Thread by @bingjiuwus

#shenjiu, mortal SJ Part IV:

The days went by slowly now.

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There had never been room for idleness on Qing Jing Peak. From his first day on Shen Jiu had raced to catch up to everyone, to become the Head Disciple. Then he had become its Peak Lord - for all the good it had done him - and his workload quadrupled.

He was always reading, writing, teaching, meditating, going out on missions, managing the peak's budget, avoiding his peers' judgmental eyes. It had been an exhausting way to live, and he'd seldom slept then.

No wonder he always had such a vicious temper. No wonder, when the only time he would actually spend the night in his own bed was after a qi deviation.

He had no schedule now. No Ming Fan to arrive at the cottage bright and early to give him morning greetings, no hallmasters to discuss classes and punishments with, no classes to teach and little beasts to berate...

And no Yingying to tug at his sleeve and ask if Shizun would so kindly join her for afternoon tea and read some poetry together.

Nothing.

For perhaps the first time in his life, SJ had no obligations towards anyone, much less himself. He wasn't going to live for much longer, so he didn't even have to scrabble pathetically for his own survival.

He could just do what came to mind, and watch the world go by until the day he died.

So.

What did he want to do?

*

The first few days SJ spent largely cleaning out the cottage and attempting to make it decent, though his efforts could only be described as lacklustre by any of the staff back on Qing Jing.

He didn't have the energy for much beyond sweeping the hard mud floor of the cottage daily, nor did he wish to spend the last of his meager funds on furniture and decorations that would easily outlast him.

But he'd always liked flowers, and there were plenty nearby no matter where you looked.

Nothing SJ found and took back to the cottage could compare to a cultivated peony or plum blossom. But these wild buds grew freely and without care in between trees and rocks, beside the small river stream where he collected his water from, and on old decayed logs.

He put the flowers in haphazard bouquets and dried them, and hung them on a string around the main room so at the very least there was something pleasant to look at.

It was nice... having a hobby like this. Small, inconsequential, and wholly for him.

None of the scholarly arts SJ had learned at Qing Jing had been for his personal use and pleasure. He'd been an excellent musician and painter and calligrapher, but all of those talents had come via years of study and practice and callused hands.

All his hard work too, had been in the purpose of proving him the most suitable person to become the Qing Jing Peak Lord, all his work meant for public consumption and criticism. His own satisfaction with what he did had nothing to do with it.

But no one from Cang Qiong was going to come by his cottage and judge him for how poorly he'd furnished it, and even if they did it wasn't his problem. SJ didn't have to play to an audience ever again.

He could just... play for himself from now on.

For the first time, he wished he'd brought along his guqin.

*

"Ah! Your house is so pretty now, daozhang!"

SJ didn't think he'd run into Hua'er again, but one late morning she showed up while he was outside the cottage trying to affix some bamboo poles together so he could dry out his few pieces of clothing after a washing.

The girl was carrying a basket again; SJ couldn't imagine what for, save to go mushroom picking or something like that.

"Daozhang?" he said instead.

Hua'er bobbed her head. "A'Mei told me you went to her house a week ago to buy some food from her family, and then you put it into a magical pouch and it disappeared! Are you an immortal master?"

Had the qiankun pouch been _that_ fascinating? SJ snorted. "No."

"But - "

He ignored her and went back to his own work. Hua'er stood there watching him until, after far too much huffing and puffing for such a simple task as putting a clothes line together, he was done, and the girl stepped a little closer.

"Nainai was wondering if you were okay," she mumbled. "Told me to bring you food."

SJ smiled. "I'm okay." He ate the same thing twice a day, every day - brown rice porridge, pickled vegetables, and half a cured egg, as well as plenty of boiled water.

It wasn't exciting but it kept him fed and standing. Albeit he was nearly out of eggs, and lately his porridge was looking more like gruel. And it was hardly as if SJ could hunt in his state and snag himself a deer.

Nevertheless...

Hua'er's lower lip jutted out. "Nainai said I have to give this food to you, even if you say no," she said. "So... please take it, daozhang, or she'll pull my ear when I get back!"

"... alright, then," SJ said, flabbergasted at the idea. He'd only met the old woman, Nainai, once - what business of it was hers if he lived or starved to death?

