every one answer Shen Jiu gave.

At one point, Shen Jiu barked a laugh at something he would never be able to remember later. Yue Qingyuan, in an uncharacteristic bout of clumsiness, slipped in the slick, rain-soaked ground and lost his footing. Despite everything, Shen Jiu’s first instinct was to reach for him, and they went tumbling together into the mud.

They landed in such a way that Yue Qingyuan was sprawled on his front and Shen Jiu was half-on top of him. Yue Qingyuan cushioning his fall didn’t save Shen Jiu’s sleeves or the hems of his robes from the mud, and he pushed himself up on his hands, incensed.

“Is this what Qiong Ding’s head disciple amounts to?” he hissed. “Slipping in a patch of mud and falling to the ground like a pathetic dog? You—”

He stopped.

Yue Qingyuan was mumbling some insipid apology, but Shen Jiu couldn’t pay it a single thought. Yue Qingyuan’s thick, dark hair had all fallen over one shoulder, exposing the other ear. And tucked away in the little crevice behind it, in a spot no one would think to look, was a mark.

For a moment, Shen Jiu just stared. Then, without thinking, he grabbed the shell of Yue Qingyuan’s ear and yanked it aside so he could get a better look.

There, like it was painted into his skin, was a pine tree next to a sprig of bamboo. The former towered over the latter, like it was sheltering it. Or looming over it. 

Small and delicate, but there.

Yue Qingyuan had a soulmark.

The man himself—who had thus far been all-too-docile while pinned under Shen Jiu—squirmed with surprise at having his ear suddenly grabbed. He twisted his head. “Xiao— Shidi, what are you—”

Shen Jiu harshly flicked that spot behind his ear, half-wishing that would be enough to do away with the cursed mark. “A bug,” he lied, then pushed himself fully off of Yue Qingyuan to stand. “As is natural when you roll around in the mud.”

He plucked at his sodden sleeves and hems with a sneer while Yue Qingyuan stood—his entire front covered in mud compared to Shen Jiu. There were even flecks of it on his face. The sight of it was almost reminiscent of their days as two dirty children on the streets, and that only made Shen Jiu angrier.

Yue Qingyuan had a soulmark. He had a soulmate. He may be covered in mud at this moment, but he had risen above it in all the ways that mattered. Had risen above Shen Jiu in all the ways that mattered.

“You had better have packed yourself spare robes,” Shen Jiu’s voice came out more poisonous than the subject warranted, but he had nowhere else to put his anger right now. “Or else we will lose all face for Cang Qiong when we report back to that village chief.”

Yue Qingyuan stammered out some reassurance that he did pack spare robes, and they continued with the rest of their hunt in silence. 

Shen Jiu did not tell him about the soulmark.

Yue Qingyuan had a soulmark, and he didn’t know about it.

Yue Qingyuan had a soulmark.

Shen Jiu did not let himself think about it.

Not until after they finished the mission. After they slayed the monster, after they reported back to the village chief and received his thanks and his insistence on resting for a night in their shabby inn, after they flew back to the sect in silence the next day.

He did not let himself think about it until he was hidden away in the private quarters granted to him as head disciple.

Yue Qingyuan…

How dare he!

How dare he have a soulmark!

How dare that fool slip even further away from Shen Jiu’s reach! He was practically high above him in the heavens already, yet he had the audacity to climb ever higher, higher than Shen Jiu could dream.

He didn’t know about it, but it was only a matter of time. Someone else, at some point, would catch sight of that strange spot behind his ear. And unlike Shen Jiu, they would ask about it, point it out, perhaps even be granted permission to pull aside Yue Qingyuan’s ear and look. And they would tell him, and he would know. He would know he had a soulmate, and he would start looking for them.

