Chapter Text
Liu Minghao doesn’t understand why he needs to travel with his father on business trips. While he loves travelling, he loves the horses that drive the cart, he loves flying on his mother’s sword, he loves camping and sleeping between his parents under the stars. He even likes waking up to birdsong and the smell of roasted rice, the feeling of being somewhere new every day. What he doesn’t love is all the talking that the elders do. He has to sit quietly with his hands tucked into his sleeves, legs folded until they go numb, listening to things he doesn’t understand. Liu Minghao doesn’t like sitting quietly. He doesn’t like not being allowed to speak unless spoken to. And worse, when he wriggles or yawns or tries to sneak a glance at the courtyard, his mother gives him a look that says: behave.
He tries. He really does. But after a while, the words all start to blend together and he can’t tell one old man’s voice from another. So when they arrive at the Qiu family household and the adults go off to sit and talk about important things in the hall, Liu Minghao is left to his own devices. They tell him to play in the back courtyard, and for a moment he’s excited until he finds that the girl from the Qiu family doesn’t want to play swords. She doesn’t even want to play at all. She tells him, with her chin tilted up and a little frown, that girls don’t play with swords. Liu Minghao frowns right back at her and says, “That’s not true, my mother plays with swords. She’s very good.”
The girl gives him a disbelieving look, like she thinks he’s making it up. But before she can say anything else, Liu Minghao hears a small noise from behind her. He looks over her shoulder and notices the tiny boy standing just behind the stone lantern.
He’s skinny, shorter than Minghao, wearing old grey clothes that look a bit too big for him in some places and too tight in others. His sleeves are patched, and he’s barefoot. Unlike the girl, he’s not wearing silk, and his hair isn’t tied up properly. Definitely not part of the main Qiu family, Liu Minghao thinks. Still, he’s there. And he’d widened his eyes when Liu Minghao mentioned his mother being a sword cultivator.
Liu Minghao tilts his head. “Hey,” he says. “Do you want to play swords?” The boy doesn’t answer. His hands are clasped behind his back, and his eyes flick nervously to the side, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to say yes. But he doesn’t say no, either.
Liu Minghao is about to step toward him when someone grabs his shoulder too hard. It’s the oldest Qiu son, already in his early twenties, looking at him with a mix of boredom and tight-lipped disapproval.
“That’s enough,” the Qiu boy says. “Don’t waste your time with him. Come on, your parents are waiting.”
Liu Minghao wants to shake him off, wants to turn back and ask the boy’s name, but the Qiu boy is already steering him away. Liu Minghao glances over his shoulder, but the little boy has vanished behind the stone lantern. Like he was never there.
Soon, Liu Minghao gets bored again.
He has to travel with his parents because his father is a scholar merchant, apparently. That’s what everyone says. Liu Minghao doesn’t really know what that means because he’s only nine, but it seems to mean his father is very good at talking to other people, and they move around a lot. They never stay in one place for long. Sometimes, Liu Minghao likes that. New towns, new food, different trees. But sometimes too many adult voices all talking at once and no one his age to play with.
His mother tells him this is the last city they’ll stop in before returning to the Liu clan house for good. She said it gently, like it’s something to look forward to, but Liu Minghao doesn’t really want to go back. He wants to travel forever, like in his mother’s stories before she had him, when she roamed the mountains with a sword strapped to her back and a tiger demon following her like a pet. Liu Minghao wants to be just like her. He wants to become strong, to fly on a sword, to slay beasts and demons and write his own stories. He wants to live outside of all the sitting still and waiting politely.
But right now, he is very bored. No one will play with him. The Qiu girl doesn’t want to, and the boy in the grey clothes is gone, and the Qiu servants don’t talk to him unless it’s to bow and walk away quickly like they’re not supposed to be seen. So Liu Minghao wanders off on his own. He doesn’t ask permission. He doesn’t have to.
The Qiu estate isn’t as big as the Liu clan house, but it’s still nice. Quiet. The walls are made of pale stone, and the roof tiles are greenish, old-looking. There are lots of corners and small gardens and covered walkways. He finds a pond near one of the side courtyards. It’s round, not very deep, with lilies on the surface and a small wooden dock just long enough for one person to sit on.
Liu Minghao pulls off his shoes and socks and dips his feet in. The water is cold, but not unpleasant. There are a few white fishes swimming near the bottom, with round eyes and flicking fins. They ignore him.
Then, There’s a gasp behind him.
Liu Minghao turns around, water rippling at his ankles, and sees the boy from earlier standing just past the stone steps, half-shadowed by the afternoon light. He’s barefoot again, same grey clothes, too big and too tight in all the wrong places. His face is flushed, maybe from running, maybe from something else.
Liu Minghao grins and waves him over. “Hey! It’s you.”
The boy hesitates, then comes forward with a scowl like he’s been made to do something awful. “You’re not supposed to do that,” he says, pointing at the pond.
Liu Minghao blinks. “Why not?”
The boy stares at him, mouth a little open, like he doesn’t understand the question or like no one’s ever asked it before. Then he remembers himself, frowns harder, and repeats, this time with a little more force but also more fear, “Go somewhere else, young master. This pond is not meant to wash your feet.”
“I’m not washing them,” Liu Minghao says, kicking them gently under the water so it splashes just a little. “I just like it. Everything else is boring.”
The boy glances over his shoulder, then back again, shifting nervously on his heels. “If Young Master Qiu sees you, I’ll be in trouble,” he mutters, voice low.
“What’s your name?” Liu Minghao asks instead. He’s not used to being ignored. “Mine’s Liu Minghao.”
The boy freezes for a second, like the question is too sudden, or too strange. Then, awkwardly, he bows, his shoulders stiff, like he doesn’t know how deep it should go. “This servant is called Shen Jiu,” he mumbles.
Liu Minghao frowns. “I don’t like that you call me ‘young master.’ I’m not a master of anything. Just Liu Minghao.”
Shen Jiu doesn’t reply. His eyes keep flicking toward the nearest corridor, the roofline, the open garden gate. Liu Minghao watches him with interest. He’s kind of strange. Like a rabbit that’s always ready to run. “Do you want to play swords with me?” he asks. “The Qiu girl said girls don’t play swords, which is dumb, and no one else wants to play.”
