Work Text:
Shen Qingqiu is trapped at an insufferable immortal cultivator conference hosted by Cang Qiong Mountain when something odd happens. Grimly weathering the blathering of some Zhao Hua Monastery monk (speaking on the subject of degradation in public morals), Yue Qingyuan happens to be standing only a dozen feet away from him, several intrepid sect leaders each vying for his attention like jealous maidens. It is a coincidence that they’re standing so close, but it is difficult for Shen Qingqiu to not pay attention to Yue Qingyuan’s conversation when his own is so painfully boring.
“--establishing a more robust trading relationship could be very beneficial for both our sects,” one man is saying, shamelessly pressing his issue in broad daylight.
“It could be,” Yue Qingyuan says, a bland, vague agreement. “I would have to look matters over.”
He has been making useless nothing statements like this the entire time, utterly indecisive and generic. If Shen Qingqiu were any of these petitioners, he would have lost his mind and attacked the man by now.
“So you will consider it?”
“What about an exchange of disciples?” another man says, verbally stepping over the other. “A few of Bo Shan Tower’s disciples swapping places with some of Cang Qiong Mountain’s would strengthen our alliance, as well as enrich our disciples’ educations.”
“You mean your disciples’ education,” the first man retorts snidely. “What could Bo Shan possibly offer to Cang Qiong in knowledge?”
“What could Wan Ting Wall offer to Cang Qiong in trade!?”
“Excuse me,” a woman says. “But I have been meaning to ask Sect Leader Yue about the issue of the flooding plains in--”
“Interrupting is uncouth, madam. Sect Leader Yue was speaking to me.”
“You were speaking at him. Sect Leader, why don’t you decide who you’d like to speak with first?”
Yue Qingyuan’s smile is the definition of a mild, shallow facade, devoid of meaning or substance. When he speaks, his words are as meaningless as his expression. “Maybe this could be discussed at a later time, when we are all more settled.”
“These are not issues that can be put off--”
Shen Qingqiu snaps his fan open loudly enough that it will be heard even by this other group. Loudly, he says to the monk, “It is painfully rude when a person with ulterior motives corners you at an event and insists on having their petition heard, isn’t it? If they had a real chance of being listened to, then they’d be able to arrange for an actual meeting, after all.”
All three Sect Leaders stiffen and shoot him dirty looks, with the oblivious monk only blinking before agreeing. Shen Qingqiu shoots them all an unapologetic, withering look over his fan, then coldly turns his back on them. There is no love lost in his heart for Yue Qingyuan, it is only somewhat excruciating to watch such self-serving worms embarrass themselves in public. And yet the man is too much of a coward to shut them down himself. Typical.
“Excuse me,” Yue Qingyuan says, taking the opportunity to escape the leeches--
--but then he approaches Shen Qingqiu instead. He has half a moment to think that Yue Qingyuan is about to gently scold him for his rudeness, when Yue Qingyuan instead discreetly grabs the very edge of Shen Qingqiu’s sleeve between two of his fingers. Subtly, he tugs at it while meeting Shen Qingqiu’s gaze, a pointed look in his eyes as he blinks twice.
Shen Qingqiu is instantly stunned silent. This - this simple and rudimentary signal is something he and Yue Qingyuan came up with as children together. It means let’s leave this place quickly, quietly, together. He has not seen this signal since they were on the streets, and had not even remembered it until this exact moment. What could possibly induce Yue Qingyuan to use it, calling back to those shameful, dirty years of their childhood?
“Zhangmen-shixiong, this shidi requires a private word with his shixiong,” Shen Qingqiu hears himself say, obeying the signal on instinct. Whatever is going on, it must be serious for Yue Qingyuan to ask him for help. Has he been poisoned? He briefly turns to the irritating monk, making his excuses quickly and efficiently before leaving.
Yue Qingyuan follows closely by his side, and Shen Qingqiu inspects him out of the corner of his eye as they go. He looks… not pale or sweating, not sick - but perhaps, not as graceful or as at ease as he tends to be? He wears the calm and serenely empty mask of the Sect Leader, as always, but his gait is a touch too quick and his gaze bounces around too nervously. He doesn’t look comfortable. He’s walking too closely to Shen Qingqiu.
Whatever people attempt to detain the Xuan Su Sword with their own hopeful bids for his attention are ruthlessly frozen out by Shen Qingqiu himself, unwilling to indulge any more nonsense until he finds out what is the matter. Finally, Shen Qingqiu finds an empty storeroom, ushering Yue Qingyuan inside and quickly placing silencing talismans over the door.
