Chapter Text
“A-Ying…” He may have been young, but he was a clever boy (this was often the subject of his parents’ praise). Even as his eyes drifted shut, lulled to to the precipice of sleep by his mother’s gentle hands rubbing up and down his back in the dim candlelight, he still caught it—the strange tension woven into his mother’s soft whispers. He frowned and looked up at his mother from his comfortable position in her lap. Her smile contained the same tension he had heard in her voice.
“A-Ying, I need you to listen to me carefully, can you do that?” He nodded quickly, eager to assuage his mother’s fears, whatever they might be.
“Good,” her smile turned a fraction more genuine and she pat him twice on the head. “Such a good boy… Now listen close, ok? Your father and I, you know our job is dangerous. It’s even more dangerous for us than for others, because your father and I go places where other cultivators are afraid to go. Our job is to fight the monsters that no one else can fight.”
“Because you’re so cool and strong and brave?” Wei Ying interjected, wide eyed. His mother chuckled indulgently, a flash of fire in her eyes, before her face once again settled back into that strange, tense expression.
“That’s exactly right. But because we fight the most dangerous monsters, we have the most chance of getting hurt. You father and I, we would never ever want to leave you… but if we get hurt while fighting the monsters, then we may have no other choice. Do you understand?”
He didn’t, not really, but he nodded hesitantly anyway. “So-” he said haltingly, confused tears welling in his eyes. “So you’re going off to fight a really scary monster, and you’re leaving me behind? …Forever?” The final word was barely a whisper, as Wei Ying fought to keep his tears contained.
“No!” His mother sounded desperate as she scooped him up into a crushing hug. “No, my sweet boy… At least, not tonight, and not ever if I can help it.” Her voice was filled with so much conviction that Wei Ying almost believed her. “But… sometime in the future, your father and I are going to be fighting a very scary monster, just like you said. We don’t plan on getting hurt, and we certainly don’t plan on leaving you behind. I need you to know that. However, just in case something does happen, I need to know that you’ll be safe. Even if your father and I aren’t here, I need to know that someone is protecting you and caring for you. That is why I need you to listen to what I’m about to tell you, do you understand?”
Wei Ying sniffed loudly, wiped his tears away, and nodded even more vigorously than before. His mother watched him for a moment, then she took a deep breath and began.
“There is a god. Not just an immortal cultivator like my teacher, but a real god from the heavens. He is a god of things that are lost or broken or tossed aside and forgotten. Some people call him a god of misfortune, but he is a very good and kind god. He found me and your father when we needed help, when you were just a baby. He helped us and gave us guidance, and he promised us that if anything ever happened to us, he would protect you.
“A-Ying, if you ever need help, and your father and I aren’t there for whatever reason, I want you to go to the temple of a god who holds a flower in one hand and a sword in the other, ok? If you see statues with the flower and the sword, you will know you’re in the right place. You should pray to that god and ask him for help. Tell him your name is Wei Ying and that your mother, Cangse sent you. He may not appear right away, but I promise you he will keep you safe and make sure you are taken care of. Can you remember all of that?”
“Yes mama,” Wei Ying replied. His mind was reeling, but he was confident in his abilities. He could do this. He could remember. This was important, after all.
“Good boy, smart boy.” The tension seemed to drain out of his mother, and she once again began to drag her fingertips up and down his back in a soothing rhythm. She slowly swayed back and forth, gently rocking Wei Ying and softly singing. In the dim candlelight, he felt his eyelids become heavier and heavier until he could no longer resist the pull of sleep.
His parents did not leave that night, nor the next, nor the next night after that. Slowly but surely, like the trickle of a stream in a forest, the conversation began to drift out of his mind. His mother’s words were replaced, like so many other memories, with other more important things, like golden cores and swords, or the best trees to climb and the prettiest flowers to pick. Before long, his parents began to depart for night hunts once again, and Wei Ying forgot to worry about whether or not they would return.
A little more than a year later, his mother’s warnings wiped clean from his young and malleable mind, Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze left on a night hunt, and they did not return.
***
Wei Wuxian miscalculated. Roughly two months after he was unceremoniously tossed into the burial mounds and left for dead—after enduring two months of resentful energy forcing its way into his every pore, choking him and baring down on him from every angle, from both outside and inside his own body, making him feel as though he was simultaneously being crushed with an immeasurable weight and torn apart from the inside; after two months of embracing that energy, refining it, and finally learning to control it—Wei Wuxian thought he had been strong enough to crawl his way out of the burial mounds and return finally to enact his revenge.
