Chapter Text
Shen Jiu readied himself for his appointment. The heavy, silver mask sat in its box on the dressing table, a reminder of the day ahead that kept him from enjoying the layers of expensive fabric against his skin. He didn't always bother with the mask anymore... but today's guest was special.
He combed out his hair--an inky sweep that nearly reached his knees, now--and carefully pinned it up. Then he checked the hang of his robes in the polished bronze mirror, and picked up the mask. It was an artifact, left by one of the previous Shopkeepers. Shen Jiu didn't know which one; he'd never met any of them. The only clue to their identity was the older name for the shop; 'Shen Jia Trading Company.' He'd found it on some old paperwork, invoices for more mundane goods than the ones the store traded in. Shen Jiu had taken the surname as his own, since apparently no one was left to object. The Shop had been vacant when he found it, scrambling for shelter in his desperate flight from Wu Yanzi.
He'd been looking for somewhere, anywhere, to hide. The door had opened under his hand like a miracle.
The shop had been clean, but empty. In a small, private room in the back, he'd found a shrine, holding a spirit which called itself the System. It could grant wishes, for a price. It had automatically granted his--his safety, in exchange for taking the position of Shopkeeper. The previous tenant had left and never returned.
The mask had been invaluable, especially in the beginning. When he wore it, clients saw what they expected to see--perhaps an elderly scholar or a middle-aged shopkeeper. Certainly not a nervous sixteen year old runaway slave. Shen Jiu's appearance, accent, and mannerisms were all neatly tucked away under the enchanted metal. And over time, he learned.
He'd had to rely on the System to fulfill wishes, at first. But as he got more experience, he realized it was more beneficial to do it himself when he could. He was able to keep more of the clients' payments as profit when he did the work on his own instead of following the System's prompts.
Clients could trade anything, in exchange for their wishes. Money, certainly, and Shen Jiu had done a lot of business that way. His predecessors dealt exclusively in rarer goods, but Shen Jiu didn't look down on gold and silver. But other things were useful as well. Shen Jiu had traded information, cures for rare illnesses, undetectable poisons, and untraceable revenge. And he'd received clients' good luck, their cultivation, their health, their talents, years of their lifespan--any number of intangible, impossible things. Some, he exchanged with other clients. Others he kept for himself. Granting wishes was surprisingly profitable.
It went the other way, too--one woman had exchanged her beauty for money and good luck. She went her way happily, plain but secure in her new freedom. Shen Jiu had traded that beauty to another client the next week--a dog-faced scholar who wanted the better career prospects that fair features would bring him. In return, Shen Jiu received the scholar's skill in poetry. It wasn't an extraordinary level of skill, but neither was it extraordinary beauty. Added to the talents Shen Jiu had received from other clients in the past, it became something greater than the sum of its parts.
And in the frequent stretches of time without customers, he studied. The back of the shop had an entire room full of books; ten times more than had been in the study of either the elder or younger Master Qiu. And infinitely more valuable; Shen Jiu had found mentions of some of them in the shop's old ledgers, and they'd been accepted in exchange for grand favors and precious treasures.
Shen Jiu had finished dressing. It was still too early to go out to the Shop, so he went to his study instead. Seeing his things there--the beautiful desk, with his calligraphy brushes hung neatly in a row and creamy paper ready to use--was always soothing. The antique qi board, its covered bowls holding game pieces made of semi-precious stones. An angled easel, if he wanted to paint. And several instruments, on their own tables or displayed on stands, just waiting for him to pick them up. Shen Jiu could use all of them, now; scholars, musicians, and noble scions were happy to trade their talents for the treasures the Shop could give them. Some clients had traded in their accent, etiquette, and polite mannerisms--they had no idea how much those things were worth. Shen Jiu had all the qualities of a gentleman, now. And if the facade was made by piecing together hoarded scraps taken from those born more fortunate than he--well, so was everything he'd ever had.
And it was strangely satisfying, to be able to sit down and create something beautiful out of nothing. It filled his time; the Shop received few customers, and the novelty of being able to go out to markets and buy things had eventually worn thin.
*
Shen Jiu received the signal that a client was approaching, and was frowning even as he approached the front of the shop. It was far too early.
Oh, a stranger, a new customer. Shen Jiu swallowed down the mixed relief and disappointment, gliding forward smoothly to wait near the counter while the new arrival dithered outside the entrance.
A nervous-looking middle-aged man opened the door of the shop, hesitated in the doorway, then steeled himself to walk forward.
"How may this humble one be of assistance?" Shen Jiu asked silkily. He kept the mask on. He--anyone might arrive as he was talking to this client.
The new customer cleared his throat nervously. "I heard this shop can do... favors."
