Work Text
Luo Binghe’s arms ached as he brought down his axe, mind falling numbly into the rhythm of his never ending chores. The crack of wood disturbed the gentle, serene silence of the evenings on Qing Jing Peak.
Wood piled around him, he needed to work quickly so that he could rush to the bathhouse during the short interval of time before the servants of Qing Jing would come to clean the area. He was covered in dust, dirt, bruises, and sweat, his uniform worn and ripped, and his hair a frizzy mess,
but
above all of it, he was a disciple of Qing Jing. He had to try and salvage his appearance and cleanliness if he could make it to a class and become a great scholar and cultivator.
He smiled, cheek stinging from an old bruise, but spirits rising as he thought of what his future could hold once he is through with his chores, once he is a dedicated scholar, once he-
“
Luo Binghe
!” a voice behind him snapped, and dread rushed through his bones. Luo Binghe took a breath, setting his axe on the log, and turned to meet the cruel, steel gray eyes of Ming Fan, the Head Disciple of Qing Jing Peak.
Silence hung in the air for a moment, Luo Binghe’s eyes shifting nervously from his da-shixiong, to his loyal followers who stood behind him, as he wrung his hands into the soft material of his uniform. He tried to catch his voice to respond, but all that left him was a weak exhale, his mouth slightly open and eyes wide.
Ming Fan’s expression twisted, his eyebrow was raised and his chin was held high, “Are you not a disciple of Qing Jing? Do you not answer to this Da-Shixiong?” Binghe’s breath hitched, eyes watery and expression pitiful. Ming Fan had never felt pity in his 15 years of life. “Is it that Luo Binghe thinks he is exempt from respecting his betters?”
He gasped, horrified, “No! This one- This
shidi
only-”
Ming Fan snapped his fingers and Luo Binghe shut his mouth with a weak inhale. Ming Fan’s arms crossed across his chest as he whipped his head to one of the older boys behind him. “Shidi. Do you think Luo Binghe should be exempt from the expectations of Qing Jing Peak?”
“No, Da-Shixiong.”
“And you, Shidi?” He asked, tilting his head to his other loyal follower, “Do you think Luo Binghe deserves special privilege? Do you think he understands the importance of propriety? Respecting his betters?”
The second puffed up like a bird, “
No
, Da-Shixiong! He-”
“Hm.” Ming Fan said, stepping closer to Luo Binghe and shaking his head, “This Da-Shixiong is truly baffled by his shidi’s impertinence. This Da-Shixiong has taken extra care to teach his
dear
shidi, but these lessons just do not seem to stick. He is unsure of how to proceed”
“Does
any
lesson stick with Luo Binghe?” the first disciple asked, nose scrunched as the other snickered loudly, “Does he learn at all?”
Ming Fan’s expression flicked to a pleased smirk, never taking his eyes off of Luo Binghe’s shaking form. Somehow, Luo Binghe thought, Ming Fan was always the scariest of any disciple who tried to hurt him. His own hands rarely were dirtied, but the combination of his confidence, sharp words, and direct connection to
Shen Qingqiu
made him much scarier than the taller, and typically older disciples behind him, who stood ready to attack at their leader’s command.
“It seems one has.” his eyes gleaming with a new wave of cruelty as he stepped around Luo Binghe, “Even dogs recognize pain and where it comes from. Though, even they can comprehend what
causes
it and how to
avoid
it,” he sneered, jabbing a finger to Luo Binghe’s chest, “but despite this Da-Shixiongs efforts, this mutt remains untrained.”
Ming Fan withdrew his hand, coarsely wiping it on his robe with a disgusted furrow of his brow, “But your Da-Shixiong is benevolent, and has not given up on this stupid shidi.”
For a brief, naïve moment Binghe’s eyes widened. His Da-Shixiong believed in him, he could make it here, he could pass these challenges and-
Pain shot through his cheekbone as a fist connected with his eye. He opened his eyes to see the first disciple grinning over him.
Ming Fan paced before Luo Binghe as the other two boys took to shoving him down, kicking him around, forcing him to his feet, smacking him around, and repeating the cycle as Ming Fan spoke.
