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Shang Qinghua enters the peak lord meeting with a loud bang, slamming open the door with much more force than it really needs. Being the last one to arrive, everyone else is already seated and exchanging quiet conversation with one another.
They all jump when he comes in, and stare in confusion at the scowl that adorns his face. They watch in abrupt silence as he steps into the hall, at how his eyes zero in on a suddenly smirking Shen Qingqiu, and Qi Qingqi leans her shoulder into the master of the agricultural peak that sits next to her.
Rong Qingsheng raises his eyebrow at her, keeping one eye on the An Ding lord that stalks forward without looking at any of them to sit in his own seat with a noisy and very pointed huff.
Voice lowered, Qi Qingqi smirks at him. “How much?”
“For what, exactly, this time?” Rong Qingsheng heaves a quiet sigh, long since used to his martial sister’s gambling ways.
If there’s even a hint of wavering odds in the balance of the drama that occasionally befalls the inner workings of their sect, you can be certain that Qi Qingqi has a betting pool running behind the scenes of it.
“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” She asks, and Rong Qingsheng is never one to wager money in any of her ridiculous and time-eating schemes, but then again— despite speaking directly to him, she’s not exactly asking him .
Seated to Rong Qingsheng’s right, the peak lord of the beast tamers peak leans around him to eye Qi Qingqi with a sharp gaze and an even sharper smile. “What do you think that stakes are, that Shen-shixiong did something to piss him off?” He asks, eagerly, always one to fall into a bet.
“I think that it’s already clear that he has, indeed, done just that,” Rong Qingsheng says, placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder and pushing him out of his personal space and back into his proper seat.
Ju Qingsong pouts at him, the ridiculous man. “Yes, but the question is, did he do it on purpose, or on accident and is just pretending he did it intentionally in the face of Shang-shixiong’s anger?”
“Why would he do that?” Rong Qingsheng asks, confused.
“Because he’s a dick?” Ju Qingsong shrugs, and leans behind his back this time to make eye contact with Qi Qingqi. “Ten silver on Shen-shixiong doing it on accident, though. He’s a good actor, we can’t be sure he doesn’t have as much of a clue as to why Shang-shixiong is upset with him as we do.”
Qi Qingqi grins, pulling a loose sheaf of parchment out of absolutely nowhere — no, that had definitely come from in between her breasts. And a charcoal pencil, too? How does it all fit? Why.
Rong Qingsheng feels so tired, all of a sudden.
“Qi-shijie,” someone else murmurs, and Rong Qingsheng glances over his shoulder, already exhausted, to see Shui Qingyu of the brewery peak hunched behind them like he thinks he’s being sneaky. “Five silver on Shen-shixiong purposefully having antagonized Shang-shixiong.”
“All of you are idiots,” Liu Qingge grunts from where he’s sidled over to lean over Ju Qingsong’s table.
The rest of them eye him closely, and Qi Qingqi’s charcoal pencil pauses on its scribbling. If anyone were to have any sort of inside perspective of the odd friendship that exists between the Qing Jing and An Ding peak lords, it’s the Bai Zhan one. For some reason that probably makes no sense whatsoever, Rong Qingsheng is certain.
Liu Qingge continues, “Qinghua definitely started it.”
Immediately, Ju Qingsong rolls his eyes and leans heavily into Rong Qingsheng’s shoulder. He shoves the man away, once more, but he just returns, again .
“Shang-shixiong wouldn’t be this pissed if he’d made the initial insult himself, would he?” Ju-shixiong ponders. “He’s always been pretty good about taking responsibility for his own actions and accepting any retribution for them.”
Rong Qingsheng watches as Liu Qingge squints at their martial brother, and then reluctantly nods.
“He is,” the man says, tapping a finger thoughtfully to the base of his sword. “But…”
Qi Qingqi’s charcoal pencil shivers with anticipation as it hovered over her parchment. Rong Qingsheng isn’t sure it contains notes solely about the wagers, anymore. “Liu-shidi? What’s your insight?”
Liu Qingge makes a face, like having any sort of insight to it at all is a burden and insult to himself personally. “It’s different,” he eventually admits, “when it’s Shen Qingqiu.”
For some goddamn reason , isn’t vocalized, but all the peak lords exchange knowing looks anyway. Not even Liu Qingge, who’s closest to them, knows what the hell is going on there. Mu Qingfang might have a better take on the two ‘bros’, but even he looks confused, in that exasperated and tired sort of way of his, half the time whenever Shang Qinghua or Shen Qingqiu pull their antics with one another.
Speaking of which—
“I’m going to get you back for this,” Shang Qinghua is grumbling, loudly. His arms are crossed, and he’s glaring balefully across the room at where Shen Qingqiu so smugly lounges in his seat beside a faintly puzzled looking Yue Qingyuan.
“You can certainly try,” Shen Qingqiu says so quietly that it’s more like he’s mouthing the words than actually saying them, and the An Ding peak lord bristles like he’s been insulted in the gravest of ways.