"Sometimes. What is this benefactor lacking?" Shen Jiu left the counter and gestured to a table, kept especially for these little conferences.
"It's--" The man took a deep, shaking breath, then set a box on the table. "This waist ornament was a gift to my household from the Emperor. When we entered the treasure room, it was broken on the shelf." His face spasmed with fear. "I need to wear it at the Spring Banquet. It's impossible to replace, but if it's known we were careless--"
Shen Jiu nodded thoughtfully. "So you need it repaired, in a way impossible to detect." Simple enough. He had an artifact that would do it. "And what are you willing to trade?"
The man looked at him wide-eyed, like all his hopes were concentrated in one face. "I--money I have, if you accept it. Favors--" His face flexed. "I'm fairly well positioned in the Ministry of Revenue, if that's something valuable to you. I won't do anything that would harm the Emperor," he insisted.
"This master doesn't care about Emperors," Shen Jiu said dismissively. That was true. He didn't even know what empire this man served. But it was enough to deflate the client's defensiveness. "Anything else? Years of your life are valuable. So are skills and languages."
The man--a nobleman, fairly high ranked if he was in the Ministry of Revenue and expected a personal audience with the Emperor--blinked. "I--I used to be a fairly good archer. I won prizes. But I don't hunt much anymore..."
"It's a transfer, not a copy, you understand," Shen Jiu told him automatically. "You’ll no longer have the ability." He used the Shop's interface to make an appraisal of the man's skills, then a quick calculation. He really had been an expert archer, though his skill had degraded slightly through disuse. He could probably sell it on to some young hero, looking for battle skills or an edge in a contest.
Not bad; he'd had clients offer their daughters and wives. He was always extra sharp in his bargains with those men. Shen Jiu didn't approve of treating people as property, and now he had the freedom to exert himself.
Shen Jiu disappeared into the back briefly, taking the box with its broken waist ornament and returning it whole. The client, no fool, examined it minutely and was left amazed. It must have had some secret marking or function that wasn't readily apparent, but Shen Jiu had used the artifact to restore it rather than to make a copy.
The client left with his repaired ornament, looking overwhelmed by his good fortune and not a bit regretful for the loss of his archery skills.
Shen Jiu guessed that the ornament had been broken by some malicious person, specifically to entrap the nobleman and his house. But that was outside the scope of this deal.
*
Shen Jiu had time for a calming cup of tea before the focus of his day arrived. The focus of many days, in fact. And more so since he'd received a System notification warning him to expect this client.
Shen Jiu wanted to reject this visitor. But he was bound to bargain with any customer who was able to find the Shop, even if he chose not to fulfill their wishes. And Cang Qiong was a client of long-standing--they had a black VIP token, won long before Shen Jiu's tenure as Shopkeeper. But the token also gave him advance notice. When the chime above the door rang, Shen Jiu was prepared.
Sect Leader Yue was circumspect, at first. Many first-time clients were. "This one was told the Shop can do impossible things," he began. He did, and didn't, look as Shen Jiu remembered. The authority of his new position suited him; he had grown up well, once he no longer had... anything weighing him down.
"The larger the favor, the greater the cost," Shen Jiu said with careful neutrality. He wondered what had brought Yue Qingyuan here today--what need could be beyond his powerful sect's ability to fulfill. "What are you willing to bargain with? Your position? Your cultivation? Your sect? Your famous sword?"
"All of that," Yue Qingyuan said instantly. "Anything. Can you bring someone back from the dead?"
That was unexpected. "It's possible," Shen Jiu said. "But the cost will be high. Your life for their life." That wasn't, strictly speaking, true. But as the Shopkeeper, Shen Jiu had great flexibility in deciding the terms of payment. He already knew he'd exert himself to fulfill Yue Qingyuan's wish himself, instead of relying on the System. Yue Qi's life would be his and no one else's.
"I'll pay it," Yue Qingyuan said instantly.
"Who does the esteemed benefactor wish to resurrect?"
"A boy," Yue Qingyuan said, almost not waiting for Shen Jiu to finish his sentence. "He was between twelve and fifteen years old when he died. He was called Xiao Jiu. Is that enough information to find him?"
Shen Jiu was so still he could feel his heartbeat in his chest, and the secondary pulse of qi in his spine. "You're quite certain he's dead." He couldn't give his voice its usual smooth urbanity, but Yue Qingyuan didn't seem to notice. Another benefit of the enchanted mask.
"Yes, he--there was a fire." Yue Qingyuan stopped to regain his composure. "I don't know what happened to his body. Will he be returned healthy? Uninjured?"
"If that's part of your bargain, yes. If you wished to revive him only briefly, the cost would be less."
Yue Qingyuan shook his head immediately. "No, no, I want him returned--alive. Safe and happy. That's what I'm bargaining for, whatever the cost."
