The day that Shen Qingqiu returned to Qing Jing Peak was a joyous one not just for Luo Binghe, but for all the disciples and resident teachers. When his Shizun returned over a week late, only three days before they would need to depart for the Immortal Alliance Conference, he looked more haggard and tired than Binghe had ever seen him. His green and white clothes were ripped and stained with blood and dirt and something blotchy and orange, and his hair crown was askew with long black strands of hair escaping the simple top knot everywhere in a way Binghe was certain meant his Shizun had surely flown on Xiu Ya for hours or days without rest to return to them. He was simultaneously touched and very upset.
His fellow disciples seemed almost of the same mind, fluttering about and joining him in offering to fetch their peak lord food, drink, a healer, time to rest, a chair, new clothes, a hot bath, and – in Ming Fan's stressed case – all the most urgent paperwork that had been left undone in their master's absence.
"Calmly now, my disciples," his Shizun cooed, patting a few of the closest in the gathering crowd on the head. Binghe jealously pushed his way to the front of the crowd so he could claim a head pat too. "This master does not need a healer and will be sure to rest. Ming Fan, bring the most urgent paperwork to my house in a quarter shichen, and Binghe, prepare a hearty meal and tea. Ning Yingying, gather a half-dozen disciples ready to run messages and supplies between the peaks and have them wait outside the bamboo house in a half shichen. Hall masters, tomorrow I will devote my day to reviewing every single student's performance in cultivation, duelling, and the scholarly arts; please collaborate and prepare student records for review accordingly, and draft up an interview schedule on behalf of this master."
Shizun bathed and changed while Binghe frantically began cooking, wishing he'd known ahead of time when his beloved teacher would return. Ming Fan was now out there with him talking and drinking tea while Binghe was still stuck in the kitchen, but he couldn't hurry or the meal would be ruined! His Shizun deserved only the best food after such a long and arduous journey!
Eventually he emerged from the kitchen with a tray laden with snow-white baozi stuffed full of succulent pork, clear chicken broth with delicate slices of vegetables, a mound of fluffy rice, and crisp slices of roast duck drizzled with a sweet plum sauce.
His teacher was midway through instructing Ming Fan as he entered, writing out a letter with graceful strokes of his calligraphy brush. "…And all the beast parts I gathered to Bai Zhan peak," his master said, "since they will get the best price for them for us."
Ming Fan nodded and passed the hastily-dried letter and a qiankun pouch to a waiting disciple at the door. "For Liu Qingge at Bai Zhan peak!" he instructed, and they bowed as they took the items and ran off. A new disciple took their place waiting at the door for the next message.
Shizun was frustratingly busy with Ming Fan for an entire shichen, and shared his food with him! Binghe scowled at the blatant disrespect when Shizun wasn't looking, but Ming Fan saw his angry looks and smirked back, slowly eating three of Shizun's baozi buns while making deliberate eye contact with Binghe. He seethed at playing servant while Ming Fan got to act like an honoured guest. It was so unfair!
Shizun was too busy to notice Binghe's vinegar looks or his hovering, as he desultorily dusted things unnecessarily so he wouldn't have to leave the two of them alone. Shen Qingqiu signed paperwork for Ming Fan, wrote letters, and rattled off orders for Ming Fan to carry out later. There were beast parts being sold via Bai Zhan Peak for the benefit of their own peak's finances, rare herbs and flowers that Shizun had collected being traded to Qian Cao Peak in return for the provision of medicines to treat wounds and demonic poisons, and a cultivation treasure of an odd mirror being traded to Qiong Ding Peak with an urgent plea for more funds for their peak in exchange for the gift. Lastly, there was a rush order for spare swords, extra flares, and simple qiankun pouches for students – all for the Immortal Alliance Conference – from An Ding Peak and Wan Jian Peak with money they didn't quite have yet but expected to have very soon. There were a few more letters of which Binghe was unaware of the contents; his teacher was clearly very busy with many plans formulated during his absence from Qing Jing Peak.
"Shall this one see if we have any new artworks, fans, or musical instruments produced by students suitable for sale?" Ming Fan asked. "That would also help offset the cost of ordering spare new uniforms so we disciples can appear at our best for the conference. Too many have become torn or stained during rigorous martial training in your absence."
"Excellent idea, Ming Fan!" his Shizun praised, patting him on the shoulder. "I am proud to have such a diligent and thoughtful head disciple."
Binghe seethed with jealously once more as Ming Fan gave him a brief, gloating look when their master was busy writing another letter.
Eventually, to his great relief, the flurry of work was all done, Ming Fan left, and his Shizun's attention was solely his once more.
"It is late," Shizun said. He sighed and rolled his neck and shoulders about, relaxing after being hunched over the table for so long. "But I hope not too late for some tea and another story, as I promised you before I left. I – this master is sorry that you had to wait so long. I earned as many… as much as I could while I was away. It is insufficient, but sometimes all we can do in our lives is try our hardest, Binghe, even if we fear our efforts are doomed to failure."