Yue Qingyuan, with all his honor, would insist on being more than just cultivation partners. He would insist on marriage, because he saw it as the right and just thing to do. Cultivators didn’t put so much weight on marriage, but Yue Qingyuan and Shen Jiu had grown up on the streets, had witnessed for themselves how marriage was often synonymous with security. Even the lowest dregs of society could find security in a proper marriage. Most of the time.

So Yue Qingyuan would find the poor sop who was tied to him, and he would court them, and that nameless, ill-deserving nobody would just be handed the honor of main wife to the future leader of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. They might not even be a cultivator. They might be carried on Yue Qingyuan’s back up through the stages of cultivation, riding that dragon to share the heavens with him.

And Shen Jiu would be left, as always, in the dirt.

He paced angrily at the thought, resisting the urge to break everything in his rooms as he tried to calm himself. Tried to reason with himself. Perhaps Yue Qingyuan really would never find out. It had taken this long for Shen Jiu to discover it, and that was only due to a series of coincidences. What were the odds of someone else encountering such coincidences?

And even if that did happen, and Yue Qingyuan did find out, what were the odds of finding his match? Who else would have a soulmark in such a ludicrous spot? Behind their ear. Who would even think to check there? Who would—

Who would…

In a fit of madness, Shen Jiu spun on his heel and rushed to his vanity, scooping up his hand mirror along the way. Unlike most mirrors, this one was made of gleaming, clear silver. It was exquisite, and expensive, and a gift. He hated it.

But right now it was lucky he had such a thing. He sat with his back to his vanity’s bronze mirror. He swept his hair over one shoulder, pulled aside his ear with one hand, and lifted the hand mirror with the other.

His breath caught.

There, in the dual reflections of both mirrors, was a mark. It was difficult to make out with this method of investigation, but it was in the exact same spot as Yue Qingyuan’s. Peering closer, shifting the angles a few times, Shen Jiu might daresay that it…did look a bit like a pine tree and bamboo.

So.

Shen Jiu had a soulmark.

Shen Jiu had a soulmark that matched Yue Qingyuan’s. 

But what did that change?

Yue Qingyuan was his soulmate, but he still abandoned him. Yue Qingyuan was his soulmate, but Shen Jiu had still wished he’d died, in that moment when they reunited and he saw how high his Qi-ge had climbed without him.

What did it change?

Nothing.

Shen Jiu lowered the hand mirror, ignoring the way his hand shook. This was just further proof that soulmarks were nonsense. That he—that both of them—would have been better off without one. 

The heavens sure had a cruel sense of humor, to tie him to Yue Qingyuan like this. Didn’t they know what kind of a monster Shen Jiu was? Didn’t they know how tempted he would be to take advantage of this? To take advantage of Yue Qingyuan’s nature?

Yue Qingyuan was an honorable man, who would insist on marrying his soulmate, if he ever found them.

Even if his soulmate was a gutter rat like Shen Jiu.

A soulmark didn’t change one’s nature. And Shen Jiu had always been a greedy, selfish monster.

He threw on an outer robe, scooped up his mirror once more, and rushed off into the night, in the direction of Qiong Ding Peak.

“Shidi?” Yue Qingyuan blinked down at him owlishly in the doorway of his quarters, backlit by lantern light. He was dressed down for sleep, not having bothered to throw on another robe before answering Shen Jiu’s insistent knocks. The collars of his inner robe exposed a not-insignificant portion of his chest. Shen Jiu ignored it and thrust the mirror in his hands before shoving at him until Yue Qingyuan stepped aside to let him in. Which didn’t take much, seeing as he immediately relented.

Baffled, Yue Qingyuan looked down at the mirror in his hands. “If you wished to return this—”

Shen Jiu ignored him. He planted his hands on his shoulders and shoved him again, further into his rooms and towards his vanity. 

“Shidi, what are you—”

“Sit.”

Yue Qingyuan sat.

