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Once upon a time, Shen Jiu’s name resounded across the world like a bell of jade. His voice, sharp and clear as spring water over stone, could enthrall whole halls of nobles and bring common folk to tears. People scrambled to even have a word with him, to have a brief moment of his attention on them. They were desperate to do anything to have his attention on them…
Shen Jiu believed, foolishly perhaps, that this gift would remain untouched by time—that the heavens had finally granted him something permanent.
He, a former slave who was bought out from Qiu Jianluo by a passing opera diva, took him in when he heard him singing. He knew he had the talent, unpolished as it was then.
And true to his hunch, he grew in fame. From rags to riches. From the lowest of the low, to the highest any former slave could attain. His story was both treated with awe and ridicule.
Shen Jiu used to hate the world for a lot of things. From that stupid fellow slave who sold him out, to Qi-ge leaving him to be a cultivator and not coming back for him… to him being miserable and suffering every day for years without end at the Qiu manor.
…Until his mentor found him and saved him. Light shone into his cold, dark world as he experienced for the first time, hope and freedom. He was like an empty husk that finally gained life the moment his shizun bought him–he caught a glimpse of freedom. He treated his saviour like his shizun at first, though he was always suspicious of him then. But time passed, and there was no change in his shizun's behaviour or attitude, and slowly, he softened enough to let him be an important part of his life.
He began to see his shizun as family– as his father. He never thought he'd ever feel safe, after years of danger in the Qiu manor. His Shizun, was a gentle, oddball of a man. Eccentric, as his mentor prefers to be described. And yet…Shen Jiu chose to take his name, and thus, they were registered as family.
Not once did Shen Jiu regret it.
Shen Jiu thought he had finally won in life. He has riches, he has power, he has a family. He's able to buy out his jiejies’ contracts and others who needed help, giving them work and such. Qi-ge might not have rescued him or come back to him, but Shen Jiu didn’t mind. He was able to make it out with the help of his talent that he never knew he had.
(Honestly, when Qi-ge once commented that he has a wonderful singing voice, he had scoffed then, stating that he was being biased. Well–turns out, Qi-ge was right! Not that he will ever admit to him being right!)
Not only was Shen Jiu freed from the life of being a slave, but he was also freed from the shackles of Qiu Jianluo.
He only had his Shizun, Shen Yuan, to thank for.
From then on, he quickly climbed the ladder to fame, rising to be known as the century’s second best opera singer, just after his Shizun had retired.
He sang the songs that his Shizun wrote, and even his own.
He knew the Four Arts, and has a standing invitation to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect’s Qing Jing Peak.
….He was happy with the way things had turned out. His luck finally came.
Shen Jiu used to believe his voice was untouchable. It was the one thing no one could take from him: sharp as a blade, smooth as polished jade, capable of weaving sorrow and longing into every ear that listened. Nobles desperately paid gold just to sit in the same hall and hear him sing. Just so they can get seats as early as they can. For a while, he believed this power was forever.
But heaven is cruel–one evening, everything shattered and ruined all that he had worked hard for.
During a performance attended by the city’s most illustrious, his voice cracked mid performance. The sharp, crystalline notes abruptly gave way to hoarseness, a trembling falter that echoed louder than any melody he had ever sung.
Whispering laughter spread like wildfire through the crowd. Disgrace struck like lightning.
He tried again in the days that followed, but the voice he once wielded like a blade was gone. His pride and joy turned into his greatest shame. Mockery replaced applause. Disdain replaced admiration. The theatre owner didn't want him to perform on stage any longer–he has outlived his usefulness.
Shen Yuan, having heard of the news from how fast the rumours had spread throughout the entire nation, quickly penned him.
“...Oh, A-Jiu….it's not your fault. You did nothing wrong. Sometimes, our bodies just do things that we don't expect….I know you don't want to come home because you want to keep trying, but….why don't you come home? Take a break. Rest. We will do what we can to have your throat rest, for your voice to return to how it was. If not, then retire in my estate.”
At first, Shen Jiu did not want to. However, in the end, Shen Jiu retreated.
He left the imperial city’s bright stages behind, burying himself in his Baba’s countryside estate far from the noise. At a countryside where bamboo groves surrounded them, and where everything was quiet and relaxing.
