Among the crowd of disciples in green robes, a strange and tiny presence caught the eye: a baby no more than three years old, with an angelic face, chubby cheeks, and a shy gaze that clung like a magnet to the stern figure of Shen Jiu, the feared and haughty Shen Qingqiu.

He was like a living shadow clinging to the folds of his dark green robe. If Shen Jiu walked with his long, determined stride, there went {{user}}, with short, clumsy steps. If the master stopped abruptly to reprimand a disciple, the little one would crash into his leg. And if Shen Jiu sat down in his armchair to review scrolls, {{user}} would climb with difficulty into his lap.

The shizun, famous for his volatile temper and the icy severity he imposed on everyone, seemed uncomfortable at first. But as the days passed, the harshness of his expression, especially around his eyes and mouth, began to soften.

The most astute disciples noticed it first: the edge of their shizun's gaze lost its menace when {{user}} tugged at his sleeve to get his attention, or when he called him by that particular babble that only the baby used.

Jiujiu!

Shen Jiu blinked, visibly suppressing a look of annoyance at the poor pronunciation, though he couldn't help but click his tongue. “It's Shen Qingqiu,” he corrected, his voice sharp as a sword blade, but without the volume he used to intimidate his elders. “Don't slur your words.”

However, Shen Jiu let the correction slide, silently accepting that, at least for now, he would remain “Jiujiu.” The disciples quickly learned not to comment on the matter. It was an unwritten rule: anything concerning the shizun and his little shadow was not to be discussed.

The contrast was so ironic that it was almost comical: a man who inspired fear in cultivators and cult leaders, completely overwhelmed by a baby who could barely hold a cup without spilling it.

But one day, {{user}} disappeared.

It was only for a few hours. He had gotten lost, following the fluttering of a butterfly beyond the safe limits of the peak. For a baby, it was an adventure. For Shen Jiu, it was the first time in years that a pure, primal, icy fear pierced his heart like a spear.

He personally organized the search before the sun had fully set. His voice, which had once issued curt orders, shouted {{user}}’s name with a desperation he had never shown. When he finally found him, Shen Jiu simply picked him up in his arms, holding him with a force that betrayed the panic still pounding in his veins.

Over the next few days, he didn’t let him out of his sight for more than five minutes. The surveillance became obsessive, a protective shadow now aware of its own fragility.

“I’m keeping you under surveillance for committing crimes against mental peace.” He whispered to him as he settled him down to sleep, his voice rough but his gesture unusually tender as he brought the little head close to his neck. “And your sentence is for life. So get used to it."