Chapter Text
The Qing Jing Peak Lord, An Shiming, was renowned all over the cultivation world for his profound knowledge and sharp intellect.
Until a couple of days ago, he lived as an accomplished man. His teachings weren’t for the faint of heart, and definitely not for soft young masters seeking comfort from him. The children of noble origins sent his way were usually those who weren’t meant to inherit the family business and more times than not they were always the coddled ones, the ones that at the tiniest raise of a voice would curl into a ball and cry.
An Shiming wasn’t someone who could teach kindly. Better said, he could. He just didn’t want to.
He was a firm believer that harsh discipline could shape a disciple into the perfect scholar, an upstanding tactician. He applied punishments in the forms of whipping, flogging, and making them kneel on rocks for days. He was a man that strove for perfection. One wrong stroke during calligraphy could get the disciple five strikes of a stick. One wrong note on the guqin could get them four hours of kneeling under the hot sun. An Shiming had never been lenient during the exams he planned, and if a disciple didn’t prepare accordingly, they will be punished, regardless of their background, family, or social status.
Under him, one could see the progress of the disciples, growing from inexperienced muttonheads to moderately decent students. However, An Shiming still struggled to find the perfect pupil. Despite his peak being the only one missing a head disciple – they were all too lackluster to deserve such position – he has been content with life.
He was in a position he was accomplished with. But since that fateful Qi deviation, that sense of stability vanished in the blink of an eye.
When the sect leader and the Qian Cao Peak Lord, Bai Shicheng and Feng Shibao, rushed to help his Qi stabilize, An Shiming felt repulsed. Their touches burned, their voices annoyed him, and their faces sparked a series of ugly feelings.
That was unusual.
Despite the cruel reputation he was painted with outside the sect, An Shiming’s relationship with his martial siblings had been close. Close to the point where he used to think of them as his blood siblings. Close to the point where An Shiming would’ve committed murder if it ensured their well-being. After all, they have a shared childhood, they went through ups and downs together, fought, and made up over petty things. They were a family. A family that An Shiming used to wholeheartedly trust.
Yet, after that deviation, whenever he looked at one of his martial siblings, he felt betrayed.
When Bai Shicheng tried to talk to him, out of reflex An Shiming slapped him, unable to control the anger that enveloped him when he heard his voice. Both, weirdly enough, didn’t seem surprised by such a reaction, despite it being the first time An Shiming ever hit one of them. Instead, Bai Shicheng kept transferring him Qi, while Feng Shibao checked his pulse and veins, all the while trying to placate his ire. As the sect healer, he was softer and more patient compared to An Shiming -or anyone really-, but no amount of sweet words could soothe the hatred pooling into the pit of his stomach.
The Qing Jing Peak Lord believed that by giving it a couple of hours, all those weird emotions boiling under his skin will eventually simmer down.
He was wrong.
The next person he saw, was the Xian Shu Peak Lord, Shu Shihan. His heart hardened, and with a flick of his sleeve, An Shiming returned to his peak, ignoring how his shimei called for him.
Objectively speaking, he knew that nothing concrete happened to provoke his anger, but the guilty looks his martial siblings sent his way solidified and validated the feelings of betrayal and anger he began feeling since the deviation.
Something happened, something that An Shiming couldn’t remember.
He knew that the right thing to do was to confront his martial sibling, but something told him that if he mentioned this memory loss, they will tell him some mediocre falsity to appease him. And the idea of being deceived, lied to by his own family, repulsed him.
Staying on Cang Qiong was becoming too much for him. Not even Qing Jing Peak was able to soothe him anymore. The feeling of safety was long gone, replaced by anguish and fright.
The once verdant bamboo he planted and carefully nourished seemed to have lost its vibrancy, the leaves looked as if they were weeping, and his hut felt like a grieving site. The gentle wind that used to whisper into his ear the gentle sounds of brushing leaves and soft tweets of the songbirds, now sounded as if wailing, and the more he walked around, the more Qing Jing Peak looked and felt as if it was mourning.
Eventually, An Shiming couldn’t take it anymore, and with a small note left inside his hut, he left the sect.
In an attempt to clear his mind, he took a stroll around the village at the feet of Cang Qiong. He wasn’t planning on doing much, just a quick break from all the negativity that clouded both his mind and peak. Then, his eyes landed on a stand.
Before An Shiming could fully process it, he was holding two tanghulu sticks.
“Immortal Master is always welcomed! Those are on the house, please enjoy!”
A noise of affirmation left somehow his throat, attention never swaying from the sweet. There was nothing special about them, yet, for some unknown reason, An Shiming felt an ache in his chest.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, he only snapped out of that trance-like stake when he felt a tug on his robes.
Confused, he looked down, where an eight-year-old-looking child was clutching his robes while the other hand was holding a silk embroidered handkerchief.