He stared up at Shen Jiu with wide, confused eyes. Ignoring him once more, Shen Jiu stepped behind him, between him and the vanity’s mirror. Yue Qingyuan’s hair was already braided back for sleep, so it was easy to pluck and toss over his shoulder. Yue Qingyuan made a confused noise, glancing back, but he didn’t ask any more stupid questions and obediently let Shen Jiu turn his head forward again.

“Pick up the mirror,” Shen Jiu said, then pulled aside Yue Qingyuan’s ear. “Look.”

Still radiating confusion, Yue Qingyuan did as commanded. There were a few moments of him simply figuring out the angle, thick brows furrowed.

And then he nearly dropped the mirror.

“I,” he said. His eyes went wide, then narrowed as he leaned forward to try to investigate. But leaning forward only pulled him away from the mirror behind him, accomplishing nothing. He blinked, shook his head, then turned back to Shen Jiu with an imploring gaze. “What…What is…?”

“A soulmark,” Shen Jiu said shortly. “I noticed it yesterday.”

He watched a series of emotions overtake Yue Qingyuan’s face, ones he would normally keep tucked away behind a pleasant mask. Shock, confusion, wonder, hope. That last one in particular sent a stab of—something in Shen Jiu’s gut. Yue Qingyuan felt hopeful about his soulmate. That hope wouldn’t last very long.

His expression rerouted back to confusion as he processed the second thing Shen Jiu had said. “Yesterday? You mean…”

“When we fell, yes.” Realizing he was still holding Yue Qingyuan’s ear, Shen Jiu let go and stepped out from behind him.

Yue Qingyuan’s gaze followed him. “You didn’t say anything.”

It wasn’t quite an accusation, but Shen Jiu sneered anyway. “Am I obligated to? Do you think I owe you this information? Do you think I owe you anything?”

Yue Qingyuan flinched. “I’m sor—”

“Don’t.” Shen Jiu’s hands shook, and he curled them into fists to hide it.

Yue Qingyuan gave him a baleful look, then lowered his gaze. After a moment, he looked up at him again, confused once more. “But then—why are you telling me now?”

Shen Jiu breathed in. Breathed out. He could still back out now. Make up some excuse that he told him so that Yue Qingyuan would owe him. That Yue Qingyuan should be grateful he told him, because now he could go search for his soulmate. And that once he found his soulmate and married them, he should always remember it was all because Shen Jiu was gracious enough to even tell him he had a soulmark. But Yue Qingyuan would never find his soulmate, of course, and he would be left to search for them forever. To wonder if they were dead, or avoiding him. If they abandoned him. It would be a poetic sort of revenge.

It was very tempting.

Instead, Shen Jiu silently turned around and pulled aside his own hair.

There was a quiet clatter, like Yue Qingyuan had set down the hand mirror too quickly, and then he was standing right behind Shen Jiu. Looming over him. A finger brushed his ear, hesitant and careful, and Shen Jiu suppressed a shiver. Then, the shell of his ear was taken in a gentle grip and pulled aside.

A small intake of breath.

“Is it pine and bamboo?” Shen Jiu rasped.

Perhaps he was imagining the way Yue Qingyuan’s voice shook as he said, “Yes, it is.”

“That’s what yours is.”

“Oh.”

They fell into silence for a minute, ten minutes, a shichen. Shen Jiu had no idea how long they both stood there, unmoving, neither of them willing to break that suspended moment. The sadistic part of Shen Jiu wanted to turn around and see the disappointment on Yue Qingyuan’s face, the disgust. But the rest of Shen Jiu—the parts that threatened to make him tremble with every passing silent moment—wanted nothing less than to see it.

“We’re soulmates,” Yue Qingyuan eventually breathed, like he had only just now figured that out. He didn’t quite sound disgusted, but Shen Jiu thought that maybe he was misreading him this time.

That would make more sense than Yue Qingyuan actually being awed by the idea.

Unable to stand it anymore, Shen Jiu let his hair fall and turned around to face him. Yue Qingyuan didn’t move away at all—just looked down at him dumbly—so they were practically chest-to-chest. Shen Jiu resisted the urge to take a step back. That would be admitting weakness.

