Qing Jing peak was hell itself dressed in elegant silks. Everyday was a social death match with the rest of the disciples, the vultures one might call your martial siblings, looking for even a single unguarded weakness to strike at brutally. Especially your vile Shixiongs. The scholarly peak embodied the definition of every person for themselves quite well. You couldn’t truly trust anyone here; everyone is just waiting to peck at the soft underbelly of others. Even you.

Qing Jing peak of Cang Qiong mountain is run with an iron fist by Shen Qingqiu, also known as the Xiu Xa sword. The cultivator is infamously ruthless and cruel, especially among his own peak. One might think the place contained hardened criminals instead of young cultivators simply by looking at how the place was ran by Shen Qingqiu. Disciples rightfully cower before the seemingly untouchable Peak Lord. And rightfully so, even the smallest mistake in front of the man could earn you 200 lashes due to his paper thin patience.

At the moment Shen Qingqiu sits regally on the pavilion connected to his leisure house. Because of the particular way the bamboo was planted, it allows him to look through it from his side and observe his peak, while acting as a privacy screen if viewed from the opposite side.

Shen Qingqiu’s mood is surprisingly decent currently. Not only have his impudent disciples actually managed to make a passable brew of tea, he’d yet to see the beast all morning.