“Yes? How can this master help you?”
The child huffed, swaying the white silk cloth. “Immortal Master is crying.”
An Shiming curiously touched his face, and indeed there was a distinct wetness on his face. Absentmindedly, An Shiming took the handkerchief, at the same time giving her both sticks of tanghulu.
“Thank you.”
Something was amiss.
Or, more specifically, An Shiming was missing something. Someone. He wasn’t sure. It was accompanied by a weird sense of urgency as if he shouldn’t simply waste his time away. Something that belonged to him had been lost somewhere. And whatever it was, he knew it wasn’t anywhere near the Tian Gong mountain range.
So, he began aimlessly roaming around, passing through villages, towns, forests, groves, and mountains.
Before he knew it, days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. All the while ignoring the letters his martial siblings sent his way.
There wasn’t any time to rest, not when the urgency to keep searching tugged at him. The few times he tried to stop at an inn, it felt as if he was betraying someone. As if he shouldn’t slack off.
When villagers offered to help him look for whatever was troubling him, An Shiming would stumble on his words. He knew he was looking for something, but what exactly, he didn’t know.
He had questions. Too many weird things were happening to him that he couldn’t explain, and any other normal person would stop from roaming the earth like a lost soul, go back to their home, and investigate the problems. There were many answers An Shiming needed to seek, but he couldn’t. Not when it felt as if he was running out of time.
He would sometimes go back to the sect to restock his necessities, but as soon as it was done he would leave just as quickly, rarely overstaying.
And that too was one of the problems.
Whenever he thought about Cang Qiong there was this deep resentment he couldn’t explain. This… disgust toward both the eleven Peak Lords and their disciples was unusual. When looking at them the feeling of unfairness and betrayal were the most prominent. So prominent that whenever forced to interact with them would make An Shiming recoil in disgust. There was also this unbearable itch of wanting to flog and whip everyone in the sect, to make them pay for their sins. What sins, An Shiming couldn’t recall. He just knew that they have severely wronged and needed to be punished.
Another peculiarity he noticed, was the shackles around his ankles. They were something he has never seen before, nor does he remember ever having such things on his body before the deviation. As suspicious as they were, he couldn’t stand idle and mull over it, not when he needed to keep searching.
After two years, he lost count of how many villages he has visited so far, and he still couldn’t figure out what he was missing.
His eyes kept seeking the orphans scattered around, and he would give them teals, and food, and for those showing spiritual prowess, he would tell them to seek a cultivation sect, going as far as offering them directions, along with various advice on what to do if they encountered men with not so savory intentions.
Yet, as much good as he was spreading around, An Shiming grew restless as time passed. No matter how much he thought about it, or how hard he tried to remember, he was unable to understand what he was looking for. And it was frustrating.
“Immortal Master, do you eat that?”
An Shiming looked at the child, and then back at the bun he bought. Then, he gave it to the child, which took it and hid it in his thorn sleeve.
“Aren’t you going to eat it while still warm?”
The child shook his head. “No. If the bad man sees me eating they will take it away.”
“The bad men?”
The child looked around before looking back at him, leaning a little to whisper. “The slave traders.”
An Shiming didn’t pay any attention when the child ran away, too focused on the word ‘slave’. Absentmindedly, An Shiming brought a hand over his chest, gently rubbing the sudden ache.
Slaves.
All his life he had heard people talk about them as if it was as normal as breathing. It had been easier in the past to hide his revulsion when he'd hear them speak so lowly about the less fortunate, yet now An Shiming could barely contain his loathing toward those supporting such things. Maybe that was what he had been looking for.
It made sense.
Why else would he feel so wronged and betrayed by those he trusted?
Slavery should be abolished. No one should be forced to live in such inhumane conditions. And the so-called righteous cultivation sects were doing absolutely nothing to solve that widespread problem. All those people preaching about freedom, kindness, and the importance of safety, were doing absolutely nothing to save those who were in need of help.
With a new resolve, An Shiming began another long journey, this time with a clear destination: the Imperial Capital.
Persuading the Emperor to abolish slavery had been by far the greatest feat An Shiming was immensely proud of.
It took some time for the new law to take root in the entirety of China, but he did it.
He took it upon himself to ensure that slaves were freed, and along with a large group of officials that both the Emperor and Empress Dowager put together, An Shiming began raiding noble residences that refused to conform, and any household that was known for owning slaves.
For months, all he did was hop from village to village, redirecting the freed slaves toward an establishment where an imperial official would be waiting for them.
They would be then instructed about the new law and their human rights, get examined by healers and physicians, and if needed, would be offered assistance to integrate into society. Their names were written down on various lists, and those named after numbers would receive a brand new name to go by, along with a sum of money to survive until finding a job. Some inns had been bought out by the imperial officials to serve as their shelter until they found a better place, and if someone showed to have useful skills, like writing and reading, they would be offered a job within the capital, while those with physical skills were directed toward businesses within the construction field.
