Svsss AU, Long Post. Like, 8 pages long I think. It might as well be a fanfic but I can't really see it as a very good one as is, so. Tumblr post now.
Shen Yuan transmigrates into Ming Fan in the spring of the year he was born- and promptly forgets he ever had a life before.
Ming Fan is the first son of a marriage between a beloved former servant woman and his father, a wealthy tea farmer and merchant. His mother loves him as very few else do, spoiling him with affection and care, and instilling in him pride for himself and the ethics of hard, honest work. When his father can see him, he receives nothing but praise for anything he accomplishes; even the sillier things that mean little to nothing, like a drawing of his parents and he holding hands that his father to this day still sometimes unfolds from some hidden place in his robes just to embarrass his youngest son.
However, he is not his father's first son. He is his third; and the rest of his living family is not like that to him. Not at all.
On top of Ming Fan being born from a marriage between servant and master, he was born the unimpressive gender of Beta. Something his two half brothers, their mothers, and even his grandmother do not hesitate to criticize- as if Ming Fan or his mother had any soft of choice in the matter.
When Ming Fan was seven, his father decided he'd been cooped up in their family home too long and stole him away on a business trip with his mother's full knowledge. The business trip consisted of only a single stop to a distant branch family's home, and quite honestly, besides the times at his father's side, he remembered being bored and lonely. There was no one around his age to play with, not even among the servants, and wherever he went those same servants would whisper things that he didn't fully understand, but bothered him a great deal. The insults to his mother for being an “Omega who didn't know her place,” said where they thought he plausibly couldn't hear, were particularly hard to swallow, but he did it. He managed it, somehow. He knew his father would understand if he made trouble, knew he would listen to his case, but three different thoughts would always stay his hand: what if dad never took him on a trip again? What if he became disappointed in him? What if his elder half-brother's mother's heard, or his grandmother, and hounded his father into showing Ming Fan and his mother less favor?
Too risky. Too risky. He had to show he could be a good son, even with his secondary gender.
Except-! Except, three days before they left for home, Ming Fan came across a scene. His cousin- a big, brutish wall of- of something unpleasant that smelled like an outhouse- was kicking at something. Something that made little hurt noises with every jab of a boot, with a large main of curls tangled up with dust.
Ming Fan honestly thought it was a dog. And, well, Ming Fan quite liked dogs. There was an old one at home that used to be grandfather's before he passed away, and as long as Ming Fan was quiet, gentle, and didn't pet his hips or pull his tail, the Little Old Man didn't ever mind his company, and so neither were so lonely- so…Ming Fan intervened.
Well, more correctly put, he caused trouble. A lot of trouble. He ran right up to his wall of a cousin, and, in a move his mother told him to do if any creepy or mean person tried to bully him, kicked his right in the balls as hard as he could.
There was a crack, a wheezing sound, and then his cousin let out the loudest, most fraught flatulence Ming Fan had ever heard before collapsing sideways clutching his crotch.
Oh. Ming Fan thought. Mama was right, that does work! Then with rising horror, Oh. Oh no.
He snatched the dog and ran. Ran as far and as out of the way as he could. The dog in his arms felt odd, like maybe it was mostly hairless, and smelled like no dog he had ever smelled, but Ming Fan wasn't about to drop it where other people could find it- and kick it! Why would anyone kick a dog?!- and so just adjusted his hold on it as he fled away from the scene of his sordid crime.
The dog's name is Luo Binghe. He was, in fact, not a dog, but a very shaky five year old son of a servant woman. He had a tangled mess of hair, gaunt cheeks, and bruises all over him, (one that even swelled his left eye shut), but Ming Fan-
Ming Fan felt. Something? He didn't know what it was, couldn't explain it in words at the time, but when their eyes met and Ming Fan could finally get a good look at the servant’s child he'd unwittingly saved, he…really, really wanted to keep him.
Except, no, that wasn't right. That wasn't good. “People aren't things you can have,” his mother always, always reminded him (usually to counter his grandmother). He knew better. He couldn't- he couldn't just-...
But it wasn't- it *wasn't like that*. He didn't want to *own* Luo Binghe; he wanted to take him back to his borrowed room, wrap him in every blanket he could find, and then take him far away from cousins that smelled worse than the back end of a horse and show him off to Mama so Luo Binghe could get attention and care. Mama was great at making hurts hurt less and making everything feel warm, and she always showered him with so much attention, so surely she had enough inside to share with his new…friend?
He didn't need his father there to hear his logical voice in his head. Luo Binghe wasn't a stray. He had family- a mother of his own, who loved him so much that she spent every saving she had on getting him a pretty jade pendant.