He lifted his chin instead. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

Yue Qingyuan balked. “Shidi, cutting them out would be—”

“No, you idiot.” Shen Jiu rolled his eyes. “I’m not a child anymore; I know it wouldn’t change anything.”

“Oh.” Yue Qingyuan relaxed. “Then…?”

Did he have to spell everything out?

“What is traditionally done when two cultivators discover they are soulmates?” Shen Jiu asked. 

This time, Yue Qingyuan blushed. A delicate pink that suffused his cheeks as he averted his gaze. “That… We don’t have to…”

“Don’t have to,” Shen Jiu repeated. “So you would deny me?”

“I— What?”

“I could have chosen not to tell you.” Shen Jiu leaned closer. “I could have chosen never to let you know you have a soulmark. If you found out on your own, I could have then chosen to withhold the fact that I bore your match. Instead, I chose to inform you on both counts. And yet you think what I want is reassurance that we don’t have to?”

Yue Qingyuan frowned. “I’m…not sure what you want.”

Shen Jiu kissed him.

It wasn’t a pleasant kiss. It was harsh, too forceful. There were teeth. Shen Jiu hadn’t kissed anyone before, but he was quite sure there wasn’t meant to be teeth.

And yet, somehow, Yue Qingyuan didn’t seem to mind it. He made a noise of surprise, but then relaxed into it for a fraction of a moment—just long enough for Shen Jiu to notice—before his hands were on Shen Jiu’s shoulders and pushing him away. At first, Shen Jiu’s only thought was how to get his mouth back on Yue Qingyuan’s, how to improve the kiss.

But then Yue Qingyuan opened his stupid mouth.

“Xiao-Jiu—”

Anger flared hot in Shen Jiu’s chest. “Don’t call me that,” he hissed. “You don’t get to call me that. You left me there. You left me, and you never came back. Xiao-Jiu died in that house, and it’s your fault.”

Yue Qingyuan reeled back like he’d been struck.

Shen Jiu’s hands were shaking again. His cheeks were wet. Was he crying? He didn’t think he was crying, but he didn’t know how else to explain the water running down his face.

He never wanted a soulmark. But he had one, and it was tied to one of the worst possible options.

“You left me,” he repeated. “You got to pull yourself from the mud we both came from, you got to live comfortably and cultivate at a proper age. I’m sure you thought you succeeded in cutting all ties with me, until happenstance brought us back together.”

Yue Qingyuan shook his head, mouth opening and closing as if to make some argument, but nothing came out.

Shen Jiu scrubbed his face dry, then stepped closer and grabbed Yue Qingyuan by the lapels. “You will never be rid of me again,” he said. “The wretched mark you’ve always wanted has declared as such, and I’ll make sure it is so. Tomorrow we will go to the sect leader and inform her. We will become cultivation partners, and you will court me, and we will wed.”

Yue Qingyuan’s jaw dropped. “Wed?”

“Yes, wed. It is the honorable thing to do, is it not?”

“It—It is, but…”

“But what?”

“Is that really what you want?”

Shen Jiu faltered. What sort of a question was that? “Of course it’s what I want. Why would I be here demanding it otherwise?”

“I don’t understand…”

“What more is there to explain?” Shen Jiu snapped. “Are you that dense? Is this how you would react if your soulmate was someone else? Someone better, more pleasant? Would you stand there gaping like a fish and remind them that they’re not obligated when they say they want to marry you? Is that how you would react?”

“Is this how you would react, if it was someone else?” Yue Qingyuan countered. There was something hard in his tone now, finally finding his footing. “This— You burst into my quarters late at night, cornered me, k-kissed me, demanded marriage—you’ve always made it so clear how much you hate soulmarks, how much you never wanted one. I thought you’d be the last person to do something like this, but—” He searched Shen Jiu’s face. “Would you have done the same if your soulmate was anyone else?”

