#qui

Hmm, I did have this written up~ Maybe this would give a glimpse of protective Haoyu/ enraged Haoyu when you mess with someone he cares for Also, just a show of some of the things he goes through. He takes after his Papa Wukong a lot- even getting himself into a scuffle with the Celestial Realm. For good reason. ----------------------------------- Haoyu had never trusted his ears. Words tended to blur—muddled sounds, broken syllables, or sometimes only silence. That was the price of one deaf ear and another that half-worked.

But this time, he was certain he’d heard correctly. He only wished he hadn’t.

His body swayed, mouth opening and closing without sound. Even as he tried to deny it, he searched for confirmation.

Before him stood the Violet Spider—the ruler of the southwestern domain beyond Flower Fruit Mountain, and the mother of his fiancée, Chyou.

She was frail, her strength leeched away by years of illness and age. She rarely left her manor walls, her life preserved behind silken curtains for fear of assassination or the strain of travel. Haoyu had met her only a handful of times—mostly at dinners after the engagement was announced. To others, she was a woman feared and whispered about, yet in his company she had been gentle, her voice like soft thread.

Now those same trembling hands clutched his, papery skin cool against his fur. Her eyes, clouded and wide, trembled with a terror born not of weakness, but of motherhood.

“Chyou,” she rasped.

Behind her, the courtyard lay in ruin—shattered stone, deep gouges, and silvered feathers pinned into the ground like a storm frozen mid-flight. Chyou’s twin blades jutted from a wall, slick with drying blood. But she was gone.

That absence told him more than any words could.

He could picture it: Chyou bristling at the enemy, steel in her eyes sharper than any weapon she carried.

He tried to steady the old woman, but she clung tighter to his hands. Her breath wheezed between trembling lips. “They took her.”

At her side, her youngest, Aihan, buried her face in her mother’s hanfu and sobbed. Haoyu’s vision tilted. Over the elder’s shoulder he saw them—Chyou’s other five sisters. Blood on their palms, torn hems, split lips. Even Zhihao, who could never speak to Chyou without argument, seized his arm.

“Those bastards took her,” she spat, her usually elegant voice dipped in venom. “Said they’d turn her into a golden pill.”

Haoyu froze. The blue in his eyes turned to ice. What?

The story spilled out in ragged pieces. A crane immortal—a member of the Celestial Court—had arrived at their domain with a proposal.

Protection, he’d called it. In exchange for fealty. For the right to “uplift” one of the Spider’s daughters—the way immortals so sweetly meant it: to strip the soul from its shell and toss the husk aside.

He demanded their obedience, their devotion, and—worse—the hand of the eldest, Lihua. His claim was that their Domain was crumbling, that only he could save it.

The Violet Spider’s grip tightened around Haoyu’s fingers. Her voice trembled as she forced the next words, “We refused. No daughter of mine would be given to that vile creature.”

Zhihao’s voice cut in, bitter and sharp. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer. He said he’d stay until we ‘saw reason.’ Chyou spat in his face.”

Third Sister Shui lifted her head, her arm limp and bruised. “He struck her,” she hissed. “She tore out half his wing.”

“She was magnificent,” whispered Lihua, her composure breaking. “The feathers fell like snow.”

“He played dirty,” Zhihao snarled, her claws digging into Haoyu’s shoulder. “He took her by force—to teach us a lesson.” Using Celestial chains instead of his own power- the coward. Chyou would have bested him easily otherwise.

Haoyu forgot, sometimes, that the world could be cruel. He’d grown up beneath the sacred peach trees, spoiled by the tranquility and honeyed blossoms of Flower Fruit, and though he knew, somewhere, of the world beyond its walls, he rarely touched it but for Chyou’s hand. She’d been his link to the wider, crueler world—the one who could stare into terrors and smirk.

He looked around the ruined courtyard, feeling… feeling a sensation. One he often tried to swallow down. It made his fur bristle, a coldness opening in his belly as if someone had dropped a stone into a pail.

