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Peak Lord Shang Qinghua of An Ding Peak had not always been such an important man. That was obvious. No one was born a peak lord or even a peak heir. Cang Qiong was fair like that. You actually had to work yourself up. But just like in the Imperial Exams, the rich and wealthy stood a greater chance to actually succeed. Their kids could devote their lives to their studies at an early age while a poor kid would need to work, and would lack funds for the materials and tutors that gave you a fair shot. Not to mention the fact that as much as people liked to pretend otherwise, people tended to promote people with the right connections, the right manners, and the right way of carrying themselves. The kind of right that (almost) only the rich and powerful got to learn.
Shang Qinghua had not been one of those rich and powerful before his ascension. Shang Fei had been the fifth child and fourth son in a sibling group of eleven – seven of which survived childhood. All his elder brothers were among those who survived and therefore he was a surplus son. More useless than his sisters, because daughters could always be married off.
He had also always been the weird child. The one who knew more than he should, whether it was an uncanny ability to learn to write faster than anyone reasonably should or know what a specific plant did. The writing and reading in particular had been noticed, because the travelling teacher who arrived in the hamlet the Shang family resided in had been the only one to ever teach any of them and Shang Fei was the only one who became fully literate. At the age of eight, he could read better than anyone else in the hamlet. Even the village head.
No one knew what was up with him, least of all Shang Fei himself, but everyone found him unsettling. The whispers among the adults that he was a changeling or just some kind of unnatural freak spread among the children, and soon he never had anyone to play with. Muqin and fuqin tended to try to keep away his littlest siblings from him as well, difficult as it was in their small house. Two rooms were not a lot of place for that many children, his parents, and fuqin’s parents. He learned to be grateful that he was at least allowed to stay, that he had clothes and food and a house.
So when he told them that he wanted to go to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect’s disciple trials, muqin simply packed him as much food as they could and fuqin gave him a few coppers and that was that. At ten years old, Shang Fei got a good luck, son and a bag nainai had sown for him from fabric scraps. Then he set out into the world to survive the road the best he could.
He couldn’t even explain why, exactly, he needed to go to Cang Qiong. Tian Yi Overlook was closer if he wanted to cultivate. But something at the back of his mind, almost like a memory he couldn’t quite recall, told him it had to be Cang Qiong.
And Cang Qiong it was. An Ding Peak. A decade and a half of hard labour and harder cultivation before shifu suddenly started taking notice and quickly made him head disciple and then her successor at the age of twenty-five. His core grew brighter. His meridians stabilized. Many of the teachings were familiar, although more were completely new. He learned not to question it. If he could learn something faster than everyone else, it was a blessing. Plain and simple. If he couldn’t, he would just have to work harder.
It was at the age of twenty he got his first ever friend, though. A sixteen-year-old junior disciple of the sixth peak. Zhen Cha was the peak of scouts, rangers and beastkeepers. And although his friend excelled at all of those things, he was clearly a beastkeeper in his soul. Shang Fei knew so because they met when Shang Fei was delivering animal feed. The sack broke, because of course it did. And as grain spilled out on the ground like an avalanche, something pitch-black descended from the heavens.
Shang Fei screamed and scrambled for cover.
A deeply unimpressed voice said, “She’s a crane, not a Tiger-Vulture. Get out of there, shixiong.” The voice was so young it was still cracking, but it still managed to communicate that it thought that Shang Fei was a coward, an idiot, and possibly a disgrace to the sect.
When Shang Fei did crawl out from underneath his cart, he was met with a raised eyebrow and a face that felt eerily familiar even though he was sure he had never met this boy before. Baby-fat still clung to his cheeks but it was clear that one day he’d have a scholarly sort of face: a narrow jaw, a long, straight nose, and thin lips curled into a sneer. His silky black hair was in a high ponytail held into place by a green silk ribbon. Most Zhen Cha-disciples favoured either ponytails, buns or tight braids. Whatever would keep it out of the way. They, like An Ding, did not do the kind of half-up half-down hairstyles that were popular on the more scholarly peaks. From the boy’s simple undecorated green and black robes, if it wasn’t already obvious from his age, he was a junior disciple, but the yaopei hanging from his belt – jade and gold, Shang Fei guessed, and he was very good at guessing – spoke of wealth. As did his countenance. Only someone with money, and a lot of it, could stare like that, as though you were less than filth beneath their shoes.
