Chapter-1

Two young men strolled. Onlookers sneak peeks at them frequently. It was rare that their village got visits from pale-skinned and wealthy beauties. The only noble household that stood powerful and affluent was the Qiu clan. Others simply existed as subordinate to the said clan.

Young girls and women alike swooned when the older of the two men waved and passed frivolous smiles. They clutched their hearts dramatically. A few of them pretended to faint from the charisma of the man.

The younger traveller whispered into the ears of his companion, "Junshang, you mustn't fool around. Please be mindful of your position." his voice dripped with unmasked annoyance.

The other companion, however, didn't seem to care. He was blithe in his demeanour. "Aiyah Zhuzhi, loosen up, will you? Who knows us here? Doesn't that mean we can take a breather from all that court bullshit?" He stretches himself, flaunting his muscular, bare arms (fatal for the flute seller lady who might as well have a heart stroke then and there).

Zhuzhi-Lang didn't bother again. Neither did he nor his uncle wanted to play cat and dog with the demon elders. Those senile demons had a knack for getting on your nerves. Maybe letting your guard down for a while would not harm.

A small crowd gathered at a corner of the street. They curiously drew closer towards the gathering of shouting citizens. Someone had gotten into a brawl. The older man pushed his way to get a front view of the show. He, however, frowned upon the scene presented in front of him.

A burly drunkard's fists came crashing down on a puny kid. The child pressed a box close to his dirty clothes, staining it with dirt and mud. His arms and face were painted red and blue with bruises. He trembled with pain and anger. People besieged him, and the man did no endeavour to stop the one-sided beating. They cheered boisterously as he was jostled and shoved.

Zhuzhi-Lang and his uncle shared looks. The former knew what was going on in the latter's head, and there was no point in stopping him. The handsome man stepped forward, halting between the kid and the drunkard. In return, the crowd booed and groaned when their show came to a standstill. Meanwhile, Zhuzhi-Lang decided to strike the iron while it was still hot. He quickly picked up the kid and took him away from the commotion.

The drunkard swayed on his feet. With difficulty, he pointed a finger at the young man. His unfocused eyes glared when he realised that the subject of his torture was picked up and taken away. His expressions segued from puzzlement to fury.

"What?" He sneered. The young man only smiled and lifted his hand for a handshake. As expected, it was swatted away like a fly. He only chuckled and the crowd snickered at his embarrassment. The burly man, however, was pissed.

"What is it?! I'm not here to waste my time on a good-for-nothing like you! Where is that punk?" He threatened with his fists in the air. Veins marred his forehead when he noticed that it served no purpose in angering the man in front of him. He only continued to smile like Buddha.

"Geez... calm down. We can talk."

"You bastard- Move aside!" The drunkard attempted to land a blow on him but his fist was caught by none other than his new victim (the crowd let out a surprised sound at the onset of another drama). In the blink of an eye, the man moved faster and hurled the drunkard on top of some wooden crates. That should teach him a lesson.

Without a word, he left to scout for his nephew and the kid they rescued. Behind him, many scrambled to help the drunkard.

He found them near the bank of a river. Zhuzhi-Lang had already patched up the kid's wounds. He was currently handing him over a mantou.

The kid dug hungrily into the bun. The sweet and soft bun melted into his mouth. It made him forget the pain of the still-stinging wounds.

Once finished, he knelt to the ground. "Many thanks to the esteemed cultivators. This servant owes you." Zhuzhi bent down to let the child stand and not strain his injuries for unnecessary formalities.

The older man ignored the gratitude to ask his worry "That man back there looked offended. What did you do to make a show of getting beaten up?"

"I accidentally stepped on his leg. I was in a jiffy, so I didn't get to properly apologize to him. It led him to believe that I did it on purpose." The kid spoke as if was a very normal reason to get angry with a child, to the point of brutally beating him up.

Zhuzhi-Lang's face was scrunched with disgust like his uncle's. It was unfair how the human folk treated the weak and unarmed with such contempt.

Zhuzhi-lang crouched down to the child's level. "What is your age?" He asked

"This one is eleven, sir."

For an eleven-year-old boy, he looked around seven, considering how short he looked, thanks to bowing his head every time he directly looked someone in the eye, fearing a beating. He was visibly malnourished too. When Zhuzhi-Lang was treating him earlier, he was jarred to see that the boy was no flesh and all bones. His clothes were cheap and ragged; even the lowest of the servants wore better clothes than him. It didn't take much time to fathom the life this child lived.

The boy was struck with a sudden realization that he was very late for a job he was supposed to get done hours ago. He quickly bowed again, grabbed his box and skedaddled away like he was being chased by a swarm of bees.

The two men didn't think much. Seeing that the child still had enough energy to make a beeline even if he was injured, it boiled down to the thought of 'he'll be fine'.

___

Shen Jiu ran like his life depended on it. It did. Young master Qiu made himself clear of the consequences of disobedience and being flawed in your task.