So. So Ming Fan would just have to settle on enjoying three days of friendship. It had to be enough.
Ming Fan missed Luo Binghe terribly after they left. He missed him so badly that he ran over their memories together over and over again, trying not to forget a single thing, and inadvertently told his mother all about the mysterious servant child of the branch family home.
His mother, moved by her child's misery, tried to arrange…something. Anything. Another visit, or to outright hire Binghe's mother. Ming Fan never really figured out what she was attempting, only the results of her search; Luo Binghe and his mother no longer worked for the branch family. They were gone. Effectively out of Ming Fan's reach.
It was revealed to Ming Fan's family shortly after his tenth birthday that he had cultivation potential by a passing official of Huan Hua Palace who stopped to pay respects while serving their little region. His grandmother was ecstatic, crying, “Finally some use for that spare!” but his parents were hesitant. They loved him, and so knew putting him on this path may one day lead to losing him. They were also aware that Huan Hua Palace, the nearest Sect to their home, was rife with terrible whispers. Rumors of corruption, abuse, and most disgustingly, coercion of several sorts. They wanted nothing to do with that, and certainly did not want that for their son, so they both quietly sent him on to Cang Qiong, hearts torn but non-the-less hoping Ming Fan would at least find companionship there- but they also told him, should he fail, there was no shame in returning home. His mother and father would love him regardless if he got accepted or not.
Ming Fan quietly thought that, however sweet and true that sentiment to be, the rest of his blood family would definitely beg to differ. He *had* to make it, or else, wouldn't his dear mother be a laughing stock to the other wives of his father? To his half-brothers? To his *grandmother?*
No. He had to get in. He had to.
Qing Jing was not-...it wasn't what he'd thought it would be.
His expectation- what he'd been promised- but it was all just a pit of snakes. Just like being home; except where his father would shield him with his favor and his mother with her soft sleeves, there was nothing here to hide behind. No gentle hands to press him forward or pull him back. He was on his own.
It terrified him, but fear here was as good as blood in the water, so he forced it to twist into stubbornness, into frustration, and then he used that to push himself forward. To do well. To do better than anybody else. He wasn't naturally talented at any task given to him, and sometimes if felt like he'd have an easier time climbing the side of the mountain than studying footwork, but he never let himself think about quitting. He didn't dare.
His shifu promoted him to head disciple.
His shifu promoted him to head disciple!
His shifu- his shifu noticed his hard work!! Mother, it really did pay off!
His shifu returns from down the mountain with a little girl. A new shimei, he says. Her name is Ning Yingying, and she looks at him with big, wide eyes like a boy he'd known for only three days.
She looks up to him. She thinks he's amazing and never even asks about his secondary gender. He doesn't do her the disservice of asking hers, but he can't help but wonder if Binghe had been an Alpha too.
She quickly proves to be her own person, but the first impression stays. Maybe…maybe he could come to like her too? Like he did little Binghe?
…would his family finally have something kind to say if he married an Alpha?
Ming Fan's heart pounds in his chest. He braces himself against his dorm room door.
He's here. He's here, he's here! He- he-!
He didn't recognize him at all.
He tries not to be bitter about it. He tries not to let it affect how he treats him.
He fails. He fails terribly.
Shifu starts to encourage others to treat Binghe badly too. Ming Fan hates it, but can't bring himself to stop it. Not entirely. Instead, somehow, he takes up the lead while trying to dissuade others from doing the same. He works with it, tries to make it seem like he just didn't want others to mess with his plaything.
He wants to vomit every time he notices Binghe subtly trying to sneak away from him.
It happens that one day Luo Binghe gets into trouble because of something Ming Fan said he did. It was something minor, something that would have gotten anyone else a whap and extra work for a few days.
It gets Binghe a whipping.
The urge to vomit gets stronger.
Somewhere along the way, Ming Fan tried to convince himself he was wrong. Perhaps there were two Luo Binghe's in the world. Perhaps he'd misremembered his friend's name entirely and it actually was something like Liu Baihe instead. It helped ease the churning in his stomach when he laid in bed at night, mind replaying every torment he'd put on Luo Binghe that day.
He stuck to minor things these days. Pushing him around, calling him names. He kept it rote, boring. Inconvenient and exhausting at worst.
Shifu still found reasons to whip him. Worse, sometimes he would turn to Ming Fan and tell him what a good job he did reporting the “little beasts” misbehavior- but it wasn't him. Never. Not after that first time.
In another life, maybe he would have accepted the praise and moved on. In this one-
There had been no reports. Ming Fan checked, just to be sure there wasn't someone on peak submitting them in his name. None. Which meant- which meant-
Which meant Ming Fan was an awful person, but his shifu was truly the worst kind of teacher a person could ever have, and Ming Fan could do nothing to stop it.