“You shouldn’t be in the pond,” Shen Jiu says again, louder this time. “Please, just get out. If someone sees, I’ll—” He cuts himself off, jaw tight.
“But I like it,” Liu Minghao says, kicking the water again. “It’s nice. And you’re boring, too.”
Shen Jiu’s face scrunches up like he’s just been insulted. He marches forward, fists clenched at his sides, and then abruptly stops right at the edge. He bows, stiff and deep. “Please just get out,” he says, almost through gritted teeth.
Liu Minghao sighs like he’s being asked to do something very tiresome. “Fine,” he mutters. He shifts his weight, plants his hands behind him, and tries to push up—
His foot slips.
There’s a yelp, and a splash, and in the next moment Liu Minghao is falling backward into the pond, arms flailing. On instinct, he grabs for the nearest thing—Shen Jiu’s sleeve.
Shen Jiu lets out a sharp, shocked sound as he’s yanked off balance. For a second, he tries to dig in his heels, but it’s too late.
They both crash into the water with a loud splash.
It’s cold and loud and goes right up Liu Minghao’s nose. He comes up sputtering, hair plastered to his face. Shen Jiu is already sitting up in the shallow end, soaked through and blinking like he can’t quite believe what just happened.
Liu Minghao laughs, chest-deep in the pond. “You fell in!”
“You pulled me!” Shen Jiu snaps harshly, pushing wet hair out of his face, cheeks red and furious.
“You were being annoying,” Liu Minghao says simply. “Doesn’t matter. It’s just water.”
Shen Jiu looks furious. Not at Liu Minghao, but at himself, maybe, or the water, or the entire world. His face is red and tight and trembling at the corners. He looks like he might cry, which makes Liu Minghao uncomfortable in a way he doesn’t quite understand. Shen Jiu scrambles out of the pond fast, dripping all over the stone path, and Liu Minghao starts to follow but that’s when the oldest Qiu son walks in.
He takes one look at them and his face twists.
“Shen Jiu!” he snaps, voice sharp enough to cut. Then, a beat later, his tone shifts, smoother, more polite. “I’m sorry, Young Master Liu. If this brat troubled you, please forgive the offense.” He doesn’t wait for an answer before turning his glare on Shen Jiu again. “Apologise to the young master. Now.”
Shen Jiu drops to his knees at once. His wet clothes slap the stone. He kowtows low, forehead touching the ground. “I’m sorry, Young Master Liu. I did not mean to be a nuisance.”
Liu Minghao frowns, wading out of the pond. “Hey, stop that.” He steps forward to help Shen Jiu up, but the Qiu boy moves fast, blocking him with a hand on his shoulder.
“He’ll be punished for his impudence,” the Qiu boy says, lips thin. “There’s no need for you to involve yourself, Young Master Liu.”
“No!” Liu Minghao says sharply, shaking his hand off. “Don’t punish him. I slipped and pulled him in. Shen Jiu, tell him!”
He looks at Shen Jiu, still kneeling. But Shen Jiu doesn’t move. Doesn’t even lift his head.
“You don’t need to defend him,” the Qiu boy says, voice clipped. “This isn’t the first time he’s acted out.”
“That’s not true,” Liu Minghao says, stepping in front of Shen Jiu now. He reaches down and takes his arm. “Come on, get up. Tell him. I fell in. I pulled you.”
Shen Jiu finally lifts his head. His eyes are wide and shiny, his hair dripping across his face. He looks at Liu Minghao for a long second then turns his gaze to the stone beneath him. “It was my fault that Young Master Liu fell in,” he says, voice flat. “I apologise, Young Master Liu.”
Liu Minghao’s frown deepens. “But that’s not what happened.”
The Qiu boy sighs, annoyed. “It’s not your concern, Young Master Liu. Your parents are expecting you, the meeting has just ended. One of the servants will take you back.”
“I can go myself,” Liu Minghao says stiffly, still glaring. He doesn’t like any of this. He doesn’t like the way Shen Jiu stays on the ground. Doesn’t like the way the Qiu boy’s voice sounds like he’s smiling even when he’s not. He wants to say something else, something that’ll make all of it stop, but a servant appears at the edge of the walkway, bowing low, ready to lead him back.
So he turns, stomping off with his hair still dripping, shoes squelching on the stone. As he heads toward the main hall, he hears it.
A voice, sharp and booming, cutting through the garden like thunder.
“Useless brat—!”
Liu Minghao stops in his tracks. His heart jumps.
Another shout. Something crashes.
He doesn’t want to keep walking. He wants to turn around. But the servant bows again and says softly, “This way, Young Master Liu.” Liu Minghao’s fists tighten at his sides. He follows. But his face is stormy, and his ears are still ringing with the sound of that voice.
The thing is Liu Minghao knows what a servant is, in the way he knows what a horse is or a kitchen pot. Useful. Present. Expected.
At the places he stays with his parents, the servants wear stiff uniforms and move like shadows. When one dropped a teacup, they were made to kneel. When one answered too slowly, they were scolded or slapped. Liu Minghao never understood why. They were just people. Why did everyone act like they weren’t? Why did the Qiu boy not believe him?
He is still thinking about this as he walks, barefoot and fuming, across the Qiu estate. The stone paths are warm under the sun. His sleeves cling to his arms. The servant who led him says nothing. He wishes they would.
When he reaches the guest hall, his mother is already outside under the shade of the long eaves, sipping tea. Her braid falls over one shoulder, silver tied into the ends. She takes one look at him—wet hair, scowling face, muddy knees—and smiles.
“What trouble did you get yourself into now, A-Hao?” she asks, eyes amused.
“I didn’t get into trouble,” Liu Minghao huffs, stomping up the steps. “The oldest son wouldn’t believe me! I told him I fell into the pond and pulled Shen Jiu in, but he just looked at me like I was lying and said Shen Jiu would be punished!”
His mother sets her cup down, frown knitting gently between her brows. “Who is Shen Jiu, my dear?”