He miscalculated.
Wei Wuxian was not strong enough for revenge. He was barely strong enough to stand on his own two feet.
He slowly shuffled along the dirt roads, somewhere south of Yiling (although he didn’t know exactly how far south or, really, anything else about his location, as he had been too delirious to do much besides aimlessly wander). The area was quiet and sparsely populated. Only two or three travelers passed him on the road, and each took one startled look at him before hurrying away like they’d seen a ghost.
Wei Wuxian could almost laugh at himself; he may not have the luxury of a mirror, but he was certain that he looked like a ghost, or at least a walking corpse. His movements were stumbling and disjointed. His breathing was labored and his voice was rasping. He could feel his sunken cheeks, his gaunt face, and the dirt and ash that covered every inch of his clothes and skin. He was sure he made for quite the frightening spectacle.
Wei Wuxian cursed his impatience. Realistically, he had needed at least another month to regain his strength before attempting to leave the burial mounds. When he had first decided to leave, he had known that he was far from recovered. He had though, however, that he was at least strong enough to make it out of Yiling, to some town or village where he could plan his next steps. Instead, he had exhausted practically every drop of his energy by forcefully dragging himself out of that place. Now, he had almost no strength left to travel, or even think rationally about his next moves.
Every inch of his body screamed at him in pain and exhaustion, but he had no choice but to keep stumbling forward until he could find a safe place to rest. This was the price of his impatience. He made his choice, and now he would live with the consequences, no matter how painful.
Just as Wei Wuxian was considering the merits of a nap by the side of the road (no matter how cold the night may get), he caught sight of a rooftop peeking up over the horizon. A few more steps revealed several more buildings, and soon Wei Wuxian was drinking in the sight of a small town, barely larger than a village.
Something frighteningly close to relief (or perhaps even hope) shot through Wei Wuxian’s heart, and he picked up his pace, hurriedly shuffling forward in hopes of finding a place to take shelter for the night.
He headed towards the closest building, an ancient-looking structure on the outskirts of the town. As he approached, he realized that it was some sort of shrine, although the building was barely larger than a shack. Perhaps it was abandoned, although Wei Wuxian hoped that it wasn’t. From what little he could remember of his life on the streets, he knew that temples and shrines were often the best place to swipe a piece of fruit or even a bun to eat. Nevertheless, even an abandoned temple would offer him a place to sleep away from the damp cold that he felt seeping into his bones.
Wei Wuxian made his way up the front of the shrine and hesitantly pushed open the door. He was greeted by a single-room interior that was modest but clearly well-cared-for. The floor was swept clean, and a small kitchen area adorned one side of the room, while a dry sleeping mat was situated on the other side.
What most drew Wei Wuxian’s eye, however, was the painting that hung above the altar, directly across from the door. It was a breathtaking illustration of what must have been the shrine’s god. The figure was adorned in glittery robes and posed as if in the middle of a dance. The smile on his face was soft and gentle. In one hand, he held a flower, and in the other, a sword.
Wei Wuxian let out a sharp gasp as a long-forgotten memory fought its way from the recesses of his mind.
There is a god of things that are lost or broken or tossed aside and forgotten, spoke a voice in Wei Wuxian’s mind that was both deeply familiar and distressingly unknown to him. He desperately tried to remember the voice’s owner, but their identity slips from his mind like sand through his fingers. He will keep you safe, the voice said. Wei Wuxian felt like he might scream, his exhausted body and mind stretched far too thin to process the unexpected memory.
Wei Wuxian merely stood there for a moment, silently taking in the painting in front of him.
Help me, Wei Wuxian thought. Suddenly, it was the only coherent thought that could force its way through his jumbled mind. Help me. God, please help me.
At that moment, Wei Wuxian’s legs gave out, unable to support his weight. He collapsed to the floor and let his eyes drift shut, making no attempt to get up or move. If this was where he would sleep, then so be it.
If Wei Wuxian felt a presence sweep into the shrine—if he felt strong arms and gentle hands scoop him up and carry him across the room, gingerly depositing him on the bed—then he was too far removed from the realm of consciousness to process it.
And so, Wei Wuxian slept.