“Luo Binghe is the youngest and least talented disciple on Qing Jing Peak. He does not come from a noble household or clan, he does not take his studies seriously, he has not reported back to this Da-Shixiong with his preliminary assignments upon entering the peak, and he has made no advancement with his cultivation despite being given every chance by his Shizun to make something of his worthless self.” Ming Fan said, voice cold and trickling with growing anger with every word, “And despite all of these facts, Luo Binghe does not seem to think he has to respect the other disciples of this peak, let alone his Da-Shixiong.”
“This one…” Luo Binghe gasped as a foot connected to his stomach, “This one is sorry-”
“And
sorry
makes it better?
Sorry
makes it fine for Luo Binghe to make a mockery of Qing Jing Peak and Shen Qingqiu’s benevolence in accepting some mutt as a disciple?”
“
No
! You don’t-”
Ming Fan looked at him incredulously, “‘You don’t’?” he mocked viciously, “Has Luo Binghe not even learned to
speak
properly in his months on Qing Jing? This one was aware of his shidi’s
laziness
in reading his materials and completing his assignments, but he
truly
thought at least Luo Binghe could speak
.
”
Ming Fan snapped his fingers once again, and the beating suddenly stopped. Luo Binghe opened his tear-filled eyes warily, curling further into himself. He was met with Da-Shixiong’s boots, and his eyes trailed up to meet Ming Fan’s expression, fury warring with his attempt at a cold, aloof expression. He sighed, shoulders slumping a bit, face falling to an exasperated neutrality.
“
Perhaps
this one will be forced to make Shizun aware of Luo Binghe’s lack of care and respect not only for the rules of Qing Jing and propriety, but his lack of any progress in his studies. Luo Binghe has shown this one that nothing suggests the contrary, so-”
“
Please
,” Binghe sobbed, “This one is
trying
, he swears it, Da-Shixiong, but he…”
Ming Fan scoffed, “Do not interrupt your Da-Shixiong, Luo Binghe.” He shook his head, staring down at Luo Binghe’s form, “But, this one will give you another chance. Finish your chores, do your assignments, and
take this seriously
. Put the efforts that you are
so
dedicated into making a
mockery
of your Shizun and Da-Shixiong into your studies. And finally, do not
lie
, Luo Binghe. Had you started any of the reading material this one had provided you with over your months on this peak, you would have at least known the
basics
of what is expected from its disciples.”
“This shidi understands…” Luo Binghe whispered, defeated. He… Could not explain himself. He had very rarely made it to a class, and those he did, he had no idea what was going on. He couldn’t play the instruments he was presented with, he couldn’t read or write, he had never touched a go board, and his painting was abysmal.
Maybe… Maybe Ming Fan was right. Maybe all of this was his fault. His Shizun was the head of the Peak of Scholars, his teachers were only the best, his Da-Shixiong, despite his fear, Luo Binghe had to admit he was dedicated to his studies of the arts and cultivation. Everyone around him was flourishing, and he remained the same. Uneducated, dirty, and doing menial work, and being beaten around by young lords.
As Luo Binghe spiraled, his eyes caught a Tiger Tusk Wood Beetle leaping from the pile of wood, and landing on Ming Fan’s arm.
For a very,
very
brief moment, Ming Fan’s haughty demeanor flickered, his attempts to mimic their Shizun’s peerless and aloof nature faltering. A flash of disgust and
fear
in his eyes as he roughly swiped his hand over his sleeve. In the same manner as a trained dog following a command, Ming Fan’s face recovered and returned to his neutral, haughty expression. Though, he remained slightly tense.
Without a word, Ming Fan turned, and began walking in the direction of the disciple’s hall, his lackeys rushing after him with words of praise and reverence, mixed with a healthy amount of insult towards Luo Binghe.
Luo Binghe gathered himself off of the ground, body aching and covered in a new coat of dirt. He brushed himself off, wincing, and sniffling. He pressed his hands to his eyes and wiped his tears slowly.
He grabbed his axe.
He needed to finish his chores.
-
The Twelve Great Peaks of the illustrious Cang Qiong Mountain Sect had each been razed by flame as they were overrun by demons. A beacon of strength and power in the cultivation world had been reduced to nothing but scattered bloodied uniforms and broken practice swords, burning forests and buildings, screams and smoke.
Ming Fan’s eyes and nose burned from the heavy smoke that surrounded his home. Qing Jing had been reduced to nothing but ash. It hung heavily in the air, ringing and buzzing and so much screaming, the sensations being a parody of the shattered wards that once had protected the peak of serenity and scholarship.