Rong Qingsheng takes a moment to study him. Shang Qinghua is dressed in his usual peak lord attire, dark blue robes and flowing silk indigo over pants and a high-collared shirt of black, a gauzy and transparent light colored, shorter outer robe thrown over the entire ensemble. For someone who spends a lot of his time running two and fro across all the peaks of the sect chasing down some paperwork or report or other, Shang Qinghua has always been surprisingly stylish. His hair is done up in his usual full bun, held in place with the An Ding lord hairpiece and two silver needles.
Rong Qingsheng narrows his eyes, trying to parse out what, exactly, is different about his senior martial brother today, aside from his current outburst that isn’t typically within his personality unless he’s chasing after someone for an audit of their peak finances.
He resists the urge to shiver. Rong Qingsheng has never had any glaring holes in his peak’s budget histories, but he can quite vividly remember the last time An Ding had come to audit them, and he fervently hopes that the next occasion will not come any time soon.
It takes a few moments, but he eventually spots a difference in Shang Qinghua’s wardrobe. The man isn’t typically one to wear earrings unless they’re simple gems or small hoops. It could be theorized that the dangling ones just get in the way during work? Are distracting when attempting complicated maths and other calculations? Whatever the case is, the ones Shang Qinghua wears today are ornate and incredibly expensive looking, long enough to brush against the tops of his shoulders if he were to shrug, and completely uncharacteristic of the An Ding peak lord.
Not that Rong Qingsheng makes it a habit to creepily examine all his martial siblings whenever he comes across them, but he’s not blind. If you place a pretty person in front of him, what’s he suppose to do? Not look them over? Being a lord of the twelve peaks of Cang Qiong, Rong Qingsheng has ample opportunity to observe his beautiful martial siblings, and Shang Qinghua is as pretty as the rest of them. So what if he’s stared at him enough times to notice a minute change in his jewelry?
There’s a nudge against his ribs. Ju Qingsong leans into his space again, his breath ghosting across his face.
“You’re blushing,” his martial brother whispers, and Rong Qingsheng shoves him.
Ju Qingsong comes back like a boomerang, a grin on his face and his hands latching around Rong Qingsheng’s arm like some sort of infatuated maiden. “Who is it this time?”
“Nothing,” Rong Qingsheng says, calmly, and turns his eyes pointedly away from the line of Shang Qinghua’s neck. Definitely doesn’t notice how the new earrings accentuate it, or how they sparkle in the light and swing just barely with the man’s smallest movements.
He gets poked in the ribs again for his non-answer, but thankfully their sect leader finally stands to bring the meeting to order, so Ju Qingsong has no time to continue needling him.
The meeting is boring as all the others, only highlighted by the brief snack break that the Qiong Ding and Zui Xian disciples tag team to cater. Zhangmen-shixiong always goes out of his way to make sure the monthly meet between peak lords aren’t so dry and mundane that they all simply end up dying of boredom, but there’s only so much even their honorable sect leader can do. By the time the meeting rolls to an end, Rong Qingsheng can feel the edges of sleep tugging at his awareness, and none of his martial siblings look any better.
Except Shang Qinghua, that is. Then again, the peak lord of An Ding has never seemed to allow himself to feel boredom, especially at meetings of any kind. Being in charge of such a detail-oriented sphere of the sect business, Rong Qingsheng assumes, requires one to pay close attention to even the littlest of trivialities.
How time consuming. How much work does it take, to constantly be on alert for every little mention of every little faucet of their collective lives, taking careful note of every little action and reaction and conversation and tucking them away to be used at a later date in conjunction with the running of the sect, without going absolutely mad in the process? Shang-shixiong is the most frequent visitor of their sect leader’s offices for a reason.
He’s never once fallen asleep during a meeting. Rong Qingsheng simply cannot relate, and neither can any of the other peak lords.
The very second that Zhangmen-shixiong brings the meeting to a close, Shang Qinghua jumps up from his seat and makes a beeline toward Shen Qingqiu, who has also begun to look incredibly sleepy and bored out of his mind, but much better at concealing it behind his trusty fan. The Qing Jing peak lord glances up to meet the gaze of Shang Qinghua as he approaches him, and he brings the fan down an inch, a lazy smirk steals across his face.
“Do you like them?” Shen Qingqiu asks almost coyly .
The rest of the peak lords loiter in the room, holding conversations with one another but not paying attention to them because they’re all focused on the confrontation happening at the front. Rong Qingsheng is a little ashamed that he’s one of them. Not ashamed enough to leave, though.
Shang Qinghua comes to a stop before Shen Qinqiu’s table and kneels, huffily, directly onto the hard stone floor across from him, sweeping his sleeves behind him before crossing his arms over his chest. How he’s able to act befitting of a peak lord and yet behave so casually at the same time is surely a paradox, but he somehow manages it.
“I fail to see why I have been gifted them in the first place,” Shang Qinghua comments idly, though he sounds oddly sarcastic.
Shen Qingqiu sets down his fan, only to go for his teacup and use tha to cover his rather sharp smile instead. “But, do you like them?”
Distantly, he can hear Qi Qingqi murmur gleefully from behind him. “How much did you want to wager on Shang-shixiong starting it, Liu-Shidi?”