“What’s wrong?” Shen Qingqiu demands, immediately swiveling on the man.
The serene mask drops, leaving behind Yue Qingyuan looking - frightened, uncertain. It is a terrifyingly foreign look on his face.
“I, I don’t know,” Yue Qingyuan says, stepping closer towards Shen Qingqiu.
“What? What do you mean by that?”
“I don’t know!” he repeats uselessly. Then, shockingly, he steps even closer and grabs Shen Qingqiu’s wrist. Not as if to pull or hold him in place, but only to hold some part of him. “I don’t know, w-where are we?”
Yue Qingyuan looks around himself, as if distressed and trying to recognize any part of his surroundings.
They’re on Qiong Ding Peak.
“... In a storeroom,” Shen Qingqiu says numbly, feeling Yue Qingyuan’s broad, warm palm wrapped around his wrist. This - has he been drugged--?
“Oh,” Yue Qingyuan says, not at all sounding enlightened. “But. Um. Where is that? I… Xiao-Jiu, we look so--”
“What did you just call me?” Violently, Shen Qingqiu snatches his wrist out of Yue Qingyuan’s grip. Yue Qingyuan flinches back, honestly looking hurt by the outburst, his eyes widened.
“Xiao-Jiu, you, you’re scaring me!” he says. That name again, like a nail being hammered into his eardrums. “I’m scared, I-- I don’t know where we are!”
That stops Shen Qingqiu cold. It’s such a childish, pitiful thing to say, nothing at all like the polished and smiling sect leader maturely and condescendingly standing above everyone else. He just looks frightened and confused, almost - almost close to crying. Upset.
“... We’re at Cang Qiong Mountain Sect,” he says slowly.
“Where?” Yue Qingyuan asks, not a drop of recognition in his eyes.
Shen Qingqiu is alarmed now. Whatever this is, it’s worse than he first assumed. This doesn’t feel like a lie - what sort of deception would this even be? What would it accomplish?
“Zhang… You, did someone give you something to drink? To eat?”
“N-no, Xiao-Jiu, I haven’t eaten anything. Is that bad? Who are all of those people?” Yue Qingyuan looks at him helplessly, as if he is a lost and confused child, and Shen Qingqiu is the one who holds all of the answers he desperately needs. Again, he reaches out to Shen Qingqiu, more tentatively this time, lightly grasping his hand as if in search of comfort. A simple, childish gesture.
A lost and confused child. His stomach drops.
Shen Qingqiu finds himself torn between violent disgust and deep dread. Something has robbed Yue Qingyuan of decades of his memories, turning him simple and childlike. This, is this permanent? Are his memories going to return? His first thought is to take Yue Qingyuan to Mu Qingfang. His second thought is absolutely not.
Yue Qingyuan is too vulnerable like this. The Sect Leader of Cang Qiong Mountain, the Xuan Su Sword, he’d practically be begging them to exploit him. No. Shen Qingqiu has to maintain control over this situation.
He makes himself return the grasp Yue Qingyuan has on his hand, squeezing it once. Yue Qingyuan smiles at him, and it isn’t like his usual smile, not gentle or serene in the slightest. It is a small and uncertain thing, crooked. It is so foreign on Yue Qingyuan’s face that he is possessed with the visceral urge to slap it off; it would fit right at home on Yue Qi’s face, however.
“We must hurry,” Shen Qingqiu says. “I have a place where we will be safe. A house.”
“... A house?” Yue Qingyuan whispers with quiet awe, like it’s magical that Shen Qingqiu would have such riches. The man’s own home is a palatial estate.
“Yes,” Shen Qingqiu says, clipped. “Pretend that everything is fine, smile, and do that--” For a moment, he grasps for a reference that a younger, more childish Yue Qingyuan would recognize. “--that polite nod thing you do.”
“The one to… rich men, or dangerous men?” Yue Qingyuan asks.
“... Rich,” Shen Qingqiu decides. “Do not appear frightened.”
And Yue Qingyuan takes a deep breath, tucking everything away, and suddenly Shen Qingqiu is looking at the blank, smiling face of Sect Leader Yue again. It is deeply unnerving to watch it in action. This - is this something that Yue Qingyuan did even as a child? Shen Qingqiu doesn’t remember it. He thought this was a skill he developed as a cultivator, the beloved and shining protege waiting to inherit the world.