Shen Jiu grimaced. “Of course not.”

Yue Qingyuan shook his head like he was trying to clear away the confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot.” Yue Qingyuan gave him a mournful look at that, so Shen Jiu explained, “If my soulmate had been anyone else, they never would have known. I never would have told them. I would have burned off this fucking mark, if only to prevent them from ever finding out. I would save them from the burden of knowing they were tied to a thing like me.” 

He leaned in until their lips were nearly brushing. “But you? You deserve that burden.”

Yue Qingyuan’s eyes widened.

Shen Jiu’s voice dropped low. “You’re mine, Yue Qingyuan. Forever.”

This time, Yue Qingyuan kissed him.

It was equally as ungraceful as the first—though there were less teeth, at least. Shen Jiu fisted his hands in Yue Qingyuan’s hair and pulled a groan from him. Large hands fell to his hips and gripped them, not quite tight enough to bruise. Shen Jiu tugged Yue Qingyuan’s hair to forcibly move his head into a position that was more comfortable—almost pleasant. They kissed until they ran out of breath, then pulled away to gasp for air. 

“Yours,” Yue Qingyuan said. His voice was hoarse, and it sent heat through Shen Jiu’s body. 

“Mine,” Shen Jiu agreed, and pulled him towards the bed.

Shen Jiu’s experiences in matters of the flesh were limited and unpleasant. He pushed them from his mind as he shoved Yue Qingyuan down on the bed and climbed on top of him. As they proceeded, he oscillated between wanting Yue Qingyuan’s hands on him and slapping them away. Between biting roughly at his throat and kissing him languidly. Between wanting to hear the compliments that fell almost absentmindedly from Yue Qingyuan’s lips and telling him to shut up.

Yue Qingyuan took it all with little more than the occasional confused look. If Shen Jiu didn’t know better, he might think Yue Qingyuan was happy to do whatever he said, to follow his every command. He watched Shen Jiu with rapt, eager attention, put his hands exactly where he told him to, whimpered sweetly when Shen Jiu bit him…

It was intoxicating.

There were scars on Yue Qingyuan’s body. Shen Jiu almost didn’t notice them at first, too distracted by the sight of his…bountiful chest. He frowned, puzzled, and traced a few of them. There were so many. Perhaps his life hadn’t been quite so cushy as Shen Jiu had assumed.

Yue Qingyuan’s breath shuddered, and his eyes fell shut for the first time. Shen Jiu’s fingers continued tracing random scars. Most seemed like sword slashes. Some seemed almost…surgical.

Shouldn’t Yue Qingyuan’s cultivation be high enough by now to heal these?

“Shidi…”

Shen Jiu glanced up at his face again, and— “Are you crying?”

Yue Qingyuan shook his head even as he scrubbed the tears from his face with one arm. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

And now he was apologizing.

“Shut up.” Shen Jiu grasped him by the jaw, fingers digging into his cheeks and making his lips stick out. “If you apologize to me one more time, I’ll kill you. What are you crying for? Like I care about some shitty scars. You’re lucky you have me for a soulmate and not someone so shallow they’d refuse to fuck you after seeing a few scars.”

Unbeknownst to him, Shen Jiu had accidentally slipped back into the sort of language he used to use when they were children. ‘I’ll kill you’ this and ‘shitty’ that. He released Yue Qingyuan’s face and watched it fill with a baffling amount of fondness. It irritated him, so he kissed Yue Qingyuan again and dug his fingers into the sensitive sides of his ribs until Yue Qingyuan jolted beneath him and moaned against his mouth.

The scars could be questioned another time, so Shen Jiu refocused. He bit Yue Qingyuan’s chin, plucked at his nipples, sank his nails into his arms. He demanded Yue Qingyuan touch him in turn, then smacked his hands away when it became too much. 

Before starting, Shen Jiu had been half-sure how he wanted to do things. When Yue Qingyuan’s pants came off and he caught sight of what was beneath him, he was fully sure.

