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In all the time Yue Qingyuan has known him, Shang Qinghua has always been a jittery and nervous man, laughing and stuttering, hands fluttering and expressive. It’s a quirk of his that Yue Qingyuan has gotten used to over the decades of knowing him. Despite those mannerisms, Shang Qinghua was a competent Peak Lord, reliable in ways that Yue Qingyuan doesn’t even expect most of his other martial siblings to be. There are times when he even finds his company fun, especially when Yue Qingyuan catches him in one of his moods where he complains or comments on everything under his breath. At some point, they’ve become an expected entertainment during dreadful or boring meetings and conferences. But he was, at the end of the day, a Peak Lord. Yue Qingyuan isn’t naive to the lengths one must go through to reach such a high and lofty position. He himself can still feel the phantom pain in his hands from spending months just clawing at cave walls or, more damningly, the constant pulling ache in his chest that makes even breathing a chore to finish. Sometimes, he looks at his fellow martial siblings and wonders what trials they had to face, what obstacles they had to go through, what blood they had to shed, to reach where they are now. They were all jaded, in one way or another. Lessons hammered into them like nails that pinned them to the position they’ve fought so hard for. Shang Qinghua, surely, is no different. So he isn’t…. remiss in being surprised when he realized Shang Qinghua was surprisingly indulgent of his disciples. The first, and surprisingly not the last, time he had seen this in person, it had been directly after a Peak Lord meeting. As always, Shen Qinqiu had been the first to leave, walking away in a flurry of green robes. Then, Liu Qingge, stomping out with less grace but just as much confidence. It whittled down and down until only Yue Qingyuan, Shang Qinghua, and Mu Qingfang were left. Shang Qinghua had only stayed to clarify something or another of one of their objectives before he starts working on them, while Mu Qingfang had been needed for the input as it was a project Qian Cao needed done– Namely, that they were planning on establishing at least one clinic per peak (And probably two on Bai Zhan). Normally, disciples just went to Qian Cao to get treated, but both Shang Qinghua and Mu Qingfang agreed that there were many that were either too lazy or too busy to make the long trip to another peak just to get a minor wound treated. Having one nearby made things easier. Mu Qingfang could assign low-level healers to take shifts on each peak, both to familiarize them to treating different kinds of wounds and illnesses, and just treating patients in general. If more lethal wounds were reported in, at least there would be a clinic nearby where they can get healers to stabilize the patient before dragging them off to Qian Cao. They had been talking— or, more specifically, Shang Qinghua had been double-checking some details with both him and Mu Qingfang when a loud bang! Rattled the doors, as if someone had run into it, followed shortly after by a very timid knock. Yue Qingyuan glances at his other two shidis, but from their surprised expressions, they aren’t expecting anyone either. The door opens, and the timid head of a young disciple– maybe 15 or 16, pops out from behind the door. They can see a peek of yellow on his robes– from An Ding, then. “Ah, E-excuse this one, but this disciple needs to speak with shizun..?” Shang Qinghua blinks. “Ah, yes…? Is it urgent?” “Ah– Shizun–” Then, the disciple yelps, and the door slams abruptly to shouting, before it is opened with an even louder bang!, this time, with the disciple struggling between two Qiong Ding senior disciples. “Apologies Sect Leader, he snuck past us–” “These damn An Ding disciples–” “LET ME GO! I just really need to talk to shizun–” There was a lot of arguing. Shang Qinghua hovers forward, before pausing and turning to Yue Qingyuan expectantly instead. With a nod, Yue Qingyuan turns back to the scene. “Enough. Let him speak. If it is so important that he could not wait, then it must be truly dire indeed.” They begrudgingly let the disciple go. The disciple bows and thanks Yue Qingyuan profusely before turning back to Shang Qinghua, reverting back to an almost shy, nervous disposition. Shang Qinghua was, admittedly, the least impressive of the Peak Lords. He had neither the impressive height nor the peerless beauty one would expect of an immortal master. He was, in a word, small. The shortest of his martial siblings, with a slightly rounded, compact build that made him look younger. It made watching this disciple stumble and stammer in front of him more amusing than it actually was. “Shizun.” The disciple sucks a large breath and collapses into a kowtow. “Shizun, this one has just heard that his younger sister is very, very sick and would like to ask permission to, um, to bring her to Cang Qiong and have her checked in Qian Cao. This lowly one knows he’s only an outer disciple, but he– I promise I will work very hard to make it worthwhile.” Ah. Yue Qingyuan breathes. There was no change in his posture, shoulders back, smile genial. And yet, he was aware of every swell of his chest. A slow in, and out of air in his lungs, bringing a pulling strain from his core with every inhale and exhale. To hear this from the other side– When he had been a disciple, he had once begged an immortal master, whom he thought was the kindest of his teachers, to help him rescue Xiao Jiu. He had only been answered with a condescending smile, his request thrown away because he was merely a boy who wasn’t even an inner disciple. He had been punished for his insolence. He had tried other masters, other senior disciples, but at the end of the day, no one had cared. The worst of it had been when they expressed regret, because what use had it been?
This is not something I have the power to help you with, disciple.
I’m sorry shidi, I would do more if I could.