Cigarette smoke curled in the shadows, tainting the once pure air with its cloying scent. Bottles of wine scattered and heaping up in his room like piled up laundry. His sharp tongue, and his elegant bearing, once controlled for high society to be polite, grew cruel and impatient with the countryside folk who dared approach. His temper grew sharp, his words barbed—he lashed out at anyone who dared approach. He told himself it was better this way. Solitude was safer.
His Baba's staff left him be, most of the time: too scared to bother him or make him stop grieving at the loss of his once beautiful voice and the humiliation that he had suffered.
He was drowning in depression: like quicksand that was starting to swallow him up. No matter what his mentor did, Shen Jiu was lost–his efforts weren't enough.
It seems like Shen Jiu would pass away from depression, and Shen Yuan was helpless against it.
….Until a child by the name Luo Binghe came into their lives.
A boy who was perhaps twelve or thirteen, with a big smile and eyes too bright for Shen Jiu’s peace. He arrived into their lives with all the gall of a stray cat demanding food.
….Binghe was a sweet child, thoughtful, and eager to learn many things.
A good looking child, whose brightly smiling face annoyed Shen Jiu greatly.
The child whom Shen Yuan had met on one of his outings.
He had saved the boy's adoptive mother from the hands of some nobles–whom he took both of them in and gave them work, a living.
A boy, who had sparkly wide eyes like that of stars in the darkest of nights, and stubborn smiles that shone brighter than the sun. He had the wildest big curls that Shen Yuan had ever seen, and he was a cheerful child.
He was a curious child, who was enchanted by Shen Jiu. He was curious about him.
Binghe had first asked his mother questions about the beautiful,but sad and angry man.
He even asked Shen Yuan, the owner of the estate about him, and why he was so sad.
…And the owner shared that after the diva lost his voice, he was never the same again. He smoked, he drank–he was depressed. Nothing could make him happy.
Not wanting to continue seeing him sad, Binghe took it in his hands to try and cheer the other up.
He would hesitantly approache him all the time, make conversations with him through the door or from afar, even when the diva seemed annoyed and uninterested.
A child who treated Shen Jiu’s scowls as if they were morning rain—unpleasant, but easily weathered. He lingered by the door, pestered him with questions, and brought him small offerings of fruit and wildflowers.
A knock on the door, and Shen Jiu peeked out of the crack in the door, looking pissed at having his drinking time interrupted.
“What do you want?” Shen Jiu had snapped, glaring down at him with his fan to his face, snarling at the boy.
The boy grinned. “To see you, Shizun.”
“I am not your teacher.”
“Shizun is Shizun. You have taught me a lot of things these days. Will Shizun sing again? I heard you sing sometimes…you have a pretty voice.”
“No! Get out!”
The door was slammed on a disappointed and slightly hurt Binghe's face.
“....I'll come back, Shizun. I promise.”
And he did.
Again and again, Luo Binghe appeared—at the gates, at the veranda, even sneaking through the estate's nearby bamboo path. He brought fruits from the orchard, wildflowers tied clumsily with string, questions about everything under the sun. Shen Jiu scolded, insulted, and slammed doors. But the boy never flinched.
“Why are you still here?” Shen Jiu demanded one evening, exasperated as Binghe trailed behind him.
“Because you’re lonely,” Binghe replied simply. “And I don’t want you to be.”
The words silenced him. Shen Jiu turned away quickly, muttering curses under his breath, but something cracked open inside him.
Against his will, he softened. The house grew less empty. Laughter—low, grudging at first—returned to his throat. His hands, once always reaching for a bottle, sometimes reached for the fruit Binghe peeled for him instead.
For the first time since losing his voice, Shen Jiu allowed himself to hope.
Binghe was stubborn, always trying his luck at making the grumpy diva smile or be happy. He did silly things.
The next day, he tried again. And again. Until a week has passed, and he stubbornly tried again.
This time, Shen Jiu was in the living room, resting his upper body against the surface of the table as he smoked. Binghe moved to sit on the nearby seat.
He contemplated if he should give the wild flowers that he picked first, before he laid a clumsily made small bouquet of flowers on the table, shyly pushing them towards the other.
“....Shizun.”
He called out softly, until the flowers were near Shen Jiu's arm.
“....What is it now? I am not your Shizun. Stubborn brat–what is this?”
Shen Jiu pulled off the table surface, cigarette still in between his fingers as he poked around lazily at the bouquet—like a cat testing something new and unknown to him. A flicker of emotions passed his face, and stayed for a moment longer: he was suspicious and sceptical of the gift, as if wondering what the child wanted.