The other daughters were quiet, wounds oozing, every so often glancing toward Lihua, as if she might say something to fix this, but she only dabbed her lip with the edge of a ruined sleeve, jaw set until it whitened.

If they were to storm the Celestial Court, they would not survive. The Crane Immortal was abusing his position, and they could do nothing about it.

Aihan's sobs shrank to little whimpers. “Big brother,” she reached for him, grasping at his robe. “Please…” It took him effort to lower to her level, knees popping as he crouched—he was so tall, to the child, one had to kneel. “Please get her back. Please get Chyou-Jie back…”

It was a lot to ask him, they knew. Too much to ask Haoyu risk his own life, to stand against Heaven. Yet, they knew such a thing ran in his very veins. It was their only hope.

“Please,” Aihan pleaded.

Gently, using a knuckle, he brushed a tear from Aihan’s cheek. Then, he nodded. There was nothing to promise, there was only yes or nothing.

Aihan’s fingers, sticky with tears, curled in the crook of his thumb. The sisters all watched, as if he might sprout wings and fly after the bastard for them right now. This oath struck through the silence. Aihan’s mouth grew serious, nodding as if her belief could anchor him. Haoyu stood, the sister’s eyes widening.

The Violet Spider’s hand trembled against his once more. She loathed having to ask—loathed her own weakness—but love overruled pride. “We would compensate—”

“You will not,” he interrupted, his voice cracking through the air—a voice he almost never used, or ever heard to any of them but Chyou. Some hadn’t even realized he could speak. It startled them all. “We are family.” And he, protected his family. “Mother,” he says, using a word that itself was a claim to this family. To devote himself to them, and keep them safe.

The Violet Spider’s jaw worked soundlessly, eyes wide before softening. Slowly, she lifted a trembling hand to cup his cheek. The gesture carried a thousand unspoken thoughts—memories, regrets, and the dawning understanding of her daughter’s heart.

She had made many mistakes in love herself, and her Chyou had sworn never to repeat them. Never to be blinded by that soft, golden thing called "love". Her daughter was venomous by nature—quiet, deliberate, consuming. A woman whose affection, when given, was as dangerous as it was rare. She had always struck first, never hesitated, never doubted her own edge.

And yet, when Chyou had announced her intention to marry this boy, it had startled the whole household. The Monkey was everything her daughter was not. Where Chyou was steel, he was silk. Where her voice could cut, his soothed. He moved gently, spoke politely, and carried himself with deliberate smallness—as though afraid to break the world around him, even when the weight of power shimmered beneath his skin.

He was not her equal in ferocity, but in balance.

And the Spider had seen the change. The girl who once smiled only as a warning now smiled freely—softly, even shyly. The laughter that used to come from cruelty now bloomed from joy. Her edge remained, but he had tempered it, not with dominance or defiance, but with quiet devotion. He had given her daughter something none of her blades ever could: peace.

The Violet Spider’s thumb brushed against his jaw, her heart aching with gratitude and fear all at once. “So gentle…” she whispered, voice frayed. “And she learned to smile because of you.”

Haoyu’s eyes trembled, then hardened. He took the Violet Spider’s frail hand and held it between both of his, grounding her trembling fingers with his warmth. “I will bring her home,” he said. The words rasped out of him—dry, cracked, yet steady. A vow scraped raw from his throat. Then, lowering his head, he bowed deeply.

Before he could rise, the faint rustle of silk drew his attention. Lihua stepped forward. Her sisters parted instinctively to make space for her, as they always did; even wounded and weary, she carried herself like command incarnate. Her back was straight, her chin high, her hands clasped before her in a grip so tight the knuckles had gone white. The eldest daughter, the heir, the unbroken symbol of the Spider’s line—though her body bore the marks of battle, she refused to bend under them.

When she stopped before Haoyu, her jaw tightened, the fine muscles in her throat shifting as she swallowed pride along with grief.