“Come on,” Shen Qingqiu says, letting go of Yue Qingyuan’s hand and leaving the room.
Yue Qingyuan follows him closely. They avoid crowds as much as possible, but the peak is crawling with guests and residents alike for this event. Shen Qingqiu fends off as many of them as possible with the coldest look on his face he can muster, and Yue Qingyuan responds to most bids for his attention with a polite nod of acknowledgement and nothing more.
Looking at him from the outside, knowing the childish ignorance and fear that lays hidden underneath, it is surreal to see everyone continue to treat him as if nothing is amiss. As if they are all so blind to reality… or as if a frightened Yue Qi saying and doing whatever he thinks he has to in order to avoid drawing the ire of the adults around him is not particularly different from the bland and agreeable Yue Qingyuan of regular days. Pleasant and mild, not challenging or disagreeing. If there is anything strange to witness at all, it is only to see the Qiong Ding and Qing Jing Peak Lords tolerating each other’s presence for so long.
Yue Qingyuan took down that mask for him. For Shen Qingqiu - no. For Shen Jiu. That thought sets off a simmering anger inside of him, claws digging into his heart. Of course, the only reason that Yue Qingyuan is speaking to and trusting him now is because he’s forgotten his decision to discard him. As far as he is aware, they’re still the closest of friends. Practically brothers.
Shen Qingqiu forcibly shunts his thoughts towards who could have done this, why. Yue Qingyuan had been normal earlier tonight - hadn’t he? He’d spoken of sect matters with confidence and accuracy, at the least, which is clearly more than this version of him can do. When he was speaking to those sect leaders… he was saying nothing of substance. Had that been for more reasons than just politely stonewalling them? How long has he been like this?
They leave Qiong Ding Peak behind, and soon enough they’re slipping into the Bamboo House. Shen Qingqiu lets him know that they’re alone here, that they’re safe (alone and safe might as well have been the same word to them, back in the day), and the mask is put back down again. Yue Qi comes back, gaping in wonder at the inside of the Bamboo House. As if he, one of the most powerful men in the world, is amazed by Shen Qingqiu’s elegant but humble home.
And why wouldn’t he be, if he remembers nothing but being a gutter rat?
“Xiao-Jiu, this is ours?” he asks, awed.
As if it is only a matter of course that what is Shen Qingqiu’s is his; that what is Yue Qingyuan’s is Shen Qingqiu’s. Why not? They shared everything, from meals to blankets to hardships.
Until they didn’t anymore.
Shen Qingqiu twitches. His gut reflex instinct had been to slap him, but he manages to restrain himself. Yue Qingyuan is not in his right mind, he reminds himself, and whatever nonsense he babbles is irrelevant.
“Yes,” he grits out. “This is ours.”
He hates how happily Yue Qingyuan smiles in response. He channels his anger into roughly grasping Yue Qingyuan’s arm, checking his qi. Yue Qi makes a small noise, but submits.
“Your qi is fine,” Shen Qingqiu says, frustrated. No signs of anything amiss, although he knows that something is wrong.
“My what?”
“What we used to do those little tricks,” Shen Qingqiu amends himself. “Do you feel fine? Physically.”
Yue Qingyuan nods, but he looks uncertain, as if he doesn’t really understand what’s being asked of him. Shen Qingqiu grits his teeth.
“Do you feel sick? Does it hurt?”
“No,” Yue Qingyuan says. “My bones hurt but that’s normal.”
Shen Qingqiu pauses. “Excuse me?”
“It’s just the normal hurt,” Yue Qingyuan says, as if that clarifies anything at all.
“... How old are you?” He almost asks how old do you think you are, but he’d rather keep Yue Qingyuan cooperative than distress him.
“Eight?” He does not sound confident. Their ages had been guesswork even back then.
Eight. Which means that Shen Qingqiu had been five… He hardly remembers what Yue Qi was like at that age. Not the oldest child in the group yet, still allowed to be uncertain and frightened, even as Shen Jiu clung to him. It had been so long ago.
This situation… What is Shen Qingqiu meant to do? Yue Qingyuan cannot operate as the sect leader in this state. Can he be fixed? He must be able to be fixed. He cannot remain as this-- this weak, foolish, pathetic version of himself, guileless and vulnerable. He cannot survive like this, not without--
Shen Qingqiu will not help him. He will not. Yue Qingyuan did not aid him during his time of need, so why should he be any better? It would be no more than he’d deserve, to be left to flounder in this new helpless state of his, humiliating and opening himself up to all sorts of attacks. He owes him less than nothing.