"No-one could have done more," Binghe soothed, pouring some fresh tea.
He'd been topping up the pot for hours and replacing it entirely when the leaves had steeped for too long, making the tea too bitter in its neglect; in the face of the storm of work his Shizun had felt it necessary to tend to immediately. His Shizun deserved only the best tea, not over-steeped bitter rubbish. He wondered sometimes – a secret, unspoken fear – if Shizun would dump tea over his head again if he made it wrong. He'd studied proper tea-making in the library for months after he'd been admitted to the sect and it had all gone so terribly wrong but had never had a second chance to serve his Shizun tea until he'd been invited to live in the spare room. Then his Shizun had smiled like he'd hoped he would have done the first time, and praised his perfect brewing. He'd vowed then to never serve his Shizun sub-par tea ever again!
"I tried, Binghe, I really did," his Shizun swore, looking oddly mournful. He let out a frustrated huff of breath, his cheeks puffed out like an adorable hamster.
Binghe held such moments in quiet delight. No-one else got to see his Shizun relaxed like he did; no-one else got to see these glimpses behind Shizun's mask of an unflappable, serene, immortal peak lord. Around Binghe, in the privacy of the bamboo house, he sometimes dropped the formal language and permitted himself brief displays of emotions that he kept hidden from others.
"Now, I promised you a story of Guanyin the compassionate, and I shall share what I read long ago as best I recollect it. Once upon a time, before her ascension, Guanyin was no goddess, but just a young princess called Miao Shan. Preciously talented in learning sutras, she was the most lovely and kind daughter of King Zhuang and his wife, Lady Yin. Her father wanted to marry her off to a lord, but she dreamt only of joining a temple. Even when – at her father's direction – she was starved of food at home, and when at the temple the monks gave her all the hardest chores and gave her no rest, she never regretted her decision."
"Am I Guanyin in today's tale?" Binghe asked, seeing some immediate parallels with his earliest days at Qing Jing Peak, filled with hunger and harsh labour from dawn to dusk.
"You know I cannot interpret such matters for you," his Shizun said, bopping him on the head with his closed fan. It was an odd habit, his reluctance to confirm or deny many of Binghe's guesses about the stories, but his Shizun's smile (such as in this case) often gave away his unspoken answer, so the questions were always worthwhile even if verbal replies were sparse.
Binghe hummed thoughtfully. It was an interesting start to the tale, but too many details were wrong, and he thought his Shizun had a rule about not changing his stories from the original versions. Why the deviations?
"Shizun, what book is this from? Are you sure this tale is true? I'd heard from my mother, and also from a wandering monk, that Guanyin was a cultivator who ascended after years of charitable deeds helping the poor, and much meditation that developed her golden core. Her father, the Emperor, had a different name, too. She was a national treasure, and never suffered any ills during her study except heartbreak from seeing and imagining the sufferings of others!"
"Ah," his Shizun said, looking intrigued. "That's different to the story I learnt as a child. Some say that she lived many lives, and that this was from one of her many reincarnations; perhaps it wasn't from the life where she ascended? Even if my version is incorrect in this w… from what you've learnt, will you let me tell it my way?"
"Of course, Shizun!"
His Shizun paused for a drink of tea, letting out a soft hum of pleasure.
"Now, Princess Miao Shan being so pure-hearted even got help from animals at the temple to complete her chores, which enraged her father to the point that he set fire to the temple–"
"No!" Binghe gasped, lost in the drama of the tale.
"He did! And Miao Shan used a technique that let her put out the flames with her bare hands. Her father, guilty and panicked and fearful, pronounced that she must be possessed by a demon to resist fire in such a manner, and ordered her execution."
This was definitely not part of the true history of Guanyin, at least not in the lifetime where she ascended. Binghe made a note of it – another tale with a demonic theme, and a threat of death. And another royal protagonist! He wondered if it wasn't Shizun with hidden noble blood, but himself. He'd been presuming for many months (since talking it over with Meng Mo) that perhaps his mother had abandoned him to the Luo River out of shame for bearing the unwanted offspring of a demon. It would be nice to instead be the lost scion of a noble family. Perhaps he was both? A noblewoman or princess would be truly shamed to bear a demon's child! Did his Shizun know the truth of his origins?
"On the day of her death sentence she dressed in a beautiful white robe and a jade necklace, going meekly to her execution. Yet the executioner's axe could not cut her skin–"
"Like Gawain!" Binghe interjected.
"Perhaps a little, yes!" Shizun agreed. "A protagonist is not killed so easily, when there is more tale yet to be told.
"Swords and axes alike broke rather than pierce Miao Shan's skin, and arrows veered off-course from the executioner's bow. Being a precious person of such great importance, she was protected from all harm. And being so amazingly merciful and kind-hearted she pitied the poor executioner who was just trying to do his job, and f-forgave him what he must do. She let herself be slain, and her soul descended to hell – to a demon realm."
His poor Shizun was oddly upset by his own tale, stammering just the tiniest bit and looking a little glassy-eyed with unshed tears. Binghe pressed the tale firmly into his memory, so he could write down those particular sentences later with as much accuracy as possible. If they didn't mean something – something important – they wouldn't be upsetting his Shizun.