“You understand what this means,” she began, her voice low, controlled, but shaking at its edges. “You are not of our brood, nor sworn to our Domain. Yet she chose you. And for that…” she drew a breath, eyes flicking toward her mother, then back to him, “…we must rely on you.” Her gaze softened, if only for a moment. “Not because we have no other choice—but because I know you would go, even if we asked you not to.” She stepped closer, enough that the lamplight caught the blood drying along her sleeve. “You are gentle, Haoyu,” she said quietly, “but not weak. You carry power I cannot name, and heart enough to wield it without cruelty. That is why she loved you—and why you must be the one to bring her back.” For the first time, her composure cracked. Her shoulders dropped, and her hands unfolded, open and vulnerable before him. “Please,” she whispered, the plea breaking through all the armor of her rank. “Bring her home. Not for the Domain. For us. For her.”

Then, with deliberate grace, she bowed—just enough to show respect, but not submission. A warrior’s bow to an equal, not a subject’s to a king.

The air in the courtyard seemed to still around them. Haoyu could feel every set of eyes upon him—the sisters, the mother, even the youngest who still clung to her mother’s robes. The oath he’d spoken hung heavy, sacred, like a thread tying him to all of them.

When he straightened, Lihua had already stepped back, her face composed once more. But her voice lingered, soft and certain. “Go, Haoyu. Do what I cannot.”

He turned away carefully. If he didn’t, he might break something—stone, bone, or both. His fists clenched, rage coursing through him, not hot but glacial, a fury that froze instead of burned.

At the courtyard gate, Haoyu nearly collided with Qiu climbing the stairs- his best friend since he was a young and fellow inhabitant of FFM.

The other monkey looked as casual as ever—one hand tucked into a pocket, a grin already forming as if to greet him with some easy jest. They’d come here, as they always did around this hour, expecting their weekly ritual: tea, idle chatter, maybe a walk through the gardens. Haoyu had simply arrived earlier than usual.

Qiu stumbled back a step, catching Haoyu’s arm before he could topple them both.

“Hey~,” they drawled, their grin crooked, teasing. “You heading out already? Don’t tell me Chyou canceled our hang—”

The words withered mid-sentence.

Whatever expression Haoyu wore stopped Qiu cold. His eyes, normally mild and distant, looked carved from ice. There was something terrible and silent in them—a stillness that made Qiu’s throat dry.

The casual smirk fell away. The air between them grew taut.

“…We hurting someone?” Qiu asked quietly, voice low with intent, a quiet demand to know who had fucked up.

Haoyu didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

He stepped past, the soft thud of his boots echoing against the stone, each one purposeful. Qiu lingered for half a breath, watching him go, before sighing through their nose- someone had fucked up big time, it seemed.

They adjusted the braid at their shoulder and followed, falling into pace beside him without another word.

Their strides matched naturally, the rhythm of old friends who had seen enough of each other’s silences to read them fluently.

Qiu’s gaze flicked sidelong toward Haoyu, studying him. The last time they'd seen that look, they had come back bloodied, both of them—but alive. Haoyu was a gentle soul, but when someone he loved was threatened, that gentleness became something frightening. Something absolute.

Qiu exhaled, hands sliding into her coat pockets. “Didn’t even bring your staff this time,” they muttered, almost to themselves. “Guess you’re planning to use bare fists, huh?”

Haoyu said nothing. His eyes stayed forward, a cold wind cutting through the space between them.

Qiu smirked faintly. They didn’t need to speak again.

Where Haoyu walked with that look in his eyes, Qiu always followed.

"At least tell me where we are having this blood bath." Qui nudged him as he summoned his Nimbus cloud.

Haoyu's head lifted to the clouds. Qiu's head followed.

"....You've got to be kidding me." Qiu scowled. "No."

Haoyu nodded. Yes.

Qui tilted their head back with a long winded curse. "Why-?"

"They took Chyou." he spoke, voice raspy. Qiu froze, head arched back, expression unreadable. Slowly they straightened themselves, pulling out a few bottles of a variety of poisons. Without a word they sat on the cloud, twirling a vial between their fingers.

It seems it was time to become an enemy of the Celestial Court.

-----End------

Qui... 🎶🔥❤️