“He’s a boy I met. I thought he’d play swords with me. He said I shouldn’t put my feet in the pond but I didn’t listen and then I fell and pulled him in.” Liu Minghao is breathless now. Angry again, just remembering. “And the Qiu boy made him kneel! Like—like a criminal!”
His mother sighs and pulls him in by the sleeve. “Come here, my little storm cloud. You’re dripping on the mat.” She brushes his wet fringe back from his forehead, then says gently, “I’ll talk to Mister Qiu.”
Liu Minghao nods, still frowning. His chest feels too full. They are meant to stay at the Qiu estate for two more nights. The rooms are spacious and the food is nice but Liu Minghao is restless. He keeps looking around corners, slipping away from the courtyards, wandering near the kitchens and the garden sheds. But he doesn’t see Shen Jiu again. Not once.
On the second day, he finds Qiu Haitang in the flower courtyard, surrounded by pots of painted orchids. He hasn’t spoken to her since she refused to play swords. Now, she’s plucking dead leaves off a potted camellia.
He walks up and asks, “Where’s Shen Jiu?”
She turns her nose up. “Why do you want to know?”
“I want to see him,” Liu Minghao says. “He didn’t get in trouble, did he?”
“You want to steal him, don’t you?” Haitang accuses, arms crossed. “Everyone always wants to take him. But you can’t. He belongs to me.”
“I don’t want to steal him,” Liu Minghao says, confused and a little annoyed. “I just want to play.”
She narrows her eyes and turns away. “I’m not telling you where he is.”
And she doesn’t. No one does.
That night, Liu Minghao sits beside his mother in their room, polishing the wooden sword she gave him last winter. He doesn’t ask again. But he keeps thinking about a boy with wet hair and wide eyes, kneeling on stone. Keeps thinking about how he didn’t get up, even when he could.
At night the halls of the Qiu estate are quiet. Silent, like the stones themselves are sleeping, like every door and pillar and tile has gone still with breath held. It is not yet morning. The moon hangs low, pale and soft, and everything is tinted in silver, the dark sky just beginning to lighten at the edges.
Liu Minghao can’t sleep. He’s tried. He turned over on the guest mat, again and again, fluffing the little pillow, kicking off his covers, pulling them back on. But his head is full and his chest is restless. He keeps thinking about Shen Jiu. He doesn’t understand it but it won’t leave him alone.
He slips out of bed quietly, past his mother’s even breathing. His father snores faintly on the other side. Liu Minghao pulls on his robe over his nightclothes and pads barefoot into the corridor. The stones are cold, and the night air bites a little. He doesn’t know where he’s going, not really. Just walking. The estate is huge, bigger than he realized, all winding courtyards and covered walkways and long shadows. The fish pond glimmers faintly in the distance. He passes it. Walks past the bathhouse. Turns near the kitchen sheds.
And then he sees something move.
A figure. Small. Limping across the courtyard, arms clutched tight to his chest.
Liu Minghao freezes. His heart stutters.
“Shen Jiu?” he calls softly, taking a step forward.
The boy stops. Flinches, like someone had hit him already.
Liu Minghao rushes toward him. “Shen Jiu! Where have you been? I—”
He stops short.
Shen Jiu has turned just slightly, enough for the moonlight to catch his face.
Liu Minghao gasps.
The boy’s face is bruised badly. His cheek is swollen, lip split, mouth shiny and red like he’s been biting it to keep from crying. One eye is purple, the other puffy. His small shoulders shake, just once, like he’s been caught naked in the cold. Immediately, he turns away, raising an arm to shield his face.
“Go away,” Shen Jiu says hoarsely.
“No,” Liu Minghao says, stepping closer. “What happened to you?”
“It’s none of your business.”
Liu Minghao sees now that the boy isn’t just limping, he’s dragging one foot awkwardly behind him. His hands are bandaged but spotted with blood. There’s a tear at the edge of his sleeve, another on the hem of his pants.
“Shen Jiu,” he says again, voice breaking.
The boy turns suddenly, like he’s going to run, but the motion is wrong. His body stumbles sideways, like it can’t keep up with his will. “Don’t touch me!” Shen Jiu snaps, panicked.
But Liu Minghao doesn’t listen.
He moves fast, unthinkingly and scoops the boy into his arms. He’s surprised by how light he is. Like a bundle of wet cloth, barely anything at all. Shen Jiu struggles, thrashes weakly, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Let me go! Let me go!”
“No!” Liu Minghao says fiercely. “You’re hurt. Stop moving!”
Shen Jiu twists once more before his limbs give out entirely, head sagging against Liu Minghao’s shoulder. He goes quiet, only his breathing loud and fast.
Liu Minghao doesn’t waste a second.
He turns and runs.
The stone halls blur around him, wind cold against his face. His bare feet slap the ground hard. He doesn’t stop at the corners, doesn’t stop for the startled servant girl near the well. He knows where his parents are, knows the way back, knows that he has to get there.
When he reaches the guest wing, he doesn’t hesitate. He kicks the door open with his foot.
“Mother! Mother—!” he shouts. “Mama—!”
The room lights up in seconds. A talisman flickers to life. His mother is on her feet before he finishes the word. “A-Hao?” she says sharply, then sees him and what’s in his arms. She crosses the room in a flash. “What happened—what—put him down, let me see him.”
Liu Minghao doesn’t realize he’s crying until Shen Jiu is taken from his arms. His hands feel empty. His chest hurts. “I found him—I found him walking—he was limping—and his face—look—”
His mother is already laying the boy down, pulling the bandages gently from his fingers, peeling back his sleeves. She curses under her breath, then calls for his father.
“I didn’t know where he was,” Liu Minghao says, voice shaking. “He wouldn’t tell me what happened. He said it wasn’t my business. But I saw his face—he’s all bruised—and I—I picked him up, Mama, I—”
She puts a hand on his shoulder without looking up. “You did right, A-Hao.”
Liu Minghao nods, wipes his nose, and stands there quietly, staring at Shen Jiu’s sleeping face as his mother moves with quiet fury around him.