“Flowers–I picked them myself, Shizun! I remember you said last week that everyone… uhm… abandoned you and that nobody gives you flowers anymore just because you lost your voice… I’m still not good with sweets, so forgive me if I can't give some as well!” The boy cheerfully hummed, proud of his own work.
‘Ridiculous child…’ Was what entered Shen Jiu’s mind, as he took the clumsily made bouquet.
“You shouldn't hang out with me…I am a terrible person to be around with. And I have an equally unpleasant personality.”
“That’s okay, Shizun. Everyone has different sides to them!”
Shen Jiu scoffed.
“I told you–it's not good to associate yourself with me….what if I end up actually hurting you? Not that I care if you do get hurt.”
Binghe coughed when Shen Jiu teased him by blowing smoke at him, pouting.
“Shizun is teasing me. No, Shizun. In all those times that you have yelled and thrown things at me, none of them actually hit me….Shizun's Baba says you try not to hurt people or do such things anymore.”
Shen Jiu clicked his tongue, annoyed.
“What has that old man been teaching you? Don't go around talking to that man.”
“But he's Shizun's Baba…”
“No, he's an idiotic old man–if he tells you anything about me, place your hands over your ears.”
Shen Jiu huffed, taking a long drag of his cigarette. Binghe frowned a little, his brows furrowing.
“Why do you like that? Isn't that bad for you? My mama says it's bad.”
“I don't care. Adults have adult reasons–didn't your mother tell you that? You shouldn't question an adult on why they do things.”
“Well…she did, but …wouldn't your voice be damaged…?”
“My voice is already damaged. Why do you think I am here?”
Binghe stared at Shen Jiu, shaking his head furiously, vehemently denying the diva's words.
“No. I don’t think so. I think your voice is wonderful.”
Shen Jiu paused, discarding his cigarette in a nearby ash tray, grinding it down and then leaving it there, as he turned to the child.
“...Foolish child–flattery will get you nowhere.”
He finally said, turning his head to the side to hide his flushed ears.
"It's not flattery!”
“Hmp.”
“...Will Shizun finally let me hear his voice again…?”
Shen Jiu didn't turn back to him,keeping his face turned away.
“What nonsense–who is your Shizun? What makes you think I will do it?”
Binghe looked down at his hands, fidgeting with his fingers.
“I-I'll…I'll do everything I can to make Shizun happy in return! I…I want to hear!”
Shen Jiu slowly turned back to face the child, poking his nose with a gentle tap-tap of his fan.
For months, Shen Jiu had ignored this child, yelled at him, screamed at him.
…All just to make him leave him alone and to continue wallowing in his despair. He was tired of wallowing in his grief.
Before he knew it, Luo Binghe's arrival in the manor had changed things. The moment he had begun to persistently talk to him, he came to expect the child.
He didn’t want to admit it, but he began to look forward to each attempt to win him over. He began to acknowledge the child's efforts.
…Before he knew it, he started calling the child Binghe in his head instead of brat or child.
“And what would these actions entail, hm…? Such boldness….what makes you think you can make me happy, hm? How will you, a mere child, do that?”
Binghe blinked, as if unable to believe his ears–he did not take the bait: instead, he shyly spoke again.
“I'll…take you out to see the world?”
Shen Jiu leaned against his hand, chin propped up in his palm as he fanned himself slowly, a small smirk playing on his lips.
“Oh? Are you asking me on a date? You should be asking girls out, not an old bat like me.”
“Shizun!”
A red faced boy exclaimed, embarrassed as he's being teased. They had a playful banter, back and forth, unaware of the onlookers who all smiled at the heartwarming scene.
From then onwards, an unlikely friendship formed between the former diva and a young boy.
Together, they would play harmless pranks on all the staff members of the manor, both running away from the scene or hiding away somewhere so they won't be suspected of being the culprits.
Their favourite target was Shen Jiu's “nanny”, who was a close friend of Shen Jiu's baba who went by the name Shang Qinghua.
Sometimes, people would suspect them, sometimes they wouldn't.
The mood in the estate lightened, chasing away the former gloomy atmosphere.
Before, when Shen Jiu snarled, Binghe only grinned. Where Shen Jiu withdrew, Binghe pressed closer.
Binghe would visit him every day, regardless of the fact that the other hissed and snarled at him.