Shen Jiu could feel the nascent bargain hanging in the air, eager to be fulfilled. "Very well. I'll make the arrangements." With that, the deal was struck.
Yue Qingyuan hesitated before he left. "I'm not going back on our bargain, but--can I see him? Once, before I die?"
Shen Jiu was barely holding onto his composure behind the heavy metal mask. "Go to Linyang City, the marketplace. Dawn of the 21st day of the ninth month."
"His birthday," Yue Qingyuan breathed. "I will. Thank you." He left. The door chime rang. And Shen Jiu tried to pull himself together.
Fool, he thought to himself viciously. Fool, to thank the man he traded his life to. He always was-- He managed to pull the Shop back into its pocket dimension before breaking down.
*
On the appointed day, Shen Jiu arrived at Linyang City an hour early. Unmasked but meticulously dressed, he was as anxious as he'd ever been.
Early as he was, Yue Qingyuan was there before him, pacing nervously and drawing concerned looks from the merchants setting up their stalls for the market day ahead. But even dressed plainly, his robes were fine enough that no one tried to drive the madman off. That might change when customers started arriving. It was still dark, and the sellers' rushlight torches hissed as they burned off the predawn mist.
Shen Jiu cleared his throat. "Qi-ge."
Yue Qingyuan whirled and froze. His eyes flickered unseeing over the crowd, ignoring every unfamiliar face before settling on Shen Jiu. Then his mouth moved noiselessly: Xiao Jiu. He strode forward and reached out, but hesitated before making contact. "Are--are you real?"
"Of course I'm real," Shen Jiu snapped, off balance. He reached up to touch Yue Qingyuan's reaching hand, acutely aware of the nearby merchants who had stopped setting out their goods and were now openly enjoying the show. The shock of warmth was like waking from a dream.
Yue Qingyuan gasped at the contact. "You're grown up now--I was expecting--" He broke off, eyes fixed on his face.
Expecting 'Xiao Jiu' to be resurrected as he 'died,' perhaps, as a skinny youth of fifteen years? Or expecting the smaller-still twelve year old he'd last seen?
"I didn't die," Shen Jiu said hurriedly. "The Shop--the Shopkeeper found me. He said you were looking for me."
"I was--Xiao Jiu, you're alive?" Yue Qingyuan's eyes were damp. Shen Jiu remembered he had always had trouble producing tears on command when they were young. Fooling soft-hearted marks had been Shen Jiu's job.
"Come off the street," Shen Jiu said, throat tight and nose sour. "You're scaring the merchants."
*
They retreated to an inn to talk--apparently Yue Qingyuan had arrived days earlier, alone.
Yue Qingyuan hadn't taken his eyes off Shen Jiu even once. It had made entering the suite difficult. "It's really you," he said. "You're... you're all grown up. You're the same age as you would have been--no, you're younger." He blinked rapidly, belatedly using his cultivation skills to examine Shen Jiu's spirit veins. The tears he'd been holding back escaped, and he wiped them absentmindedly. "You're a cultivator?"
Shen Jiu produced a handkerchief to blot his face. "Yes, I've learned quite a lot."
"From this shopkeeper?" Yue Qingyuan took his hand. "Xiao Jiu, does he treat you well? I have--I brought--" Yue Qingyuan unceremoniously handed him a bag from his belt--a qiankun bag, apparently. "Take this. I don't know how long I have. I wasn't sure what shape you'd be in when I saw you--I should have bargained for a good life for you as well, but Cang Qiong is rich--"
Shen Jiu blinked at the bag now in his hand; his subtle senses told him it held coins, gems, clothes--clothes made for a boy or a very young man--and food. Yue Qingyuan really had thought 'Xiao Jiu' would be resurrected and dumped unceremoniously in the middle of a strange city. And he'd come prepared, to make sure he could live well after Yue Qingyuan...
"You're not going to die," Shen Jiu said with certainty. He could guarantee it, in fact. Yue Qingyuan's life was, literally, his now.
"Xiao Jiu--" Yue Qingyuan gazed at him mournfully, but didn't say what was on his mind. "I'll never leave you willingly again. I shouldn't have left you the last time--I should have carried you out on my back if I had to--"
"We both would have died," Shen Jiu said shortly. "I know that. It's enough that--that you came back." He scrubbed at his eyes furiously--this was not the time for some self-indulgent breakdown. He pressed his streaming eyes against Yue Qingyuan's shoulder as he was embraced. Yue Qingyuan had dressed down to blend in to the market in this small city, Shen Jiu noted, with the calculating, analytical part of him that was always detached from his emotional moments. But the fabric was warm and clean, so different from the rough cotton and hemp of their youth that it was almost a different substance. It smelled nice. He was content to stay here for a little while.