"When she arrived in that dark and fiery realm, flowers bloomed where she walked, trapped mortal and divine beings were freed from imprisonment wherever she went, and all battles ceased at the sight of her approach. The Demon King of that realm, King Yanluo, was appalled at the sweet peace she brought to his domain, and sent her back to Fragrant Mountain in the mortal realm, to prevent the ruination of his kingdom. And then…"
Binghe nodded thoughtfully as his Shizun's story trailed to a halt. After the silence had lingered a little awkwardly long he asked, "Is that end, Shizun?"
"Uh, there's a bit more, but I realised suddenly that I'm a little worried you may misinterpret it?" he replied, sounding a little nervous. "I was trying to think of a better way to phrase it that wouldn't alter the story too much."
Binghe studied his Shizun carefully. His Shizun's face looked anxious and nervous, but the rapid fluttering of the fan in front of his face suggested embarrassment. "This disciple will try not to leap to conclusions then."
"I'm not sure I… Potentially it's just something to remember for later… no… never mind it's too…"
"Please, Shizun, I wish to hear it," Binghe pleaded.
"Ahem! Well… very well. When this pure white lotus of a woman returned to earth, she found her father incurably sick from jaundice... dying. A monk told King Zhuang that the only cure could be made from the eye and arm of one without anger, and further suggested that his divinations showed that such a one could be found only on Fragrant Mountain.
"Without hesitation when the monk approached her, Guanyin gave up her body for a cure for her father, who was completely healed as promised. He begged her forgiveness when he learnt it was his own daughter who'd suffered for him, which she gave wholeheartedly. Then her arm and eye were restored somehow, and uh… there were many more adventures after that and she lived happily ever after and she ascended to heaven and so on…" his Shizun said, stuttering to a rapid halt. His fan fluttered nervously as he peeked over the top of it to look at Binghe's thoughtful face. "The end."
"Shizun, you have suffered for so long, for my sake. Would my eye or…" Binghe asked carefully, thinking of Without-A-Cure.
"No!" his Shizun said loudly, the denial bursting out frantically. "You see, this is why I didn't… it's not your... Uh. Please don't speculate at this time. This master was foolish to mention it." His face was burning red with embarrassment or shame, his thin face hidden as much as possible behind his fan.
Binghe nodded slowly. Was there a cure for Without-A-Cure? Something terrible? Something no reputable cultivator could bear to consider as a remedy, due to the terrible price that must be paid? Something that was an antidote to the rarest of poisons, or a remedy for the oddest of curses that could not be spoken of directly?
'Please don't speculate at this time.' Could he speculate later? He knew his Shizun thought of him as young, as a child, far too often. Frustratingly often. Even though he was old enough to marry, old enough to fight in a war, old enough to be sworn to a lord's service. Was the terrible, secret remedy something he might be prepared to discuss or hint at more when Binghe was older?
He would ask Meng Mo, again, for rumours of remedies for his Shizun. Perhaps as a demon he knew of remedies for poisons too terrible for honourable cultivators to speak of; demons had fewer qualms than humans.
His notes were copious that evening as he transcribed the tale and jotted down his thoughts.
Ongoing themes: royalty/nobility (every story so far, with me identified as royalty), disloyal spouses (now 3 out of 4 stories only), keeping promises – serenely accepting a terrible, deadly fate, NOT defying fate but escaping it all the same, silence/secrets connected to suffering, Shizun and I as characters in the stories. Making deal (3 out of 4 stories). Demons acting in non-dangerous ways (3 out of 4 stories).
This story: cure for an incurable curse/disease, surviving mortal axe blow (2 out of 4 stories), no marriage or cheating spouse this time, only a fraught relationship with her father and a refusal of marriage. Escaping hell. Demonic possession – but false. Incidentally helpful demon king.
New theme strongly hinted this story: there is a cure for Shizun's curse or poisoning that he cannot or MUST not speak of. He was moved by the executioner's wish for forgiveness; does he wish for forgiveness for a terrible thing he must do or has done, something he must do to be cured? Must he kill a human to acquire a forbidden remedy – something like another cultivator's golden core? He is definitely still suffering at the moment, Mu-shishu said so.
Binghe sighed as he reread all his stories and notes. There were some patterns becoming clearer the more stories he heard, but he still didn't understand what it meant in practical, real-world terms. If only it was as simple as sacrificing an eye, or an offering of blood, or true love's kiss. Whatever his Shizun wanted he would happily provide! Preferably hat last option more than others, though, to be fair.
He had too many guesses and not enough reliable facts, and he yearned for something clear to do or say that would help his Shizun. Binghe barely got any sleep that night. He tossed and turned and then when inspiration struck for his next plan to help his teacher, he snuck out of bed to Qing Jing's library for a stealthy research binge at midnight.
"Don't worry, Shizun," he muttered, as he crawled back into bed just before dawn. "Your Binghe knows what to do."