There was no way he’d let that thing go anywhere near him. 

No wonder Yue Qingyuan’s brain was always three steps behind his, if his body always had to ensure there was enough blood flow everywhere. Shen Jiu said as much, jeering, and Yue Qingyuan flushed a brilliant red. 

He gave Yue Qingyuan’s dick no attention, his fingers instead questing lower until Yue Qingyuan flinched away from the touch. Shen Jiu sneered. “Did you assume we’d be doing things the other way around?”

“No, I—” He swallowed. “I didn’t realize you—wanted to go that far. Tonight.”

Shen Jiu stared at him.

“You said we were getting married…”

It finally clicked, and Shen Jiu let out a hollow laugh. “Were you hoping to save yourself for marriage? Did you imagine yourself a blushing bride?”

Yue Qingyuan reddened again, and he averted his gaze.

Shen Jiu worked his jaw for a moment, then sighed and pulled his hand away. “Fine. Keep your so-called virtue. Build it up in your mind. Whether I fuck you now or fuck you on our wedding night makes no difference to me. But you won’t receive anything else until then. I’m not touching that.” He nodded towards Yue Qingyuan’s fast-deflating cock.

“That’s—That’s fine.” Yue Qingyuan scrambled to sit up. “We can stop here. Or, ah—” He glanced down at the tent in Shen Jiu’s pants, then looked up at him through impossibly thick lashes. “Do you want me to…?”

Shen Jiu’s breath forced its way out of him. “Get on the floor.”

Yue Qingyuan practically fell off the bed in his rush to obey.

Feeling charitable, Shen Jiu dropped a cushion for him to kneel on. It wasn’t like they were his cushions, in any case. He tugged off his pants and sat on the edge of the bed, forcing down the way his limbs threatened to shake as he spread his legs and Yue Qingyuan moved to kneel between them. 

At first, Yue Qingyuan just stared at his cock as though entranced. Shen Jiu wasn’t anywhere near as ridiculously large as him, but he seemed awed by it all the same. He leaned forward, then stopped. Looked up at Shen Jiu in a silent request for permission.

What a ridiculous man.

“Well?” Shen Jiu arched a brow, and that was all Yue Qingyuan needed. 

It was clear from the jump that he had no experience in this act. He was strangely enthusiastic, though. Eager to please and quick to learn from just a few bitten words or a harsh tug to his hair. It wasn’t long before he went from clumsy and inept to…good. Quite good.

Too good, in fact, as Shen Jiu only realized right as he was hurtling towards his peak. Acting on panicked impulse, he yanked at Yue Qingyuan’s hair until he pulled off, but that didn’t stop his climax from hitting, and he—

Strips of white painted Yue Qingyuan’s shocked face, and the sight only made Shen Jiu shudder and release more.

When it was over, they both just stared at each other, breathing harshly. Shen Jiu’s—spend dripped down Yue Qingyuan’s face, clinging to his brows, his lashes. His lips and eyes were both reddened, the latter having leaked tears during his endeavors. He looked soiled, debauched, filthy.

Marked.

A drop ventured over his top lip, and Yue Qingyuan’s tongue flicked out as if on instinct to catch it. It was only then that Shen Jiu came back to himself, and he released the grip he still had in Yue Qingyuan’s hair with a sharp inhale. Yue Qingyuan didn’t move, didn’t immediately scramble to get up and clean himself off. He just stared up at Shen Jiu, dazed.

Shen Jiu felt the absurd urge to apologize, but it died on his tongue when he glanced down and saw the mess all over the tops of Yue Qingyuan’s thick thighs.

“Did you—” He swallowed. “Did you come from that?”

Yue Qingyuan blinked, then followed his gaze. “Ah,” he said, like he hadn’t even noticed.

