Some time mid-fall, the man makes a decision that took a lot longer for him to come to than most would be comfortable to admit. He hadn't come back to see the one that would have been his jailer even after their vague proposal of time spent meeting up over drinks. He was more keen on spending the money that he'd been earning on drinks at the bars or on the women working at the Open Arms or the Velvet. Very little was actually reserved for actively bettering himself, but he also wasn't necessarily a laggard or a layabout. His particular skillset was terribly useful for hunting both food and monsters, and when he wasn't in the village wasting away (and occasionally picking inadvisable fights), he was out in the surrounding forest and up on the ridge hauling in his fair share of game.
In spite of all of that, the man arrives at the jail one chilly mid-morning with a box under one arm, a bow and quiver of arrows slung across his back, a new hat and duster jacket and thick-soled boots replacing the basic clothes he'd arrived in. The box is placed on the desk in front of Shen Qingqiu where he's doing something for the jail's filing, smelling vaguely of spiced pumpkin, apple, and sugar.
He waits quietly to see what the man will say, if he says anything at all.
The little garden behind Shen Qingqiu's townhouse is a fine place to enjoy the good weather without exposing yourself to the heat. Although he's not much of a gardener, a previous occupant built a bower and trained leafy vines to grow over it, a shady feature that's been easy enough to maintain. A wide bird bath cools the space further, while ensuring that there is always bird song nearby. As Shen Qingqiu shows Lev into the space, his Vileplume, Raffles, follows close behind, and as the two of them take their seats it plops down onto a thick cushion on the ground and lets out a contented coo, followed by a pink puff of vapor from the center of its flower which fills the small space with the scent of citrus and eucalyptus.
"Lazy thing," Shen Qingqiu chides Raffles insincerely, before turning to smile at Lev. "So what do you think? Can we study out here?"
Lev looks up at the leafy canopy over the bower; the summer sunshine dazzles him not.
"Think so," he says, a little hesitantly. "As long as no wind rises, nu? It's like, been a long time since I had reason to study outdoors. But this should do."
His tone is measured enough, and only a little suppressed excitement shows through. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.
"I think it'll be fine. Mister Connors said it would be a calm, clear day, so I don't think we need to worry about wind. But if something does blow up," he smiles, gently shoulder-checking Lev's arm, "I'll make certain to protect you."
With that gentle tease, he begins to take out paper and the other 'treasures of the study:' ink, inkstone and the like. By now he's made arrangements with a merchant in town who handles art supplies to have his own custom brushes made: soft and thick, they're much more appropriate for calligraphy than normal paintbrushes. At least, they're more appropriate for his own style of calligraphy. Whether they'll work for Lev remains to be seen.
Lev blushes and ducks his head. Then, the momentary shyness over, he leans over to quickly kiss Qingqiu's temple. A way of saying thanks, I trust thee.
He then picks up one of the brushes, studying it carefully. He notes that it is rather different to a paintbrush, and that the bristles come to a perfect point. But it feels so much more delicate than a quill. He's not quite sure he'll be any good at using it.
He's aware, of course, of the treasures of the study, though not necessarily the fine details of their use. There are wuxia authors who write about scholars, but back home, xianxia is still a relatively new genre, and one he's not had a chance to explore quite as much. And he's not yet ready to tell Qingqiu, oh yes, I know a little of this tradition of calligraphy. From the erotic adventure novels I've been reading since I was probably a little too young to read that manner of thing.
Shunting that thought aside, he picks up the inkstone, and carefully turns it over in his hands. It's a little warm, and feels almost like sandstone.
"I suppose this is like, not no iron gall ink?" he says, in the tone of an expert confronted, at long last, with something both novel and not, on its face, blatantly incorrect. "How exactly does one make use of it? Is there like ... an inkstone grater among the treasures of the study?"
"The stone itself is the grater," Shen Qingqiu smiles, face still a little flushed from that surprise of a kiss (trust this fool not to realize when he's been flirting with one of his own partners) and takes Lev's hand, gently pressing it against the tilted bottom of the square concavity in the stone's surface. "Feel the grain? This is the surface against which ink is ground." Smiling genteely, he releases Lev's hand with an affection little pat and reaches for a small jug, tightly sealed with a cork, which proves to contain clear, clean water.
As Shen Qingqiu pours a measure of water into the stone's well, he muses, "As lord of Qing Jing Peak I had in my possession several precious inkstones from She Prefecture and the Tao River, as well a ceramic stone shaped and blessed by the nuns of Zhao Hua Monastery and a volcanic rock pulled from the mountains of Duan...it was very useful for making fire talismans. But now I only have this lump of shale I found in the Paradesium and carved myself with spiritual energy." He smiles at Lev out of the corner of his eye, looking a little bashful. "There's something a little poetic about that, isn't there? Using tools you made yourself to exercise your artistic inclinations. Then again," he shrugs slightly. "Maybe that just makes me sound a little pretentious..."
