part 2 of demonic cultivation teachers Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan
(warnings are in the tags: they're nothing big, but i just wanted them to be there as an option)
(This doesn't include lbh yet, though my boy will be part of the shen's minor sect. I think I'm gonna progress the story linearly and we'll get to him in due time, once everything else is fleshed out )
After some thinking, I've realized that sj and sy wouldn't really have the resources to take care of a newborn, so they leave Ning Yingying in the care of the brothel jiejies and visit every month to give them money.
Shen Jiu plans to let the child grow up there, but in a rare act of defiance A-Yuan demands that he buy a house and that they raise her together. Jiu refuses to consider it at all, stating that Shen Yuan's plans lack foresight and logic.
At least, until the rumors of some cursed ruins reach his ears.
The interesting thing about cursed ruins, is that if treated with the right combination of rituals they become optimal places to cultivate demonic energy. Naturally, it's land like this that demonic sects build on. Shen Jiu decides to scout the location and its potential for such use.
The twins travel to the village, but as they get closer and closer Shen Jiu's chest starts to tighten, sights and places stirring long-buried memories- it's at the last stretch of the journey, talking to an old woman who sets the story straight for them, that he fully realises they are headed to the burnt husk that is the qiu estate.
Shen Yuan shares a few of his memories because of that unfortunate sharing of life-force. He stares at Shen Jiu and quickly turns them around. "We're leaving, right now!" he declares.
Leaving .. can he, really? Shen Jiu remembers being afraid of this place as a slave- he remembers longing without end to leave it. Resenting it.
Weren't the Qius a cultivator family? Hadn't he- almost- ended their clan? If so, what was the next logical step of his revenge ?
Desecrating their property.
"No, Yuan," he says finally. He turns to the old lady. "We are cultivators and wish to take a look at those grounds. Is there anyone we may ask?"
"There isn't," she croaks. "The ruins have been all but lost to the forest around it. No one will stop you. I for one, do not think those lands can be cleansed, but I won't stop you from trying."
Shen Yuan waits until they have walked a good distance away. He follows behind Shen Jiu and tugs at his sleeve. "What do you want? What do you intend to do?"
"Wait and see," he responds curtly.
The estate is both less and more than he imagined it would be. He remembers the massacre- killing all the men after the women and children had been ordered away by Qiu Jianluo. Not a single witness had been left but Haitang, and he would be happy to demonstrate his experience in murder to her if she was still around.
He approaches the supporting pillar of what used to be Jianluo's bedroom. A burst of qi dislodges it from it precarious postion and it falls into the debri around it. His resentment rises- manifests in his qi and mixes with the resentment of those who died there. It is a powerful loop, two streams of water flowing into each other eroding the sand around it.
He breathes and slips into meditation. Focuses on the resentment. Slightly, but surely, he feels it strengthening his qi.
Shen Jiu opens his eyes and cuts off the flow. Turns back to A-Yuan. "Well?" he asks. "Isn't it suitable for cultivation?"
Shen Yuan stares at him, mouth agape. "Yes, but- don't tell me you're seriuously considering it? This is a great cursed ground, true, but it's also- also!!"
Shen Jiu recognizes that words to express human suffering elude the elegant plant spirit. It marks the difference in experience between them- that no matter how much he is taught and learns, he will never understand shen jiu for what he truly is. A monster.
"It's also the place I grew up imprisoned in, you mean? That's what makes it an optimal cultivation area. My resentment is mine to control." Shen Yuan still looks unconvinced.
The next thing he says makes Shen Yuan drop his fan on the ground and stare at him with disbelieving shining eyes. He is so easily distracted, Shen Jiu thinks distantly.
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Wow PCE actually posting to the ao3 for the first time in weeks?!? Stop the presses folks the Whumpshot Wizard has returned!
I know the The Webs In The Rafters universe is pretty niche, very odd and a little out there, so thank you to the homies who are down with the insanity. So… happy birthday to Kyle! Here’s
A blizzard's struck Gotham City. Jason refuses to hole up and wait for the cold to kill him. He comes up with a dangerous plan. After all, any chance of survival is better than no chance at all.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Jason used to love the snow. His mom would wake him up and point to the window, a bright, warm smile gracing her face. Jason would race over and rest his elbows on the windowsill, staring out at the shroud of white covering the streets and rooftops. It turned the grimy city into a majestic wonderland, where even Crime Alley would look perfect.