Luo Binghe had a pendant. One colored like jade with the face of a Guanyin carved into it.
It was fake. Could you believe that? His poor mother got swindled!
(but it seemed that Binghe already knew that.)
Ming Fan was feeling a bit swindled too. It made him angry, bitter. Binghe, Binghe, Binghe. First he shows up in his life, then he disappears, and then he reappears only to take the *one person* Ming Fan likes on this entire heaven forsaken mountain from him!
He hears himself sprouting horse shit and can't find it in him to care. He feels himself go after Binghe, stealing something so precious to him- but hadn't Binghe stolen from him too? Didn't he deserve some compensation?
Next thing he knows, he’s throwing the pendant over Binghe’s head. Binghe's head turns to follow, but his eyes go low. Ming Fan’s go up.
He returns a day later, sick with guilt, and gets the pendant down. He tries to find a moment to return it, but every time he catches Binghe's eyes all he sees is a seething glare.
When he wakes up about a week later, feverish and sweaty and laid up in the medical peak, it's with the world's largest headache and a deep seated rage in his heart for the world, Airplane, and himself- but mostly his very stupid, very foolish self.
Seriously, why did he think bullying Binghe would do anything but make things worse?
Meeting Binghe's eyes after everything- it was hard. He kind of wanted to squirms sideways out of his skin out of sheer guilt.
Instead he held his hand out to his shidi and said, “This is yours. I'm sorry.”
He only waited long enough for Binghe to take it before walking off (not running!).
He tried to be a better Da-Shixiong after that. A better son too. Somewhere along the way, he'd gotten so frustrated, upset, and fixated on Binghe that he'd forgotten why he'd even come here. What his goals had been. Now that he was doing his level best to avoid his shidi for the foreseeable future and prevent anyone else from having the time (or means) of belittling or hurting the other, he finally remembered to send his family letters again. To practice his calligraphy and sword forms. To do literally anything that kept him from looking around for a certain head of curly hair or be noticed by another head of hair loops.
Yes, he was avoiding Yinying too. No, he didn't really want to talk about it.
And yet. And yet…why did he feel like he was being watched?
Turns out it was because Yingying *and* Binghe were stalking him. Badly. Mostly because Yingying’s skirt kept getting caught in pushes. Sometimes because the beads in her hair caught the light just right.
Ming Fan didn't really know what to do about that besides ask them, so he…didn't. Do anything.
They cornered him one day while he was doing inventory in a storage closet.
“Da-shixiong has been weird since his qi deviation,” Yingying started.
Ming Fan startled so badly he dropped a jar on his boot. It didn't break anything, but it hurt bad enough that he stumbled back against a wall and slid down it until his butt hit the floor, just to cradle his abused foot.
“Ning-shimeiii!” He whined, teeth clenched. “Why??”
She had the wherewithal to look guilty. Binghe too, at her side, seemed to be wincing. In sympathy? Ming Fan kind of hoped it was in sympathy.
“Da-Shixiong has been weird,” She said more slowly.
“Okay?? Why did you have to scare the life from me to tell me that?”
They both seem to puff up, as if trying to look bigger than they were.
“We know you aren't the real Ming Fan,” Binghe murmured. “But we won't tell-”
“-we like you much better.” Yingying finishes. They both had such serious looks on their face, Ming Fan was a bit sad to have to tell them otherwise.
(The rest of him just felt like his insides were in a blender.)
“And what gave you that impression?”
Binghe proceeds to list his every move, noting where Ming Fan frequently redirected others from bullying him (embarrassing), pointing out new habits he picked up (weird??), and even how he stopped hanging out with his good ol bully buddies amongst other things. (also embarrassing. Still weird.)
As he explains, Ming Fan slowly pushes himself back up to his feet. He pats himself down, using the excuse of looking down to hide how every new thing makes his face twist. Eventually, though, there's nothing left of their ‘evidence’. He has to look at them.
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just wanted to be better?”
Yingyings eyes blink wide, and so do Binghe's. It's surprising how much that hurts.
“I get it. You guys never saw me as anything more than a power-tripping ass of a shixiong. I know. I'm not stupid.” Yingying winces. Ming Fan doesn't let her cut in. “But I never liked being like that. I hated it too.”
He wants to say more. Wants to explain and justify himself until all the uncomfortable feelings between them vanish like smoke. Unfortunately from the moment he'd woken from that qi deviation he'd promised himself to keep him damn mouth shut from now on and just accept his lot in life.
So he settles on a soft “I'm going now,” and walks off-
-only to remember he was in the middle of something ten minutes later.