Then what’s stopping you! He had wanted to scream. Immortal masters, noble scions, what use was all that power when you can’t even help those that need them! Later, when his talents had been recognized and his name was more than the beggar that had climbed the trials of Cang Qiong, he had begged his shizun, too, but that had only resulted in an even worse punishment, and Yue Qi had been forced to make himself heard. The adults in his life had made it clear that saving Xiao Jiu was only his burden to bear. No one else would come for him. To be here, listening to this poor boy break all conventions just to beg his shizun like Yue Qi had done once before, felt like a scar reopened. But before Yue Qingyuan could reply (--and he doesn’t know how he would have answered, maybe a plea for Shang Qinghua to listen, or, in a moment of spite that sounded like it came from Xiao Jiu’s venom-filled mouth, maybe the same non-answer so many of the masters of his peak had given him once before--), Shang Qinghua blinks and replies, without hesitation, “Oh? Where’s your sister, then? Do you know what symptoms she has? If it’s not just her that’s sick in your, um, village, we could maybe be justified to send the doctors there instead. No need to drag someone sick all the way here!” The disciple looks up from his position on the floor and gapes. Yue Qingyuan can’t blame him, his own throat catching on those words like he couldn’t swallow them.
That easy?
The disciple seems to realize he was wasting time and his words scramble out in a hurry, “A-niang’s letter said a bunch of other kids got sick, too. It looks like normal summer sickness, but it’s the first time it’s happened in the village! So it’s– it’s not really urgent, but– but a lot of kids die from it? It happens every year in the other village, but it’s the first time it happened in ours.” “Hm, where do you live? Is it close by? Under Cang Qiong Mountain’s jurisdiction? Or somewhere else? I hope not! It’ll be a pain in the ass to get permission to get people there,” Shang Qinghua hums, as if it was no question he would do what was asked, already anticipating the hassle it would take to justify a decision. “You really didn’t have to barge in here, you know. You could have just waited at my office. Though I still need to ask— Wait, he’s here, right. That makes things easier! Mu-shidi, is it alright if I ask some of your disciples to uh check it out?” Already, Shang Qinghua was muttering under his breath about the permissions he needed, the papers he had to file to get the mission sanctioned, the supplies to gather, and who to assign this mission to. Mu Qingfang didn’t seem surprised. There was a knowing shine in his eyes as he gazes at Shang Qinghua and answers, “Of course, shixiong. If it’s only the usual summer sickness, then I can even use this as a learning opportunity for the Juniors still starting out on their practice.” “Mm,’’ Shang Qinghua nods distractedly. “I think summer sickness is usually caused by, like, the environment. Something that gets worse when the heat of summer comes. I should probably send some of my own people to check. It’s probably, like, either waste disposal or something in the water. I swear, if it’s someone shitting in the wrong place again–” He continues muttering.
Was it really that simple?
He was the Sect Leader. He helped people when he could, but the problems he faced were usually of a bigger nature. Sending aid to stop an epidemic, rather than a village-wide sickness. Handling negotiations between warring clans to prevent casualties. Cutting off treaties with Sects that still practiced slavery. People would come to him for solutions to world-ending problems. No one had ever come to him for help with personal problems, which, by their very nature, only really mattered to them. Problems that weren’t really world ending, but still felt like their entire world. Your words will never matter, had been a lesson engraved into his soul after years and years of begging for help. Xuan Su lays heavy on his belt. And yet here this child was— not even an inner disciple, and his sect siblings had not hesitated to listen. The words caught in his throat crawls up to his eyes, and he smiles to keep them from falling out. It had been easy. Where was this grace decades ago when a young ex-slave had begged so many masters in this very same mountain? “Should we sit back down and discuss it properly?” he asks instead. “No, no,” Shang-shidi waves it off. “I have some people who can handle this. Let them coordinate everything. Mu-shidi and I still have things to do!” “It won’t be a problem?” “It better not be,” Shang-shidi says cheerfully. “What are they gonna say? That they’re not willing to help a couple of sick kids? Who’d do that? Can they look at a mirror and live with the fact that they said no?” Some people do, Yue Qingyuan wants to say, but Shang-shidi looks so sure of himself, confident in a way he rarely ever was. These moments of confidence– this surety that the world should do something in a certain way, because it was right, because it was fair. It was something uniquely Shang Qinghua. The man complained often, under his breath or in private, but it also meant he knew how unfair the world could be, and that he expected to be treated better. And, sometimes, this belief would bleed into his assumptions with how the world should work.
Well, yeah? Everyone should learn how to read? I mean, sure they’re servants and not cultivators, but things would be way more efficient if they can.
Oh, the disciples don’t have classes today. Can you imagine the riot I’d have if I didn’t give them breaks every few days?
An Ding works in shifts, so there’s always someone at work. I can’t, like, make them work all the time, you know? Mu Qingfang will stab me with his needles if my kids are always working!
It sparks something within him. A small flame soothing the part of him that was still Yue Qi. The pulling in his chest didn’t seem so heavy when faced with such surety. “Some people can be assholes, I guess.” Shang-shidi shrugs. “But who can say no to me? I’m their boss. I hold their paycheck. Better yet, who will say no to the Mu Qingfang?” He cackles to himself, still so sure and confident. Mu-shidi’s lips twitch into a smile, watching Shang-shidi with fond eyes. If only Yue Qi had someone like them once, things would have been so, so different. –