But that was nothing compared to the thrill that would race through Jason’s heart when he and his mother ran outside, throwing snowballs at each other and catching snowflakes on their tongues laughing until they were too cold to laugh anymore. If it was snowing badly enough, Jason’s dad would stay home too. And no one could find it in themselves to be angry when the snow seemed to cover all blemishes.
Mom wouldn’t need to forget the world quite as much when everything she hid from was covered in a snowy blanket. She’d curl up with Jason on the couch and he’d read to her, and when the power went out, she’d hold the flashlight. And at night, when Jason was too tired to read, Mom would take over, running her fingers through his hair as she told him about Narnia or Paddington or Elizabeth. Snow meant it would be a good day.
So, yes, Jason used to love the snow. But now, he’s pretty sure it’s gonna kill him.
It’s a cold day in a long string of cold days. Record-breakingly cold days. Jason’s pretty sure Mr. Freeze’s latest plot to hold the city hostage, which was stopped “before any negative consequences could occur” is at fault—not that the mayor’ll ever admit it. Not when he can go home to a nice, warm mansion at the end of the day.
Jason can’t go home to a nice, warm mansion, or a nice, warm house, or a nice, warm apartment. He’d settle for a nice, warm closet at this point, but he doesn’t have that either. He has one extremely ratty blanket and a mattress in an abandoned, mold-infested, asbestos-containing apartment building which will be torn down whenever Gotham City gets around to it (a.k.a. never).
He shivers, curling even tighter into a ball, and pretends he can feel his fingers. Jason’s going to stop shivering soon—he can feel it. And then he’s gonna freeze to death.
Jason had thought it’d be the people that end him. He ran away from the foster care system, but that wouldn’t keep him safe forever. At least on the streets, he’d be able to fight, tire iron in hand. He’d kick and scream until his dying breath. But he’s short and malnourished and young, so he figured it was inevitable that he’d meet someone he couldn’t fight off. Over time, though, Jason fought enough people to feel actually pretty confident in his skills. He thought maybe it wouldn’t be the people.
And then, Jason had thought it’d be the hunger that ends him. Days spent starving until it doesn’t even feel like he’s starving anymore, his stomach so empty that it’s shrunk into nothingness. Jason can’t fight his stomach, so he thought that’d do him in. But he got goodat stealing, at picking pockets and sneaking into abandoned houses. And he met a guy who’d fence any tires he took, so that was enough income to keep him alive. Jason wasn’t exactly full but he wasn’t starving either, anymore. So, he’d thought maybe it wouldn’t be the hunger.
But Jason can’t fight a blizzard and he can’t steal warmth, so he thinks that actually, it’s gonna be the cold that ends him.
Jason doesn’t want to die. He’s eleven years old, and he thinks that, by all accounts, that’s too fucking early. If he’d lived in the dark ages, chances are he’d be dead already, by the plague or something. Or by famine, or by the law, killing him for stealing during the famine. So, according to his historical odds, Jason’s done rather well. But eleven is still not enough. Jason wants to live more. He thinks he ought to have more than eleven years.
It's too dark under the blanket to read, and too cold outside the blanket to live, and so Jason is bored, too. But even if he could see the pages of a book right now, he doesn’t think he’d be able to focus on it. It’s just so cold.
It strikes him suddenly. Jason’s been thinking about how he’ll probably die, but the realization still hits him like a blow to the chest, knocking all the air out of his lungs. Tears begin to trail down his cheeks, freezing to his skin.
This is it. By morning, Jason will be gone. Jason won’t be here. Jason won’t exist.
And Jason’s just lying here, waiting for it to happen.
No. No, Jason won’t just wait to die. He’s better than that, he’s more than that. He has to fight.
Jason can’t fight the cold and he can’t fight the snow and he can’t fight the clouds. He can’t steal warmth or a heater or electricity. But he is decent at breaking into places. And he knows one place nearby that’s always heated in the winter.
It’s an awful idea. It’s a really, really terrible idea. But it’s the only one Jason’s got. So, he throws off his blanket, snatches his one remaining granola bar, and climbs out onto the rickety fire escape.