His mother is quiet as she works, quiet in the way a storm is quiet before it hits. Liu Minghao has never seen her like this. He’s seen her fight before, on the road, when demons came once, and once again when a corrupted beast tried to break through their camp’s talisman net. That version of her had been sharp, focused, still. But this… this is something else. Her mouth is a thin line. Her hands are steady, too steady. Her eyes flick to every new bruise, every tender limb, every wound, and her face doesn’t move, but Liu Minghao can feel something rising off her. Something cold and huge.
Shen Jiu wakes with a cry.
It’s sudden—sharp and loud and frightened. He thrashes like he doesn’t know where he is. Like he’s still there, wherever there was. His eyes are glassy, unfocused. He claws at the bedding, tries to push himself up, but his arms give out and he starts to panic.
“No! Don’t touch me, I’ll be good—I’ll—don’t—”
“Hold him,” Liu Minghao’s father says, and his mother gently but firmly presses the boy down. His limbs are all over the place, kicking, trembling.
His father moves quickly, reaching into his inner coat and drawing out a small, jade vial. He twists it open and taps a powder into his palm. Then, with gentleness he tips Shen Jiu’s chin up and blows the powder into his mouth. Shen Jiu gasps, and then slowly, slowly, his limbs begin to slacken. His breathing evens out, his eyelids flutter. Within seconds, he falls back into a deep, forced sleep.
Only then does Liu Minghao realize he’s holding his breath.
His father is already moving again. “We need to check the rest of him,” he says. “Help me get these off.”
Liu Minghao’s mother doesn’t say anything. She just nods once and starts to peel away the outer robe, then the undershirt. The blood-stiffened fabric sticks in places, and Shen Jiu makes a small, pained noise even in his sleep. His father is careful. So careful. When the clothes are off, Liu Minghao goes to the travel trunk and pulls out the soft spare sleep robes his mother always packs for emergencies. He likes those robes. They’re made of white gauze and blue silk. Light and soft and perfect for summer.
He’s clutching them in his arms when he hears it.
His father gasps.
It’s not loud. Not sharp or shocked. Just a breath—low, sucked in like something hurt. Then he says something to his wife in a voice so quiet Liu Minghao can’t hear it.
But he sees her.
She staggers.
Just one step back, like her knees buckled for a second.
His mother. Who once fought a bone-eating corpse on a cliffside without flinching. His mother, who told him once that ghosts weren’t scary and pain was a part of life and courage was what you did when you were afraid. His mother, who braided his hair and taught him to kick a man’s knee the right way. That same mother covers her mouth with one hand, and her face goes pale, and for a second she looks… afraid.
Liu Minghao steps forward, alarmed. “What is it?”
But no one answers him.
His father lowers his gaze. His face is tight. His hands are working, cleaning, bandaging but he’s gone very quiet. Liu Minghao turns to his mother.
She doesn’t speak to him. Doesn’t look at him.
She’s already moving.
She stands straight, then turns sharply on her heel, her steps fast and loud on the wooden floor. She’s storming out. She doesn’t even put on shoes. “Where is Qiu Jianluo?,” she snaps, voice ringing out across the wing. “Get him. Get him now.”
“Mama—” Liu Minghao starts to follow, but his father holds out a hand and gently stops him.
“A-Hao,” he says, calm but firm. “Stay here. Stay with him.”
Liu Minghao blinks. “But—what’s going on? What did you see?”
His father’s jaw works, but he doesn’t answer. He just shakes his head. “Do as you’re told, son.”
And that’s it.
The door is left open behind his mother. The wind creeps in through it. Somewhere far off, voices are rising, servants scurrying.
Liu Minghao turns and looks at the boy lying on the guest mat. Shen Jiu looks even smaller now, in the spare clothes. His hands are rewrapped. His face has been gently cleaned. But the bruises are still there. One eye is swollen shut. His mouth is red and cracked. There’s a faint mark around his neck, dark like night, and Liu Minghao doesn’t know what it is but he doesn’t like the way his father looked at it.
He sits beside him. Cross-legged. He watches the slow rise and fall of the boy’s chest. His own chest feels tight. “Why did you lie,” he whispers, not expecting an answer. “You didn’t push me. I pulled you in. Why didn’t you say so.”
Shen Jiu sleeps. Doesn’t move. Liu Minghao picks at the edge of the sleeve he gave him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I should’ve said something sooner.”
And then he stays like that. Silent. Watching. While the voices rise outside. While his mother tears through the estate like a wildfire.
His mother comes back with no shoes on and her sleeves still rolled up. Her face is cold. Not angry like before but this is something else. She doesn’t look at anyone. Doesn’t even speak at first. Just walks straight to the trunk and starts packing.
Liu Minghao sits up. “Mama?”
“We’re leaving,” she says.
She says it like it’s already done.
Liu Minghao blinks at her. “Now?”
“Yes.”
He hesitates. His chest tightens. He thinks maybe… maybe they’re leaving without, “But—what about—” he starts, glancing back toward the sleeping boy on the mat.
Before he can even finish, his mother has crossed the room. She kneels beside Shen Jiu and gently, so gently slides one arm under his back and the other beneath his knees. Then she lifts him, with the same care she once used to lift Liu Minghao when he’d fallen off a horse and bruised his ribs. Shen Jiu doesn’t stir. His head rests against her shoulder like a drowsy kitten. His fingers twitch once, and then go still again.
Liu Minghao stares. Relief fills him so fast he forgets to breathe for a moment.
He scrambles to his feet and grabs the rest of the small bundle of clothes and rushes after her, past the screen door and into the courtyard. The sky is still dark, blue and black at the edges, like it hasn’t quite decided whether to be night or morning. The air is cold. The cart is already being brought around by one of their family guards.
Down the corridor, Liu Minghao hears his father’s voice raised, sharp and clipped. He’s arguing with someone. The Qiu patriarch, maybe. There are footsteps and shouting and someone trying to explain something. His father does not shout often. He doesn’t need to. But when he speaks like that, no one dares to interrupt.
His mother doesn’t look back. She walks past the servants with Shen Jiu in her arms, ignoring every look and murmur, and climbs into the cart.