There’s a grunt. Then, reluctantly, “... Three silver.”
“So low? Liu-Shidi, that’s not very confident of you.”
“S-seven silver!”
“Qi-Shijie, stop trying to extort Liu-shidi. He’s never placed a bet before.” Oh, did Mu Qingfang join them? “Also, put me down for ten silver on Shen-shixiong being the one who started it, but Shang-shixiong being the one who caused it to continue.”
Ju Qingsong frowns. “Are they actually fighting? Shen-shixiong hasn’t intentionally aggravated anyone for a reaction since the fever.”
“What would they be fighting about ?” Shui Qingyu asks, confused.
“Something stupid.” Liu Qingge grumbles, but in a knowing way, and so they all turn to listen, like a bunch of nosy eavesdroppers. Which is precisely what they are.
Rong Qingsheng feels so, so tired.
Across the room, Shang Qinghua is scowling. “You can’t just give me expensive jewelry and think that’ll make everything better.”
“Aren’t you calling the kettle black, here, Shang-ge?” Shen Qingqiu asks, using another of the odd metaphoric phrases than only he and Shang Qinghua seem to understand the meanings of. And then there’s the overly familiar form of address, which he’d begun using a few months after the fever broke, but to which Shang Qinghua had rather suspiciously had very little reaction to, and even reciprocated.
It’s all just really, really weird , if you asked Rong Qingsheng. But, then again, no one ever does.
“Are you calling me a hypocrite?” Shang Qinghua asks incredulously, fingering one of the new earrings as if self conscious. Ah, is that what Shen Qingqiu had been saying?
“Well, I’m not calling you a stalwart.”
“Joke’s on you then, Shen-ge, because I’m the most stalwart person here.”
Shen Qingqiu pauses, eyes flitting over to a bemused Yue Qingyuan, and then briefly across the rest of the peak lords, who all very consciously do not duck their heads, before he nods slowly in acquiescence.
“Yeah,” he says. “You’ve got me there. But, you still haven’t answered my question.”
Shang Qinghua scowls, removing his hand from the earring and folding it pointedly against his other in his lap.
“... Fine,” he huffs irritably. “Yes, I do.”
Shen Qingqiu takes a sip of tea, eyebrows raised. “You what?”
“I’m not saying it again.”
“You have to. That was the deal.”
“There was no— ugh!” Shang Qinghua throws up his hands, and Shen Qingqiu’s lips quirk a little before he chuckles. Actually chuckles! Yue Qingyuan looks positively poleaxed, from where he sits silently and as unobtrusively as possible at his table a foot away from the two bickering friends.
“You can’t insult my sense of fashion and style and then just, what, not expect me to get revenge? Shang-ge, please. You know me better than that.”
Rong Qingsheng’s brows furrow. This is revenge? Gifting Shang Qinghua expensive earrings was a form of revenge? Revenge for what , exactly?
“And you know me better than to think I won’t be getting you back for this,” Shang Qinghua sniffs, standing up from the floor. He points a finger at the fan-toting lord of Qing Jing, and exclaims, “I’m going to get you a gift so great that you won’t possibly be able to top it.”
“Watch me,” Shen Qingqiu immediately retorts, as if Shang Qinghua’s announcement had been some sort of threat, eyes narrow and fan flipping open to cover his lower face.
It’s a beautiful face. Rong Qingsheng has always wondered why Shen-shixiong is so self conscious about it as to constantly cover it up. It can’t be to hide his expressions — he hardly ever allows his thoughts or feelings to show on his face in the first place. It has to be something else.
Shang Qinghua glares, pivots on his heel, and stomps toward the exit. He breezes right on by the eavesdropping peak lords without even sparing them a glance, and slams the door behind him on his way out.
Rong Qingsheng is so confused , and it doesn’t look like any of his martial siblings are much better.
“I can’t even figure out who wins the pot,” Qi Qingqi harrumphs grumpily. She shoves the parchment and charcoal stick back into her cleavage like it’s just another pocket. Both items vanish, and Rong Qingsheng wonders a little hysterically whether she’s got some sort of quankin space array tattooed in between them or something else equally as absurd.
“Well, that would require knowing who started it,” Ju Qingsong shrugs. He’s got a hand on Rong Qingsheng’s shoulder and is leaning against him. He shrugs him off like the irritant that he is, and gets another pout for his troubles.
Mu Qingfang hums. “We will just have to wait until things settle down between them, and ask.”
He and Liu Qingge exchange a glance, and then look away from each other with odd, amused little smiles on their faces.
“It might be a while,” the doctor adds.
He walks away toward the exit himself just as Yue Qingyuan approaches their little group.
“If the peaks lords wish to have lunch together in Qiong Ding, arrangements can certainly be made,” the sect leader begins, and gives them a placid smile. “However, I do not not believe this to be the case. Do my shidi and shimei not have any work to do today?”
Rong Qingsheng cringes, exchanging a sheepish look with his martial siblings. They all beat a hasty retreat back to their own peaks. Finding out what exactly is going on between their two most dramatic and ridiculous martial brothers is going to have to wait.