Hua'er hopped over and passed him her basket. Within it were two stuffed buns as big as a child's face, a cured blood sausage, and three more peaches.

He wanted to laugh. What was the point of such generosity? Did Nainai want something from him now that the whole village must know the stranger in their midst carried a magical pouch with him? Did she think he could grant her immortality or nonsense like that?

"Thank you," he said, and took the basket inside to take out all the food. When he returned, he gave the basket back to Hua'er, who saw the contents and gasped.

"They're just ordinary flowers," SJ said, knowing the child would get the wrong idea otherwise. "I'm not a daozhang, and I don't have anything for you or your Nainai. But you can hang these up, and they'll look nice."

"Mm." Hua'er looked thrilled nonetheless. "I like flowers."

Ergo the name, no doubt. "Go home," SJ told her. "Your parents must be waiting."

"Yes, daozhang," the little girl said, and left.

*

The battle was lost. The next time SJ ventured into the village for food, everyone who recognised him from his first clumsy shopping trip called him "daozhang, daozhang" despite the fact he needed a walking stick for aid and could be blown over by a light wind.

SJ lingered just enough to buy what he needed before heading back, once again refusing the requests to stay for dinner and what-not.

On the way back up to the cottage he passed by Hua'er's home, a mud-walled compound with wooden houses within. To think three generations lived in that compound, grew food and raised children within those walls.

As far as SJ knew, he had grown out of mere dirt. He remembered nothing before his life as Xiao Jiu, not even the family he might have come from.

Good riddance too, if they were the type to sell a small child into slavery.

But what if...

What if he'd been born into a farming family like this one? If he'd had a living mother and father and a da-age, and a nainai to tell him what to do all the time. What then?

It was a silly thought for a silly person. SJ shook his head and started walking again, only for an aged voice to call out: "Young man, come here!"

From the open gate of the compound stood the old woman, Nainai. SJ hesitated, then slowly walked towards her.

"How are you getting by?" Nainai asked when SJ came near.

He smiled. "Still alive."

"Just barely," the woman said, looking him up and down doubtfully. "You really won't see a doctor?"

SJ shook his head. "Can't afford it."

"Of course you can't," she muttered, then took something out from her sleeve. "Take this, then."

It was a half-cake of dried tea wrapped in paper. SJ stared in astonishment. Even if he could smell the rough quality of the leaves, it was still something a family would have saved zealously for, and reused over and over again.

He didn't deserve such...

"It's a welcoming gift," Nainai said when he was still. "I don't know how long you'll stay here, but you're our neighbour. So take it, and don't even think of taking out coin for something like this."

Helpless to refuse, SJ took the tea cake and tucked it inside his sleeve.

"Thank you," he said hoarsely. He didn't know why his throat itched all of a sudden...

"It's good tea," Nainai said, and waved him off.

*

Most days SJ spent up on the mountain, in his little cottage. He woke up, washed up, cooked a simple meal for himself, explored his surroundings to pick wild flowers and herbs when he had the energy, and curled up in bed and watched the trees sway and shiver when he didn't.

He still tried not to go down to the village until he ran out of food, but as the days went by, it was inevitable he would run into Hua'er or another member of her family, and they cheerfully foist something onto him whether he liked it or not.

In this way, SJ somehow ended up with salt and soy sauce and lard, fresh vegetables and fruit and eggs. He could still cook only the most basic of meals, but his rice had a little more complement nowadays... and even though his body ached, it wasn't quite as much.

It wouldn't be the worst way to go, SJ reflected. Living this small life for a few more months, eating his own cooking and sleeping in his own bed, and taking in the fresh mountain air every day.

He had done that for over a decade and a half on Qing Jing Peak and been miserable throughout. Always aware of the eyes on him, aware of everyone who wanted to take him down, who gossiped behind his back, who hated him.

The only people who talked about him nowadays were the villagers, whose curiosity in SJ had finally settled down once they discovered there truly was nothing special to him beyond his qiankun pouch.

He was just some strange ragged wanderer with a little more money than sense, that was all.

It was probably the kindest thing anyone had ever thought about SJ, that he was mysterious and just a little eccentric.

And wasn't that something.

*

"Daozhang, daozhang! My da-ge got hurt!"

SJ seldom woke up before late morning these days, yet he was jolted awake by the sound of small fists hammering on his door, and Hua'er's childish voice in distress.