Liu Minghao follows, clambering up beside her. He kneels and watches as she lays Shen Jiu down carefully onto a nest of blankets, tucking one beneath his head and another over his legs. She smooths his hair back and checks his bandages again like she can’t stop herself from making sure. Her hand lingers against his forehead a second longer than necessary. Then she looks up. “Give me the water flask, A-Hao.”
He does. She tips a few drops into Shen Jiu’s mouth. He doesn’t wake. He just swallows instinctively, his face still slack from the sedation powder. Behind them, the shouting grows louder. There’s a sound like something heavy being thrown. Then a door slams. “Will Baba be okay?” Liu Minghao asks in a small voice.
“He’ll be fine,” his mother says. “He’s just… settling things.”
“What things?”
Her eyes flick to him, and for a second he sees something behind them, something like fury and grief all twisted up together but she only says, “Things that should’ve never happened under any circumstances.”
The cart creaks as his father steps up to take the reins. Liu Minghao’s mother nods at him. “We leave now.”
The wheels begin to roll. The estate gate opens. No fanfare. No goodbyes. Just dark silence and early mist clinging to the trees.As they leave the Qiu manor behind, Liu Minghao curls up beside Shen Jiu, watching him sleep. The boy’s face is still bruised and swollen, but he doesn’t look afraid now. Just tired. Really tired.
Liu Minghao folds his arms across his knees and watches the road ahead. The sun is starting to rise, painting pale gold over the treetops.
They don’t stop.
They don’t look back.
~*~
Shen Jiu, Liu Minghao quickly realises, is a strange boy.
Not just quiet, plenty of kids are quiet. But strange, like a cat that’s been hurt too many times and doesn’t know how to stop flinching. The first time he wakes up in the cart, he takes one look at Liu Minghao’s father and nearly scrambles off the bedding, eyes wild, breath coming in shallow gasps like a creature trapped in a corner. Liu Minghao barely has time to sit up before Shen Jiu kicks at the side panel and yells no words, just raw panic and then his mother is there in a blink, climbing in and shoving them both out without a word.
They tumble out of the cart like discarded baggage.
“Mama—” Liu Minghao starts, rubbing his elbow, but she just waves a hand at him, sharp and distracted. She’s already crouching by Shen Jiu’s side, murmuring something low and soothing. Her back blocks most of the view.
He and his father stand there blinking at each other. His father sighs, brushes the dust from his robe, and says mildly, “Come help me pitch the canopy, A-Hao.”
Liu Minghao helps. He hammers the stakes and ties the ropes and gathers kindling while the sun finishes rising. The cart is parked beneath the tallest tree at the edge of the clearing, and he catches glimpses of his mother through the gaps in the canvas. She wipes Shen Jiu’s face with a warm cloth, feeds him a bit of porridge from her own hands. She speaks softly. Patiently. Explaining something. Her mouth moves but Liu Minghao can’t hear the words. Shen Jiu doesn’t say anything back. He just watches her with that tight, wary expression like someone bracing for a blow that never comes.
That night, Liu Minghao and his father sleep outside beneath the awning.
His mother doesn’t leave the cart.
She bundles Shen Jiu in blankets and lays beside him, a hand on his back the whole night. Liu Minghao hears the cart creak when she turns, hears her whisper something now and then when the boy stirs.
Strangely, he’s not jealous. He should be, his mother’s never let anyone cuddle her, not even when he was little and scared of thunder. But something about Shen Jiu’s hunched shoulders and bruised face makes it hard to feel anything but a deep, aching sort of pity.
The days pass slowly.
They travel by morning and rest when the sun is highest. Shen Jiu sits by his mother when they stop, never more than an arm’s length away. Liu Minghao notices he never eats unless she hands him the bowl first. He never speaks unless spoken to. Every time Liu Minghao or his father approaches, he tenses subtly, but enough that it’s impossible to miss.
His father doesn’t take it personally. He just gives the boy space.
Liu Minghao tries harder.
At first he tries asking questions. “Do you like travelling?” “Do you know how to play swords?” “Do you want to sit next to me?”
Shen Jiu never answers. Just stares at him with those wide, wary eyes, frozen like a deer in a hunter’s sights. His hand always tightens on the edge of his blanket or the sleeve of Liu Minghao’s mother’s robe.
So Liu Minghao changes tactics.
He stops asking questions. Starts telling stories instead. In the afternoons, while his mother is braiding herbs or hunting, he sits nearby and talks. He tells Shen Jiu about the time his mother fought a mountain beast with fire and a dagger made of jade. About the ghost ship they saw once by the river, with a crew made of mist and bone. About the time she killed a demon snake that ate nightmares and gave him one of its scales.
He tells them like he’s telling them to himself, not expecting a reply. Like they’re not even stories but memories spilling out one by one.
At first Shen Jiu just listens in silence. Then one day, after a long pause, he whispers: “What did the scale look like?”
Liu Minghao grins so wide his cheeks hurt. “Like the moon, but green. It shimmered when I held it up to the light.”
After that, Shen Jiu starts asking questions. Not many, and never when Liu Minghao’s father is nearby. But his voice is small and steady. “What’s a ship?” “Can you really see nightmare snakes?” “Did your mother really eat fire once?”
Sometimes, Shen Jiu even smiles. It’s rare, small, and shy, but it’s real. His shoulders loosen. He starts eating by himself when Liu Minghao brings him food. Once, he even hands back the bowl without flinching.
But he still freezes whenever Liu Minghao’s father comes near.
Liu Minghao doesn’t get it. His father is the gentlest man he knows. He looks like a scholar, talks like a poet, never even raises his voice. He gave Liu Minghao a flower once when he cried after falling in the river. He never gets angry. And still, Shen Jiu shrinks behind Liu Minghao’s mother when he sees him coming. Liu Minghao watches this, confused and a little sad.
They are two days away from the Liu Clan House. His mother tells him that in the morning, as she’s brushing his hair by the campfire. The sun hasn’t risen all the way yet, and the sky is the pale, sleepy kind of pink that makes everything feel slower and softer. Liu Minghao practically bounces where he sits.