"Not by me?" he says. "Like ... I mean, I know little about other scribal traditions. But Tatty Velvl expected me to cut mine own quills ..." he trails off, having picked up one of the brushes again. He's studying the bristles intently, one eye — the worse one — closed so he can actually see what he's trying to focus on. He's brought his reading glasses, but he's not feeling particularly bothered to fish them out.
And then, still intently studying the brush, he says, "so like, what's the ink made of? If not shale."
He smiles, faintly. He's eager to talk about his own views on art, on calligraphy especially, but despite everything, Lev is still painfully shy — and it's easier for him to talk about himself once the rhythm of conversation is established. Hence this attempt to draw Qingqiu into talking first.
After all, when someone else is rambling too, it's easier to feel less self-conscious about replying in kind.
Edited (added introspection) Date: 2025-07-18 04:17 am (UTC)
"Oh?" Shen Qingqiu raises his brows in genuine, if teasing interest. "I hope you're planning to show me how that's done at some point. Historically, there have been a few schools of art in China that used feather quills or pens carved from bamboo stalks, but I lack training in those areas."
But first, the ink. He picks up a solid cylinder, wrapped in foil, and hands it to Lev. "This is the ink. The two primary ingredients are soot and animal protein, plus a bit of incense for aesthetics. I use soot made from burning pine logs and mix it with egg whites into a kind of dough --" The Vileplume suddenly lets out a grunt, making Shen Qingqiu laugh. "-- and pollen from Raffles' flower, how could I forget? I work the dough until it begins to turn firm, and then I compress it with spiritual power until it forms this solid shape. Here..." He begins to show Lev how to grind the ink into the inkstone's well, filling the water with opaque blackness. "You can vary how long you do this and how hard you press, to make darker or lighter ink," he explains. "My Binghe used to be a master at grinding ink. He'd sit next to me for hours, grinding away without ever a word of complaint." He smiles sadly, looking nostalgic. "What a silly boy."
"I'd love to show thee!" he exclaims. "As long like. As long as thou take'st upon thyself to procure the goosefeathers, nu?"
He watches Qingqiu grind the ink; when the Vileplume requests due credit for helping make the inkstone, Lev laughs and acknowledges Raffles with a quick bow. But when Qingqiu brings up his ill-starred apprentice, Lev frowns, hiding the expression behind his hand. He's come to see the matter of Luo Binghe as a delicate topic. Or at least an upsetting one.
"How like, lightfast is the ink?" he asks, picking up a brush. "Like ... keeps it is colour over the centuries?"
He feels a little sheepish changing the subject so blatantly; but on some level, he hopes that Qingqiu does notice that it's a deliberate move on his part, and either persists or follows along. He hasn't yet figured out how to ask his boyfriend if he's up to maybe unburdening his heart.
Shen Qingqiu appears not to notice anything untoward about the sudden subject change; he nods seriously and explains, "Pigmented ink made for painting tends to fade if exposed to direct sunlight, especially oranges and reds. But this black ink will likely outlast the paper we apply it to. Ink made from wood ash is usually strong alkaline, which can eat away at the organic compounds in paper whether it's made from wood or cloth." He smiles bashfully. "I'm given to understand that preserving centuries-old Chinese paintings are the biggest headaches out there for museum curators, at least in my world. But when it comes to doing traditional calligraphy, traditionally-made ink really is the best."
It's time for a demonstration. Holding the brush lightly between the thumb and first two fingers of his right hand, he begins to draw the first characters of 'Quiet Night Thoughts.' The fact that said poem is centered around yearning for one's home and familiar faces is, of course, a complete coincidence.
Lev watches Qingqiu draw the characters, watches his hand more than the marks the brush makes, listens to Qingqiu discuss the ink and paper.
"Thou'lt have to tell me what it means," he says, finally, nodding at the characters his boyfriend's drawn. "We've like, got all afternoon, nu? And there's like. Not no rush."
He's grateful to have this time, out in the sunshine, sharing something he's always loved (and almost always been good at) with Qingqiu. Even here in farthest exile, there's still love and joy. And that's enough.
Some time after their little chat with Fever, as well as a few others from Shen Qingqiu's pool of friends and acquaintances, Shen Qingqiu steers the two of them back towards the winter market, intent on finding them snacks and a place to sit and talk quietly.