…But due to his persistence, due to his consistent appearance and treatment towards the diva, against his will, Shen Jiu softened.
The boy became his companion, his distraction, the quiet warmth to his embittered cold. Days once drowned in silence found color again, however faint.
They would play together, chase after each other. Sometimes they went out for picnics, or ran along an old, but rarely used train tracks and used the trolleys there.
They took turns pushing each other on the trolley, laughing all the while, until the sun started to set.
“Shizun, Shizun! Push more, push more!”
Binghe laughed, delighted by being pushed.
“I am pushing! Calm down, brat!”
“I bet Shizun can't push hard enough!”
“Ah, challenging me now? We'll see about that!”
With that, Shen Jiu gave a huge shove as the trolley moved along the tracks and they both laughed along, before switching roles.
Shen Jiu sat on the trolley, whilst an excited and energetic Binghe pushed him determinedly despite sweating at the effort as Shen Jiu teased him for it, even though he was fanning him.
It was fun. Something that Shen Jiu had never experienced. It was a different kind.
….Or perhaps, he had just forgotten what having fun in life meant, after he had climbed the ladder to fame.
He forgot how freeing it can be, to enjoy life now and then. To be given the chance to enjoy this.
He forgot how much life could be so….beautiful.
And he….Shen Jiu was happy. He had never been more happy than this.
That night ... .Shen Jiu decided he wanted a surprise prepared in advance. He wanted to surprise the boy on his birthday.
And so he did.
“Shizun, where are we? Can I take the blindfold off now…?”
“No. Do not remove it, until someone taps you and tells you to.”
Shen Jiu replied, leading the blindfolded child, no… youth to a chair facing the balcony of the manor.
Then he left the fidgeting youth there, and prepared himself to go on the balcony.
As Shen Jiu stood on the balcony, overlooking the view down below, right where Binghe was, a thought came to him.
….Was he actually doing this now? Was he actually about to sing for the boy?
Would the boy, his friend, still like his voice…?
Shen Jiu shook his head, as if to shake away the lingering doubts and fear.
No.
He would do this. He…Binghe deserved that much. This would be his gift. And…Binghe was right.
He had made Shen Jiu happy.
And…Shen Jiu was thankful for that. He was thankful for Binghe for showing him the light, the joys of life, and how beautiful everything could be.
Things that he had forgotten.
And so, he watched as one of the staff ran over to whisper and tap Binghe, before rushing away to leave him on the scene.
…And Shen Jiu sang.
His voice was not as beautiful as it was before.
At least–that was what he believed.
Yet here the boy was, looking up at him in awe.
Like he was the most wonderful thing he had heard, like he hung the moon and the stars in the nightskies.
And that alone, gave Shen Jiu the courage to do his best to sing for the boy, despite how raspy his voice felt…despite the fact that it wasn't as smooth as it was before.
From then onwards, Shen Jiu’s heart continued to soften for the boy. Their unlikely friendship made him even more open to others, more forgiving, and his terrible moods lessened.
Shen Jiu thought everything was finally going well again.
Of course, he doesn't fully expect for things to be all sunshine and rainbows. He's not a fool.
But maybe…. just maybe, things will be alright.
But fate, again, is merciless.
One summer afternoon, Binghe and his friends made their way to the sea.
Shen Jiu was informed by his little friend that he will be off to hang out with his cousin and his cousin's friends.
They leapt into the cool water with carefree laughter. None noticed that Binghe lingered at the shallow bank, hesitant, hiding the truth—he had never learned to swim.
The only one whom he told was his cousin–who reassured him that there was no need to worry, for he can surely bear the waves, stating that he would be responsible for him.
And so,when he followed them in, the sea swallowed him whole.
….His cousin forgot that there was a difference in growing up: him and his friends grew up swimming in the waves.
Binghe did not. Binghe was from the city.
The villagers tried.
Shen Jiu received news of what had happened, of Binghe’s mother crying and all hysterical, and he immediately rushed to head to the nearby beach.
….But Shen Jiu arrived too late.
He clung to the cold, still body, still wet from water.
“No, no, no, no, no!”
Shen Jiu panicked, hands trying to revive the child.
Binghe was too cold. He was too blue. Too still.
This cannot be–Shen Jiu refused to accept this. This can’t be real–! He was just talking to Binghe a few hours ago! He even told him to be careful, and not to go deep into the water no matter what the others say, because he was not from the countryside!