Two-Face’s Crime Alley hideout is only a block and a half away. Every step is torture as Jason wades through the snow, already a foot high and getting higher. He can’t feel his toes. But he’s still shivering. He’s still shivering, he’s still alive, and he’s going to do everything in his power to stay that way.
Dad had taken the family there, one night, when it was too cold and Mom had blown the electricity budget on drugs and Jason was close to freezing to death. “He always keeps it heated,” Dad had said. “’cos sometimes he keeps people here. Now, don’t ask no questions, and keep real quiet.”
Jason hopes that Two-Face’s hideout management is the same as it used to be, because this really is his only chance. And it’s absolutely insane to sneak into a Rogue’s hideout, but…it’s unlikely Two-Face will even be there. He’s got tons of hideouts, and no one who fancies himself a mob boss is gonna stay in Crime Alley willingly.
And even if people are there…well, it’s better odds than staying out in this weather or going to one of the shelters. If Two-Face’s men find him, they’ll recognize him as Willis Todd’s son, and they probably won’t want to hurt him ‘cos of that. Even when Dad’s in jail, his name was always enough to keep Jason and Mom safe from the worst of Crime Alley. And Jason’s met these guys, brought them beer as they played poker, joked around with them. That has to make it harder for them to hurt him.
If Two-Face is the one who finds him…well. Jason probably won’t make it ‘til morning. But Two-Face is straight-forward. It’s why Dad works for him. The worst Two-Face’ll do is just shoot him, and that’s better than ending up in foster care and getting trafficked.
Okay, Jason gets it. The odds suck. But at this point, he’ll take anything better than zero.
He finds the building and picks open the lock on one of the windows, slipping in and tumbling onto the hard, wood floor. There’s nothing much on the first floor, but the down a flight of stairs—
The basement smells like beer and cigarettes and old packs of cards. Someone’s strung up what looks like fairy lights around the walls, which is kind of offset by what looks like a rack of torture implements. There’s a television sitting in one corner and a closet which Jason discovers contains several guns. Riiiight. He’s not touching that with a ten-foot pole.
His eyes zero in on the radiator. Jason closes the door and, entranced, moves toward the heat source. Immediately, he’s hit by warm air. Jason rubs his fingers and twists his body so that he can soak in all the warmth. And then, hit by a wave of exhaustion, he curls up on the concrete floor and sinks into sleep.
Jason’s woken up by the feeling of something nudging his ribs, hard. Dad must be annoyed again. “Lemme sleep,” Jason mutters.
There’s a humorless chuckle. “Let him sleep, he says.” The foot nudges him again. “Do you know where you are, boy?”
That gets Jason’s attention, because now he’s awake enough to remember and what he remembers…isn’t good. Isn’t good at all.
Shit, Jason thinks, peeling his eyes open and struggling up into a seated position, back to the radiator. It’s so warm and all he wants to do is sleep. Why can’t he just sleep?
Jason looks out at the large room before him to see four of Two-Face’s men and the big man himself. He’s never met Two-Face in person before, but the mugshots definitely didn’t do him justice. The left side of the man’s face is a sickening shade of green, twisted and warped and scorched and pockmarked like someone tried to piece together a Frankenstein by burning the skin grafts together. His lips on that side are twisted into a grimace, paralyzed in place. The right side of his face looks startlingly like the handsome Harvey Dent, skin smooth and hair neatly combed. The perfect split is unnerving, but—
—but not scary. Jason is scared, but he doesn’t know why people find Two-Face’s appearance so frightening. Because he finds it fascinating. He stares, trying to determine precisely where black hair turns shocking white, catalogue each twist, and describe it like a character in a book. But Mom said it’s rude to stare, so he forces himself to avert his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Jason whispers, even though that won’t be enough. Nothing will be enough, at this point. He struggles to his feet, pulling himself up by the top of the radiator. Maybe, just maybe he can fight his way out. Definitely not, but—he’s got to at least give it a shot. Fuck, Jason is going to die.
“I asked a question,” Two-Face says. “Are you going to answer me?”
Jason could lie. But Dad always said Two-Face hates liars. “Yes,” Jason says, voice trembling along with every molecule in his body. He hates that, but maybe…maybe Two-Face will take pity on him if he sounds enough like a scared little baby. “Yes, I know where I am.”