He rubbed his eyes and dragged himself out of bed, opening the door in a haze. "What is it?" he rasped, still exhausted from his interrupted sleep.

"Daozhang, please help," Hua'er begged. "Da-ge got bit by a snake and his leg is all swollen. Doctor Yu says we have to cut his leg off, but you can save him, can't you? Please, please!"

SJ gaped, astonished. He wasn't a doctor, nor was he a cultivator still, to be able to help with something like this.

But the child wouldn't be deterred, sobbing and clutching his sleeve so he wouldn't shut her out. SJ remembered the tea, the food her family had given him and always refused payment for.

If... if nothing else, he could take a look at Hua'er's da-ge and back up the doctor.

That was all.

*

Half the village was already circling the compound anxiously when SJ finally made it down with Hua'er running ahead of him. His lungs ached from the hurried march, his legs trembling and faint as he leaned on his walking cane for support.

People gasped and whispered when they saw him enter the compound; SJ ignored them. There was nothing he could do for a mortal injury to begin with.

Even as Hua'er dragged him inside her da-ge's room where he was currently lying feverish and sweating in bed with a horrifically swollen leg, SJ dreaded what he was going to have to say next.

Nainai was there, tending to her grandson alongside his mother.

"Why are you - " she said when she saw SJ, surprised, only for Hua'er to go:

"Nainai, he can help! Daozhang can save da-ge's leg, I swear."

Nainai went white. "You stupid girl, I ought to slap you for this," she muttered. "What can he do what Doctor Yu can't?"

"Where is the doctor?" SJ asked, aware of far too many eyes on him at the moment.

"Went back home to fetch his tools," Nainai said with a grim expression. The boy on the bed moaned, and she sighed. "Oh, Hutao..."

"May I?" SJ gestured towards the boy Hutao, and Nainai rubbed her temples and nodded, making space for him.

SJ knelt and looked at the boy's leg. It had swollen grotesquely, and undoubtedly amputation was the only choice left. Honestly though, since when did such dangerous snakes live in such sedate forests as these...?

He stared at the boy's leg a little longer. The swollen limb was horrifically discoloured, bruises in every colour of the rainbow; red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and...

"How did he get bitten?" he asked.

Nainai exhaled next to him. "The little idiot thought he could pick some wild fruit and climbed up a tree with no one else around. He must have disturbed the snake's nest up there. And now look at him..."

"Mm." And SJ had a feeling he knew what kind of snake it was.

A prismatic serpent. Thin, silvery little things that liked to live in clean forest rivers and lakes.

When it was time to lay their eggs however, they slithered up into trees and made their nests there, for every egg they bore was within a brilliant prismatic shell, glittering every shade of the rainbow all at once.

People would covet the eggs simply for the shells; mortals to make into jewellery and trinkets... and cultivators, to grind the brilliant shells into making an antidote for various venoms... including the very kind the prismatic serpent would sink into its victims.

Well, SJ thought dimly. There was a chance. But just barely.

"Did anyone go with him?" he asked Nainai.

"No," the old woman said. "But his father brought him back; he knows where Hutao fell. Why? Do you know something? Can you - can you help him?"

For a moment grandmother sounded just like granddaughter - lost and shattered and dependent on SJ for hope despite everything going the other way.

Silly, silly, silly...

"That depends," SJ said. "On how fast Hutao's father can run back to that same tree. Before the doctor gets back, maybe I can save his leg. After, it gets cut off." He smiled. "It's up to you."

Nainai stared at him for a long breathless moment - then she turned to the door full of crowding well-wishers and bellowed out for her son.

A quarter-shichen later, a middle-aged man was heaving and panting in front of SJ, holding to his chest a basket holding a broken - but still usable - empty prismatic serpent egg.

And Doctor Yu had just returned in time, with not only the tools necessary to sever a human limb cleanly and clearly - but also his medicinal chest with a mortar and pestle and all kinds of medicinal herbs within.

Then it was time to get to work.

*

SJ had never ground medicine for anyone else before.

Even long after he'd become a part of Cang Qiong and knew it was expected for him to go to Qian Cao whenever he had a headache or booboo, he had always relied on himself.

Mu Qingfang was a brilliant doctor.

SJ didn't want the man anywhere near him regardless.