Under An Shiming’s request, the mothers with children would be given a larger sum of teals, and the orphans would be gathered into a separate establishment where those who didn’t have the possibility to procreate could adopt them.
One household, in particular, made his blood boil to the point where An Shiming wasn’t satisfied with only freeing the slaves. No. A vicious whisper kept nagging at him, demanding him to publicly disgrace the Qiu family.
All the family members were dragged outside, held in place by several guards while the Qing Jing Peak Lord thrashed their place.
For an unknown reason, An Shiming was furious with them, going as far as to accidentally incense a guard to whip their young master, Qiu Jianluo. The sight of his crying sister made anger boil under his skin, and out of spite, An Shiming told the authorities to thoroughly research their property and dig up any dirt they could find.
He looked at each child, seizing them up before gently telling them to follow the instruction of the imperial official. After the seventh child, the familiar sense of dread began bubbling under his skin, feeling as if something was slipping through his fingers. He didn’t know why, but none of them felt like the right one. Right one for what, An Shiming still didn’t know. But he kept searching. When facing the last child, An Shiming stopped for a couple more seconds, staring at him. That face was familiar. Just like his martial sibling's faces, it angered him. He had to mentally restrain himself from hitting that child, from humiliating him for being an absolute nuisance. And it scared him. He never met that child, those feelings had absolutely no business being inside his heart. Tearing his eyes away from that face, An Shiming stared at the now empty manor.
He could feel it in his bones: the place was right, whatever he was looking for should be here.
Restlessly, An Shiming trashed the residence one more time, personally looking through every room, shed, secret passage, and behind tapestries. He looked everywhere. He searched that house from top to bottom, turning it upside down, and even went as far as ripping the wooden floors with his bare hands, fearing more hidden rooms. Yet, after hours of tearing apart the residence, he couldn’t find anything.
One of the imperial officials then approached him, holding several scrolls. “We found proof of fraud, embezzlement, and tax evasion. We have already arrested the Qiu family and will take them to the imperial capital. Does the immortal Master wish to accompany us back to set the trial?”
An Shiming rubbed his chest, taking one last look at the decrepit state of the residence.
“No. I trust official He to take care of it.”
Despite accomplishing what no one dared to, and despite his growing notoriety for his exceptional deeds, An Shiming felt as if he lost the greatest battle.
The sense of disappointment was like poison, the taste of being defeated by an unknown force left a bitter dent in his heart. And he didn’t know how to make it better.
It was ridiculous.
This feeling of loss despite doing so many great things was appalling, further confusing him.
He lost.
But what exactly did he lose?
Why was he feeling like that? Did he miss something?
Yes. He missed something. But what? Why, after all those years, couldn’t he find peace? Why did he feel like he failed again?
He helped so many people so why, why was he feeling like that? How does one stop this feeling of emptiness?
“Immortal Master! Immortal Master!”
Shaken out of his stupor, An Shiming turned to look at whoever was calling him. And much to his surprise, an elderly woman was struggling to catch up with him. Pushing aside those restless feelings, he politely greeted her.
“Immortal Master! I’m incredibly sorry for troubling you, but I have no one else to ask help from...” She opened the battered qiankun pouch she was clutching, pushing it toward him. “My grandchild left with a cultivator that looked dangerous. I tried to stop him, but he- he was stubborn. This is all I have, I know it’s not much-”
An Shiming didn’t even glance at the pouch, instead pinned the elder with his stare, heart quivering with anxiety. “If I may inquire, what’s the name of the cultivator?”
“Oh, yes! My A-Li said he’s called Wu Yanzi.”
A sharp jolt traveled all the way down his back, making his hair stand in unease.
That name wasn’t foreign to him. Wu Yanzi was someone that the cultivation world collectively decided to not associate with. The crimes under his name were many, almost endless. He was a notorious murderer practicing demonic cultivation, robbery, and arson. The many houses he burned to the ground after stealing artifacts and treasures had been numerous, and his victim list kept growing and growing.
In the past, An Shiming promised to alert the sects if he ever crossed paths with the rogue cultivator, regarding him as nothing more than an annoying, worthless pest. But things were different this time around. It was personal. That name now evoked a sense of dread and urgency. An urgency to find and get rid of him once and for all.
Wu Yanzi wronged many people, committed too many crimes, ruined too many youths to be left alone, and An Shiming felt nothing but hatred and animosity toward him.
Wu Yanzi, regardless of the methods, had to go.
Glossary:
Generational name 实 (shí) honest/truthful
百实程 Bai Shichéng = (Bright) honest journey
安实命 An Shimìng = (Peaceful) honest life
淑实菡 Shu Shihan = (Virtous/charming) honest lotus blossom