“Xiao-Jiu, are you okay?” Yue Qingyuan asks, looking at him with naked concern. “Do you want a hug?”
It truly hurts to watch Yue Qingyuan act like this. If he were here to see himself, he’d surely be writhing in mortification.
“No,” Shen Qingqiu says flatly, and then, “Sit down.”
He doesn’t throw Yue Qingyuan out of his home. Shen Qingqiu despises himself then for his own weakness, but he stills goes into the kitchen and begins to prepare tea as Yue Qingyuan cranes his neck and looks around himself from where he’s sitting. Tea will not help anything, but what else can he do? He needs time to think. Perhaps he really has no choice but to go crawling to that Mu Qingfang for aid, as much as he loathes it. If he were to insist on always being in the room with them, then his chances of getting up to anything sinister would be lessened, right?
Shen Qingqiu pours tea for them both, and watches Yue Qingyuan sip at his cup with tentative curiosity, his form improper. He feels… very tired. This is the longest he has been in Yue Qingyuan’s presence privately for years and years - not since they were children. Even though Yue Qingyuan isn’t acting like his usual self, his nerves still feel flayed raw. At the end of the day, what he hates most about Yue Qingyuan is the reminders. Remembering who he’d used to be to him, how they’d used to be together, and how that couldn’t be the case any longer. In a way, this is even worse. Salt in the wound.
“We live on this mountain?” Yue Qingyuan asks. “Is it safe here?”
Nowhere is safe, Shen Qingqiu thinks.
“It is safe,” he says. “No one would dare hurt either of us here.”
Yue Qingyuan relaxes more, smiling at him happily. He looks so foolish like this, not refined or dignified at all. Just a simple, harmless man, enjoying Shen Qingqiu’s presence. His palms itch, looking at him.
“That’s nice,” Yue Qingyuan says, twisting and turning the cup in his hands. “Xiao-Jiu… you look really nice.”
“Nice,” Shen Qingqiu repeats. Not even Yue Qingyuan has ever dared to breathe such a blatant lie to his face before.
Yue Qingyuan nods. “Mm, your clothes are very - very pretty. Your hair looks soft.”
Ah. He means that Shen Qingqiu is no longer dressed in dirty rags, and that he’s washed himself in the past week. Still, pretty. It’s such a childish word to use…
“What praise. You’ll be pleased to know that your own clothes are quite pretty as well, and you no longer possess fleas.”
“Do you get enough to eat?” The question seems to be posed entirely in earnest.
“They do not starve me,” Shen Qingqiu replies flatly. I could order a feast, and I would be obeyed. “Do I not look well fed to you?”
Yue Qingyuan gives him a dubious, uncertain look. “... yes?”
Ridiculous man - still not trying to offend, even like this. Yue Qingyuan asks him a handful more ignorant, innocent questions, and Shen Qingqiu indulges him by actually answering them, holding back his more cutting responses. For some reason - for some reason he doesn’t want to make Yue Qingyuan draw back. Not right now. Let him think that Shen Qingqiu is still his beloved Shen Jiu. It will make things easier, that’s all…
“--real cultivators,” Yue Qingyuan is saying excitedly. “Can we - can we…”
Slowly, he trails off into silence, stopping. He blinks several times.
“Yes?” Shen Qingqiu prompts impatiently.
“... pardon me,” Yue Qingyuan says, and he smiles. Shen Qingqiu instantly knows that something is wrong. It’s Sect Leader Yue again, the mask. “I lost my train of thought. What was I saying, now again?”
“I cannot recall,” Shen Qingqiu says woodenly.
Yue Qingyuan tilts his head and tightens his eyes slightly, in a way that makes him look a little sheepish. “It is getting rather late, isn’t it? I should stop imposing on Shidi’s hospitality--”
“Yue Qingyuan.”
He freezes, halfway through the motion of pushing himself up from the table. His face blank, hiding. Caught. Shen Qingqiu finds himself almost breathless with incredulous outrage.
“Are you aware that you were convinced you were a child only a moment ago?” he demands sharply.
Yue Qingyuan says nothing.
“Answer!”
“I… I was not.”