Two-Face raises an eyebrow on the part of the face where he still has the ability. “And why are you here, kid? Who sent you?” He towers over Jason, who tries to back up only to realize he’s flush against the radiator. Two-Face notices though, and chuckles darkly.
“No—no one sent me,” Jason says hurriedly. If Two-Face thinks someone sent him…well, all bets on just shooting him are off. Jason doesn’t want to be tortured. He shudders. “Please, it was—it was warm. I just wanted to be warm.”
Two-Face doesn’t look like he believes him, but then one of his men interjects. “That’s Willis Todd’s boy,” he says. Jason recognizes him. He thinks he’s played poker with him before, or maybe hearts. Danny or Denny or something like that. “He’s in jail right now, but he probably told the kid about this place.”
“Is that right?” Two-Face asks.
Jason nods before he can help it, then freezes. Is he getting his dad in trouble? He really hopes not. Dad would be super mad if Jason got him in trouble with his boss.
Two-Face stares at him, thinking deeply. Jason knows that this is it. This is the moment where his fate is decided. If he lives or if he dies is entirely outside of Jason’s control and he hates that so much. He hates the way his hands are shaking and sweaty, the way his heart pounds against his ribcage. Adrenaline is coursing through his veins, but he can’t do anything with it, just stand there. Death is coming toward him like a speeding train and Jason is stuck on the train-tracks.
Jason wants more time. He’s always been greedy like that.
“He’s a loose end,” Two-Face growls eventually. “And I don’t like loose ends.”
Jason’s heart doesn’t sink, it falls. There’s nothing to catch it. It just falls and falls, like Alice down the rabbit hole, but there’s no floor to land on because Jason’s gonna die.
He thinks he’s crying again. Crying is a defense mechanism, meant to call others to help him. But no one’s coming. Mom is dead and Dad’s in jail and Jason’s never had anyone else on his side, never.
“Boss—”
Two-Face rounds on Danny/Denny/Davy, snarling. “You listen to me,” he orders, “or you’ll never see daylight again. You understand me?”
Danny nods, sharply. “Sorry, Todd.”
“Fuck you,” Jason says with fake bluster.
“We all got families to feed,” another one of Two-Face’s men says.
And Jason’s hung around with these guys all his life. He knows that they smile and laugh at dumb jokes and play poker with his dad. He knows that they don’t want to kill him, but they feel like they’ve got to. But Jason’s gonna die, and he can’t bring himself to care about their stupid justifications. And if he’s going to die, he’s not going to sit there and make it easy for his murderers. He’s gonna fight. That’s all he does. “Fuck you,” Jason repeats. “Your kids ain’t any more important than me.”
With that, Jason lunges forward and knees the man in the crotch. He sees Danny’s punch coming from a mile away and ducks under it, before rushing desperately toward the door. Someone tries to grab his shoulder, but he throws an elbow into their nose and runs because his life depends on it.
A blinding pain strikes him across the cheek and Jason topples to the floor, raising a hand to his face in shock. Two-Face is standing over him, a pistol in hand. Jason grits his teeth to keep from crying out in pain. “You know what they say,” Two-Face says. His lips twist into a grin. “If you want something done right, do it yourself.”
“Wait,” Jason says desperately, raising his hands in a defensive position. But he’s no Superman. His hands can’t stop a bullet. “Please, wait.” Two-Face clicks off the safety. Or at least, Jason thinks it’s the safety, ‘cos he’s never held a gun before and he doesn’t really know how one works. But it’s probably the safety, and that’s one less barrier between Jason and certain death.
Jason’s gonna die, but at least he did all he could. At least he’s getting shot instead of freezing to death in a lonely abandoned building. At least he isn’t starving. This was his best chance, and the odds were never in his favor, and Jason doesn’t believe in such things as good luck.
Luck.
“Wait,” Jason pleads. “Your coin. Flip your coin. Don’t you gotta flip your coin? That’s your thing, you gotta do it.”
Two-Face crouches down in front of Jason, and Jason scrambles so he’s at least sitting instead of lying on the floor. “Now,” Two-Face says. “Why would I do that? I don’t need a coin to get rid of a little rat.”
And suddenly, Jason is angry. All the adrenaline in his body wants to do something, and if Jason can’t fight with his fists, well, he’ll fight with his words. “My dad worked for you,” Jason says.