Fear gripped every nook and cranny of his beating heart. If his master can make sure it beats day and night then he can stop it too. He didn't want to end up like the previous servant who was found dead in the backyard with blood gushing out of the five orifices of his body for disobedience. And a certain 'incident' which the young master expected others to keep mum about lest they too get on his nerves.

As he drew closer to the large black gates of the Qiu mansion, he began sweating profusely. On the brink of collapsing, he somehow managed to make it past the entrance and into the hallway. Some guards walking past him shared pitiful glances (Shen Jiu wanted to smash their faces to bloody bits, he needed no pity). With wary steps and halted breath, he knocked on the door at the end of the broad hall. The sound of a tea cup and pages flipping was followed by a stern voice.

"Come in." It sent shivers down his spine. Shen Jiu prayed to whoever commanded the universe that the young master was not feeling awful enough to punish him today.

He quietly opened and closed the door with the box in his hand. He placed it next to young master Qiu, Qiu Jianluo, who sat with tea in his hand and a manuscript on the table in front of him. If it wasn't for his rotten personality, Shen Jiu would've worshipped the scholarly-looking man and kissed his feet because that's how much of a sycophant he is.

You can only rely on yourself when you are a victim of circumstances like this. Not even a mere dot on this planet. Filthy people like him have to climb their way up to the surface with hands painted red. They have to leech off others to derive whatever benefits that would suffice to reach the top. 'You can't blame me. People like us are the reason you sit like the moon hung up in the sky.'

Qiu Jianluo, in his temporary glory, dressed in his pristine robe sneered when Shen Jiu entered the room. He picked up his used teacup and, in a swift motion, splashed all of the remaining tea over the kneeling boy.

The hot tea dribbled slowly down his cheeks to the bandaged wound on his leg. The burning tea did no more than aggravate his well-treated wounds again. The cut on his elbow felt like hundreds of sharp needles digging into his arm. Red and brown marred the white of the bandages. Shen Jiu quivered with suppressed emotions. He felt the sudden urge to bawl his eyes out in the arms of the esteemed cultivator who had treated his wounds with dainty hands. Flashes of hurt crisscrossed his bowed face. His messy hair shielded the view of his openly displayed emotions. It worked in his favour as if the young master had seen it; he would have tormented him further.

"Tell me brat. What mayhem did you get yourself into this time?" Qiu Jianluo went back to reading his manuscript to display the image of 'the young man by the serene swan lake' that the villagers described him as when they spotted him leisurely strolling near the lake. His tall and imposing figure was deemed elegant and profound by the witnesses.

Shen Jiu swallowed his sobs and the urge to smother his tormentor's head in a pile of dog shit. He, with a calm voice, replied, "Young master, this servant had mistakenly offended someone on his way back. The man simply wanted to teach this one a well-deserved lesson. This caused the late arrival of the teapots you asked for."

Qiu Jianluo didn't say anything. The silence sent strokes of dread down Shen Jiu's back. His lips quivered with anticipation. A hand motioned for him to come forward. He, however, was slow to react. As if something had gripped his legs and wouldn't let go. Like something had taken over his body. Fear... held him in a death grip.

Seeing that the slave did not move an inch, Qiu Jianluo menacingly lifted his hand and roughly pulled the boy's bony hand. A weak whine escaped Shen Jiu's throat. He clasped a hand over his mouth to not further anger his master.

An array of footsteps resonated halls, upon hearing, the young master dropped the hand and whispered to the boy. "If you make a single mistake, I'll have your head."

The door was pushed open hurriedly as if someone was too excited to meet the people behind the walls. (There was only one person left in this world who cared to give a damn about this mere slave).

"A-Jiu!" Qiu Haitang, the young mistress of the manor almost stumbled into Shen Jiu's embrace. The excitement on her lovely round face quickly died as soon as she noticed the splashed tea over his head and his bloody wounds. She stumbled back and almost tripped, but the nanny trailing behind caught her just in time.

The girl, a little younger than Shen Jiu cried out. Qiu Jianluo covered her eyes and soothed her emotions. He began speaking calmly to her, the complete opposite of what he was with Shen Jiu. The slave, drenched in tea, looked bitterly at his fiance.

Qiu Jianluo suddenly segued to an angel. He had the wounds patched up and had the boy take a bath. He even sickeningly advised him to take care of himself.

At midnight, Shen Jiu sneaked into Qiu Haitang's chambers as usual. Everyone was asleep so it was the best time to meet.

The two children huddled together on the enormous bed, which was too large for a little girl. The position struck a melancholy memory in his head but he quickly brushed it aside as soon as he remembered it.

Qiu Haitang was running her mouth about what she had encountered that day. Shen Jiu actively listened to her. At times, she would start giggling nonstop before she could even voice her thoughts.

Then, later on, they would munch on the sweets the girl had hidden in her drawer. They would share mischievous looks and toothy grins. It made Shen Jiu forget the still-burning ache in his head and the prickling of the needles in his injured arm.

As the next day rolled in, he found himself waking up from the dream of the two young masters saving his life the previous day.