“Two more days,” he repeats excitedly, turning to grin at Shen Jiu, who’s sitting cross-legged by the cart, nursing a cup of warm porridge.
“You’ll like it,” Liu Minghao says. “I’ll show you everything. There’s a pond and a big tree and a pavilion where I learned how to walk. And you can meet my cousins. I have five cousin-brothers, and they’re all training to be cultivators. And my aunties are cultivators too. Everyone’s a cultivator, except for my second uncle, but he makes pastries, so that’s fine.”
Shen Jiu listens without saying much, as usual. His hands are wrapped tight around the cup, knuckles pale. He nods now and then, his eyes lowered like he’s memorising the way the dirt curls in the seams of his robe. But Liu Minghao doesn’t mind, he’s gotten used to talking and not always getting a response.
“You’ll like my fourth cousin the most, probably,” Liu Minghao continues. “He’s closest to my age and he doesn’t cry when he gets punched. And we can all play swords together, there’s wooden ones at the back of the house that nobody uses. And you don’t have to share with them. I’ll share mine with you.”
He says all this in one breath, already imagining it, Shen Jiu sitting on the edge of his bed, his cousins crowding in to meet the strange boy with too-big eyes and a voice like paper.
But then a thought occurs to him.
“How old are you anyway?” he asks, tilting his head. “You’re not very big.”
Shen Jiu blinks. He seems caught off guard. “Eleven,” he says after a pause.
Liu Minghao stares. “You’re older than me?!”
Shen Jiu shrugs a little, like he’s not sure either.
“But I’m nine!” Liu Minghao says. “And I’m taller!”
Shen Jiu hums into his cup and says nothing, his face unreadable. Liu Minghao frowns and leans over to inspect him more closely. “You don’t look eleven. You’re like a baby sparrow.”
“I’m not,” Shen Jiu says, very softly but fiercely.
There’s a long pause between them. The fire crackles. In the distance, his father is stirring rice in a pot, humming to himself under his breath. Then, so quietly that Liu Minghao almost doesn’t hear it, Shen Jiu asks, “Where will I go once you reach your house?” The words are tentative, careful, as if he doesn’t want to be caught saying them out loud.
Liu Minghao blinks. “What do you mean?”
Shen Jiu still doesn’t look up. “I mean… when you go back to your family. Where will I go?”
Liu Minghao frowns. “You’ll stay with us, obviously.”
“I can’t,” Shen Jiu says.
“Why not?”
Shen Jiu’s fingers tighten around the cup. His voice is even smaller now. “Because I can’t.”
“That’s not a reason,” Liu Minghao protests.
Shen Jiu still doesn’t look at him. He shrinks into himself like he’s trying to become invisible, like he regrets saying anything at all.
Liu Minghao’s mouth opens to argue, but he doesn’t know what to say. There’s something about the way Shen Jiu sits that makes his chest hurt a little. Like someone’s pressed a heavy rock against it. He doesn’t understand why Shen Jiu thinks he can’t stay. Doesn’t understand who would say no to him staying. He wants to say something like “My mother already likes you,” or “I don’t want to send you back to the house that made you look like that,” but the words get stuck behind his teeth.
He just stares at Shen Jiu instead. At the small, hunched shape of him. At the fading bruises on his arms and the shadow under his eyes. Then, without thinking, Liu Minghao says, “Well, I want you to stay. So you will.”
Shen Jiu lifts his gaze then. There’s something cautious in it. Something that makes Liu Minghao feel a little braver and a little sad all at once. “We’ll see,” Shen Jiu says finally. But his voice is tired. Not hopeful. Like he already knows better than to expect anything good. Like he’s just waiting to be sent away.
Liu Minghao decides right then that no matter what anyone says, he won’t let that happen.
They’re eating dinner by the fire again, and the sky is bruised with stars. Shen Jiu is sitting beside Liu Minghao’s mother, carefully sipping soup from a clay bowl, his sleeves rolled back and his hair tied loosely with a green ribbon she gave him to keep it out of his eyes. Liu Minghao thinks it suits him, makes him look like a person and not like a bruised ghost. He watches Shen Jiu smile at something his mother says and feels suddenly very full, not just from the food.
When the fire crackles louder, Liu Minghao sits up straight, puffing out his chest. “I’ve decided something,” he announces, spoon clattering in his empty bowl. “Shen Jiu will stay with us. Forever. For as long as I’m alive.”
There’s a pause. His mother looks up from where she’s wiping Shen Jiu’s chin with the edge of a sleeve and bursts into a laugh, quick and musical. His father, who’s just finished drying their cloaks, lets out a warm chuckle and says, “Oh? That long, A-Hao?”
“I’m serious!” Liu Minghao insists, glancing at Shen Jiu to make sure he’s listening too. “He’s mine. I found him. So now he’s my responsibility.”
His mother’s eyes twinkle, teasing. “And what if Shen Jiu wants to leave?”
That stumps him.
Liu Minghao frowns, turns sharply to Shen Jiu, who goes stiff, like someone just pulled a string in his back. His cheeks puff up a little in confusion.
“Do you want to leave, Shen Jiu?” Liu Minghao asks quietly. The fire makes soft popping sounds. A few embers float up like tiny stars. Shen Jiu stares at him. His face is hard to read, but his eyes shine like he’s holding something behind them and he’s not sure if it’s safe to let it out. Liu Minghao leans in, brow furrowed. “I like you,” he says, voice gentler now. “Will you stay with me, Shen Jiu?”
That seems to startle something in the older boy. Shen Jiu’s ears go red, and he quickly looks away, turning his face toward the woods like he’s afraid someone else might have heard. Then, without looking back, he draws his fist up and punches Liu Minghao very lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t say such things,” he mutters, but he’s smiling now, lips curling at the edges in a shy sort of way. It’s not a big smile. Not even a full one. But it’s real. And Liu Minghao beams like he’s just won something.
His mother leans toward her husband and whispers something in his ear that makes him chuckle again, low and fond. They exchange a look over the fire, one of those quiet, grown-up looks Liu Minghao can’t yet understand but it makes the world feel soft, like maybe it’s folding itself around them just a little tighter tonight.
