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“I’m you,” said the immortal.
Shen Jiu stared. “… No, you’re not.”
The immortal had appeared in the Qiu Manor on this dark and stormy evening, like a ghost rather than the righteous cultivator he was. He was tall and beautiful, clad in clean cotton and luscious green silks, as elegant as a stalk of bamboo. He looked entirely out of place next to the tacky brocade couch displaying Qiu Haitang’s unconscious form. Even putting aside the illogical absurdity of his declaration, there was no way the immortal had anything to do with something like Shen Jiu.
“I am.” The immortal had a fake smile. Not the shallow, flattering kind that men showed their superiors, or even the cruel kind that Qiu Jianluo sported when playing with his food. Rather, it was the forced, almost helpless smile Shen Jiu had previously only seen on women—an expression that Shen Jiu would never make in a million years. “I’m you, from the future.”
“You aren’t.” Shen Jiu scowled, readying his qi. He knew that his tricks, pale and childish imitations of real cultivation, would do nothing against this man. But whatever he wanted from Shen Jiu, he wasn’t going to get it without a fight. “What do you want?”
The immortal’s helpless smile faded. “You’re suffering here. Come with me.”
Shen Jiu’s heart skipped a beat. He clenched his fists and glared coldly. “Why?” he demanded. “What does the respectable daozhang want with this lowly slave? ”
“I’ll take you as my disciple.”
“Ha!”
The immortal narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you want to cultivate? Come with me, and I’ll teach you.”
“As if I’d believe that,” Shen Jiu spat.
“Why are you so stubborn?” The immortal came closer, almost looming over Shen Jiu.
“Stay back!”
The immortal sighed. “Just—” He stepped forward—
“No!” Shen Jiu flung out his hand, sending Qiu Haitiang’s combs and accessories flying towards the immortal.
A hand’s width from the immortal’s body, the volley scattered to the sides and fell to the floor. Panting, heartbeat thundering, Shen Jiu lunged for the nearest sharp item—a gold-encrusted hair pin—and lifted it before him. He wasn’t going down easy!
But in a blink, the immortal was right there and suddenly Shen Jiu was on the ground and he couldn’t move.
“Get—GET OFF!” he shrieked. Panic made him lightheaded. He kicked and bucked to no avail; the immortal was as solid as a mountain.
“Stop. None of that. Ugh—stop that.” Efficiently fending off Shen Jiu’s attacks, the immortal stood, lifting Shen Jiu like a pail of water with him. “Come along now, Disciple Shen.”
“WHO’S YOUR DISCIPLE? FUCK YOUR MOTHER!” Shen Jiu screeched. The immortal craned his head away from Shen Jiu’s snapping teeth. “FUCK YOUR FATHER!”
“As your shizun I can be considered your father, so aren’t you insulting your own grandfather?”
Shen Jiu unleashed a scream of rage.
“Tsk, unfilial.” And so, Shen Qingqiu dragged Shen Jiu—kicking and screaming—into freedom. Or something of the sort.