“I kill plenty of guys who work for me.”
“Yeah, but he got caught doing your dirty work, ‘kay?” Jason says. Fuck, he’s disrespecting fucking Two-Face. Well, at least if he goes down, he’ll go down with style. The guys here’ll remember him. Jason’ll make them remember him. “He’s in jail, so I don’t got nowhere to live, so I had to go here, and it’s your fault. So it’s only fair that you give me a chance, because the only reason I needed to be warm was ‘cos of you.”
Well, Jason’s done it. He’s now extra, super, mega-dead. He squeezes his eyes shut and waits for everything to stop.
But it doesn’t stop, and eventually, he cracks his eyes open. Two-Face rocks back onto his heels and stands. “Stand up, kid,” he orders. “What’s your name?”
“Jason,” Jason mutters. “Jason Todd.” Two-Face is asking his name. That must mean he’s gonna do the flip, right? Or maybe that means he’s gonna torture him. He gets to his feet, forced to lean back on the radiator to keep from toppling over. His knees feel so weak he swears he’s gonna fall any minute now.
“Well, you’re brave, Jason,” Two-Face says. “Brave, or impertinent.”
“Please,” Jason whispers again.
“Shut up!” Two-Face shouts, slapping Jason on the cheek and whipping his head to the side. Jason can feel spittle on his forehead, but he doesn’t dare wipe it off. “Hmm,” he says consideringly. “Alright, kid. You’ve given me an idea. I suppose you aren’t entirely the one at fault for this mess. So, I’ll make you a deal, Jason Todd.” He takes out his coin, admiring the way it glints in the light. “Bad heads, I shoot you in the skull.” He shows Jason the scarred side of the coin. “Good heads, I let you go free.”
There’s got to be a catch. The way Two-Face says it, Jason knows there has to be a catch. You don’t make a deal without both sides sacrificing something. “You’ll let me walk out of here, without anyone hurting me?” Jason asks.
Two-Face nods, holding out a scarred, green hand. Jason takes it, feeling the coarse skin underneath. Two-Face takes the coin in his other hand and tosses it into the air.
This is it. Jason’s entire life depends on a tiny piece of metal worth 25 cents according to the US treasury.
Eleven years is too few.
A 50-50 shot. It’s better odds than he’s had since his mom died. Hell, it’s better odds that Jason’s had his entire life.
The coin lands in Two-Face’s palm and he places it on the back of his hand. Jason doesn’t even have time for the electric fear to shoot through him before the coin is revealed:
Good heads. Jason lives.
Relief fills every inch of him. Jason stumbles forwards, filled with a detached disbelief. He has to check, has to be sure he didn’t just hallucinate it. Jason gets to live a little longer.
A 50-50 shot. That’s how close he was to dying.
“You’ve got guts, Jason Todd,” Two-Face says. “More than this lot over here. Call me if you ever need a job.” Jason is too frozen to even nod. “But I better not see you until then. Now go!”
Jason runs out of the basement, out of the building, and onto the streets. It’s late into the morning, now—Jason slept the entire night in Two-Face’s lair. The blizzard has stopped and the snow is melting and the temperature is back in the barely-tolerable zone. Jason must’ve been right. It was Mr. Freeze’s fault.
The odds weren’t stacked against him on that coin flip, but still—Jason can scarcely believe that it landed on the good heads. He was so close. So close to dying. One tiny gust of air from the same radiator that kept him warm, kept him alive, through the night, and the coin could’ve landed differently.
Jason wonders if the universe finally took pity on him. Dad in jail, Mom dead, lives in Crime Alley, no relatives, homeless—he’s had a lot of bad luck. Maybe it’s finally balancing out.
But…nah. The universe doesn’t take pity on anyone, and certainly not Jason Todd. He hasn’t done anything to deserve a lucky break. He’s stolen and hurt and fought for every scrap of life like a wild animal. Jason doesn’t believe anything good comes without a catch—even survival.
No, it’s more likely that the universe just isn’t done playing with him yet. He has a lot more bad fortune to come his way.
But Jason’ll take it. As long as he’s alive, he’ll take whatever suffering life throws at him. If it’s bad luck that let him leave that basement alive and relatively unharmed, well, Jason will accept that bad luck.