"Luo Binghe seems a bit less tense now," he observes, giving him a tentative smile. "Perhaps he has begun to believe in this master's identity?"
“Less tense” certainly seems to be a relative term. Luo Binghe vibrates like a mildly chilled shih tzu. “This one does, Shizun,” he says hastily, leaping on the question like a dog on a squeaky toy. “Truly, as soon as Shizun corroborated — it was made clear. This one gives a thousand apologies for doubting.”
"Oh, hush," Shen Qingqiu says, relieved. "Did this master not teach Luo Binghe to be wary and observant when encountering strange situations? How can I criticize my own student for following my teachings?" He smiles sadly. "How old is Binghe now? Just shy of twenty, would be my guess."
A part of her has probably been putting this off, a little. For what reason, she couldn't say, except, of course, the paranoia and general unease she's felt since everything that came to light in January.
But eventually, CT catches Shen Qingqiu at the DSA one day. "Hey. Do... you have a minute?"
"For you? Always." Shen Qingqiu carefully marks his spot in the sheaf of papers he'd be reviewing and places it back in its folder, his take on professionalism. "What can you do for you, shijie?"
With so much going on lately, he dares not make any guesses himself.
She's really not sure how to get into this, so she just... decides the best option is to rip the band-aid off. "Dahlia said you also had your memories altered by Nyarlathotep."
"Ah." Shen Qingqiu looks down at his own folded hands. "Yes, that is true. It must have happened two summers ago, during that vision many of us experiences of the cult's past doings. I made direct contact with Nyarlathotep -- and spent the next two months lost in the woods, raving incoherently." He groans, raising one of his hands to his face. "I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that he erased parts of the experience from my memory, given everything else he did, but it's galling to know I could have exposed Neil West two years ago, and simply forgot the evidence against him."
Christ. It really has been almost two years, hasn't it? CT exhales hard, leaning loosely against a desk. "I'm... not sure when it happened to me, exactly. I wouldn't be surprised if he got to me shortly after that, but... I can't See what's missing, I can't even really feel the gaps, I just... know they're there, now, anyway. So I don't even know what it was that apparently risked me connecting the dots."
"That sounds horrifically frustrating," Shen Qingqiu sympathizes. He made a deal with the entity of eternal space, not the Watcher, but he can appreciate the frustration of a special power falling short exactly when you need it the most. "In my case, I suspect it was my...well, call it meta knowledge. In my original world Nyarlathotep was a fictional character, created by a human author, and I read a couple of the stories associated with him. The being that torments us...I think he was amused when I brought that up. Said something about not letting a shithead from Rhode Island dictate what he can and can't do?" He shakes his head in frustration.
"I don't know what's worse, being tormented by a primordial being of literally cosmic power or being mocked by that being when he does it."
CT breathes a bitter laugh. "He sure does like to do that. Both the tormenting and the mocking, I guess, but... the way he talked to me and Gaeta when we found him..."
Ugh, she wishes she could've done literally anything to shut him up.
"He does. He reminds me of someone playing a simulation game, one of the ones where you can build luxurious houses and entire neighborhoods for your characters, or trap them in a burning house or a pool with no exit ladder or stairs." He grimaces. "He's just so petty. It boggles the mind that someone so old can be so childish about his amusements."
"I think getting to be that old and powerful is probably why someone can be so childish and flippant. He doesn't have to worry about anything at all. He can just... play with people's lives and not worry about the consequences. Because there aren't any."
It worries her. Even if they find a way to bring the barrier down, what the hell do they even do about something that powerful?
"I suppose you must be right. Yet we should remember that Nyarlathotep is not the only player of cosmic significance on this board. We have allies in the form of the goddesses, the fae courts...not to mention our own personal contacts." He raises an eyebrow at her significantly, the tips of his long hair waving slightly in the breeze.
The two of them are in a closed office, without an open window or door.
CT's eyes flash briefly gold as she casts an almost-amused glance at the subtle motion. "I'm not sure they're much interested in actually helping us, the Eye won't even show me what memories I lost, but... point taken."
She also has little gauge on how reliable the fae are, and no first-hand experience with the goddesses, but... the latter, at leat, she knows are firmly on their side.
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timeasmymeasure
In which the man learns how to be human
Date: 2024-10-20 12:57 pm (UTC)In spite of all of that, the man arrives at the jail one chilly mid-morning with a box under one arm, a bow and quiver of arrows slung across his back, a new hat and duster jacket and thick-soled boots replacing the basic clothes he'd arrived in. The box is placed on the desk in front of Shen Qingqiu where he's doing something for the jail's filing, smelling vaguely of spiced pumpkin, apple, and sugar.