“But you were aware of this,” Shen Qingqiu says, gesturing at the two of them. “That something was wrong? That you suddenly found yourself in my home with no memory of how you got here? And you were just going to, what, pretend like nothing was amiss? Don’t lie to me. You tried to act as if nothing had happened. You were trying to deduce our previous topic of conversation! As if I am some dullard who wouldn’t have noticed even that, nevermind you calling me Xiao-Jiu!”
“I-- I apologize. I did not intend to… to overstep.”
“How long has this been going on?” Shen Qingqiu demands, because it is obvious now with the way Yue Qingyuan instinctively attempted to hide it. This is something that has happened before. “You aren’t surprised or confused, this isn’t new to you. Have you been slipping into this… this forgetfulness and then, what, ignoring it? Moving on with your day?”
Shen Qingqiu vaguely remembers the few times he’s encountered or dealt with old, addled people before. People lost in time, thinking they were decades in the past, not noticing their own wrinkles or aching bones. Mistaking their own children for their parents, disoriented and confused. He’s always been frightened and disgusted by these people, repulsed by the idea of ever being so incredibly helpless, so dependent upon others. Is that what is happening now? Is Yue Qingyuan losing his mind?
“Qingqiu-shidi--”
“Tell me! What is happening to you!?”
“I don’t know!” Yue Qingyuan says, his appeasing mask slipping. “I don’t - Shidi, I truly do not know… Sometimes, I simply - I lose some time. An afternoon or a morning is lost, with no memories of how it passed me by.”
“And this hasn’t concerned you?”
“It has concerned me. But as far as I could tell, I haven’t been doing anything alarming during these lost moments, just… Apparently I’m more quiet. Usually when I come back to myself, I’m-- I’m hiding somewhere alone, trying to avoid others. It is… inconvenient, but not harmful.”
“Not harmful? Losing your memories in the middle of a conference, of-- of meetings, or conversations with others, that isn’t harmful?”
“I do not know what is causing it. I cannot make it stop.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“... A few years.”
Shen Qingqiu does not believe his own ears for a moment.
“A few years? And you haven’t thought to fix this? Ask for help?”
“Like I said, it is inconvenient, but… nothing more. I was hoping that it would pass on its own, I suppose. It hasn’t been getting worse. Only a couple times a week--”
“A couple times a week?”
“Qingqiu-shidi,” Yue Qingyuan says, “it is really not so bad. Please, do not be alarmed.”
Multiple times a week, Yue Qingyuan reverts to a frightened and lost child, and he thinks this is fine? It is a miracle that he hasn’t been exposed to anyone else before now!
Although, the only reason that Shen Qingqiu knows is that Yue Qingyuan walked right up to him and asked for help, in his blissful ignorance. He hadn’t known not to ask. So… this is probably the first time Yue Qingyuan has regressed like this in front of Shen Qingqiu, then. It is a small relief in a way, to know for certain that he hasn’t at any time before now spoken to Yue Qi without realizing it, not noticing the change. Fooled by the mask.
Yue Qi wouldn’t ask for help from any stranger, he is certain of. So perhaps Yue Qingyuan really is safe from detection… or at least safe enough.
“This is an unacceptable situation,” Shen Qingqiu snaps. “That you would in any way think that this is tolerable only shows your poor judgment. It is only a matter of time before this goes poorly for you.”
“Shidi, I have attempted to discover what is wrong with me. I have used various artifacts and special items to attempt to diagnose or test for causes, but as far as I can tell I am untainted by anything external. It… it really does appear to be something from my own mind.”
So, he really is mad then. A weakness of the mind, his own sanity as fickle and unreliable as the rest of him. There is something oddly satisfying about the idea, at the same time that it makes Shen Qingqiu uneasy. It is nothing more than he deserves, but it leaves him so vulnerable, in such a precarious state…
“Very well then,” Shen Qingqiu says. “We will simply have to engineer some way for you to be able to call for me the next time you lose yourself again, so that I can make sure that you do not humiliate yourself and our sect.”
Yue Qingyuan’s eyes widen.
“Shidi,” he says. “You do not need to burden--”
He snaps his fan shut loudly, cutting him off. He gives him a sharp look.
“I will not accept anything else,” he says. “Go along with this, or else I will inform the rest of our martial siblings of your madness. Do you understand?”
“... yes, Qingqiu-shidi,” Yue Qingyuan says meekly.
For some reason, he does not look upset over this little piece of blackmail. Perhaps a little of his childishness lingering.