Shang Fei was also still a junior disciple despite being all of twenty years old. Mostly because all the masters, as well as shifu, seemed to have forgotten to promote him and he hadn’t dared bring it up.
Still on all fours, his gaze flickered from the boy to the giant bird – crane – and its three heads as it cheerfully pecked at the spilled feed. More loose animals were gathering as well. Other birds, but also squirrels, mice, ferrets, and ermines, as well as variety that he could not identify.
Still looking put out, the boy held out his hand. Shang Fei stared at it. He made an impatient noise. “Well?” the boy said. “Are you going to take it?”
Cautiously, Shang Fei obeyed. Certain that he was about to be dragged or pushed or any other such thing. But nothing happened. The boy simply pulled him up on his feet and let go, wiping his hand off on his – somewhat filthy – robes. Zhen Cha was somewhat infamous in the sect for not being too concerned with tidiness. Apparently wrinkled robes were not a concern when you were crawling around on the forest floor or whatever.
The boy looked at him expectantly, and Shang Fei squeaked and folded into a bow. “I’m so sorry! I’ll clean it up!”
“What?” the boy said, sounding both annoyed and baffled. “Well yes. Of course you will. If those beasts don’t eat it all first.” He said beasts like it was an affectionate nickname. “But what’s your name? You’re the shixiong, you should introduce yourself first. Don’t you have any manners?”
Spluttering, Shang Fei managed to give his name. He bowed again, just as deep as before. Pleading to whatever gods were out there that the boy wasn’t going to get him into trouble for this. He really didn’t want his shixiongs to have another reason to beat him up.
The boy bowed back, though not nearly as low. Probably the appropriate height for a shidi to greet his shixiong, if Shang Fei had been paying enough attention to check. “This one is Shen Yuan,” he said. “You look pathetic. And like you need a break.”
“Is that how you speak to your seniors?!” Shang Fei wheezed out. What the fuck was happening! Why was this boy speaking to him in the first place! What did he want!
“Not usually.” The corner of Shen Yuan’s mouth twitched. “Just when they look like sad little rats about to pass out.” He gave a sharp whistle, and the pitch-black crane lifted its – her, apparently, from what he’d said before - heads up. Shang Fei watched in disbelief as she shrank into the size of a crow and took a last pick on the feed before coming to settle on Shen Yuan’s shoulder. He gestured at her. “This is Xiao Mei. Xiao Mei, be nice. Also you shouldn’t eat so much, you’ll get too heavy to fly.”
He turned, his ponytail almost flicking Shang Fei in the face where he stood, staring at them. Shen Yuan looked over his shoulder. “Well? Are you coming?”
For reasons he didn’t even really understand himself, Shang Fei obediently followed his rude shidi. Perhaps there was something about his face, or the way he carried himself, or the way he had helped him stand up instead of pushing him down again, no matter how judgemental he had looked as he did it. No matter how silly it felt to meekly follow a child. Because that was what he was! A child! Sixteen! Shang Fei was both this boy’s sect senior by two peaks and actual senior by four years.
But Shen Yuan had been nice to him.
God he was pathetic.
Shen Yuan led him uphill through the narrow paths of the Zhen Cha taiga forests, past enclosures of strange animals he had never seen but many of which he recognized. The bizarre sensation was nothing but background noise to him by now. Shen Yuan chatted as they walked, which at least made it seem slightly less likely that he was about to be led into some pasture and fed to a beast. He listened to a whole lecture on the different creatures on Zhen Cha, spoken with only the energy a true enthusiast could have. He wondered how it felt to be that enthusiastic about anything. And especially how it felt to do it out loud where people could hear and tell you how stupid it was. But Shen Yuan had so such fears, it seemed. He spoke like it was natural that Shang Fei would listen. As he realized that, jealousy burned in his stomach. Imagine that. Must be nice, to not constantly wonder if you were a burden and a pest.