He waits quietly to see what the man will say, if he says anything at all.
Calligraphy Lessons
Date: 2025-06-30 10:14 pm (UTC)"Lazy thing," Shen Qingqiu chides Raffles insincerely, before turning to smile at Lev. "So what do you think? Can we study out here?"
no subject
Date: 2025-07-01 03:41 pm (UTC)Lev looks up at the leafy canopy over the bower; the summer sunshine dazzles him not.
"Think so," he says, a little hesitantly. "As long as no wind rises, nu? It's like, been a long time since I had reason to study outdoors. But this should do."
His tone is measured enough, and only a little suppressed excitement shows through. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-02 08:24 pm (UTC)With that gentle tease, he begins to take out paper and the other 'treasures of the study:' ink, inkstone and the like. By now he's made arrangements with a merchant in town who handles art supplies to have his own custom brushes made: soft and thick, they're much more appropriate for calligraphy than normal paintbrushes. At least, they're more appropriate for his own style of calligraphy. Whether they'll work for Lev remains to be seen.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-08 03:20 pm (UTC)Lev blushes and ducks his head. Then, the momentary shyness over, he leans over to quickly kiss Qingqiu's temple. A way of saying thanks, I trust thee.
He then picks up one of the brushes, studying it carefully. He notes that it is rather different to a paintbrush, and that the bristles come to a perfect point. But it feels so much more delicate than a quill. He's not quite sure he'll be any good at using it.
He's aware, of course, of the treasures of the study, though not necessarily the fine details of their use. There are wuxia authors who write about scholars, but back home, xianxia is still a relatively new genre, and one he's not had a chance to explore quite as much. And he's not yet ready to tell Qingqiu, oh yes, I know a little of this tradition of calligraphy. From the erotic adventure novels I've been reading since I was probably a little too young to read that manner of thing.
Shunting that thought aside, he picks up the inkstone, and carefully turns it over in his hands. It's a little warm, and feels almost like sandstone.
"I suppose this is like, not no iron gall ink?" he says, in the tone of an expert confronted, at long last, with something both novel and not, on its face, blatantly incorrect. "How exactly does one make use of it? Is there like ... an inkstone grater among the treasures of the study?"
no subject
Date: 2025-07-09 12:38 am (UTC)As Shen Qingqiu pours a measure of water into the stone's well, he muses, "As lord of Qing Jing Peak I had in my possession several precious inkstones from She Prefecture and the Tao River, as well a ceramic stone shaped and blessed by the nuns of Zhao Hua Monastery and a volcanic rock pulled from the mountains of Duan...it was very useful for making fire talismans. But now I only have this lump of shale I found in the Paradesium and carved myself with spiritual energy." He smiles at Lev out of the corner of his eye, looking a little bashful. "There's something a little poetic about that, isn't there? Using tools you made yourself to exercise your artistic inclinations. Then again," he shrugs slightly. "Maybe that just makes me sound a little pretentious..."
no subject
Date: 2025-07-18 04:10 am (UTC)Lev shakes his head, smiling.
"Not by me?" he says. "Like ... I mean, I know little about other scribal traditions. But Tatty Velvl expected me to cut mine own quills ..." he trails off, having picked up one of the brushes again. He's studying the bristles intently, one eye — the worse one — closed so he can actually see what he's trying to focus on. He's brought his reading glasses, but he's not feeling particularly bothered to fish them out.
And then, still intently studying the brush, he says, "so like, what's the ink made of? If not shale."
He smiles, faintly. He's eager to talk about his own views on art, on calligraphy especially, but despite everything, Lev is still painfully shy — and it's easier for him to talk about himself once the rhythm of conversation is established. Hence this attempt to draw Qingqiu into talking first.
After all, when someone else is rambling too, it's easier to feel less self-conscious about replying in kind.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-23 05:18 pm (UTC)But first, the ink. He picks up a solid cylinder, wrapped in foil, and hands it to Lev. "This is the ink. The two primary ingredients are soot and animal protein, plus a bit of incense for aesthetics. I use soot made from burning pine logs and mix it with egg whites into a kind of dough --" The Vileplume suddenly lets out a grunt, making Shen Qingqiu laugh. "-- and pollen from Raffles' flower, how could I forget? I work the dough until it begins to turn firm, and then I compress it with spiritual power until it forms this solid shape. Here..." He begins to show Lev how to grind the ink into the inkstone's well, filling the water with opaque blackness. "You can vary how long you do this and how hard you press, to make darker or lighter ink," he explains. "My Binghe used to be a master at grinding ink. He'd sit next to me for hours, grinding away without ever a word of complaint." He smiles sadly, looking nostalgic. "What a silly boy."
no subject
Date: 2025-09-01 10:49 am (UTC)Lev beams.