“You’re so…” Shen Jiu wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. He huffed and stood, striding over to wet a cloth and wipe himself off, then wet a new one and returned to the bed. Yue Qingyuan was still kneeling there, looking lost. Shen Jiu sighed and sat down, then reached forward to start wiping at his face.

“Idiot,” he murmured. “If I’d just left, would you have knelt here all night with cum on your face and thighs?”

Yue Qingyuan blinked slowly and didn’t respond. Shen Jiu cupped the bottom of his chin to keep his face stable as he wiped it, and he sank into the touch, lashes fluttering shut. Shen Jiu paused for a brief moment before continuing.

“And what kind of person comes just from doing that?” he grumbled, mostly to himself. “How shameless.”

Yue Qingyuan hummed.

“I’ll say it again: you’re lucky you have me for a soulmate and not someone else. Someone else would have taken advantage of how pliant you are. Does your spine just disappear when someone starts touching you?”

“No.”

“Ah, he speaks. And what do you mean, ‘no?’ Do you not realize how you were acting? You would have let me do anything to you if I’d insisted.”

“Mn.”

The quick confirmation gave him pause, but Shen Jiu shook it off and continued, “See? And you had the audacity to try to claim otherwise. You can’t even take care to clean yourself off; you’re lucky I’m gracious enough to do this for you.”

“Shidi?”

“What?”

“Will you marry me?”

Shen Jiu paused.

When the silence stretched into more than a few moments, Yue Qingyuan slowly opened his eyes. The look in them—Shen Jiu didn’t know how to describe it.

“Haven’t we already established that we’re doing that?” he asked.

Yue Qingyuan hummed. “You said you wanted me to court you. Courtship usually involves a proper proposal.”

“And you think this is a proper proposal?”

Yue Qingyuan blinked. He looked at Shen Jiu’s nakedness, his bony body and spent cock hanging limp. He looked at his own nakedness, including his still cum-covered thighs, because Shen Jiu hadn’t yet cleaned them off. His expression turned meek. “…I’ll try again later.”

“No need,” Shen Jiu sniffed. “We’re getting married either way.”

Yue Qingyuan hummed again, though it was unclear if it was in agreement. Shen Jiu finished cleaning him off, then tossed the rag aside for Yue Qingyuan to deal with later. He dressed himself and muscled a loose-limbed Yue Qingyuan back into his own clothes. After some deliberation, Shen Jiu decided he didn’t feel like trekking all the way back to Qing Jing Peak, so he helped himself into Yue Qingyuan’s bed and then pulled the idiot in with him when he just stood there.

They lay there in silence for a few moments, and then Yue Qingyuan rolled over to face him. “Can I see it again?”

Shen Jiu studied his expression, then rolled away, putting his back to him. The bed dipped as Yue Qingyuan propped himself up on his elbow and leaned close. With gentle fingers, he tugged Shen Jiu’s ear aside.

“They really match?” he asked.

Shen Jiu swallowed. “They really match.”

Yue Qingyuan let out a breath that ghosted across his ear, then dropped to rest his forehead against Shen Jiu’s hair. “We’re soulmates,” he whispered, and this time it was harder to misinterpret the awe in it.

Shen Jiu closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

They went to the sect leader the very next day. She didn’t react at all to her head disciple announcing that he had a soulmate, but her expression turned flinty when he revealed it to be Shen Jiu. Still, in the cultivation world it was unheard of to deny two soulmates who wanted to become cultivation partners, so she had no grounds to refuse them.

Shen Jiu moved through the next few weeks in a daze. Gossip spread quickly through the sect, and he soon found himself being treated differently. Some, of course, viewed him with suspicion, seeing him as some ladder-climbing upstart. A couple even accused him of faking his soulmark somehow.

More often, though, people gushed. Much of the sect—and especially Qing Jing Peak—consisted of young masters and maidens who only ever romanticized soulmarks. Who mostly knew about them from romance stories, or from their soulmate parents, or from their own martial siblings. They hadn’t seen it end in ruin as many times as Shen Jiu had, and so they congratulated him, and they told him how lucky he was, and how jealous they were. It was the playful sort of jealousy, nothing like the threat of real envy.

