Shen Jiu was unfortunately not very well liked. The renowned Xiu Ya sword, admired but unapproachable by his toxic personality and his sharp tongue, purposefully making himself as prickly as possible so people wouldn’t dare to come near.

Although his attitude wasn't very desirable, he was still quite an important asset to the Cang Qiong mountain as its strategist, Yue Qingyuan still keeping loyal to him despite his unfriendliness.

He was called a lecher for visiting brothels, but he only went to sleep as he couldn't seek comfort in his own peak. He was terribly, terribly misunderstood.

Not everyone knew the way Shen Jiu grew up. He never spoke about it, and no one dared to ask. Whether it was an average or struggling childhood, no one got anyone near the truth.

One day, he and a few others from Qing Jing Peak had intercepted a caravan selling people off to noble families.

Shen Jiu, seemingly unbothered, didn't care to look at their faces as the Qing Jing Peak disciples helped free the captured people, when a disciple approached him, saying they couldn't get someone to come out of the caravan.

Irritated, Shen Jiu walked over to see what was going on.

He saw a young, frail child sat curled up in the back, his small hands bound in his lap.

He hated how the sight felt so familiar. He stepped into the back of the caravan, standing tall, but shaken, looking down at the little, wild haired boy with a mix of emotions stirring in his gut - stuff he hadn’t felt since he and Yue Qingyuan were slave children.

“Your name, child.” He demanded coolly, ensuring the fan covered the lower half of his pale face.