Liu Minghao doesn’t know much about forever. But he knows that he meant it.
~*~
The gates of the Manor open with a slow, grinding creak. Liu Minghao barely waits for the cart to come to a full stop before leaping down and running full tilt across the stone courtyard.
“A-Hao!” a voice calls out, sharp but warm. A tall woman strides into the courtyard, her long outer robe embroidered with clouds and plum blossoms. Beside her is her wife, shorter, round-faced, and smiling, His Ayi. “Come give your Auntie a proper hug.”
Liu Minghao scrambles to his feet, brushing dust off his sleeves as he runs toward her. “Gugu!” he shouts, barreling into her arms. She picks him up with ease, pressing a kiss to his cheek before setting him, he immediately pulls her wife in for a hug too. The scent of herbal soap and lotus oil lingers in her sleeves.
“I missed you both,” he says, puffing up his chest a little, as if to make his words heavier. “But I brought someone. Someone really important.”
He turns to point toward the cart, but it takes him a moment to spot the small figure half-hiding behind his mother’s robes. Shen Jiu’s head is low, his hands clutched tightly in front of him. Liu Minghao’s mother rests a gentle hand on his back, murmuring something to him too quiet to hear.
Liu Minghao jogs back to him, not pulling him out but standing right beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “This is Shen Jiu,” he says, voice proud and clear. “He’s mine.” His mother’s hand moves to stroke Shen Jiu’s hair, comforting. Shen Jiu doesn’t move, but he doesn’t flinch away either. “He’s not really mine,” Liu Minghao clarifies quickly, flushing. “I mean he’s my friend. But I’m going to take care of him, because I promised. And he’s going to stay with us. Isn’t that right, Shen Jiu?”
The boy doesn’t answer, only lifts his head a little. His bruised eyes flick nervously to the women in front of him, and then settle back on his mother, who smiles softly and nods. That seems to give him just enough courage to straighten his back and bow deep, respectful, almost too formal for a boy his age. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
Gugu tilts her head slightly, expression unreadable for a moment. She takes his form and his bruised face and bandages around his hands and leg then she smiles, nods once, and opens her arms. “Come here, then. Let me get a look at you.”
Shen Jiu hesitates. But then Liu Minghao nudges his elbow, grinning, and Shen Jiu steps forward, slow and stiff, and lets himself be drawn into the woman’s arms. She hugs him less roughly than she did Liu Minghao, but with no less warmth. “You’re safe now,” she says, voice low enough that only he hears. “We’ll take care of you.”
Liu Minghao’s mother pats her son’s head as he watches them, pride glowing on her face. “You did well, A-Hao,” she murmurs. “You kept your word.”
He beams at her, leaning into the touch like he’s six again. Then he grabs Shen Jiu’s hand softly, careful of the bandages and tugs him toward the house. “Come on,” he says. “You haven’t even seen the orchard yet. And there’s a tree we can climb, and a pond that’s actually meant for your feet, and Liu Chong says he’ll teach us the sword this time if I beg.”
Shen Jiu lets himself be pulled along, quiet but not resisting. His fingers twitch in Liu Minghao’s grip, but he doesn’t let go.
Liu Minghao leads Shen Jiu through the halls of the Liu Clan Manor with the confidence of someone who knows every stone underfoot and every creaky window shutter by heart. He walks a step ahead, practically bouncing on his heels, chattering the entire way. “That’s where we keep the swords, but we’re not allowed to take them out unless there’s an adult. That’s my cousin’s room, he snores like a pig. And that’s the peach tree I told you about in spring, it’s full of flowers.”
Shen Jiu walks quietly behind him, wide eyes darting from corner to corner, the collar of his borrowed robe still tugged a little high around his neck. He looks too small for the hallway, too still against all the movement of home. His steps are soft, like he’s worried someone will hear him walking where he shouldn’t.
They round the corner to the back courtyard, and that’s when the storm hits.
“Liu Minghao!” someone bellows, and then they’re surrounded. Five boys come tumbling out from the open training yard, sweaty and loud, each one bigger than the last. Liu Chong,his tang ge, broad-shouldered and tall for fourteen, claps a heavy hand on Liu Minghao’s head, ruffling his hair like a dog. “You’re well, then? Didn’t get eaten by river monsters?”
“Get off!” Liu Minghao shouts, laughing, elbowing him in the side. “I brought someone!”
Shen Jiu takes an automatic step back, nearly stumbling into the wall. His shoulders tense like a wire pulled tight. The boys are all talking at once—Who’s that? He looks scared. What happened to his face? Why is he hiding behind you? Shen Jiu’s head drops, face half-shadowed by his hair.
Liu Minghao, oblivious at first, turns around when he doesn’t feel Shen Jiu following. The moment he sees his face tight with fear, lips pressed into a pale line, he frowns and shoves Liu Chong lightly in the ribs. “Back off,” he says. “You’re scaring him.”
Liu Chong blinks. “We’re just saying hi.”
“Well, say hi quieter.” Liu Minghao steps in front of Shen Jiu, arms slightly out like he’s shielding him. “He’s not used to you all yet.”
“Is he sick?” one of the younger cousins asks, peering over Liu Minghao’s shoulder. “He’s so skinny. Like a ghost.”
“He’s not sick,” Liu Minghao snaps. “He’s Shen Jiu. And if anyone says anything mean, I’ll punch you.”
Shen Jiu tugs lightly on the back of his sleeve. His voice is almost too quiet to hear. “It’s fine,” he whispers.
But Liu Minghao shakes his head. He turns to him, smiling a little too big, like he’s trying to stuff down the noise. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll save you from my cousins. They’re like chickens, Mama says.”
One of the boys squawks indignantly, “Who are you calling a chicken?” Liu Minghao sticks his tongue out, then grabs Shen Jiu’s hand.
“Come on. I’ll show you the hidden well. No cousins allowed.”
Shen Jiu glances once more at the boys, their messy hair and scrunched faces, and then looks at Liu Minghao’s hand in his. Slowly, he nods. He doesn’t smile, but he lets himself be pulled along.