This would end in ruin too, surely. Shen Jiu wasn’t lucky enough not to have a soulmark, and was instead saddled with one connected to Yue Qingyuan, of all people. How else could it end but in ruin? He could only hope to milk it for all that it was worth in the meantime.

A few weeks after making their announcement to the sect leader, Yue Qingyuan showed up on Qing Jing Peak with a plethora of presents—some for the peak lord, some for Shen Jiu. The Qing Jing Peak Lord happily accepted the proposal gifts with a boastful laugh and permission for Yue Qingyuan to wed his head disciple. Shen Jiu’s face burned the entire time—there was no need for all of this. Shen Jiu had been naive to think that Yue Qingyuan understood that, evidently.

A proper proposal, he’d said. Shen Jiu wanted to smack him.

Instead, he flicked open his new, too-expensive fan and spun around to demand that Yue Qingyuan put in the new, too-expensive hairpin for him. He readily obliged, his fingers lingering to brush the back of his ear before pulling away. Shen Jiu suppressed a shiver.

It was nearly a year before they married. By then, Shen Qingqiu had finally received his courtesy name. The sting of irony was still fresh, but when Yue Qingyuan asked—during one of their semi-regular liaisons—if he should avoid using it, Shen Qingqiu said no. He had still earned this name, after all. It still represented his new life, his new future. Perhaps he could never fully shake off the dust of his past, but the only person who knew about his connection to Qiu Jianluo was Yue Qingyuan, and he…

Well, it was less difficult to deal with dust clinging to oneself when one had someone else to cling to. Someone who eagerly let Shen Qingqiu dirty him in turn. 

By then, they had also talked. Taking advantage of the fact that Yue Qingyuan was fascinatingly open and honest in bed—especially after an orgasm or two—Shen Qingqiu at one point cornered him about the scars. After some stuttering and fumbling and nearly falling to tears again, Yue Qingyuan told him what happened.

And Shen Qingqiu was angry.

He threw things. He shouted at Yue Qingyuan. Called him an idiot. Called him impulsive, reckless. Called him a wretched bastard for not telling him before. How dare he hide this from him? How dare he let Shen Qingqiu think he’d just abandoned him all this time?

But above all, how dare Shen Qingqiu be so monstrous that he’d once wished death upon the man who suffered so much in his attempt to save him?

Eventually, he calmed down. Eventually, they talked. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t stop himself from asking how Yue Qingyuan could want anything to do with him, after that. How could he let Shen Qingqiu corner him into marriage? Was his guilt that strong? He’d made such a point of reminding Shen Qingqiu that he shouldn’t feel obligated, but wasn’t that why he agreed to it?

Even though his original plan had been to leverage Yue Qingyuan’s guilt and sense of obligation, Shen Qingqiu felt suddenly sick at the thought of Yue Qingyuan only marrying him for those reasons.

Yue Qingyuan responded with pink cheeks, a wry smile, and an inability to make eye contact. 

Ah. So he’d liked being cornered.

Well.

They didn’t talk so much the rest of the night.

The wedding was a true spectacle—as it should be for two future peak lords of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. As a child, Shen Jiu had never dreamed of getting married, much less of having a wedding so grand. It would have been ridiculous, after all, for a street urchin to dream of. Far too ambitious.

And yet, when he saw Yue Qingyuan in luxurious red robes that matched his own, Shen Qingqiu could only think that it felt right.

And that night, when he properly took Yue Qingyuan for the first time, he leaned in to nip at his ear, the one that hid the soulmark, and murmured, mine.

And Yue Qingyuan responded, yours.

Shen Qingqiu had a soulmark.

So did Yue Qingyuan.

Maybe it would end in ruin.

But maybe…

Maybe it was a good thing.