But then: “What about you, then?”
Shang Fei froze. Staring at him, unblinking as he tried to comprehend what he’d just been asked.
Shen Yuan repeated, “What about you? I’ve been going on and on about everything. What do you do? At your peak? What do you like about it?”
…How did one answer that? Shang Fei frowned. As the silence stretched out, he finally said, “An Ding isn’t… very exciting. I don’t think you want to hear me talk about how I finally got permission to reorganize one of the storerooms.” There was a twitch to Shen Yuan’s brow like he agreed but was too polite to say so. “I… like to write, I guess.”
He expected the regular replies. An ‘oh. Neat,’ before moving on at best. Something like ‘that’s stupid, you’ll never do anything with that, be more productive’ at most likely.
Shen Yuan lit up. “Really? What do you write?”
“I…” He’d never gotten this far before. His heart pounded against his chest. “Romances? Or like… about the nature of power and shit?”
He didn’t know what do make of the fact that Shen Yuan looked intrigued. He bunched his fists into the fabric of his robes, trying not to look as exposed as he felt.
“I’d love to read it,” Shen Yuan said, sounding entirely genuine. “I’ll edit for you if you want and if it’s any good. I usually do that for my gege’s writings when I’m home, though he writes boring things like philosophy, not fiction, and my friends tell me I’m a harsh critic. I think that just means thorough.”
He swallowed. “I… maybe? Thank you.”
Shen Yuan shrugged. “Your choice, I guess. We’re here.”
Here, Shang Fei found as he looked around, was a cliff. Luckily one with a fence, or he would genuinely have been worried he was about to be pushed over the edge. The pine trees had thinned out into a meadow. Beyond the mountain edge, far down below, villages and meadows spread out for many, many li. The sun was warm, but a breeze kept it comfortable.
“Yuan-ge!” a young girl’s voice called. “Who’s that?”
Shang Fei startled, twisting to see a bunch of young disciples laying about in the grass. One of them, the girl who had spoken, had another black crane curled up against her side. A picnic basket sat between them, filled to the brim with food and his stomach gurgled. Shen Yuan glanced at him with knowing amusement.
“Hui-mei!” he called back. “Yi-ge! Li Ziyuan, Chen Fang, Sun Haoran! I found a stray! This is Shang Fei.”
Shen Yuan bullied him over to the others and forced him to sit down in the grass. After a moment of consideration, he simply plucked the bird – Xiao Mei – off his shoulder and put it in Shang Fei’s lap, where she seemed happy enough to settle down before Shen Yuan pushed a bao into his hands. It was still warm. The bird in his lap was too. A little freaky with its three heads, but she rested them trustingly on his lap and puffed up his feathers. They were ridiculously soft and smooth as he carefully brushed his fingers over them. Then his stomach gurgled again, and he pushed the bun into his mouth.
Shen Yuan’s friends watched him with curiosity but greeted him cheerfully enough, apparently accepting of the fact that he had just brought a total stranger to their hangout. One that was a fair bit older than them, too. But there were no stilted formality or glares at being interrupted. A boy with odd, silvery eyes simply dropped his head into Shen Yuan’s lap once he sat down as well, and that was that.
Sitting silently, Shang Fei listened to their cheerful conversation. He devoured another couple buns that Shen Yuan plied him with and sneaked a couple bites to Xiao Mei. And when questions were directed at him, it was in a curious, friendly tone. Altogether new. But nice.
He could get used to this, he thought, if someone gave him the opportunity. This was a wholly novel sensation. Absolutely no weird déjà vu in the back of his head. But as he looked over at Shen Yuan, and Shen Yuan grinned at him, he nursed the small hope in his chest that perhaps it would not be new forever.
…Master Zhang was still absolutely going to have his hide for losing the feed and then disappearing for a while once he got back to An Ding, though.