The boys shout after them, laughing, but none of them follow. Liu Minghao leads Shen Jiu down the shaded path behind the peach tree, and the house hums with life around them chaotic, loud, and warm.
Safe.
They’re called to lunch by Liu Chong’s younger brother, Liu Fen, who comes tearing around the corner of the main courtyard like a loose chicken, shouting, “Mama says come now or there’ll be nothing left but roots and bones!” Liu Minghao laughs and drags Shen Jiu with him, even though the older boy freezes at the sound of so many voices coming from the dining hall. His mother calls out for him as they enter, her sleeves rolled up. Shen Jiu hovers behind Liu Minghao like a frightened cat, barely breathing.
The room is a storm of people. The entire Liu family seems to have gathered for their arrival. His junior uncle, Liu Yuren, has brought in trays of sweet buns and savory pies, his apron still on, his cheeks red with exertion. He immediately tries to stuff one into Liu Minghao’s hand while giving Shen Jiu a kind but bewildered glance. His father’s older sister, Aunt Liu Fenmei, is already seated with her wife Aunt Yuxiang and their three sons, including Liu Chong, who had tackled Liu Minghao just earlier. On the other side of the table sits his father’s older brother, Uncle Liu Yuanji, the one with one eye, as serious as always, with his two sons looking like smaller, equally stern versions of him. They all look up when Liu Minghao walks in, and then every eye flicks to Shen Jiu curiously but nobody says anything.
Then there’s his grandmother, Grandmother Shuxian, the matriarch. She sits at the head of the table with a carved walking stick beside her and a silken shawl over her shoulders, her grey eyes sharper than anyone else’s in the room despite her being hundred years old. Her gaze pauses on Shen Jiu a fraction longer than anyone else’s before she says, without inflection, “Sit. Eat. You’ll need strength after the road.”
Shen Jiu does not sit. Not until Liu Minghao pulls on his sleeve, quietly, and whispers, “It’s okay. That’s just Granny. She sounds scary, but she’s really nice when you’re sick.” Eventually, Shen Jiu lowers himself stiffly next to Liu Minghao, his posture painfully upright. He barely touches the food. He flinches when someone laughs too loudly, jerks when a dish is placed too close to his bowl. His eyes dart across the table, always tracking where Liu Yuanji’s voice is coming from. Liu Minghao notices how his hands tremble when he reaches for water and how he keeps his head bowed low like he’s waiting for something to fall.
Liu Minghao chatters throughout the meal to fill the gaps, trying to distract him. He points out all the dishes his junior uncle baked, whispers which cousins sneak into the kitchen at night, tells him who to avoid when playing tag because Liu Fen cheats. Shen Jiu gives the faintest of nods now and then, but he still barely eats anything, only nibbling on a soft mantou and taking tiny sips of soup.
When lunch ends, the adults do not rise right away. Instead, the conversation takes a more serious turn. Liu Minghao’s mother leans closer to his father and quietly murmurs something, and soon the entire table shifts in tone. Liu Yuanji clears his throat and wipes his mouth with deliberate slowness.
“Now,” he says, voice low and gravelly, “this child. Shen Jiu, was it?”
Shen Jiu stiffens so hard his chopsticks clatter against the table.
“He’ll need proper clothing. Can’t have him running around like a stray. Ming’an’s old tunics might fit—he’s still small for his age.” He turns to his sons, who nod dutifully. “You’ll go through your old things and bring out what’s decent.”
“Wait—” Shen Jiu starts, eyes wide.
But Liu Yuanji continues, “And his housing. We have spare rooms in the east wing. The old guest quarters. Minghao Is still young, too young for a proper retainer, but the boy will need discipline if he’s to live under our roof.”
“I’m not—” Shen Jiu tries again, but his voice cracks.
“Shen Jiu will be staying with me!” Liu Minghao interrupts loudly, standing on his stool for emphasis. “He’s not a servant. He’s my friend.”
Everyone blinks at him. Shen Jiu looks like someone’s just slapped him.
His father smiles gently and places a hand on his shoulder. “A-Hao, we know. But there are things we need to talk through.”
“I don’t care,” Liu Minghao says stubbornly. “He’s not a stray, and he’s not someone you just put in an empty room like an old thing!”
The table quiets. Liu Minghao’s grandmother hums quietly, the sound unreadable. But it’s Shen Jiu that he notices most. His face has gone pale, his hands fisted into the edge of his robes. His eyes are wide and wet, not with tears, but with that awful glassy sheen of panic.
Then, suddenly, he stands. “I’ll leave. I’ll leave now. I don’t want to stay. I never said I wanted to stay.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Liu Minghao says, but Shen Jiu doesn’t hear him. He’s already turned to bolt only to falter, legs stiff from healing wounds, heart racing too fast for his thin frame.
Liu Minghao jumps down and grabs his arm. “Hey—hey! No one’s sending you away, okay? Not without me. You stay with me. You promised.”
“I didn’t promise,” Shen Jiu says, but he’s shaking now.
“You did,” Liu Minghao insists gently. “You smiled. That means promise.”
Liu Yuren coughs lightly to ease the tension. “Why don’t we move this discussion to the sitting room?” he suggests. “Let the boys go play a bit.”
But Liu Yuanji, quiet now, looks hard at Shen Jiu and then even harder at Liu Minghao’s mother. “We will do whatever is best,” he says slowly, “but this child, I take this isn’t just a summer stay.”
“Yes,” Liu Minghao’s mother says calmly, eyes never leaving Shen Jiu. “And that’s why we won’t treat him like one.” She reaches out and strokes Shen Jiu’s hair, gently, without expectation. “Come, Shen Jiu. You’ve had a long journey. Let’s get you some clean clothes and let the rest of this wait.”
Shen Jiu hesitates, eyes flickering between her, Liu Minghao, and the rest of the table. But then he steps away from the chair, moves slowly toward her, and lets her guide him out of the room. Liu Minghao watches them go, then looks back at his family, chin up.
“He’s not leaving,” he says one more time.
His grandmother hums again, and this time she speaks. “That much,” she says, “I have already seen.”