Chapter Text
To normal people, sparring meant practice, restraint, and improvement. To Ace and Liu Qingge, sparring meant winning. Flames clashed against steel, shockwaves reverberated through the air, and Bai Zhan Peak’s training ground was rapidly becoming a crater-filled war zone.
The disciples initially treated it like a grand spectacle.
“Did you see that punch?!” one shouted.
“Forget the punch—did Shifu just cut a fireball in half?!” another yelled.
But when a stray fire blast singed the edges of a pavilion and a chunk of flying debris narrowly missed a group of spectators, the cheers turned into panicked yelps. "Take cover!"
The spar escalated, leaving the ground scorched, cracked, and littered with broken training dummies. At one point, Liu Qingge sent Ace flying into a tree with a well-placed kick.
Ace, sprawled against the trunk, groaned but still grinned. “Alright, new rule—no swords!”
Liu Qingge cracked his knuckles. “Fine. No fire.”
Before the two could cause irreversible damage, Yue Qingyuan descended like a beacon of calm amidst the storm, robes fluttering and face serene despite the chaos around him.
“I see you two are enjoying yourselves,” he said mildly, stepping over a flaming patch of grass.
Liu Qingge sheathed his sword, but his competitive glare remained locked on Ace. “Don’t disturb. Sparring.”
“I understand,” Yue Qingyuan’s calm tone masked his exasperation. “But perhaps we can redirect your... energy. A less destructive contest, perhaps?”
“What do you have in mind?” Ace asked, brushing away twigs and soil from his chest.
A test of endurance—Who could hang upside-down from a tree branch the longest? It was simple, non-destructive, and gave the Bai Zhan disciples a break from their impending reconstruction work.
Ace and Liu Qingge took their places, hanging like bats from one of the sturdier trees left standing on the training ground. A growing crowd of disciples gathered to watch, cheering and laughing. Liu Qingge was holding strong, muscles taut, blood rushing to his head but spirit unyielding. That was when a leaf—just a simple, innocuous leaf—decided to flutter down and land on his nose.
The itch was unbearable. He tried to ignore it, tried to endure. But the tickling sensation grew worse, and worse… until finally—
“Ah-CHOO!”
Liu Qingge sneezed, losing his grip in the process. He flipped off the branch and landed with a resounding thud, looking utterly stunned.
The Bai Zhan disciples froze. Silence filled the air for a split second before the crowd erupted into laughter and cheers.
“Did… Did Shifu just lose because of a sneeze?!” one disciple gasped, barely able to contain their laughter.
Liu Qingge shot to his feet, face red—not from embarrassment, of course, but from hanging upside-down too long. “Doesn’t count!” he barked, glaring at Ace, who was still dangling from the branch.
Ace smirked, clearly enjoying the moment. “Aw, what’s the matter? Can’t handle a little leaf?”
Liu Qingge crossed his arms, scowling. “Rematch.”
In response, Ace was more than happy to start brainstorming new (hopefully non-destructive) challenges as he tapped a finger against his chin: push-up contests, rock-throwing contests, “who can lift the most disciples” contests—the possibilities were endless.
From somewhere in the crowd, a voice piped up: “How about a dance—”
But it was unfortunately drowned out by a louder call: “How about a drinking competition?”
The disciples gasped in unison. Liu Qingge’s brows twitched in disdain. Ace perked up. “Oh? Now we’re talking!”
Yue Qingyuan sighed in relief. For now, the mountain had been spared from imminent destruction. Cang Qiong Mountain would live to see another day.
That relief lasted exactly three seconds before Ace slung an arm over his shoulder. “What about you, Big Boss? Wanna join in?”
Yue Qingyuan’s gentle smile froze. “—Eh?”
—
Meanwhile, tucked away in the shade of a distant tree, Shen Jiu sat cross-legged, his expression the epitome of composure—except for the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips.
In his hand was a small cluster of leaves. With a flick of his finger and a delicate weave of qi, he had sent a single offending leaf spiralling onto Liu Qingge’s nose with pinpoint precision.
The sneeze had been everything Shen Jiu hoped for.
Watching Liu Qingge’s fall from grace—and from the tree—Shen Jiu let out a quiet, satisfied hum. “That’s what you get for almost destroying Qing Jing Peak last week, you battle-obsessed brute,” he muttered under his breath, stowing the remaining leaves in his sleeve.
He glanced over at Ace, who was now gesturing animatedly in his attempt to rope the Sect Master into the competition—looking all the world like a merchant trying to sell snake oil to a scholar. Despite himself, Shen Jiu’s gaze lingered a moment longer. “At least he’s a tolerable brute.”
And, of course, no one would ever suspect the Qing Jing Peak Lord of something so petty.
(At least, not until Yue Qingyuan spotted a telltale leaf sticking out of Shen Jiu’s sleeve as they bumped into each other on their way out of Bai Zhan Peak.