"I'd love to show thee!" he exclaims. "As long like. As long as thou take'st upon thyself to procure the goosefeathers, nu?"
He watches Qingqiu grind the ink; when the Vileplume requests due credit for helping make the inkstone, Lev laughs and acknowledges Raffles with a quick bow. But when Qingqiu brings up his ill-starred apprentice, Lev frowns, hiding the expression behind his hand. He's come to see the matter of Luo Binghe as a delicate topic. Or at least an upsetting one.
"How like, lightfast is the ink?" he asks, picking up a brush. "Like ... keeps it is colour over the centuries?"
He feels a little sheepish changing the subject so blatantly; but on some level, he hopes that Qingqiu does notice that it's a deliberate move on his part, and either persists or follows along. He hasn't yet figured out how to ask his boyfriend if he's up to maybe unburdening his heart.
no subject
Date: 2025-09-09 01:42 am (UTC)It's time for a demonstration. Holding the brush lightly between the thumb and first two fingers of his right hand, he begins to draw the first characters of 'Quiet Night Thoughts.' The fact that said poem is centered around yearning for one's home and familiar faces is, of course, a complete coincidence.
no subject
Date: 2025-11-17 03:18 am (UTC)Lev watches Qingqiu draw the characters, watches his hand more than the marks the brush makes, listens to Qingqiu discuss the ink and paper.
"Thou'lt have to tell me what it means," he says, finally, nodding at the characters his boyfriend's drawn. "We've like, got all afternoon, nu? And there's like. Not no rush."
He's grateful to have this time, out in the sunshine, sharing something he's always loved (and almost always been good at) with Qingqiu. Even here in farthest exile, there's still love and joy. And that's enough.
Instructing Luo Binghe
Date: 2026-02-13 09:47 pm (UTC)"Luo Binghe seems a bit less tense now," he observes, giving him a tentative smile. "Perhaps he has begun to believe in this master's identity?"
no subject
Date: 2026-03-02 06:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-30 04:16 pm (UTC)sometime after merrymeet
Date: 2026-03-11 01:53 am (UTC)A part of her has probably been putting this off, a little. For what reason, she couldn't say, except, of course, the paranoia and general unease she's felt since everything that came to light in January.
But eventually, CT catches Shen Qingqiu at the DSA one day. "Hey. Do... you have a minute?"
no subject
Date: 2026-03-14 07:15 am (UTC)With so much going on lately, he dares not make any guesses himself.
no subject
Date: 2026-03-15 08:23 pm (UTC)She's really not sure how to get into this, so she just... decides the best option is to rip the band-aid off. "Dahlia said you also had your memories altered by Nyarlathotep."
no subject
Date: 2026-03-23 10:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-23 11:32 pm (UTC)Christ. It really has been almost two years, hasn't it? CT exhales hard, leaning loosely against a desk. "I'm... not sure when it happened to me, exactly. I wouldn't be surprised if he got to me shortly after that, but... I can't See what's missing, I can't even really feel the gaps, I just... know they're there, now, anyway. So I don't even know what it was that apparently risked me connecting the dots."
no subject
Date: 2026-03-24 07:46 pm (UTC)"I don't know what's worse, being tormented by a primordial being of literally cosmic power or being mocked by that being when he does it."
no subject
Date: 2026-03-26 12:20 am (UTC)CT breathes a bitter laugh. "He sure does like to do that. Both the tormenting and the mocking, I guess, but... the way he talked to me and Gaeta when we found him..."
Ugh, she wishes she could've done literally anything to shut him up.
"He enjoys making us feel like idiots."
no subject
Date: 2026-03-27 07:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-03-28 05:17 pm (UTC)"I think getting to be that old and powerful is probably why someone can be so childish and flippant. He doesn't have to worry about anything at all. He can just... play with people's lives and not worry about the consequences. Because there aren't any."
It worries her. Even if they find a way to bring the barrier down, what the hell do they even do about something that powerful?
no subject
Date: 2026-04-01 12:08 am (UTC)The two of them are in a closed office, without an open window or door.
no subject
Date: 2026-04-03 08:52 pm (UTC)CT's eyes flash briefly gold as she casts an almost-amused glance at the subtle motion. "I'm not sure they're much interested in actually helping us, the Eye won't even show me what memories I lost, but... point taken."
She also has little gauge on how reliable the fae are, and no first-hand experience with the goddesses, but... the latter, at leat, she knows are firmly on their side.