…For the first time, Shen Jiu called out to his dearest, little friend.
“Binghe, no! Binghe! Bingheee!” He wailed, hugging the child to his chest as he rocked back and forth on his knees, his robes soaked and ruined, hair dishevelled.
All around him, the others were crying, at seeing his raw pain and grief.
No matter how much people wanted to comfort him and pull him away, Shen Jiu clung to the boy’s cold body–he was inconsolable.
He did not want to part.
He wailed, a gut wrenching wail that shook everyone's soul, as he hugged the child close to his chest, broken and pained.
….Shen Jiu was never the same again.
He will never forgive the child that caused Binghe his life. Never.
At the funeral, he stood apart, his face carved from stone, but his body trembling. His face was gaunt, pale, exhausted. He hadn't had a proper sleep ever since he lost his dear friend. Before the boy’s coffin, he slowly walked forward, softly singing. His ruined voice broke into song—cracked, uneven, but heavy with grief. It was not beautiful, not the kind of sound that once carried him to stardom, but it was all he had left to give.
He didn’t want to let go. How could he? This was the boy that turned his life upside down. Annoying, persistent, stubborn, yet…
Oh so sweet and thoughtful.
He didn’t want to watch the casket be lowered, but he had no choice, as he shakily brought up a hand to drop a flower into the casket that was being lowered down. Shen Yuan, his Shizun and Baba, stood beside him, a silent companion ready to support him.
Shen Jiu felt like he was broken. It seems like the grief was so great, it felt like it would consume him whole. He felt numb. Everything felt unreal.
He weakly leaned against his Baba’s arms, sobbing greatly as the dirt was then shoveled back to the grave, covering the casket.
And afterward, when the mourners dispersed and the world fell quiet, he returned to the manor, to his empty room, to the house that no longer felt warm or bright, and almost let himself waste away.
…Almost.
For days afterward, he drifted through the house like a shadow. He reached for the bottle, the cigarettes, and nearly let himself fall back into the pit that had claimed him before. But every corner of the house whispered of Binghe: the wilted flowers left on the vase, the stray shoe by the veranda, the laughter that still echoed in his ears.
If he wasted away now, then all of Binghe’s stubbornness—all his hope—would mean nothing.
Shen Jiu clenched the boy’s ribbon of string in his fist–the ribbon that he gave to the child to neaten and tie back his unruly curls. His voice might never return, but his life was still his to keep.
It was a struggle. It took him some time for him to accept Binghe’s passing.
He….wasn't ready to move on, but…he knows he has to.
“Baba…I can't. It hurts too much…why him?”
“Oh, A-Jiu…come here.”
Shen Yuan hugged him, soothing him and rubbing his hand in circles on his back, silently listening as Shen Jiu poured out his sorrows.
“...I do not want to forgive him. I do not want to forgive that child. He killed Binghe!”
“A-Jiu….it was a mistake. He…he didn't do it. It was something unexpected–”
“Then he should have paid attention to Binghe! He should have paid better attention–if he had, Binghe wouldn't have lost his life!” Shen Jiu yelled, angry at Binghe’s cousin.
“....You don't have to forgive him if you don’t want to, A-Jiu. Take your time. I will not force you to do something you don't want to.”
Shen Yuan softly reassures, as Shen Jiu buried his head against his chest while he stroked his hair.
Shen Jiu only moved on because he did not want the boy’s efforts to go to waste….but by the time he was ready, his Binghe's cousin had finally had the courage to apologise to him. At first, he hesitated to forgive the child…but looking at the gaunt, haunted young face before him, he realized that he was not the only one grieving–they were all grieving the loss of a bright boy.
Because Binghe had been light. He was a bright star to everyone, as warm as the sun, as sweet as candy.
And Shen Jiu….eventually forgave the child.
…Because Binghe had believed in him, stubbornly, foolishly, as if even a bitter man could be worth something. Even if Shen Jiu wanted to die, he could not do that. To throw that away felt like betraying the boy who had once looked at him with such open devotion, a boy who wished good things for him.
So Shen Jiu rose again—not to the stage, not to grandeur, but to life itself. His voice would never be the same, his fame never restored. But he carried Binghe with him in every step forward, a quiet vow: If I cannot live for myself, then I will live for you.
….And for the first time, he stepped outside without bitterness weighing down his chest, and went on to travel, carrying the memory of the boy who had refused to let him be alone.