So. When his head ached, he brewed himself remedies. When he bruised, he made his own medicinal pastes and ointments.

So on and so on, until he had a little pharmacy of his own in his bedroom, and knew what to make whenever a situation came to mind.

Hutao - and SJ - was lucky that the shell of a prismatic serpent egg was the only unusual ingredient required for this particular remedy. Every other ingredient was the humble kind any doctor would have in his chest.

So once SJ had the tools and ingredients at hand, he went to work.

The antidote came in two forms - first, a liquid solution for Hutao to drink and detoxify his body; secondly, an ointment to spread on his injured leg to reduce the swelling.

Even after the antidote was forced down the boy's throat and the ointment rubbed into his skin, even as he screamed in mercy, it took more than a shichen before the swelling on his leg finally dissipated. By then he had long since fallen asleep with tears in his eyes.

Some of the villagers had gone home, but many still lingered around the house, waiting to hear if Hutao would live or die.

The doctor checked Hutao's pulse over and over again, while an exhausted Hua'er leaned against SJ, who was sitting against a wall as he waited for news as well.

Eventually the doctor went over to Nainai and said something under his breath. The old woman sagged to her knees in relief.

"His pulse is stable," she whispered. "He should be okay. Young man, daozhang, how did you _know_ - "

She turned to face SJ, only to see her snoring granddaughter and no one else.

"Daozhang...?"

*

By the time the village erupted in cheers that one of their own would survive, SJ was already making his way back home.

*

Of course, no good deed goes unpunished in the end.

"Daozhang, take some brown sugar, we have lots!"

"Daozhang, do you eat duck? We just smoked some yesterday - here, take one!"

"Daozhang, you live on your own, don't you? I have a cat that would make a perfect mouser for you - "

"Daozhang, daozhang - "

"Daozhang - "

*

"Daozhang," Hua'er said on his doorstep. "Thank you so much for saving my da-ge."

SJ eyed her dubiously. "Next time, tell your da-ge not to be such an idiot and climb everything he sees."

"I will!" the girl piped up. "Um... do you want some food?" Holding a blatantly bulging basket full of goods.

SJ rolled his eyes. "I don't, actually." Far from his initial poverty, his little kitchen was stuffed full of food he didn't think he could consume in a thousand lifetimes. The villagers _did_ know he was a wretched cook, didn't they?

"Oh," Hua'er said. "It's really heavy though..."

Unbelievable. SJ gave up and took the basket with him to the kitchen.

When he returned, the girl had somehow migrated from the open doorstep to his main room, and was staring around in wide-eyed awe.

It had been perhaps a month since he'd settled in this cottage. Most days he still felt poorly, but he'd strung up enough good days in a row to decorate the place well enough.

Beyond the various bouquets of dried flowers hanging from the walls and rafters though, the little girl was gawking at the one hanging scroll on the wall, a poem SJ had written out on a whim one afternoon when the inspiration hit him.

"Daozhang's writing is so pretty...!" she gushed. "What does it say?"

SJ frowned. "You can't read?"

"I can read my name!" Hua'er said. "And um, write it too. But not, um, like this. Were you a scholar before, daozhang?"

"Something like that." SJ looked at the hanging scroll too. Not his best work, honestly. "Do you like it that much?"

"It's beautiful!" Hua'er gushed. "I wish I could write like that..."

"We all do," SJ began dryly - then stopped, and considered a new idea.

He spent his days idly, hanging flowers and clothes up to dry, writing chicken scratch poems while lying in bed, or nibbling on whatever snack the villagers had given to him recently.

It wouldn't be the worst thing to have something else to do for once... and with a student who would be eager, if nothing else.

Did he dare? Could he?

(Well... why not?)

"Hua'er," SJ said, and found himself surprisingly calm as he spoke. "Do you want to learn how to read?"

The little girl's eyes bulged and her mouth went round. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Then - then yes," Hua'er said, looking up at SJ in disbelief. "Daozhang... please, please teach me how to read!"

"Alright," SJ said.

END OF PART IV

(An unexpectedly happy segment for SJ after his previous depression era. He's still cranky and in pain a lot of the time, trust me, but he also has a fan club now, and he's a bit more at peace at the moment.

Now I wonder what's going on back at Cang Qiong... 🤔😅)

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