The token hanging on Ming Fan’s waist naming him Qing Jing’s Head Disciple had been smashed and lost in the chaos, his hair was disgusting and loose, his guan missing, his white and green uniform was covered in soot and blood, some his own, some of the young Qing Jing disciples he had desperately tried to save, some of his friends, some of his Shizun’s, some of his Qin instructor’s, some of the head librarian’s, some of the serving boy who had ran from the kitchens’s, some of the disciple he painted with’s,
some of the
-
He was bent over himself, shoulders slumped and gasping for air, as he tried not to vomit from the acrid smell of his surrounding. There was nowhere he could look where he did not see the slain bodies of disciples and teachers and servants.
“Da-Shixiong,” a voice snapped in faux haughtiness, betraying the practically audible smirk in his words.
His body ached and his mind screamed as he rose and turned, his face hard and cold, body shaking as he attempted to control his breath. And all at once he met the glowing red eyes of the demon now standing before him, the air around the glowing blade in his hand warped and twisted, its presence causing splitting stabs of pain through Ming Fan’s skull and eyes, like icy rain.
The world had stilled. The cacophony of sounds from the battles and destruction across the peaks had suddenly ended. The frantic and pained screams of disciples had silenced, their bodies all stilled. The only remaining sounds in the whole of Cang Qiong were as follows: the crackling of fire, Ming Fan’s laboured breath, and Luo Binghe’s footsteps.
The demon spoke, hatred and righteousness burning through his eyes in discordant harmony. Ming Fan could barely hear the demon’s speech through the ringing in his ears. The demon’s voice was smug and calm as he laid out his grievances towards Ming Fan, towards his Shizun, towards Qing Jing, towards cultivation, his tone sharply contrasting the grim, oppressive atmosphere covering the sect like a thick, soaked blanket that Ming Fan found himself drowning in. The demon paced before him slowly, like a disappointed shixiong would to a disrespectful little shidi.
The words fell around Ming Fan, washing over the young disciples of Qing Jing strewn about around him as if they were nothing but discarded dolls, bodies covered in ash and blood, extending to the burned buildings and dead hallmasters, covering the razed peaks of Cang Qiong.
Before he could even begin to formulate a response, the demon slashed his sword, the warping air ripping a portal through the ground.
Luo Binghe stared into the eyes of Ming Fan, the way that had been beaten out of him. The way
The Qing Jing Manual of Rules and Ettiquette
informed him he was never to do. And for the very first time, since that day with that little Tiger Tusk Wood Beetle, saw fear in his eyes. The mockery and haughtiness and overconfidence was gone, replaced with fury and
terror
.
He grabbed Ming Fan by the neck, and threw him into the portal, and turned away without a single word.
-
Ming Fan fell. He felt bones shatter on impact and a strangled scream left his chest. His mind and body were without mercy, and he remained conscious. He stared up through the deep pit he had been thrown to the bottom of, at the smoke filled sky above him.
He gasped and wheezed, unable to move, terror and pain gripping his body. Terror of being left in this pit to starve to death, to not be given the mercy of dying on Cang Qiong with his martial family, to-
And then, through his thoughts and overwhelming pain, he felt a tiny prick of adrenaline shoot through his body from his hand.
His vision swam and he nearly lost himself to the darkness as he tried to lift his head, when another tiny shock shot through him, startling his mind back into focus for a brief second. The quick shocks grew in intensity, several piercing through him at once, and Ming Fan felt the light sensation of something brushing over his skin. Out of habit, his hand twitched to swipe it away, but he could not move.
Then, a hundred somethings. A million somethings. Crawling all over him. He screamed, trying to thrash away, but pain shot through his body. He was covered in
ants
. Barbed magma ants, to be precise. An invasive species known for their sharp bites and stings, like flame, near indestructible, rock-like exoskeleton, and finally, their voracious appetites.
They stung and bit his skin constantly, sending tiny shocks of adrenaline through him, forcing his mind awake, his body refusing to shut down from the damage that had already been inflicted. They rapidly covered his arms and legs and neck, crawling in his hair, across his face, in his mouth and ears and nose, he could not scream or see or hear anything other than the shells of the ants shifting and clicking. Despite the pain he tried to thrash away, tried to scrape them off of him as they ripped into his flesh, but to no avail. They could not be crushed and there were millions of them
everywhere
.
Ming Fan stopped fighting.
fin.